Apparent Heirs

By Sandy Burgess

APPARENT HEIRS

Lady Catherine Gordon was born to George Gordon, 2nd Earl of Huntly and his Countess Elizabeth Hay. He was the High Chancellor of Scotland, and with that title and position, came influence. That influence served the family well, as her cousin, King James IV of Scotland needed to ally himself with a claimant to the throne of England.

In this story, Lady Catherine has arrived at a time of matched marriages, dowries, forged political ties, alliances, and anticipated heirs. She finds herself on the cusp of royal title, wealth, and political elevation, only to end up seemingly lost in the annals of history. Was her betrothed truly one of the lost `Princes in the Tower' - Richard of Shrewsbury or was he indeed a pretender dubbed `Perkin Warbeck' by King Henry VII? Travel back in time and discover the perils of a Scottish lass who sought to live, love, and leave her mark on the world. This is a tale of courage, faith, and the strength of one woman and her family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664148383

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Copyright © 2021 by Sandy Burgess.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 12/21/2020

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CONTENTS

About The Book

Prologue

Dedication

Huntly Castle, Aberdeenshire, Scotland

Westminster Palace, London

Aberdeenshire, Scotland

Pembroke Castle

Fotheringay Castle, Northamptonshire, England - 1468

April 1483 – Windsor Castle

April 1483

Tower of London

Burgundy

Sterling Castle July 1495

March 1496

July 1497

London November 1498

Westminster, 1499

November 23, 1499 Westminster/Tyburn

February 21, 1499

June 19, 1500

October 1501

November 14, 1501

April 2, 1502

January 1503 Richmond Palace

Richmond Palace – 1509

May 4, 1509

February 13, 1512

London July 1517

July 1531

September 1533

October 1537

Bibliography

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ABOUT THE BOOK

APPARENT HEIRS

Lady Catherine Gordon was born to George Gordon, 2nd Earl of Huntly and his Countess Elizabeth Hay. He was the High Chancellor of Scotland, and with that title and position, came influence. That influence served the family well, as her cousin, King James IV of Scotland needed to ally himself with a claimant to the throne of England.

In this story, Lady Catherine has arrived at a time of matched marriages, dowries, forged political ties, alliances, and anticipated heirs. She finds herself on the cusp of royal title, wealth, and political elevation, only to end up seemingly lost in the annals of history. Was her betrothed truly one of the lost ‘Princes in the Tower’ – Richard of Shrewsbury or was he indeed a pretender dubbed ‘Perkin Warbeck’ by King Henry VII? Travel back in time and discover the perils of a Scottish lass who sought to live, love, and leave her mark on the world. This is a tale of courage, faith, and the strength of one woman and her family.

~ ~ ~

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PROLOGUE

T he story of Lady Catherine Gordon is one that has gone down in the history as one of the forlorn and duped medieval ladies who went blindly into an arranged marriage for political gain with family elevation and the plan failed all concerned miserably. Based on the many wondrous works that are now available, I have attempted to chart this course, which Lady Catherine took on her path to making her way in a most uncertain world during which was most certainly a very tumultuous time.

As is the way with all historical fiction, there are most certainly liberties taken where gaps in known facts exist. The great mystery of the ‘Princes in the Tower’ has travelled down through time for over five centuries and the debate stirs great emotion in many supporters of each faction. My personal favorite friendly rivalry is between the highly esteemed and world-renowned authors and historians Mr. Matthew Lewis and Mr. Nathen Amin. Whether the two York princes were spared, had survived or were victims of regicide and Perkin Warbeck was indeed an imposter and not the lost Prince Richard of York are points enjoyably debated between these two legendary gentlemen. I have gleaned from their own works and perspectives and have attempted to put myself in the mindset of a young girl seeking love, truth, and happiness.

Apparent Heirs being a historical fiction novel is based on and inspired by actual historical figures and events, which transpired in history involved with them. Historical fiction is set in a real place, during a historically recognizable time. The details and the action depicted in this particular story are a blend of actual events and ones from the author’s imagination as I have endeavored to fill in the gaps. With this particular 500-year-old mystery, there are indeed many. Main characters within are based on real people and there are also guest appearances of fillers to bring these characters together and hopefully cause our tale to flow. This enables the facts to be brought to life while telling a unique story to you, the dear reader.

