Feast of Fools (Violent Delights Book 15)

Part 4: December 23, 1445

According to Margret, Queen of England

Well. My husband is not beating the 'attachment solely to fuzzy animals' charges. It's just a good thing I brought a crossbow.
He's out here. No cloak. Cheeks red from cold. Wearing a nice black velvet tunic with a prayer book as his best defense. A hawk so gently perched on his gloved hand. He is letting the hawk gently preen his soft gold hair while he smiles the gentlest smile I've ever seen. So pretty and supremely happy, and kind.
"Her name is Rebecca, isn't she beautiful?" He whispers, he always whispers.
"Yes," I say, watching him let the hawk preen his hair.
The others have drifted off to chat themselves. Jasper and Edmund are chatting with their father who looks like he's showing them how to do it. The Earl of Warwick is no where to be seen and the Exeters are spread out creating a buffer between the Somersets and the Yorks. The Duke of Gloucester blessedly isn't here nor is Cardinal Beaufort.
"I've had her since she was a fledgling. She lives here at Eltham, most of my favorite hawks do, not that the ones at Windsor aren't simply lovely. Aren't you lovely?" He asks, tipping his head as the hawk picks at his hair. "What do you think of the weather?"
"What?" I ask.
"The weather. Is it like the weather in France? Do you have a preferred type of—weather?"
"No, it's warmer, where I'm from, Anjou. But I always liked cloudy days," I say, smiling a little, "Does she catch rabbits?"
"Hm? Yes she enjoys it. I don't like killing rabbits though but all of God's creatures must eat," he says, smiling as the hawk hops to his shoulder amiably, those great talons curved into his soft tunic.
"Does that hurt?" I ask.
"A little, she's very gentle aren't you lovely? Here, back on my arm, you're going to meet my wife," he says, shifting a bit. The hawk hops back to his wrist. "Have you ever hawked before? I'm sorry I'm sure you have I didn't mean you hadn't."
"No, I haven't," I say, holding out my arm tentatively, "My father didn't really, believe in us girls going hunting much. I did want to."
"Oh we hunt all the time—I don't personally care much for it beyond hawking but a ride with the wolfhounds is lovely, I know my brothers enjoy it if you've the mind to go they or my step father would gladly take you," he says, stroking the birds feathers with his bare hand. The beak on the thing is fierce, and the talons, it could easily blind him if it wished. Everyone else is hunting by now. We're standing here talking to the hawk no one else is petting them. "Here would you like to hold her?"
"Yes," I say, holding out my arm.
"Go on, this is my wife, Margret, perhaps you can catch some rabbits for her?" He says, urging it onto my glove. I'm surprised by how heavy the bird is, I can feel the weight of the talons even through my glove.
"There you are," he smiles gently, watching as the bird sizes me up. The beady fierce eyes, ruffled feathers, it looks ready to protect its gentle master.
The bird dips its head and examines me fully, then stretches its wings.
"She likes you," he says, clearly pleased.
"Is that what that means?" I ask, amused.
"Yeah," he smiles lowering his arm a bit, "Ah—what do you think of—weather though?"
"So long as it's not troubling me I don't mind, why are you asking me about the weather?" I ask.
"Pleasant conversation—topic we don't often have the chance to speak our schedules keep us busy and so I wanted us to have a pleasant conversation," he says, voice so soft I can barely hear it past the wind. That lovely beautiful neck, I can see the lines in it, as he tips his head to the side like he does, that sweet smile fading with his nervousness. I remember what Warwick said. His mother wasn't about and he doesn't flirt with girls. He wants to be nice though.
"I am having a lovely conversation, about your pretty bird—yeah you, you know you're a pretty bird," I laugh, as the bird looks at me.
"She might want to go fly around a bit," he says, as it fluffs its wings again, "You can hand her back if you want and I'll let her go play."
I think she's supposed to be hunting. This is about visiting his pets. All right. And he was going to talk about the weather why is all of this making me like him more? That's so unfair. "I can launch her if you'd show me? I'd like to try."
