Rosamund (11 page)

“Sir Owein Meredith,” Rosamund said.

“Ah, a lovely man,” the Countess of Richmond murmured, a small smile touching her lips. Then she said, “My granddaughter’s bodice looks well on you, child.” Her sharp eyes had recognized the garment she had given to her grandchild some months back.

“I have outgrown it,” Meg quickly replied. “My bosom is too full now, but Rosamund is still quite flat-chested.”

Rosamund blushed furiously. She did have breasts! They were just smaller than Meg’s ample proportions. It was most infuriating, especially as the princess was several months younger than she was.

“The bodice suits you,” the Countess of Richmond noted in kindly
tones. Then she turned to her granddaughter. “The Queen of the Scots has a good heart but a thoughtless tongue. No woman wishes to have her attributes compared unfavorably or otherwise, particularly by another woman, Margaret Tudor. I hope that you will recall that when you have come into your own. Scots women, I am told, are extremely proud.”

“I will indeed remember your words, madame,” Meg replied, a faint flush just touching her cheeks, although she looked her grandmother directly in the eye.

“It is time to relieve you from a part of your mourning,” the Venerable Margaret decreed. And the very next morning Meg found a pair of tawny orange sarcenet sleeves on her bed when she and Rosamund awoke.

“Oh,” Meg squealed, picking up the bright silk sleeves. “Tillie!” she called to her tiring woman. “Affix them to my bodice. I shall wear them to mass. They are from grandmama, I am certain!”

“They are, your highness,” the serving woman replied, “and she left a nice white pair for Lady Rosamund as well. Shall I give them to her Maybel?”

“Yes!” came the immediate decision. Then Meg turned to Rosamund. “If grandmama says we are coming out of mourning for Arthur, then we will! Mama and Katherine won’t, of course, but I am glad to be done with all this black.”

“Everything is still black,” Rosamund reminded her in practical tones. “Our bodices, our skirts, our headdresses.”

“But the sleeves will set us apart from the others,” Meg said mischievously. “The gentlemen will notice us and not the others.”

“But you are already wed, to all intents and purposes,” Rosamund replied, confused.

“But I am not
officially
wed,” Meg responded. “Besides, the King of the Scots kept a mistress, Maggie Drummond, who was, I have been told, quite dear to his heart. She was poisoned recently, and her two sisters with her. They all died. ’Tis said King James could not bear to be parted from her. Someone near to him, though who is not known, took matters into their own hands. My marriage is very important to both England and Scotland. My father will not send me north until the matter with the Drummond woman is settled.”

“Then why do you wish other men to notice you?” Rosamund asked.

“Because it is fun.” Meg laughed, and then with a wicked smile she said, “Perhaps we will see Sir Owein at the mass. He will surely notice you if you are wearing your beautiful white sarcenet sleeves.”

Rosamund giggled. “Why should I care if he notices me or not?” She climbed from their bed and padded barefooted across the chamber to wash her face and hands in a silver basin that had been set out for her. Her companion’s basin was gold.

“Because you are going to be given a husband sooner than later,” Meg replied. “It might be better if you had one who came to live at Friarsgate and didn’t have his own lands. Besides, your manor is in the borders, and while I do not expect the Scots to invade England once I am officially their queen, it could not hurt if my father had a man like Sir Owein in the borders. He knows that his knight is loyal and faithful. The northern lords blow with the winds. They can often be feckless and unfaithful.”

“But they are English,” Rosamund said, puzzled.

Margaret Tudor climbed from her bed and walked across the chamber to where her new friend stood. Reaching out, she patted Rosamund’s soft cheek. “You are such an innocent,” she said. “I pray that your simple honesty is never tried harshly, Rosamund Bolton.”

They did not see Sir Owein at the mass, but several days later when they had been settled at Windsor he actually came to the queen’s apartments to inquire politely after Rosamund. Seated near Elizabeth of York, sewing on gowns for the new baby, they saw him enter and heard his words. Meg poked Rosamund, who was blushing furiously as the queen’s gentle voice called her to lay her needlework aside and come forward.

