Rosamund (14 page)

“Princesses do not wed with plain gentlemen, Mary,” her grandmother said tartly. “They marry kings, or dukes, or other princes of the blood. Young Brandon has charm, I will give you that, but he is an adventurer. He has no lands of his own or real wealth. Why, I should not even give him to Rosamund for a husband. He is not worthy.”

“He will be someone one day, grandmama,” Mary replied pertly. “And I shall marry him!”

“Do you play tennis?” Prince Henry asked Rosamund as she sat one afternoon admiring the river.

Rosamund looked up. She was wearing a green bodice and skirt with her white sarcenet sleeves. The countess had declared their deep mourning over with and had gifted her two granddaughters and Rosamund with new gowns. “Nay, your highness, I do not play tennis.”

“Come then, and I shall teach you!” Henry said, reaching down to pull her up by the hand. “How can you just sit and stare at the water? I find it boring.”

“I find it peaceful, your highness,” Rosamund replied.

“You will enjoy tennis,” he insisted, pulling her along.

But she did not enjoy the rough game, and she tripped over her new skirt and twisted her ankle almost immediately while chasing after the ball he had lobbed at her. “Oh, if I have torn my skirt I shall not forgive you!” she cried. “
Ouch!
I cannot get up!” She winced with pain as she attempted to struggle to her feet.

At once the prince leapt over the net. Coming to her side, he bent down and picked her up. “I will carry you back to my grandmother’s apartments,” he said. “And your gown has not been torn, Rosamund. If it were I should buy you another,” he assured her gallantly.

“You have not the coin,” she answered him boldly.

“How do you know that?” he demanded. “Nay, ’tis my sister, Meg, who tittle-tattles.”

“My ankle hurts,” Rosamund complained.

“Put your head against my shoulder and close your eyes,” Prince Henry instructed her. “You have probably sprained it. Did you hear or feel a snap?”

“Nay,” Rosamund told him.

“Then nothing is broken,” he responded. Then he stopped. “You are as light as a feather, my lady of Friarsgate. I am enjoying the sensation of you in my arms.”

Rosamund’s amber eyes flew open. “You are much too bold, my lord
prince,” she scolded. “Remember you are a boy, and I two years your senior. I have just had a birthday.”

“I have said it before, Rosamund of Friarsgate. I am young in years, but I have a man’s body. Of late I think I have a man’s needs. Now, you must kiss me or I shall not proceed another step.”

“Unfair! Unfair!” Rosamund cried, struggling within his arms. His shoulders beneath his doublet were very broad, and the chest she now pounded with her small fists was wide and hard. His cheek was no longer smooth, but had just the faintest hint of shadow.

“One little kiss,” he wheedled, grinning at her wickedly, his blue eyes dancing.

She sighed. It was really very exciting, Rosamund considered, to be so pursued by a handsome young prince. “Just one,” she finally said. “Do you give me your word, just one, your highness?”

“You may call me Hal when we are alone,” he murmured.

“You have not given me your promise,
Hal,
” Rosamund said, attempting to sound stern. He was very handsome, she thought. Even more handsome than Sir Owein.

He saw the dreaminess in her amber eyes. “One sweet, sweet kiss, my lady of Friarsgate,” he whispered in her ear, and then he kissed her lips, their mouths fusing together eagerly.

Rosamund’s heart raced. She could feel the sudden heat from both of their bodies. Her mouth softened beneath his. She sighed, relaxing against him, feeling safe within the cradle of his strong arms. “Oh, how lovely,” she told him softly as the kiss ended.

“Again?”
he tempted her in a low, seductive voice.

“Aye,” she agreed with another sigh of pleasure as his mouth touched hers once more. This time his demands on her were greater. She felt him sitting down on the stone bench that had been nearby. More comfortable in his embrace, Rosamund put an arm about his shoulders, her fingers caressing the nape of his thick neck. The kiss deepened. His finger brushed against her bodice, and receiving no rebuke he boldly fondled her breast.
“Oh!”
Rosamund gasped, very surprised.