My cover art is graciously created by Dmitry Yakhovsky. I have never been more honored or humbled than to have an individual with his highly distinguished talent agree to accept my commission. There were precious few contemporary renditions of Lady Catherine Gordon’s likeness. Dmitry worked relentlessly and as always; his finished masterpiece was truly breathtaking. I invite you to further explore his vast array of artistic treasures at: https://www.deviantart.com/entar0178.

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at Xlibris Publishing.

DEDICATION

Apparent Heirs, in keeping with the strength of Lady Catherine Gordon’s character, is dedicated to two of the strongest women I know.

First, to my daughter Melissa. The road we have travelled together has often felt like something of a medieval battlefield, sprinkled with a castle here and there, a brief appearance of a well-meaning knight in shining armor and occasional peaceful fields of clover and thistle. I pray that you draw on your own strength that you know comes from God. Remember always that you can reach Heaven from your knees when you get knocked down. We never stay down long, so never lose hope. We are here to please an audience of One and He is all that matters.

Second, to my dearest lifelong friend Lorrie. You encouraged me to tell you the smallest details from a school bus window since the age of four and then write it all down. You have cheered me on chapter by chapter – on paper and in life. There is not a trial, tribulation, or celebration you have not shared with me. There is not a phone call or visit you have neglected to make over these many, many years. God gave me the most treasured sister when he sent you to me that first day of school. What a journey it has been and will continue to be.

Thank you both for being a rock to lean on, cry on, rejoice and dream with. I love you both to the moon and beyond.

Finally, it is with humble thanks that I acknowledge a dear friendship from Lady Catherine Gordon’s own Clan Gordon – Talmadge and Sheron Wilson. Your kindness and friendship mean the world to me. As sojourners in this wilderness of life, you have both offered yourselves as the kindest souls who illuminate the love of God in all you do. It is my most sincere wish that I have honored in even the smallest way, your beloved kinswoman. Agus gum beannaicheadh Dia thu fhèin a chumail. God bless you and keep you.

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Huntly Castle, Aberdeenshire, Scotland

T he cool morning wind gently stirred the thick lying-in tapestries he saw hanging in her windows. He had gone through nine of these waiting spells with his first two wives, and this was the third go at it with Elizabeth. Glancing up with quiet hope, the thick leather reigns of his best hunting horse waited for him in his squire’s hands. He wondered if perhaps this time God had heard his prayers for a son from her. She had proved to be a rare find – position, advancement and a beauty who was genuinely happy making him happy.

Earl George Gordon of Huntly and Sutherland gazed over the courtyard at the meticulously manicured gardens his position had graciously afforded him at the tender age of ten years. He had inherited his earldom and lands as a young lad and now enjoyed the rents they brought in and the loyal tenants eager to serve their Laird. He was the wealthiest and most powerful landowner in the highlands. His own holdings and fortune esteemed him as all but a crowned monarch in his own right. He remained humble and faithful to God and those who served the crown with him. He commanded the work of the land by devoted tenants who would muster at his signal. A devout Roman Catholic, he had ridden into battle many times with those of like mind to defend the faith. While he was not as literate as his first wife Elizabeth, the middle-aged Laird was still extremely agile and adept with his weapons of war. He took pride in supporting the Church as Lord Chancellor of Scotland. If all his work and sacrifice for such a cause had meant anything to the Almighty for Whom he rode out time and again, He would bless his efforts so that his name and title could be made secure in these most uncertain times.

Appointed by King James III to keep peace among the clans, he held a most admirable level of respect. In this life, heirs for titles and gain, high-yielding crops along with funds to pay dowries for his abundance of daughters in well-connected families was all he could hope to accomplish. That and a glorious death in battle for a most noble cause would nicely tie up his legacy.

A screeching hawk brought him back out of his pensiveness to his patient, dutiful squire Ian and his inquiry as to his wishes for a hunt or just a ride out. Dinnae fash, the Countess is well advanced in her pains and the wee bairn is likely to present itself soon. Best not to ride out so far if she is delivered of a young laird. Ye dinnae want to be verra far from the castle when we sound off the canons to announce the joy, he added hopefully.