"Sure um—," he fusses with his hands a little.
"Walk behind me, take my arm, show me," I say, because he wasn't moving.
"Oh. Yes. You don't mind?" He asks.
"No," I want you to. "Just guide me."
"Right," he steps behind me, surprisingly firmly putting his arm under mine, hand wrapped around my forearm. "You have to sort of toss her a bit so she knows she gets to go, it's a motion, her hood's off so we're grand."
He moves my arm down a bit, then sharply up. The bird digs in its talons then takes off, sailing low over the ground.
"There," he lets go of my arm, a bit slowly heat rising to his face. My own face feels hot.
"That was fun, she is lovely," I say, smiling, "Do you hawk often?"
"When I can I'm often busy with affairs of state. I have many petitions to read I'm doing that this afternoon—all that's boring. Are you finding your duties all right? Staff sufficient? I'm working on next year's funds," he says, very formally, tugging at his own glove.
"Yes, I mean everything's been good, so far I'm getting used to my duties," I say.
He nods a little, "The weather's very nice today."
"Yes it is. I'm still having a pleasant conversation. I like talking with you—maybe we could set something up? Formal? Informal that is, have a quiet supper together on fast nights," I say.
"Oh I'm fasting—but yes I'd like that if you would, I'm usually boring I'm afraid," he frowns a little.
"I don't find you so, so far. Feel free to bore me," bore me talking that low soft voice with that beautiful curve to his lips and soft sweet sweet blue eyes. They're brighter than the sky, more like starlight invaded them.
"Well I'll try—not to that is," he whispers, "I am sorry about the commotion the other night, my uncle Humphrey—the Duke of Gloucester. Well he's had troubles."
"I wasn't bothered, it was funny actually," I say. Very funny I know for a fact that Cardinal Beaufort put those boys up to that whole charade while his grandchildren pilfered the Duke's room. I did ask why he only brought the two he has three, apparently their mother and the other one and the father were all down with colds, so he took the healthy two to entertain them.
"You weren't?" He frowns.
"No, your family's been quite fun. I like a bit of chaos," I say, smiling.
"Good—I mean we do try to be better. My brothers and young Harry are exuberant but I do enjoy their company," he says moving his hands like he doesn't properly know what to do with them.
"I just—I wanted you to know. So far as my —bed is concerned, I've appreciated my sanctity but it's not necessary I think we know each other better now," I say, watching the way his velvet tunic falls over his lean shoulders.
"No, I mean yes, I mean," he blushes fiercely, "I'll know, we'll know when god is calling us to have a child. We've plenty of time , God will tell us when the time is right I know I've prayed for it as I'm sure you have."
"I've started to pray for it," I say, watching the wind in his hair, "Yes. As you said, God will tell us. I just wanted you to know I felt—spiritually—," his cheekbones "Prepared."
"Good, well as I said God shall tell us," he whispers, firmly.
"Of course," I say, glancing over at him as he watches for the hawk.
"Oh look she's caught something, clever girl, that'll be a nice dinner for you," he says, as the hawk returns bearing a rabbit. A page scurries up to collect the dead animal.
"Do you always fast?" I ask. He has since I've known him.
"Oh yes. When I was a boy my uncle the Cardinal forbid me from it, he'd get cross. But I feel it helps me spiritually, I don't judge those who don't of course," he says.
"No, I often have," I admit. I have since I was girl, "It does clear the mind, a bit." Ever since I turned fourteen I started to gain weight. I didn't like how tight my dresses felt. So I'd fast and I'd lose it. Now my bones stick out. I know girls like me aren't pretty but I've never wanted to be pretty. If anyone calls me pretty I just feel mad. I don't want to be that. "I'm angry a lot think. I don't think I would be if I weren't a woman."
"I'm sad. The hunger makes me think of God. It comforts me," he says.
"I don't like comfort, I want to be happy," I say.
"Are you happy?" He whispers.
"I think I am," I say, smiling over at him, "Yes, I think I'm getting there."