Pulled by Roses- A War of the Roses Story

Chapter Fifty-Two

Richard was full of paranoia. He was alone, unsure who was his friend and who was his enemy any longer. The only exceptions were Francis and Thomas, who had remained his loyal followers and friends. Richard literally slept with one eye open at Bosworth, always listening to the men surrounding him.

"He has not been the same since she passed," Francis whispered quietly. "He misses her so; I don't think he has ever recovered."

"Anne was good to him. How could they say he would poison her?" Thomas added. "She raised my niece and nephew as her own. He loved her and she loved him." Francis was silent, letting the air clear before speaking.

"I speak not of Anne. Though, you are correct, she was good to him. Part of him died with your sister." Thomas's throat dried with the mention of Katy. "Part of all us of died with her."

"You saw her that night. I fear I have not had the courage to ask. How was she?"

"Confused, but as herself as she could've been." Francis laughed to himself, "In any other situation, I do not know what he would've done. She did not want him to have Catherine. Had she the strength, she would've fought anyone trying take her baby." Thomas smiled, looking at the ground. John moved in his armor quietly, Thomas watching him.

"They remind me of her. Catherine is quick witted and always willing to take the fall. While John is ready to fight for what he believes in." The conversation drowned out and Richard's eyes shot open, looking around the dark tent. He grasped the knife from his pillow and moved slowly, towards the sounds that had awoken him. A figure stood in the darkness, looking over his plans and humming something familiar.

"Who goes there?" He questioned, listening to the silence. The hum stopped and Richard sighed, believing himself to be mistaken as the figure seemed to vanish. He moved out to Thomas and Francis. "Ensure no one enters without my direct approval."

"Yes, your Grace."

"Father!" John cried, rushing towards him. Richard put his hands on his boy. John's eyes darted to the tree line and back to Richard. "I must speak to you in private." Richard moved towards the tent, John following behind him.

"What is it, my boy?"

"Do you feel it?" Richard paused; something was not right, but he did not know how to describe it. "There was a woman, she told me to go to Ireland with Aunt Ann. She want me to take Catherine and leave you!" Richard's stomach churned, hoping what he believed to come next would not. "I think it is my mother."

"You mother passed years ago, John. Perhaps it was a peasant woman who wandered into the camp." There was silence, and Richard noticed John looking past him. John slid by him to the small portrait of Katy he commissioned after her death.

"Father." John was mesmerized by her dark but kind eyes, shinning auburn hair, and her bright smile, something uncommon but Richard always wished to see again.

"Send out a search party. I want the woman found." John bowed and rushed from the tent, leaving Richard alone again. He listened closely to the hum; one he had danced to on his first visit to Ireland. "Why must you hide from me?" He whispered. Just the small humming floated around him, "I am King now. I command you to show yourself to me." The humming stopped and Richard lit candles slowly.

"And I am dead. You have no dominion over me," her voice danced through the night air. He turned quickly, looking at Katy examining the table. She looked at him, smiling bright in the same red dress he laid her to rest in.

"Not that I did even when you were alive," he teased, moving towards her. He was scared to touch her, fearing it wouldn't seem as real as it did now. Katy reached up and cupped his face, and he kissed her hand as he had done so many times in the past.