“It’s all right, darling,” the prince assured her. “Lovers are wont to
touch.” He deliberately pinched her nipple as his hand moved swiftly into her bodice and beneath her chemise.

It was as if he had doused her with a bucket of cold water. Rosamund’s eyes flew open.
“We are not lovers!”
she cried. “And how would you know such a thing, Hal?” She struggled to gain a more defensive position as she yanked his hand from beneath her gown.

“Do you think I am a virgin like yourself, my adorable lady of Friarsgate?” the prince asked her. “Lord, I mounted my first woman on my eleventh birthday. She was a gift from Brandon and Neville.” He grinned at her. “I enjoy a good fucking with a contented partner.”

“How did you know what to do?” Rosamund asked him, fascinated in spite of herself. If it hadn’t been for her ankle she would have gotten up from his lap and left him, she assured herself.

“My friends found me a clean and disease-free whore, no easy task either, who was both skilled and sympathetic. She said she was honored to be my first lover, and gaily led me down Eros’ path. And I learned quickly. I was happy to try my new skills out upon any who were willing to join me in my quest for pleasure,” the prince said.

“Men are fortunate,” Rosamund said.

“How is that?” he asked, curious.

“You may practice your lover’s skills before you are wed. No respectable girl may do so. And once she is wed she is stuck to remain virtuous while her husband may keep other women for his pleasure as well. I think that rather unfair, do you not?”

“But a good woman, especially a man’s wife and his daughters, should be virtuous at all times,” the prince replied primly. “Only whores and courtesans may amuse themselves with lovers.”

“Do you not think me a good lass, Hal?” Rosamund inquired of him innocently.

“Of course you are good,” he quickly answered.

“Then why are you attempting to seduce me—to ruin my reputation, Hal? Someday I must wed. Who will want a lass with a tarnished character? A girl considered the open road for lads? For if you have your way
with me, then you will brag on it, and your friends will want my favors as well,” Rosamund finished.

He flushed guiltily. “You were willing,” he said sulkily.

“You demanded a kiss,” she said softly. “One kiss.”

“Your lips are sweet, lady of Friarsgate,” he excused himself.

Before Rosamund might answer him, another voice intruded upon them. A very familiar voice. “Ah, your highness, here you are. Your father has arrived from London and wishes to see you,” Sir Owein Meredith said. His look was curious, although his tone was that of a good retainer.

“The lady has twisted her ankle,” the prince explained hastily. He stood up, Rosamund still in his embrace. Then he handed her off to Sir Owein. “Please take her to my grandmother with my apologies.” He turned to go, but then he turned back to them. “My father is in his privy closet?”

“Yes, your highness,” Sir Owein replied.

The prince hurried off without another word.

“You are unable to walk?” Sir Owein said quietly.

Rosamund nodded, her cheek warm with her embarrassment. To have been discovered in so compromising a position with Prince Henry!

“How did it happen?” Sir Owein inquired as he walked toward the palace with his pretty burden.

“On the tennis court,” Rosamund managed to say. “I fell, trying to hit a ball.”

“Tennis is too rough a game for a lady,” Sir Owein said.

“I am inclined to agree,” Rosamund told him. “You have come with the king?”

He nodded. “He has reassigned me to the Countess of Richmond’s household,” Sir Owein said. “He says with the queen gone from him he has not the need for so large a staff any longer. He is most melancholy and seems to miss her more every day. I am retained merely because of my long service to the House of Tudor, because I am Welsh. Were it not so I should be returned to my family like several others already have been.”

“Would they be glad to see you?” she asked him.

He laughed, and the sound was almost bitter. “I think not, unless I came bearing riches. It has been so long since I have seen any of them, I doubt if I should recognize them.”

“That is sad,” Rosamund said. “I should be truly unhappy if I had no one to welcome me home.”

“My birthplace has not been home to me since I was six,” the knight responded. “I do not remember it at all. I think more of Caernavon Castle, which was Sir Jasper’s seat, as home. Now, my lady Rosamund, you should not be kissing and cuddling with Prince Henry.”

“Sir!” She tried to sound outraged.