“Rosamund Bolton, here is Sir Owein Meredith come to pay his respects to you,” the queen said.

Rosamund curtsied to the queen, but knew not what to say at first.

“You are well, lady, and your good Maybel?” he said politely.

“Yes, sir, and I thank you for your concern,” Rosamund replied, having finally found her voice. Bravely she met his greenish gaze, and he smiled, which to her surprise set her heart to racing.

“And do you still miss Friarsgate, or has the lure of the court caught you up in its spell?” he questioned.

“The court is very grand, sir, and everyone has been kind, but aye, I miss my home,” Rosamund admitted to him.

“Perhaps we will meet again,” Sir Owein said, ending their conversation. Then he turned to the queen. “Thank you, your highness, for allowing me to speak with the Lady Rosamund. What reply shall I bring to your good lord?”

“Tell the king I shall eat in my chambers this evening. It is surely a son I carry, for the burden is heavy this time,” the queen answered him. “Tell my lord husband that I thank him and will welcome him in my chambers should he care to come.”

Sir Owein bowed and departed the chamber.

“He likes you!” Meg said gleefully.

“He was only being polite,” Rosamund answered.

“He likes you!”
the princess repeated, a knowing twinkle in her blue eyes.

“What difference does it make?” Katherine of Aragon whispered. “They will choose whom they please when it is time to marry her off. Best she not set her sights on one man when they will surely choose another.”

“Rosamund is not important like we are, Kate,” Meg said.

“There is where you are wrong,” the Spanish princess replied. “Rosamund’s lands are in a strategic location. The man they choose for her will surely be the man they best feel can defend that piece of England. And, too, Rosamund is rich in sheep and cattle. Her person with its lands and goods will not be given lightly, nor will it be given to an unimportant knight with no significant connections. You are wrong to encourage Rosamund to look to Sir Owein. If her heart is engaged there, what agony for her, and misery for the man who is finally chosen to be her husband.”

“I cannot help but be a romantic,” Margaret Tudor responded.

“You are wedding with the King of the Scots in order to keep peace between your two lands,” Kate said. “There is nothing more to marriage than one’s duty, as you should know better than most.”

“Wed first, love afterward, is what my grandmama says,” Meg said pertly. “I shall make James Stuart fall in love with me! Just wait and see if I do not, Kate!”

“For your sake, I hope it is so,” the Princess of Aragon said.

“Did you love my brother Arthur?” Meg demanded to know.

“He had charm,” Kate said slowly, “and he was very intelligent, but he was young yet, Meg. I am not certain he would not have made a better priest than a husband, but we shall never know now. Poor Arthur lies in his grave.” She piously crossed herself.

“They say that my father will wed you to my brother Henry,” Meg murmured low. “Henry looks at pretty women like a cat contemplating the finch. Papa meant him for a priest, but Henry was never suited for it. And while he stands well over six feet tall now, I believe he is still too young to bed a woman, though I should not doubt if he has begun to try.”

“Meg!”
Kate blushed.

“He is very bold and very proud,” Rosamund noted, “but he is also very handsome, I think.”

“God’s blood!” Meg swore softly so her mother could not hear her. “Do not ever tell Hal he is handsome. He is peacock enough as it is, Rosamund. And his arrogance is boundless! You should have been raised in a nursery with him. Praise God I am no longer there! And Mary is safe from him now, too, as papa keeps him so close.”

“Why does he do that?” Rosamund wondered.

“Henry must now learn to be a king,” Kate said.

“Nay, papa will not teach him to be king,” Meg said. “He keeps him close because he is afraid he will die, and then papa will have no son to follow him. Papa does not like Henry. He adored Arthur and invested all the love he had with our eldest brother. That love died with Arthur. I think papa almost hates Henry for being alive and being so healthy when Arthur is dead and was never very strong,” Meg concluded.

“You are too harsh in your judgment of your father,” Kate protested. “He is a good and devout man, and has always been good to me.”

