Wars of the Roses: Bloodline: Book 3 (The Wars of the Roses) Read Online Free Page A

Edward, you should perhaps let him rise on his own.’ Derry had been thinking about the fight pits of London and had spoken without thought.
    ‘Master Brewer?’ Margaret asked, her eyes bright with pride.
    ‘Ah. My lady, men have different views. Some call it honour, to show grace to those you’ve defeated. I think it is just another sort of pride myself.’
    ‘I see – so they
would
have my son raise this lad to his feet?
You
– stay where you are.’
    The last was aimed with a pointing finger at the urchin in question, who was trying to struggle up, his face burning from the attention. The boy was appalled to be spoken to by such a noble lady and slumped back on to the mud.
    Derry smiled at her.
    ‘They would, my lady. They would clasp arms with an enemy and show their greatness in forgiving sins against them. Your husband’s father was wont to do that, my lady. And it’s true his men loved him for it. There’s greatness to such an act, something beyond most of us.’
    ‘What about you, Derry? What would you do?’ Margaret asked softly.
    ‘Oh, I am not such a great man, my lady. I would break a bone, perhaps, or tickle him up with my knife – there are places that won’t kill a fellow, though they will spoil his year.’ He smiled at his own wit, the expression slowly fading under the queen’s gaze. He shrugged. ‘If I’ve won, my lady, I do not want an enemy to come to his feet, perhaps even angrier than before. I’ve found it best to make sure they stay down.’
    Margaret inclined her head, pleased at his honesty.
    ‘I think that is why I trust you, Master Brewer. You understand such things. I will
never
lose to my enemies but hold my honour, if honour is the price. I would choose victory – and pay the price.’
    Derry closed his eyes for a moment, his head dipping as he understood. He had known Margaret as a young girl, but she had been tempered in plots and battles and negotiations into a subtle and vengeful woman.
    ‘I believe you may have spoken to Lord Somerset, my lady.’
    ‘I did, Derry! I chose him to lead my army – and I did not choose a fool. Oh, I know he does not like to ask for my counsel, but he will do so if you force his hand. Young Somerset is a fierce bird, I think, strong in sinew and heart. The men adore him for his roaring. But would his father have made a fool? No. He believes you would have us delay in the north, to gather food rather than to take it, some such concern. My lord Somerset thinks only of reaching London and keeping the men strong. There is nothing wrong with having such a care for my army, Derry.’
    As the queen spoke, Derry hid his surprise. He had notexpected Somerset to swallow his young man’s pride and ask Margaret to rule on the matter. It suggested a loyalty and maturity that, oddly enough, gave Derry hope.
    ‘My lady, Warwick is strongest in the south. His followers are Kent and Sussex men for the most part, those godforsaken, rebellious counties. We must overcome them and either recapture your husband or …’
    His eyes strayed to the two boys as the sticks suddenly clacked again. If King Henry did not survive, almost the entire house of Lancaster would be the seven-year-old prince with a lump over one eye, a boy who was at that moment trying very hard to strangle his opponent to death.
    Margaret’s gaze went with his and then back, her eyebrows raised in question.
    ‘However it turns out,’ Derry said, ‘the king will have to rule England in peace from that day, my lady. With the right tale in the right ears, King Henry could be … Arthur back from Avalon, Richard from the Crusades. He could be the anointed king restored – or another King John Lackland, my lady, with dark tales dogging his steps like shadows. We have left a strip of destruction half the length of England. Hundreds of miles of death and theft, and all those who cursed us will starve now. Children like these boys will die because our men stole their animals and ate their