Leah looked around Andrew’s one-room cottage, rushes strewn on the floor, trenchers and cups piled in a cupboard. Although messy, it looked like he’d tried to make a home out of it. He reached under his straw mattress and retrieved a small battered book.
"My glasses weren"t all I had on my person when I transported. I also had this book I bought in a small bookstore in Derby. It’s the memoir of Percival Lovell, Richard’s best friend. He became one of the best chroniclers of his time. He wrote this just after Richard was killed in the Battle of Bosworth." He opened the book to a folded page. Then he held it out to her. "Read the third paragraph," Andrew said in a low, somber voice.
As she read, her heart sank.
My friend and Richard’s, Hugh Radcliffe, earl of Sussex, was executed for trea