The lad had been barely breeched himself. He knew from experience that a ride out on the Earl’s own meant far less tasks to perform for him. His presence would only be necessary for a hunt or a ride about the lands when rents would be collected or to settle a dispute amongst the clans or the tenants. He could catch a bit of shuteye on the sweet, soft hay in the stall until he would hopefully rise in time to meet the sound of approaching hoof beats. He slept well enough in his cot in the simple little room off the main stable. He was not hard tasked by any means, but when the Laird was such an important person and had so many fine folks attending him and paying visits, it was expected that every effort was to be made to have all aspects of his duties be beyond reproach. Any opportunity for a nap was a gift and Ian was grateful to accept each one. His own parents were gone – his Minnie taken in childbirth and with his Da unable to pay a governess or even a wet nurse for him early on as he was obliged to ride out with Earl Huntly to battle and sadly fell before Ian’s fifth name day. The ever-present charity that flowed from the Countess’ heart spilled over to him. Her tender heart took compassion on him and she offered her own wet nurse and had persuaded her husband to take in the lad in exchange for labor when he was old enough. In the meantime, he toddled around the nursery with her own children and he had been taught early to read, write and recite the Holy Scriptures.

He mounted the well-tooled saddle that had been his battle throne, nay his very pulpit when addressing those he rode off to battle with, those he defeated and rode into victory on with Clan Gordon. He decided to ride out alone in thought. The soft, leather reins felt like velvet ties in his seasoned hands. The time he spent trying to bring forth honorable issue to intertwine with all worthy nobility with his first wife was behind him. He and his Countess Elizabeth had wed on 12 May 1476 with much ado despite the dampening rains. Clansmen from far and near appeared in their finest plaids for the wedding. He recalled the vision of her standing in front of the church that day. Every detail of her fine gown paled in comparison to her beauty. The carefully beaded thistles and the embroidered Celtic knots on her sleeves that were so delicately highlighted in the costly golden thread. The family tartan under the cloak honoring her clan was a fitting tribute. His eyes darted from the onlookers admiring his bride into her sapphire blue eyes. She locked her gaze with him and for that one moment, not another soul existed. He watched her chest heave a great breath as if to begin a huge undertaking with the oncoming of the next step. The music began, and she took the first steps down the aisle on her father’s arm, making her way to his side.

His thoughts drifted back to his bride. She was the daughter of the 1st Earl of Errol and was faithful as well as resourceful in all their undertakings. No matter how many cradles were filled in the nursery there was one hole in his heart that would never be filled. John. The thought of his son’s head on that pike still tore his heart asunder. The very memory brought chills down his already tingling spine. He thought that since he had loyally served the church and his king since he was old enough to properly sit a horse to ride out to battle or bend a knee to swear fealty, he would be rewarded with at least one sturdy heir. Every other reputable Scot in his and the neighboring clans enjoyed a full nursery of male heirs. The occasional bonnie lass was suitable for well-matched alliances for political gain, position and land holdings and he gave them their fair weight. However, there were times when he was sure that tripping over one more scrap doll or flowers removed from his vast garden for use in hair garlands or decorating a May pole would send him over the edge to make his pleas to The Almighty in person.

Feeling the warm sun on his face, watching it begin to dry the morning dew from the ferns near the small pond, he began to think himself lucky. Perhaps the encouragement of Ian had lightened his spirits of doubt and he felt that nothing would be more fulfilling than to have to race back at the speed of recklessness to greet what he hoped would be a healthy, strapping lad. He mounted and held up a single hand, gave a kind nod and a wave off to the squire to stay back and he started his slow trot to the fields alone. It would be good to be amongst his tenants when young Ian came racing after him with news of his wife’s healthy delivery. These people – his people, had named their own children after them both as tribute, and the thought of the congratulatory handshakes, well wishes and other acts of genuine kindness that would be shown at the news of the birth filled his head with warm, hopeful dreams.

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T he smallest gleam of sunlight invaded the darkened room like an unwelcomed thief. After having her ears clapped by the midwife, a young chambermaid hurried over to close the latch on the window that had been only briefly opened to let in some fresh air. The nearly depleted tapers were now being dutifully replaced and the midwife gave a menacing scowl to the young maid for daring to tempt fate and allow a few more rays of sunlight in than permitted when the strictest protocol for lying in demanded little to no sunlight.

