Queen by Right Read Free Page A

sad.” With nine brothers and sisters and several half siblings, she could not conceive of being so alone. She wondered where his sister had been sent and murmured a prayer heavenward for the girl to be as fortunate as Richard in her enforced placement at a stranger’s hearth.
    Cecily saw that Richard was impressed by the many crenellated towers that graced Raby Castle. The towering stone barbican’s portcullis was unneeded in this peaceful corner of England. Raby was not on the major road to the border with Scotland, unlike the earl’s principal seat of Brancepeth a dozen miles away.
    Cecily was too young to remember the only armed men to be seen at Raby during her lifetime—other than her father’s guard—those who had left the castle to fight with Henry of Monmouth in France. She had been born just before that young king’s thrilling victory at Agincourt. Who could have guessed that only seven years later, in his mid-thirties, the fifth KingHenry—affectionately dubbed Good King Harry by his subjects—would be dead of the bloody flux? He had only just done his duty by his royal French bride, Catherine. He had sired an heir nine months before his death, which had “set the cat among the pigeons,” Cecily had heard her father say. A child king would mean a regent and in-fighting, Ralph had explained, “and who will now maintain our renewed hold on France?”
    “Do you always dress that way?” Richard said to Cecily, catching up with her as they rode through the gatehouse and into the busy outer bailey. “I thought you were a boy. I have not seen a girl in man’s garb before.” Cecily bristled as he continued, “I thought ’twas against God’s laws.” He did not wait for an answer but threaded his way deftly through the throng of yeomen, stewards, grooms, and squires going about their tasks and then dismounted with practiced ease.
    Cecily frowned, reminded of her mother’s remark. But she loved the freedom the braies gave her, and she had often secretly wished she had been born a boy. She called out in defiance to the young duke, “Have no fear, my lord. You will see me in a gown within the hour.” As if he were still in doubt, she removed her chaperon to show off her golden hair. Once freed, it spilled over her shoulders and down her back. The transformation made him smile for the first time, and Cecily liked the way his eyes crinkled up. She decided she might make friends with him after all.
    “Shall I see you at supper, my lord?” Cecily asked, and seeing Richard nod, she skipped off up the newel stair to her own chamber high in the keep.
    C ECILY DID NOT see Richard again for a week, and when she did bump into him on her way to the stables, he was engaged in swordplay with her thirteen-year-old brother, George. Judging from the laughter and good-natured bantering from the other young would-be squires in the care of the experienced master of henchmen, John Beckwith, Richard was fitting in without difficulty. George was a formidable opponent, but it was clear that Richard had already received good instruction in the use of the small stick sword and was gaining ground despite his slighter stature. Cecily waved as Richard sprang out of the way of George’s lunge, and he was momentarily distracted, allowing George to thrust his wooden weapon right at the heart.
    “Aha!” George mocked, encouraging the others to tease the embarrassed Richard. “I see you already have an eye for a pretty girl, Dickon!” He swung around to face his sister. “Have a care, Cis. Doing what you did could be the death of a man one day,” he admonished her.
    Cecily’s smile faded into a pout. She hated George scolding her, which wasn’t very often, as he had adored his baby sister from the day she was born. He was her favorite brother, and she strove to win his approval.
    “A pox on you, George!” she retorted, close to tears. Avoiding Richard’s gaze, she turned toward the passageway that led to the stable