The Forgotten Rose {COMPLETED}

Part I: Chapter One - In a witches wind

"Mother!" The young girl exclaimed as her sister's blood covered her small hands. The girl's eyes were hollow and her face pale as she shivered in the darkness of the cabin. Her once neat hair had fallen around her face and it tangled in great knots at the ends, as her sister's screams grew louder with her fear. Beside her, her once beautiful sister's face was stained with tears that washed away her beauty, along with her joy.

As the waves crashed against the ship the timbers creaked and murky seawater flushed in as the weary ship battled through the violent sea towards its destination. The water had damaged every jewel and every dress the sisters had ever cherished; and to simply move Anne had to wade through the water which was above her knees. The cries from the sailors above did not reassure the women as they fought together through the torment of childbirth, a task that was a danger upon dry land in the company of a dozen midwives.

"Anne, don't just stand there. Do something," her mother ordered her pointing to the sister who lay panting, her child was coming and there was no midwife in sight. Calais would not let them take port and were firing at them, the cannon crashing into the ship but the damaging little more than superficial. Anne watched as her mother rolled up her sleeves and then knelt down before her elder sister who yet again screamed violently, clinging onto the bed linen for comfort.

"Isabelle needs you. Anne!" Her mother was battling the cannon fire and the raging storm as she spoke, it was nearly impossible to make out her word. "Anne," she shouted again as Anne clasped her hand over her mouth as more blood poured out from between Isabelle's legs.

"The baby, it is coming," her mother said, "and he is coming quickly," then she looked up to her elder daughter with a forced smile, "it appears our boy wishes to join us," she said calmly and Isabelle's face seemed to lighten at the thought of a baby boy to hold in her arms.

"Anne, go get me cloth and some water," Anne's mother ordered her as she sat shivering in the water that Isabelle had spilt from its basin, "quickly Anne," she snapped waving her arms towards the cabin door.

More water washed into the cabin and ran over Anne's feet. The stench of the blood ran up her nose, the smell was so foul she could almost taste the salt of the sea rolling over her tongue.

"Yes, lady mother," Anne said to her mother her voice wavering as she hurried away. Her feet scrapped along the wooden plank floor of the ship. Still shaking, she entered her father's cabin. He scowled at her, for she was not to enter his cabin without permission. Beside him sat Isabelle's husband, George, who had his light haired head in his hands as he panicked for both his pride and unborn child.

On Anne's entry her sister's husband turned to her and a slight beam of light had enchanted his face.

"He is here!" Isabelle's husband beamed at Anne. Anne, who could not stand with the turbulence of the waves, clung to the timber that supported the ceiling of her father's cabin. "My son?"

George was a man of tall stature with fair hair and eyes. Anne did not understand him. Not quite so well as she would have wished too. He was brother to the king, a second cousin to Anne and was the most loyal allie of her father's cause. She had met him dozens of times but fleetingly, "my son is here?"

"No, your grace, he is not, we need cloth. My lady mother asks for cloth and water," Anne told George proud of how well she recalled her mother's orders. Through her fear she worried she would forget and have to return to the torment of her own cabin, where her sister lay upon her back waiting for her firstborn son to arrive.

She was thirteen years of age and she had not seen a day's peace. Her life was war and war was her life. Fear was all she knew, she was lost and afraid on a voyage that would most likely end the lives of every single person aboard the ship; sailor or duke each would drown in the deep depths of the English Channel in what the sailors called a witches wind.