As the pains came on stronger, the mid-wife brought her a small bit of ale mixed with some concoction of bitter herbs to take the worst of the pain away. In truth, it caused a bit of delusion that Elizabeth Gordon was not fond of, but if it took her away from this feeling of her insides being ripped apart from the inside out, she would abide the poor taste. She tried not to think of the women tenants who had been lost in childbirth. This was dangerous business, but she at least was fortunate enough to have been wonderfully matched to a wealthy husband who could afford a physician who was at the ready should the midwife need assistance. After being sent into her confinement in all reverent splendor, the only members of the household to attend her were women unless the unthinkable were to occur. Should the delivery go on too long and not progress, the task of the physician was to take the bairn – especially if it were believed to be male, and the mother would need to be given Last Rites and Confession. Should the bairn be too weak and not survive, a quick Baptism would be necessary. When word ever came to her of a difficult birth among their tenants, she made it a point to send Maude, a highly skilled midwife to assist and there was frequently the honor of a namesake for her kindness.

While the scurrying women flew about the room making ready the small cradle, piling up more pillows behind her to force her to sit up to push the anticipated heir out into the waiting arms of the midwife, she was sure that she could not go on another minute. With the darkened room, she never knew if it was day or night and she longed to fill her lungs with fresh air and not be constricted by the enormous life that had taken up every bit of her small frame. She could scarcely eat without feeling as though she would burst after just a few mouthfuls and found herself short of breath often when all she did was take a few steps to the chamber pot. Then at last, the midwife’s eyes grew wide and her face intent on the business at hand. I can see the hair! This wee one will be amongst us verra soon!

Elizabeth felt the strong need to push and did so forcefully. She screamed with each tightening of her belly. Her screams echoed through the halls and as anxious members of the household tried to busy themselves, they ran back to the outer doors of her chambers each time she screamed in hopes of hearing the wails of a fresh, new cry. Halfway there now M’lady … but – her voice cut off as she saw the cord around the tiny neck. Something had to be done quickly to slip it off before it choked the air out of this little body and there was still no cry yet.

Maude reached onto her small table of wares and put her hand into a jar of pig grease and quickly slathered it around the baby’s neck, covering her knobby yet skilled fingers with just enough of the concoction to slip the cord off as the rest of the child was delivered with one final, gut wrenching scream that came from her exhausted lungs. Then the anticipated squall that was likely to shatter the glass bellowed and like a flock of geese converging on a tiny bit of breadcrumbs, they huddled around and wrapped up the new arrival.

Cries of relief mingled with the lingering pangs of fleeting agony and gasping for her first full breath of air in months, the Countess slowly unclutched the rich bed linens she had clung to for the past several hours. Her pale face peered about the room and queried every pair of eyes in her sight. As she worked her aching fingers back from the cramping and numbness, Elizabeth watched the wet nurse begin dutifully wiping off the baby and strapping the tiny body to the swaddling board. Her anxious heart was beating wildly now out of excitement for the safe delivery of a child. In and of itself, there was a fair amount of pride in enduring a long labor and both mother and child to survive. Her ladies were busy trying to remove her holy girdle she had worn for her other successful deliveries, change her birthing gown and linens when Maude had cracked the door to the bedchamber just barely enough to whisper to a waiting priest and a messenger waiting to fetch the Earl with the news. Sarah, the wet nurse was stretching out the last of the strips of cloth for the swaddling board when Elizabeth asked to see the child. I would hold my laird’s heir now, she asserted. Bobbing a quick curtsy, she eased over to the bedside that was now freshly made and smelled much like the fragrant rushes strewn in the chamber and hallways to mask the thick, pungent air. As the wee bundle was placed into her waiting arms, she looked into the bright blue eyes and took in the delicate features of a most beautiful face. Glancing up at Maude, she still questioningly looked to her for confirmation. Aye, ‘tis a verra bonnie lass … healthy and strong. And she knew she again had not met her husband’s expectations by bearing him yet another daughter.

She leaned in close and whispered into the soft, pink ear so no others could hear save her own, Ye are a treasure to himself and to me. God will see to your future. He has a far grander purpose planned. She held her daughter, softly caressing her rosy cheeks with her own as a stream of tears wetted the brand-new cherubic face. I shall call her Catherine, for it seems to suit her. Tis the name of verra many noblewomen, ye ken.? The French maid Joan of Arc herself clung to the Blessed Saint Catherine and surely she will guide her steps as well. Indeed, the maid Joan had herself been bidden by Saint Catherine of Alexandria, Saint Margaret of Antioch, Gabriel, and Michael the Archangels when she led France to victory after glorious victory until the turning of treacherous tables and she was burned at the stake for her faith in those sacred, guiding voices. The ladies of her household nodded in agreement and set about brushing her chestnut hair and clearing out the remains of the birthing business and returning the room to a tidy, elegant bedchamber.

