Chapter Eleven

Lilyrose stared out of the tall, arched window of the Great Solar, where her mother spent most of her free time. From where she sat on the window seat, she could see the top of the chapel below and the gardens beyond. In the distance, at the end of the structured garden, was the ornate gate beyond which lay the walled rose garden.

Her piece of embroidery lay neglected on her lap as she leaned out and peered to the right, which, in her opinion, was the more interesting part of the castle with the stables and armoury. The noise and activity were constant, with horses being led out for exercise or to the farrier, weapons being repaired, orders being shouted to soldiers or stable hands.

The distinct clatter of hooves on cobblestones sounded. Lilyrose angled her body out further as a group of riders came into view. She smiled at the sight of her father in their midst.

Riding with his men, Lionel tended to dress like them, with leather doublet over shirt and dark trousers. Nothing truly set him apart as king for even his cloak was dark like theirs.

As they dismounted, snatches of conversation and laughter drifted up to Lilyrose. In their midst, almost lost because of his shorter stature, was a young boy with short, dark blond hair. He seemed at ease in the men’s company.

The stable boys ran up to take the horses. The boy held on to his horse’s reins and said something to Lionel who nodded. The boy then led his horse away, in the direction of the stables.

“Lilyrose, must you lean so far out the window?”

She turned to her mother who, despite her admonishing tone, was smiling at her.

“Papa’s returned.” Returning her mother’s smile, she got to her feet, her embroidery sliding off her buttercup yellow dress to lie on the floor. “Can we go down?” Stepping across to the girl sat opposite her, she tripped over the basket of needlework on the floor.

“Oh, Lilyrose, have a care.” Eleanor’s smile was replaced with a frown.

“Sorry. Can we go? I think Henry is unsaddling his horse by himself,” she said to the girl.

“What say you, sister?” Eleanor turned to the small woman next to her, her hair the same shade of honey as Eleanor’s but streaked with grey.

Pursing her lips, she narrowed her light blue eyes, tapping her finger against her chin. “Hmm, let me think. This embroidery is taking longer to finish than–”

“Oh, Aunty Sarah, please say yes.” Lilyrose clasped her hands together as she leaned forward.

Eleanor chuckled as her sister, Sarah, replied, “I suppose we’d better say yes or we’ll have no peace.”

“Thank you, my lovely aunty. Come–”

“And?” Eleanor raised a brow.

“And my lovely mother.” She quickly went to her mother’s side, almost fell onto her lap and kissed her on the cheek. Grabbing the girl by the hand, she said, “Come, Margaret, let us be quick and surprise him.”

Giggling, Margaret followed Lilyrose out of the door, barely hearing both mothers telling them not to run.

The highly polished balustrade, the colour of chestnuts, caught brief, brown-tinged reflections of the yellow and navy of the girls’ dresses as they ran, hand in hand, down the wide stairs. They were almost at the last stair when Lionel’s long strides brought him in the tall doors, the usual gleam of his boots dulled by dust from the ride.

“Papa.” Lilyrose raced towards him, her skirts held at a very unladylike height to reveal trousers covering her legs. The servants walking past stepped neatly out of her way. She launched herself at him, knowing he would catch her.

And he did, laughing loudly. “And where are you off to, child of mine? Wait, don’t tell me.” Lowering her to the ground, he assumed an exaggerated thoughtful pose. “Let me think; hmm.”

Lilyrose wrinkled her nose. “Papa. You know where we’re going. To find Henry.”

He threw his arms up. “Oh, I would never have guessed.”

Shaking her head, Lilyrose turned to Margaret, who was still standing by the stairs, and held her hand out to her cousin.

Walking up to them, fingers plucking at her dress, her gaze lowered, she dropped a slight curtsy. “Uncle.”

“I am glad there is one who greets me in a civil manner, without attacking,” said Lionel with a gentle smile.

“I don’t attack.” Lilyrose left her sentence unfinished when she caught her father’s raised brows and pointed look over Margaret’s head.

“Now, off you go. Henry is in the stables. He wanted to unsaddle his horse.”

As they skipped down the steps leading to the courtyard, Lilyrose felt a warmth in her heart at her father’s kindness towards Margaret. She forgot, sometimes, how hard it must be for her cousin to watch Lilyrose with Lionel. Wondering what it was like to no longer have a father, she shuddered, hoping she would never find out.

Lilyrose looked at her slightly built cousin, her straw blond hair immaculately braided. With never a hair out of place, even Margaret’s movements were neat and graceful. Whereas no matter how hard Lilyrose tried, her dresses were always unkempt, and her dark yellow hair was forever escaping her braid, no matter how tightly Tilly did it up.

Margaret glanced at her then looked again, brows raised. “What’s the matter?”

Giggling, Lilyrose shook her head.

“Why are you staring at me then?”

Taking hold of her hand, Lilyrose swung it back and forth in an exaggerated motion. “Well, I was wondering how you always look so neat and tidy.”

Margaret scrunched up her face. “You make it sound like you roll with the pigs.”

She stared then laughed. “But I always look such a mess, especially next to you.”

“No, you don’t, Lilyrose. You always look lovely to me.”

Coming to an abrupt stop, she grinned widely and embraced her. “Oh, Margaret. I’m so happy you’re here, that you and Henry live with us now.”

Even though she returned the embrace, Margaret said nothing.

Lilyrose’s smile faded as she stepped back. “You are happy to be here, aren’t you?”

Sadness clouded her features. “When we first came here, I only wanted to return home; I felt closer to Papa there. But now.” She slowly smiled. “Now I’m happy to be here. This almost feels like home.”

“I’m glad,” said Lilyrose softly.

The stables and armoury were adjoining buildings, open with no doors, a hay loft above the stables. Each horse had its own stall, although come the summer, many of these stood empty as the horses were taken to graze outside. At the far end of the stables were rooms for the stable hands. The area outside the stables was bordered with a wooden fence, making it easier to contain the horses.

As they entered the stables, Lilyrose breathed deeply. She loved the smell, a mixture of horse sweat, manure and meadow grass; strangely, it made her feel safe. Adults and young alike paused in their tasks, bowing as the pair walked past.

They found Henry brushing his bay horse.

“Hello, ladies,” he said as they appeared.

“How did you know it was us?” said Lilyrose, frowning.

“People saying, ‘my lady, my lady’ the moment you came.”

Both girls giggled.

“Did you enjoy your ride?” said Margaret.

He nodded. “Once we reached open ground, Uncle set a fast pace. He didn’t ask me if I could keep up, I think he simply assumed I would.” Henry paused, staring at his horse’s withers before turning to them with a smile. “I felt his trust.”

Even though he was only two years older than her and Margaret, to Lilyrose, Henry always came across as older than his nine years. She wondered if it was because the loss of his father had left him feeling he had to be the man in his family.

But he wasn’t serious all the time. Like now. He put aside the brush, gave his horse one last pat and exited the stall. “What shall we play?” he said, pulling his jacket on over his tunic. “Or do you have lady-learning tasks–?”

“No.” Lilyrose’s protest made him laugh.

“Well, we haven’t finished our needlework,” said Margaret.

Lilyrose gave her a pained look.

“But Mama didn’t say we had to return after seeing Henry,” she finished with a grin and was rewarded with a hug from Lilyrose.

“Then let us continue with our adventures.” Henry left the stables at a run, his sister and cousin following behind.

“Yes,” said Lilyrose. “We will lead our army and defeat the traitor king.”

“To victory.” Margaret raised her arm, waving an imaginary flag.

Laughing, the trio rode their imaginary horses onto the grass and into battle.