The Forgotten Princess (Forgotten Royals)

Chapter Twelve

Our journey to my aunt was more comfortable since she sent men to escort us. After a year of unchanging walls and rough soldiers, Eleanor's eyes went wide at the fine horses and young men with beautiful cloaks and even more beautiful manners. It broke my heart that she had grown used to being treated as nothing but a poor relation.

"Oh, thank you ever so much, good sir!" she said as one fellow helped her mount the horse.

A sigh escaped me. When we had a moment alone, I would have to talk to her about remembering her dignity. Then again, I might leave it alone. It was approaching Christmastide, and last year she was alone while mourning Mama. She didn't need a killjoy sister.

As we left Usk in the dust, I had even less inclination to play the part of magistra with Eleanor. A heady sense of freedom enveloped me as we rode down the road. I let the brisk breeze take away my worries as excitement jolted my veins. Instead of fearing tomorrow, I decided to live in the moment.

But I was cautious with the men, never showing any encouragement. At least they were more respectful than my stepfather's men and they didn't mind sharing news. Most of it was old, regarding Princess Phillippa's wedding. I had firsthand accounts from Richard, but never once mentioned it. Instead, I played the game, teasing the men just enough during the journey so they might lower their guard. Then one morning before we departed, I took my chance and asked about my brothers.

Our escort, George, crinkled his brow as if he were asked an unsolvable riddle. "I've heard they're still at Pevensey for their education."

Education, my arse. But I smiled while giving a slight shake of my head toward Eleanor, who was opening her mouth. A year together in enemy territory had taught my sister to read signals, and she turned back to her horse, singing to him as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"I've heard the Prince of Wales is sending them a gift for Christmas," George added.

I clapped my hands. "How kind of His Grace!"

But the news dimmed my joy. Any favor shown to my brothers should be encouraging, yet something felt off to me. I feared Prince Hal was only trying to alleviate any guilt of the part he played in depriving them of freedom. This indicated that they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, and I wanted to scream in frustration. Nobody was picking up the Mortimer banner. No one cared about their cause. None of our old allies ever reached out to me. My aunt's invitation was another sign that the Lancasters had no worries about us. Her husband never would have permitted it if there was support for our family.

Only Richard made an effort. I almost laughed at what I had told him during his last visit. It was even more ridiculous now to think that there was any chance to overthrow the Lancasters, no matter how much I wanted it. My cheeks grew red, not from the frigid air, but the utter embarrassment of my past prideful words. Richard had accompanied a true princess to wed a king. The forgotten girl from the gatehouse must seem like nothing next to her.

Despite having a suitable escort, it was hard to feel like Lady Anne de Mortimer again. When we arrived at the castle, the courtyard was full of visiting gentry, dressed in the latest fashions. Two young women walking past caught sight of me in my threadbare cloak and pointed with giggles. I was unsure if they even recognized me. All they saw was a young woman who didn't belong.

But Aunt Joan practically ran outside to greet us, her welcoming words tumbling out like a rushing river. Despite her enthusiasm, she never lost her dignity. She had all the pride of my mother's family and had never been brought as low as Mama. The resemblance to my mother almost made me burst into tears. My memories of Mama were stained by her dying days and sometimes I could only picture her pale skin and the blood pooling around her. Aunt Joan brought back the image of my lively, commanding mother, even though they were very different. Only twenty-five, she felt more like an older sister and I could hardly believe this young woman was married to a hard man like Lord Willoughby. Garbed in an emerald houppelande with gold stitching and a matching headdress, she greeted us like days had passed instead of almost two years.