Maude bustled about the room after the ladies to finish preparing the presence chamber and the newly delivered lass to be presented to himself when he returned. She thought to herself that it could be quite a delay in his entrance as there was still no lad in the cradle, which now held another candidate for clever matchmaking and one more claim to the family coffer for a dowry. She contemplated her most valiant efforts to save the wee one from strangling and wondered if she had known how yet another disappointment waited at the end of that cord, would she have been so keen on giving it her best efforts. Ach, ‘tis of no use fretting about it now. These noblemen would have their wives barely churched and back into confinement all over again as oft as a brooding mare, she mumbled to herself.

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W ith the sun flickering through the branches like lightning, Earl Huntly squinted to see the cloud of dust forming on the far field. Following the stirring of soil from Ian’s horse, it drew closer to the small incline where he sat overlooking the richly grown fields that were ripe and ready for harvest. His heart raced as he anticipated news of his beloved Elizabeth. Had God seen fit to bring them a lad to sit beside him on a pony as they rode out together, travelling to tenants and towns? Ach … but it seemed like the lad was all but crawling on that steed. Had he mounted but a mule to bring him word or was time just moving so very slowly, to draw out the anticipation? Another test from God, he presumed. He straightened up in his saddle, squared away his riding coat and contemplated drawing a quick nip he kept in his saddlebag but decided that he was likely to choke on anything thicker than the crisp fresh air rapidly filling his nostrils amid his own anxiety.

Breathless, Ian called out to his Laird with all the volume a young lad could muster after bouncing in the saddle at such speed. Ho! Earl Huntly! ‘Tis all over now! He felt the blood leave his face. ’Over?’ What is your meaning, lad?!? The man was sure his heart had stopped right in his chest and he imagined the worst fate for his beautiful Elizabeth. Ian kicked his heels harder into the sides of the horse, and instantly realized that perhaps he could have worded his response more carefully.

Earl Huntly slowly aligned his horse with the now taut reins towards his oncoming squire. The lad slid off his saddle before the horse came to a full stop, causing him to tumble head over heels in the grass and lose his own reins in the thick heather. Breathless, he snatched his hat from the ground and brought it to his chest as he tried again to deliver the long-awaited news. My Laird, the Countess has been safely delivered of a bonnie lass! They are waiting for word to ring the bells at the abbey to announce it if it pleases ye. Still kneeling and attempting to pick the pieces of hay and disrupted clover that were now covering his clothing, the Earl looked down and felt a mixture of amusement, disappointment, and relief. The sight of his young squire rolling towards him and the reality that there was yet another lass in the nursery paled in comparison to the relief that she was well. Get ye back on the horse and ride on to the abbey then, lad! he called. Aye! I will see to it straight away! ‘Tis a gift o’God, a healthy bairn … and the Countess in such fine health … Ian rattled on and Earl Huntly stopped him before the lad got the vapors from rambling on without stopping to take air between his babblings. He gently clapped the coppery curls in his hand affectionately. Breathless, Ian climbed back up into the saddle and headed back across the field, swatting at the horse with his hat as he kicked the stirrups. The sun was rising higher into a noonday sky and it was heartwarming for him to be riding with such a purpose and authority carrying word to ring the bells. It would bring honor to the Countess and truth be told, a bit of consolation. When the weight of responsibility weighs heavily upon one’s shoulders to bring their husband a son and the Lord saw fit to provide otherwise, the emotions can run through a wide range of guilt, sorrow and even loss.

Ian slowed down to a respectful gallop as he felt it would not be taken kindly to for him to ride at full speed and make another landing at the Priest’s feet. He was friendly enough but stood for no nonsense on the grounds where the Holy Scriptures were so fervently instilled in his parishioners. Father Moore came to the door in his dark robes and the anticipation of the squire’s news could be seen on his face. Ian dismounted far more gracefully than before and brushed himself off as he hurriedly looped the reins loosely to the post. He hurried over to him, crossing himself and kneeling as he waited for a blessing. They could never hurt, Ian thought, and it gave him a moment to catch his breath. Father Moore placed his large hand on his tousled head of unruly locks and solemnly spoke the words that warmed his heart, Bless ye, my son. What news have ye to give? Ian rose up and said, Countess Huntly has been safely delivered of a bonnie lass, and the Laird asks for ye to kindly ring the bells and say a Mass for them in thanks to God. A seemingly blank expression covered the priest’s face. He quietly wondered to himself why all the celebration when the woman clearly did not produce the long-awaited heir, and hence another dowry to pay for. How many more parcels would the Earl have to divide his lands up for these mishaps of nature? He took in a deep breath and said, So we shall do, lad. Now off to your Ladyship and see if your help is needed in the household. Godspeed.