“You cannot deny it,” he said with a chuckle. “My sweet Rosamund of Friarsgate, I speak for your own good. If you expect to be given a husband, you cannot allow your good name to be stained.”

“All he wanted was a single kiss,” Rosamund muttered. “There is no crime in a single kiss.”

“Now listen to me, my lass,” Sir Owein said in a stern voice. “Prince Henry has been fondling servant girls since he was barely into breeks. When he turned eleven his friends gave him a whore. It was an unspoken secret throughout the court. The prince has never looked back since. He likes women. A single kiss? His hand was in your bodice, Rosamund! You’d have shortly been on your back, I guarantee you. ’Tis the conquest that fascinates the prince. He is heedless of consequences, because there would be none for him, except a possible dose of the clap.”

“Sir!”
Her cheeks were blazing again.

“You are a virgin of good repute and family, Rosamund, but the prince would seduce you without any care for your future. What if you became with child, lass? You should be sent home in disgrace, and I have not a doubt you would be given into your uncle Henry’s care. Is that what you desire, Rosamund?”

“No,” she said softly. “You misjudge me, sir. I am not such a lackwit that for all my inexperience I am not aware when I am being trifled with by a young man. I had already scolded the prince, and he had ceased his bad behavior. I did not need rescuing.”

“It was only by chance that I came upon you,” Sir Owein answered her. “So you divined his intentions, eh?”

“A lass may be pure but still recognize the impure. I have a great care for my reputation, but I had not been kissed before by a lover. I wanted to know what it was like,” she explained.

“And did you like being kissed by a
lover
?” he demanded.

“Aye, it was very nice, sir. My heart beat faster, and I even thought I might swoon with the pleasure that filled me. There was no harm in it, was there? Surely other girls have done the same and not been ruined.”

They had reached the door to the Countess of Richmond’s privy apartments. A servant stood outside in the afternoon air by the door. He opened it immediately, his face impassive as Sir Owein passed through with Rosamund still in his arms.

“Gracious! What has happened to Rosamund?” The Venerable Margaret cried as they entered her dayroom.

“I fell, madame, and twisted my ankle. Sir Owein was kind enough to bring me inside,” Rosamund explained.

“Set her down, Sir Owein, and let us look to that ankle,” the countess instructed. “Ladies, Sir Owein has rejoined my staff. I know you will all be glad for it.”

He set the girl down. Rosamund gingerly raised her skirt up to reveal her ankle, quite swollen and turned purple and yellow-brown with her injury. She winced when he touched the skin.

“Oh, my,” the countess said, and she shook her head. “You will have to remain inside for a few days, my child, until the swelling goes down. Ah, here is your Maybel. She will poultice it for you. Sir Owein, carry the Lady Rosamund to her bed now, and let her servant tend to her.”

Maybel led the way and instructed Sir Owein to put Rosamund down into a chair in the bedchamber she shared with the Tudor princess. “Will you fetch me some hot water, sir?” Maybel asked the knight. “I will need it to make the poultice for my mistress.”

He nodded and hurried off.

“You was with that wicked young prince, wasn’t you?” Maybel said. “Don’t deny it! The young princess saw you go off with him.”

“We went to play tennis,” Rosamund replied.

“You don’t play this . . . tennis thing,” Maybel said angrily.

“It’s played with a ball,” Rosamund explained. “I fell and twisted my ankle trying to send the ball back to the prince.”

“It don’t sound like anything a lady should be involved in, especially if it has you running all over like a hoyden,” Maybel decided. She bustled about the small room, rooting around in the trunk for the herbs she needed to make the poultice for Rosamund’s ankle.

A servant appeared with the hot water. “Sir Owein sent me,” the servant said. “Will you need anything else?”

“Nay, this will do,” Maybel replied. Then she set to work to make the dressing for her mistress’ ankle. While the herbs were drawing in the hot water, Maybel helped Rosamund from her gown and into bed. She soaked a small length of linen in the water, affixing the poultice on the swollen limb and wrapping it. She tucked a small hard pillow beneath Rosamund’s ankle. “I’ll bring you some soup,” she said.