The Historical Fictioneers are excited by the success of our anthology of short stories, Betrayal. It is a FREE download on all platforms from twelve accomplished writers who explore historical yet timeless challenges.
AD455 - Roman leader Ambrosius caught in a whirlpool of shifting allegiances.
AD940 - Alyeva and cleric Dunstan navigate the dangers of the Anglo Saxon court.
1185 - Knight, Stephan fights for comradeship, duty and honour. But what about love?
1330 - The powerful Edmund of Kent enters a tangled web of intrigue.
1403 - Thomas Percy must decide whether to betray his sovereign or his family.
1457 - Estelle is invite to the King of Cyprus's court, but deceptin awaits.
1483 - Has Elysabeth made the right decision to bring Prince Edward to London?
1484 - Margaret Beaufort contemplates the path to treason.
1577 - Francis Drake contends with disloyalty at sea.
1650 - Can James Hart, Royalist highwayman, stop a nemesis destroying his friend?
1718 - Pirate, Anne Bonny, her lover, Calico Jack, and a pirate hunter. Who will win?
1849 -/present - Carina must discover her ancestor's betrayer in Italy or face ruin.
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My story, House Arrest, is set during the reign of Richard III while Margaret Beaufort was imprisoned at Lathom as punishment for treason. The three books that make up The Beaufort Chronicle follows Margaret's life as she negotiates the perils of the war of the roses. Book One, The Beaufort Bride covers her childhood and her first marriage to Edmund Tudor, up until the birth of her son, Henry Tudor. As part of our Betrayal celebration I am pleased to offer the kindle download of The Beaufort Bride at 99p for a short time.
The Beaufort
Bride
Judith
Arnopp
As King Henry VI slips into insanity and the
realm of England teeters on the brink of civil war, a child is married to the
mad king’s brother. Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, takes his child bride into
Wales where she discovers a land of strife and strangers.
At Caldicot Castle and Lamphey Palace
Margaret must put aside childhood, acquire the dignity of a Countess and,
despite her tender years, produce Richmond with a son and heir.
While Edmund battles to restore the king’s
peace, Margaret quietly supports his quest; but it is a quest fraught with
danger.
As the
friction between York and Lancaster intensifies the 14-year-old Margaret is
widowed and turns for protection to her brother-in-law, Jasper Tudor. At his stronghold in Pembroke Margaret gives
birth to a son whom she names Henry, after her cousin the king.
Margaret is
small of stature but her tiny frame conceals a fierce and loyal heart and a
determination that will not falter until her son’s destiny as the king of
England is secured.
In the following excerpt from The Beaufort Bride,
Margaret is six months pregnant and has just had word that her husband has been
imprisoned in Carmarthen castle and likely to die of pestilence. She persuades
Jasper to take her to him.
Another
long road. Another jolting,
disheartening journey in the litter. Try as I might to persuade him, Jasper is
unbending.
“You
will ride in the litter or not at all,” he says, attempting to soften his harsh
words with a quick smile. Pouting like an unruly child, I gather my cloak about
me and clamber into the detested conveyance. I sit bolt upright, simmering with
anger for as long as I can bear to. Myfanwy, moonstruck by Jasper’s return,
smiles an apology for my behaviour and tries to soothe me.
“The
journey will not be so long this time,” she says, “and Jasper is only thinking
of your safety, and that of the babe.” She nods toward the dome of my belly and
instinctively I put a hand on it, the contact imperceptibly softening my mood.
“I
know.” Full of resentment, I look out beyond the looped-back curtain.
Mercifully the weather is dry; a chilly bright day, with the sun reflecting on
the puddles left by the last few weeks of rain. The blue skies are a teasing
reminder of the summer so recently departed. Tomorrow, it will rain again.
Jasper
rides at the head of the column. I watch his upright figure, notice how his
head continually moves from left to right as he scans the horizon for signs of
trouble. He is uneasy, not convinced of York’s promise of safe passage, and his
discomfort unnerves me too.
Where
the terrain allows, we follow the serpentine trail of the River Tywi, but every
so often, to avoid marshy terrain, we are forced to higher ground. As we pass
close to Grey Friars, the waterlogged fields about the river are scattered with
sheep. At our approach, they throw up their heads in alarm and abandon their
grazing to hurry from our path. Myfanwy laughs.
“Look
at them. They look like beggars with their grubby woollen fleeces hanging from
their backs.”
I
smile, but I do not care about sheep. In the distance, I have spied the town
gate and beyond it the towers of Carmarthen Castle standing proudly above a
loop at the river crossing.
I
sit up straighter and try to see ahead, as if expecting Edmund to be waving a
greeting from the battlement. But he does not know I am coming; I will be the
last person he expects to see.
I
watch Jasper ride toward the town gate. He leans from his saddle and exchanges
words with the gatekeeper. He takes off his helmet and turns toward me, the
wind tussling his hair which, I notice with a sudden pang, is the exact same
shade as Edmund’s. His brow is creased and, noting his dour expression, I sense
more trouble. My heart sinks as, after a further exchange of words, he turns
his horse and rides back to the litter.
He
slides from his horse.
“Margaret
…” He hesitates, pulls a face and lets out a long breath. “There is pestilence
here. I cannot let you travel farther. It isn’t safe.”
A surge of anger such as I have never known
consumes me; I can feel it rushing uncontrollably through my body, gathering in
my head until I feel it will burst.
“I
will not be kept from him!” I hear myself shout. Tears of rage drench my
cheeks; my fists are clenched tight, my ears ringing with the sudden stress. My
mother would be furious if she witnessed such behaviour, but I am too afraid
and too angry to care. Without ceasing my tirade, I swing my legs toward the
door.
“I
have travelled too far and waited too long to be kept away now. If there is
pestilence here, he may need nursing. I will not allow you to keep me from my
duty.”
