Valentine charged up the hill, leading his men, his face pale and unsmiling. Denys tore across the outer court. Her heart pounded as if it would burst.
He unhorsed and she embraced him. “Are you hurt?”
“I am not hurt, but…” His voice broke. He could not look her in the eye. “There is something I must tell you…”
“Wh—what happened? What happened?” she stammered, her thoughts in fragments, her mind addled by the torment of waiting.
Placing a finger over her lips, he finally made eye contact. “Denys—” A sob escaped his throat. “Richard was killed in the battle.”
Her breath halted. “W—what?” She couldn"t have heard right.
He paused and took a deep breath. “Richard is dead. Tudor has won.”
“No. No, Valentine.” She shook her head, stunned by this outlandish revelation. He had to be wrong.
