Darkwitch Rising Read Free Page B

well, then turned to look at the child one of the midwives held.
    He studied the baby curiously, then folded back his wrappings.
    “By Jesus!” Charles exclaimed, and looked back at Henrietta Maria. “Are you sure you are well, my love?”
    She grinned wanly. “He was an effort, my lord. But, yes, I am well. He did not injure me.”
    Charles looked back to the baby. By God, look at the size of him! He was a giant, surely, with great strong limbs and a head of long, tight black curls. Charles reached down a hand and, as he did so, the baby reached up his own right hand and snatched at a golden crown embroidered on Charles’ sleeve.
    “Observe!” said the midwife. “He was born a king, truly! See how he grasps for what shall be his!”
    Then both the midwife and Charles cried out, for the baby’s hand tightened about the crown, and tugged at it, tearing it away from his father’s sleeve.
    “I shall have to watch my back, surely,” Charles said with a forced laugh, “in case this son of mine decides to snatch my crown before his time.”
    The midwife prised the torn piece of material out of the infant’s fist, and he began to wail.
    “You shall surely die abed, an aged and beloved king,” murmured one of the physicians. “This is no omen to be feared.”
    “Of course not,” said Charles, but at that moment the room darkened as a cloud covered the sun, and the only one in the chamber who did not shiver in dread was the baby.
    Weyland Orr brought his little sister Jane to stand outside the octagonal-towered gatehouse of St James’ Palace among the other crowds awaiting news of the queen’s delivery. Most of the crowd prayed for a prince; Weyland and Jane knew the child would be a prince. A king reborn.
    Weyland hoisted Jane in his arms so that she could see through the gates into the Colour Court off which, the crowd was reliably informed, the queen laboured in her chamber.
    See, Genvissa. In that tumbled mess of ancient buildings Brutus-reborn draws his first breath, while you sit, caught in the arms of Asterion, knowing you’ll never feel Brutus’ arms about you again. Will he come looking for you, do you think, once he has control of those infant legs of his ?
    Weyland laughed, softly, tormenting Jane with his thoughts. No, of course not. He’ll want his precious princess, Cornelia. He won’t want you, particularly after what I have planned .
    Weyland sent a series of images skidding through Jane’s mind, and the girl began to cry.
    Weyland hugged her to him. “There, there,” he whispered, playing the part of the affectionate brother to perfection. “All will be well. I shall look after you.”
    Then he lifted his head. A nobleman had walked to the gates, and now shouted to the crowds.
    “A son! A son! The queen has been safely delivered of a healthy son!”
    The crowd roared, and Weyland cheered with the best of them.
    In his arms, the little girl wept.

Pendinnis Castle, Cornwall, and London
Fifteen years later
    Q ueen Henrietta Maria of England stood in the centre of the hall of Pendinnis Castle, holding the letter in trembling hands. She looked about the great chamber, first at her beloved fifteen-year-old son, Charles, and then to their advisers and protectors, Sir Edward Hyde, John Colepeper and Thomas Howard, Earl of Berkshire. Honest men all, and loyal in an age when it seemed to Henrietta Maria that loyalty was a forgotten concept.
    “It comes from my lord my husband,” she said, unnecessarily.
    Hyde bowed his head, hiding his impatience. “Majesty, what does our king command?”
    Tears filled Henrietta Maria’s eyes, and Charles moved to her side, resting a hand on her arm. Even at fifteen he towered over his mother, and his physical presence was such that Henrietta Maria instinctively leaned against him.
    “He commands,” she said, “that I take our son Charles and flee this realm.”
    There was an appalled silence. King Charles must think matters desperate indeed.
    “No!”