The First Princess of Wales Read Free

lifted one blue-veined hand to the high window ledge. “Down in the walled gardens. Walking, Marta, just holding her lute.”
    Marta made a cluck-cluck with her tongue and whirled to move away. But Morcar’s other hand darted out to stay her as his pale blue eyes held Marta’s troubled brown ones.
    “Losing your chick is hard, I know, but leave her be. She needs some calm before the storm.”
    “What she needs, sir stargazer, be a firm hand to get her in here at her place—without her lute—so that her brother an’ his comrades will not be out a sorts when he comes down all champin’ at th’ bit to be off and neither Joan nor her lady mother are about the hall.”
    “The Lady Margaret will be out only at the last minute, Glenda says, and we must hope there will be no pitiful scene. All those long years in that room—ah, she is a mere ghost of the lady we all remember. She is eaten by thoughts of revenge still, though she drifts in a fantasy world of her own making sometimes. This desire to take the vows of the Poor Clares of St. Francis and live cloistered in London for her last years—I pray it is for the best.”
    “But ye read th’ stars, Morcar,” Marta could not resist the gibe. “Can ye not truly read whether or not it be for th’ best?”
    He looked away, back out the window, and a wan smile lifted his thin lips and the white mustache that covered his mouth. “Ah, aye, of course. And that is my own special agony. It has been and will yet be.”
    Marta moved a step closer to the old man and lowered her voice. “Ye read th’ planets for Lady Margaret last week, did ye not? And she asked if her taking th’ vows a th’ St. Clares would give her final peace?” Marta pursued.
    “She asked that, aye.”
    “And Lord Edmund said ye assured her she’d be finding final peace there with the St. Clares in London.”
    “Aye, Mistress Marta, true enough.”
    “Then why do ye not show a little joy for them? Lady Margaret to the peace she ha’ never found sin’ her lord ha’ been murdered and my Lady Joan to better things. Aye?”
    Morcar nodded at the window but his eyes seemed to glaze over again. “But at the moment, she is so untouched, so free, so peaceful, Marta.”
    “Joan?” Marta’s birdlike hand darted out from under the cloak to grasp Morcar’s wrist. “My Lady Joan? Did ye read her signs, too? She said naught of it. What is it? What did ye see? She will come to no harm at th’ court that slew her father?”
    “Calm your feathers, Marta.” Morcar’s papery thin voice came to her ears. “I am old, I have seen much, the wheel revolves from fortune to fall to fortune again for all of us.”
    “Aye, but for Joan—”
    With an amazing amount of strength for his frail appearance, the old man disengaged Marta’s hand. “Leave off, Marta. I hear the lord’s men on the stairs. I have given the Lady Margaret my word and I will not tell Joan what I have read until she is married.”
    “Married? When?”
    “Leave off, I said. I am weary and the great journey has not even begun. I have no wish to leave Liddell, but like the Lady Joan, I am sent for. Remember, maids of Joan’s age are marriageable at great Edward’s court, as well you know, Marta. And surely, Joan will have time at court before she is wed.”
    Marta’s eyes narrowed at Morcar’s suddenly stern profile, and her heart beat very fast. “Wed high or low? The lass be so willful as ye know, Morcar, so passionate—to have things her way.”
    “Aye, but I will say no more.” He turned to face the direction of the door through which issued the rumble of male conversation and laughter. “And, Marta, be not so foolish as to try to question the Lady Margaret herself. She is beset this day with fears for her journey out of her safe sanctuary in that room upstairs. And to tell true, I told her little of the Lady Joan’s charts. What will be will be.”
    He moved away from the window, but ignoring propriety in front of the