“You have not grown up with him,” Meg countered. “Aye, he can be kind, and he surely loves our mother, but he can also be cruel. I hope you will never see that side of him, Kate. Remember, your papa has not paid all of your dower monies yet. For now my father considers the alliance he made with your parents through your marriage to Arthur still viable. He
thinks to wed you to Henry when my brother is older. But if your father does not send the monies owed, my father will cast you aside and look to France for my brother’s wife.”

“Then I will go home,” Kate said pragmatically.

“My father will never let you go until he is absolutely certain you can be of no further use to him,” Meg said. “And, too, my father is noted for being tightfisted. He would never return the dower portion that has already been sent. I expect he seeks the rest of it in order to pay my dower portion to King James so he does not have to dip into his own personal funds,” she said with a laugh.

They remained at Windsor, that great stone edifice, for almost a month. The king and the court hunted daily, but Rosamund remained by the queen’s side for most of her days. Elizabeth was pleased to learn that the young royal ward could read. So Rosamund read to her mistress from a Book of Hours with small poems and prayers written in Latin. Maybel spent her time turning her mistress’ few gowns into more fashionable garments with the help of Tillie, who having been with the royal house for all of her life, was very knowledgeable about the etiquette of dressing for court and knew the most current fashions.

They departed Windsor in early December to return to Richmond for the Christmas season, which was known to be the king and queen’s favorite holiday. The Twelve Days of Christmas did not begin until the eve of Christmas mass. The customs were much like those at Friarsgate, except on a far greater scale. The number twelve played an important role. There was twelve of everything. Great footed iron candelabra covered in gold gilt, twelve in number—with twelve graceful arms, each burning twelve beeswax candles—were set about the Great Hall. Twelve enormous marble urns, each filled with twelve bunches of green holly, each bunch numbering twelve sprigs of the plant, tied with silver and gold ribbons and full of bright red berries, had been placed about the chamber strategically. The four great fireplaces held enormous Yule logs.

In the king’s hall a green line called the
Christmas Threshold
had been
drawn. The feast, Meg explained, would not begin until the Lucky Bird stepped over the threshold and into the hall to dance. They waited, almost sick with excitement. The Venerable Margaret had told her son and his wife in her firm but quiet tones that if they wished to continue to mourn Prince Arthur that was their decision, but it was Christmas, and she wanted the young people to enjoy themselves. Particularly as her favorite, Margaret, would not be with them for another Christmas.

So the princess was garbed in an elegant gown of medium blue velvet and cloth of gold. Her beautiful red-gold hair was loose and held only by a crespinette of gold and pearls. Kate had chosen to wear a fine purple velvet trimmed in marten, her thick auburn hair modestly plaited beneath a sheer gold veil. Although hardly as richly garbed, Rosamund felt very grand in her black velvet skirt, the black silk gold-beaded bodice that Meg had given her, and her new white sarcenet sleeves. Her own auburn hair was neatly plaited into a single braid, and she, like Meg, wore a crespinette of gold wire, and small freshwater pearls that the queen had given her.

Suddenly the trumpets in the minstrel’s gallery blared, and into the hall leapt a tall gentleman. He was all dressed in green, his costume sewn with small gold and silver bells that jingled and twinkled as he danced. He wore a marvelous feathered masque of blue and green gold gilt that covered his eyes and his nose. Upon entering the hall he danced immediately up to the high board where the king, the queen, the princesses, the Countess of Richmond, and the Archbishop of Canterbury sat. He tipped his hat to the king, and then, whirling about, began to cavort all through the hall, gaily dancing here and there, as the reeds, the pipes, and the nakers, a double-drum, played. At each table the dancer stopped and tipped his hat. The revelers tossed coins into the Lucky Bird’s hat and he danced on.

Rosamund took a penny from her pocket. When the dancer reached her table she reached out to drop the penny into the bird’s hat. The coin had no sooner left her fingers than the gentleman’s fingers closed about her, and pulling her up, he placed a quick kiss upon her lips before dancing off to the laughter of all present. Her cheeks burning with
embarrassment, and her shyness, Rosamund quickly sat down again. She wondered if Meg and Kate had seen the dancer’s outrageous behavior.