I
struggle from the litter and, shrugging Myfanwy’s hand from my shoulder, begin
to hurry along the dirt track, determined to travel the rest of the way on
foot. I do not get far before my ankle turns on a rut in the road. Concealing the sudden sharp pain, I limp on.
“Margaret!”
Jasper, defying all etiquette, strides after me, grabs my arm and forces me to
stop. “You are acting like a child. Get back in the litter. I will take you as
far as Grey Friars, but there you must wait until I discover the situation at
the castle. If it is safe, you can see Edmund tomorrow. For Christ’s sake,
think of your son.”
I
am always being told to think of my child. I think of little else. I am
thinking of him now, in my desperation to liberate Edmund. What will my son be
without his father?
Myfanwy
adds her argument to Jasper’s, her voice soft and silky with persuasion.
“We
can freshen up and rest at the priory. You will feel better tomorrow, my lady,
after a night’s sleep. Edmund will prefer to see you calm and … clean.” She
casts a glance at my mired skirts.
I
pass a hand over my face, knowing I am beaten, knowing they are right. With a
sob of both rage and misery, I allow myself to be turned around and bundled
back into the hateful litter.
As
the horses lurch forward and the swaying of the litter starts up again, I
refuse to look at Myfanwy. I resent her alliance with Jasper. Despite my
situation, I do not miss the warm looks that pass between them, or the excuses
she finds to be with him. She is glad this mischance has befallen my husband
because it puts her in the company of her sweetheart.
Another
religious house, this time run by the Grey Friars. They greet me cordially,
offer what comfort they can and give me lodging in the abbot’s house. The room
is comfortable, well furnished, and a welcome fire roars in the grate. Fuelled
with resentment toward her, I cruelly send Myfanwy from my presence. It is
midnight before I regret it. I pass a lonely, miserable night but I am too
stubborn to summon her back, and so I lie awake, staring into the dark.
The
child is quiet, his head pressing on my bladder, so I have to get up repeatedly
to use the close-stool. Each time I return to the bed, the sheets become rucked
into a worse mess and by dawn the blankets look as though a wrestling match has
taken place.
“Goodness,”
Myfanwy exclaims in the morning when she brings me a tray of victuals to break
my fast. “What have you been doing?”
She
bears no malice for my hostility the night before and her cheeks are rosy, her
eyes bright as if she has passed a restful night. While I stare grumpily at my
morning meal, she begins to smooth the sheet and plump my pillows.
“Jasper
will be leaving soon, I expect.” She moves to the window and opens the
shutters, letting a stream of dirty daylight into the room.
I
want to correct her, command her to use his proper title but I am tired, sick
and tired of everything and cannot find the strength. I frown at the hump of my
raised knees beneath the blanket. There must be something I can do, some action
I can take.
I
push away the tray and throw off the covers. “Help me get dressed, Myfanwy. I
cannot face food this morning.”
Cup
in hand, she hovers for a few moments before hurrying to do my bidding. I am
mute during my toilette, but all the while she sponges my face her questions
fall as swiftly as arrows.
“Why
are you in such a hurry? What are you going to do? You don’t mean to defy
Jasper, do you, Margaret? Please don’t do anything …”
“Give
me that.” I snatch the comb rudely from her hand and begin to drag it through
my hair. It catches at the knots, large clumps coming free. “There,” I say.
“Now quickly braid it and tuck it under my cap.”
She
has no option but to obey me, and I offer no explanation. Ten minutes later,
less neat than usual, I am waiting for Jasper to appear in the hall. I hear his
approach long before he arrives.
“Margaret.”
He stops short, instantly wary as he notices my outdoor clothes and my mulish
expression. He tucks his helmet defensively beneath his arm. “What are you
doing here?”
I
can tell by his voice that he knows my intention, but I raise my chin defiantly
before I make an answer.
“I
am coming with you. I will not be sent to my chambers like a child. My
husband’s life may be in peril and I refuse to sit idly by when it is clearly
my duty to be with him.”
“It
is too dangerous.” He comes closer, his brow creased with concern. “I have no
idea what danger we may be riding into. Do you not care about your child or
your own well-being?”
“Of
course I do.” I look him firmly in the eye. “I have spent most of the night in
prayer asking for God’s guidance as to what I should do. He convinces me my
place is at Edmund’s side. Surely, Jasper, you are not so high and mighty as to
argue with God?”
Exasperated,
he looks at the ceiling, and then back at me.
“By
Heaven, Margaret, you could use a spanking.”
I
stiffen, outraged at his discourtesy, but as I open my mouth to make a sharp
retort, I think I detect a tiny spark of admiration in his eye. I close my
mouth again and make no reply as I pull on my gauntlets.
“And
I am not spending another moment in that litter. Have a horse made ready for
me.” I speak over his shoulder to his steward, but Jasper puts up a hand.
“No,
if I have any say in the matter, you will ride with me, my lady, so I can at
least try to keep you from harm.”
As
he ushers me from the room Ned steps forward, seemingly from nowhere. “My lady,
I am coming too.”
A
sigh shudders from deep within me. I do not even turn to look him in the eye.
“Don’t
be tiresome, Ned. Go and walk Jay in the gardens, make yourself useful.”
I
turn again but he tags after me.
“Begging
your pardon, my lady, but I owe you my life, and if you are going into danger
then I am coming with you.” He puts his hand on the dog’s head. “And so is
Jay.”
“Oh,
for Heaven’s sake, you impossible child. Very well, do as you wish. I revoke
all responsibility for you.”
There
is no time to argue. I march swiftly away, Jasper at my side telling me I am
too soft with the boy. I raise my eyebrows but forebear to comment that he
might likewise be too soft with me.
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