Ian rode off towards the house and sat just a bit taller in his saddle, having had the great business of alerting all with the bells of the Earl and Countess’ blessed event. He smiled to himself hearing the pealing music in the distance as he cantered into the stables. After he got the saddle off, watered and put out some fresh grain for the horse, he stopped for a moment to consider how blessed he was to have been taken in to such a great family when he could have ended up in a monastery or a home to house orphans who have no one and nothing but debt and misfortune. He crossed himself and thanked God for the mercies shown in his own life and made his way into the house.

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T he rapid staccato of hoof beats caught Ian’s attention and he leapt to meet Earl Gordon and take his horse into his care. He took the reins with confidence and with a nod, he was off to the stable to water and brush this beautiful creature who seemed to know he held a man of importance in the world.

Heavy, rapid paced boots made their way through the grand entrance as household staff acknowledged him and offered congratulations. He nodded to each and made his way to the bedchamber where his own groom was waiting. Would ye favor a fresh suit a’fore ye - … His words were cut off with a polite refusal and the doors swung open to the presence room of their bedchamber. There with the rays of sunshine glistening like a halo around Elizabeth and a beautifully gowned bundle, he felt a smile spread across his face that lit up her heart. He bowed respectfully as he dismissed her ladies and then closed the door behind them, leaving only Sarah the wet nurse in the antechamber organizing new gowns, and making room for the gifts that would be coming for the newest clan member.

Are ye well? How did ye fare in it all? he asked gently as he knelt beside the massive poster bed with its richly carved designs and the finest linens surrounding his love. Having been able to be properly attired and made as presentable as any doll for display after her ladies attended her so very well, she quietly began to speak. I ken ye were anxious for a lad and I – … He silenced her words with the softest of kisses. "In truth, a lad is what most men desire in this world. I would know that with each blessing you give me, the Good Lord gives you a safe delivery and there’s always more where she came from", he said with a wink. Wondering how she managed to fare so well a fate in a husband who did not blame or condemn her for not producing a male heir, warm tears welled up in her green eyes. Wiping them ever so gently with his thumb as he cradled her face, he assured her that they would have all that God saw fit to provide them with and they would be grateful for that.

Leaning over to gently pull away the bunting from the tiny, pink face and looking into the most beautiful pair of blue eyes and saw that the wee lass made not a peep as she was cradled in her mother’s arms. Ach, but I’ll have t’draw up a new muster list to protect the treasures within these walls in due time I see! She was unusually beautiful and peaceful. Undisturbed and unstartled by the footsteps outside of the doors of anxious well-wishers and household members who would have a peek for curiosity’s sake. Some wanted to see if perhaps the quiet coming from the room meant there had been either a mishap following the birth and the wee one had been taken by the angels following this long delivery and found themselves quite anxious. When the door swung open and Earl Gordon stood with the tiniest Gordon held lovingly in his arms, he raised her up as if he were exalting the Holy Grail and said to them, I give ye the Lady Catherine! Bonnie and fair in disposition and grace! A welcome bloom in our garden of fair flowers! Elizabeth held a hand over her heart, still captivated by this man – this Laird who not only saw to the needs of the Crown and the Church and performed his duties with gallantry in times of discord and battle, but who could touch her very soul in such a singular manner with the simplest gestures of adoration and affection. Great was the love they bore one another, and it was cultivated daily in their growing family.

Cheers went up and glasses of their best wine were poured to toast to the health of Lady Catherine Gordon. All was joyous as the bells could be heard ringing in the distance and Ian smiled, as if they were the very bells of the Vatican City he had ridden out summoning them to sound in celebration. He thought to himself that it was indeed a most happy time to be in the prosperous household of the Clan Gordon. He felt that this child he had ridden out to announce was his special benefactor somehow. He vowed to keep all safe within those walls but was keenly intent on protecting this precious new bairn.

