Page 52 of The Uprising
In the letter, Cara did her best to embed the message about future death sentences she had warned George about before he left, and she hoped he would not do anything foolish.
The lesson of knowing when to do nothing, but to simply surrender to what was destined to happen, had been a difficult one for Cara to grasp. She was a doer and a fighter. And this time around, it seemed George was the one to be tested and he must learn the same karmic lesson. She wondered whether he would resist his natural inclination to be the hero and try to save Robert and Lord Darcy.
Cara feared he would be back in the Tower if he failed to understand the importance of letting go of his attachment to his friends’ destiny. Anyone who was seen resisting the king’s orders would pay a heavy price during the future culling of the prominent rebels.
Let George not become one of them in his quest to do the right thing.
He had only their brief discussion about her seer’s gift to go on—he wasn’t aware of their five-hundred-year story. The waiting was excruciating; all Cara could rally herself to do after she dispatched the letter to Pontefract Castle, was stare out of the window at the river. Each endless day dragged by as she prayed to see his beloved figure riding up the hill on horseback.
Cara passed a solemn afternoon in the queen’s rooms, seated beside the queen near one of the exquisite oriel windows.
‘Lady Cara, have you any news of your husband?’
‘I haven’t, Your Grace. I don’t know whether he’s still negotiating at Pontefract Castle. Lord knows where he is; I only hope he doesn’t get swept up in the Pilgrimage of Grace if they march.’ Cara leaned towards the queen and whispered her reply. You couldn’t be too careful, and the situation was precarious with the castle residents on edge waiting to hear whether the rebels would accept the offer.
‘There is sympathy for the papist cause; my sources tell me that some of the priests frighten the people with dire predictions of burning in hell if they forsake the pope, their statues, holy days and other customs. I am frightened of the consequences,’ the queen whispered back, looking about her. ‘I know I can trust you to keep my secret.’ The queen’s complexion was pale as clotted cream.
‘Are you feeling quite well, Your Grace?’ asked Cara.
‘I confess I have sorry news which I find I cannot bear alone.’
Cara reached for the queen’s hand and rested her arm around her slim shoulders. ‘You may confide in me, Your Majesty. It’s not good to keep it all to yourself.’
‘This morning I had some bleeding.’ The queen looked at Cara and then lowered her eyes, her pale cheeks now stained with delicate pink dots.
She was but a young, naive women; a virgin before her marriage to the most powerful man in the world. The queen and Cara knew that the marriage’s success depended on her bearing a son for the kingdom. That was the king’s only request.
‘Do you believe you were with child, Your Highness?’ Cara whispered in her ear.
‘I had thought so, yes. These past weeks it filled me with hope, but then this morning my courses returned.’
Cara held on to the queen’s hand. ‘I am sorry for your distress. Does the king know?’
‘No, I didn’t want to tell him until I was certain.’
‘That was wise.’
The queen looked at her, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘I so wish for a child to take this dreadful pressure away. I can’t move without being quizzed about my relations with the king.’
‘I can only imagine, Your Grace. But you did the right thing, and this could be a good sign.’
‘How so if I cannot sustain a pregnancy?’ asked the queen.
‘What you describe is extremely common in the early stages. I am confident you will be fruitful and bear the king the male heir he so desires.’
The queen stopped tearing up and stared at Cara. ‘How can you be so sure I’ll bear a son? You speak with such certainty.’
Cara had to think quickly. She rebuked herself for letting her prediction slip.
‘Let’s just say I have a good feeling about it and I’m rarely wrong about these matters.’
‘It’s true then...’
‘What’s true, Your Grace?’
‘I have long heard that you are special.’
‘Special—in what way do they say I’m special?’