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Westminster Palace, London

J acquetta Luxembourg, Duchess of Bedford beamed warmly at her daughter, Queen Elizabeth. She gracefully glided through the chamber as King Edward IV placed a loving kiss on her cheek. The king took his official leave with his head leaning into that of Dr. Dominic, the renowned astrologer. They had spent a full measure of nine months together consulting charts, viewing stars and the alignment of planets seeking confirmation of a male York heir. While this was a common practice, it was viewed by many as darks arts – witchcraft even and could be easily turned into a chargeable offense.

The scurrying about of her ladies brought to one’s mind the bees in the hive from the beautiful gardens at her childhood home of Grafton Regis. The midwife had been summoned to attend Queen Elizabeth in her confinement. There was no waiting period as she found she could not bear to part with her Edward a moment longer than was deemed absolutely necessary. She went a full three days with the intermittent false pains and early contractions before submitting to the physician’s constant insistence that she take to her bed. When dining with the court and a particularly severe pain struck, she unusually dropped her encrusted goblet spilling her favorite malmsey wine and immediately there was Edward kneeling at her feet. Never had the court beheld monarchs before that were so deeply enamored with one another. He was the light of her world and she was the strong, unwaning stability in his. Elizabeth’s ladies rushed to her side and brought her to her feet. The court rose to their feet as she smiled graciously to them and Edward raised his cup and said with a nervous laugh, To the health of my wife and the impending arrival of the heir to my crown! As cheers rose in the great hall, the music began again and grew fainter as Elizabeth was led into the royal apartments to bring forth their firstborn.

The panicked breathing increased. Her glistening brow being gently mopped by her maid, Elizabeth wailed into the thick evening air. The typically brushed and glistening mane of golden hair was now matted and askew on her scalp and as her mother shushed her through each new pang. Just breathe now … our York prince will be here soon! You’re doing so very well – God will bless us this day – of this I am sure. Scurrying about the chamber was a flurry of maids and her sisters while the revelry of men continued in the great hall as the awaited news of the York heir. The clanging of half full tankards dripping sloppily with ale and the slaps on the back went on into the wee hours of the morning. Some of the courtiers made their way back their bedchambers as servants worked their way around the long tables, recovering scraps for waiting beggars and dogs. Those who remained remotely conscious had propped up on elbows and jolted themselves awake at the slightest noise, thinking the next interruption would be the announcement of the newly arrived York prince.

With a final exhausted push, the long-anticipated child took its first breath of English air. Guided carefully out by the midwife and handed to Jacquetta for the Rivers family inspection – counting fingers and toes and confirming the gender. Not missing a beat, she exclaimed lovingly to the child, At long last! My first grandchild – a beautiful white rose of York! Handing the now swaddled newborn to Elizabeth and smiling through joyous tears, she whispered, Greet your Lady Mother – see how she mirrors your own fair face? Looks exchanged around the room and as the first York heir – a princess, was beheld. A bold rapping on the thick, oak door came and almost immediately, the iron hinges creaked as they swung open wide to permit the King’s entrance. Heavy boots on the stone floor raced to her bedside. Breathless, he clasped her hand in his, peering into the face of the baby swaddled in her arms. With tears in her eyes, she whispered barely audibly, "It’s just a girl – I have only had a girl! I am so sorry it was not a s —….. Holding her face in his large, war worn hands he gently whispered, I am so happy that the two of you are well and God has blessed us with a beautiful princess! He will send many more and sons to follow – of that I am sure! Now take joy in knowing my own happiness that God delivered you both safely, my love!" And with that, King Edward IV carried his firstborn out into the waiting hall in one arm, a jeweled goblet in the other and offered a toast to Princess Elizabeth of York.

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Aberdeenshire, Scotland

A s the warm summer breeze blew her unbound curls, Lady Catherine stumbled through the gardens on the hand of her nurse and encouraged by her sisters. She never wandered as far into the maze of shrubs as they did. She was always cautious and waited for a reassuring glance before taking too many steps away from a watchful eye. The shrieks of laughter were as musical to the Earl’s ears as the soft notes played on Elizabeth’s lute as she strummed gently, then took up her hoop with her ladies as they worked on their needlework to be given to the abbey for distribution among the less fortunate in the highlands. Her delicate fingers seemed to fashion grace with every stitch she made.

Earl Huntly gazed at the shrieking girls stopping to watch a butterfly land and then spring