Rosamund (17 page)

“I will keep our secret, grandmama,” Meg responded. “But gain papa’s permission quickly, for it will not be easy knowing what I know.”

“Your father is to return to Richmond tomorrow with your brother. I shall ask him this evening. It must be done before you leave to go north
to Scotland. Rosamund and Sir Owein can ride with your train as far as Friarsgate. That will cement our ties even more. It is a great honor to be allowed to be included in your train.”

“Thank you, grandmama,” the princess said. Then she curtsied and left the old woman to her thoughts.

The countess’ favorite tiring woman entered the small chamber. “It is almost time for the midday meal, madame,” she said.

“Go to my son, the king, and tell him that I would speak with him as soon as possible,” the Countess of Richmond told the woman.

The servant bowed. “At once, madame,” she said, and turning about, hurried from the room. When she returned she brought the king with her, to his mother’s surprise, for Margaret Beaufort had only meant to meet with her son at his convenience. Still, she was grateful for his dutiful kindness in coming to her at once.

“Henry,” she said, smiling as he bent to kiss her cheek, “I could have come to you, my darling son.”

“I have read and signed all the papers that my secretaries brought to me this morning,” he answered, sitting himself in the chair so recently vacated by his daughter. “A visit with you, mama, is a welcome change.” Then he sighed, and his look grew melancholy.

The countess’ tiring woman put a goblet of mulled wine in his hand and bowed herself from the room.

The king sipped at the cup and briefly closed his eyes.

“You were supposed to come to Greenwich for a pleasant summer respite and to be with your family before Margaret leaves for Scotland,” the countess said to her son. “You cannot escape the fact that Bess is dead by working yourself into an early grave, Henry,” she gently chided him. “I cannot replace your wife, but I am here for you as I have ever been. The children need you. Soon your eldest daughter will be gone, and poor Mary left alone. ’Twas sad that wee Katherine died but two months after her birth. She was the most beautiful of all of Bess’ babies. She was like a small angel. Perhaps she was. And surely young Henry needs you. I know you are angry that he is not Arthur, but you cannot change what is, my son. Young Henry will be king after you, but you do not show him the
ways of governance. You keep him close, but you ignore him. Arthur, may God assoil his soul, was a lovely boy, but in my opinion ’twas he who would have made the better churchman, and Henry the better king, my son.”

“Do not say it!” the king cried low.

“ ’Tis true, and you know it,” she persisted. “But that is not what I wanted to speak with you about. With your permission I have chosen a husband for Sir Hugh Cabot’s widow, who is your ward. She has been Margaret’s companion since her arrival here at court, but now Margaret is to go, and the Lady Rosamund Bolton will have no place in the Queen of the Scots’ train. It is time for her to return home to her beloved Friarsgate, but she must have a husband, and that husband must be a man in whom we have complete trust, for Friarsgate is in the borders, my son. While we hope that Margaret’s marriage will bring a permanent peace between our two countries, you and I are more practical than most. We know that despite this union between our royal houses war can break out again. And the borders are always restless even in the best of times. We must have a man in place there who is in our trust and whose loyalty is beyond question, Henry, my son. Sir Owein Meredith has served the House of Tudor for almost twenty-five years. Because he is not a great lord he will learn more of what is happening in the region than an important person would. People will not be shy to speak around him. He is our man, and his fealty is beyond question.”

“You would not have a member of one of the northern families?” the king asked his mother. He was surprised, and sought to know her reasoning before he gave his permission. An heiress was a valuable commodity to have in one’s power.

“ ’Tis Margaret who has made this suggestion. She has said, and wisely so, that the northern families blow with the winds. They are proud beyond reason. Even if you would do them such a favor as giving them this young heiress, they would not believe themselves in your debt, though they certainly would be. Sir Owein Meredith is our own man. Whatever happens he will not waver from our side.”

“And my daughter has reasoned this out for herself?” the king said.
“She has learned her lessons well. I can only hope James Stuart realizes what a treasure we have sent him. Her suggestion meets with your approval, mother?” The king drained his goblet of wine.

“Aye,” the Venerable Margaret said. “My granddaughter has fashioned a good solution. The Lady Rosamund Bolton will not be unhappy with Sir Owein Meredith for a husband, not that it would matter. This betrothal, and your marriage will serve our purposes as well as that of the parties involved, my son.”

“Then you have my permission to betroth this girl to Sir Owein, mother. I shall have the papers drawn up.”

“Do it so that Sir Owein and his betrothed may travel north in the Queen of the Scots’ train as far as Friarsgate,” the countess suggested. “Let Sir Owein’s and Rosamund’s last memories of us be filled with gratitude for the honor we give them.”

“Age has not made you any less clever, mother,” the king said with a small smile. “Now, what am I to do with Spanish Kate? King Ferdinand is as slippery as an eel and sly as a fox. He avoids our requests for the balance of the girl’s dowry. I cannot, under the circumstances, pay for her upkeep.”

“Put her in Durham House. She should not be at court, especially as her father has not finished paying her dower portion. And we will send back to her father as many of her Spanish retainers as we can. Let him understand we will not support his daughter lavishly under the circumstances. If you intend to wed her to Henry, she must be served by the English anyway, and learn our language, which she is slow to do. She is discouraged by that old dragon of a duenna, Dona Elvira. We cannot, I am sad to say, get rid of
her,
but I think her a bad influence on young Katherine. If we surround the girl with our own people, hopefully we can eventually lessen Dona Elvira’s influence. And get her an English priest! Those Spanish are too harsh in their faith.”

“I will get rid of her Spanish servers, at least as many as I dare, but I do not wish to pay for more servants, even English ones, mother. Let the Princess of Aragon live simply for the time being and mourn her husband as is proper.”

The king arose, and taking his mother’s hand in his, kissed it tenderly. “I get more done in a few minutes with you than with all of my counselors of a morning,” he said, and then he left her.

The countess’ tiring woman reappeared.

“Find Sir Owein Meredith. I would speak with him before the meal,” the countess instructed the serving woman. “There is yet time.”

“Yes, madame,” the serving woman said, and turning, hurried out.

The Venerable Margaret sighed. Her granddaughter was right. It would be a good match. If Rosamund Bolton was not grateful, Sir Owein Meredith certainly would be. Not to mention surprised. The old woman chuckled. He would hardly expect such a boon, which was probably why he was worth it.

Owein Meredith looked down at the tug on his doublet. There stood a page, wearing the Countess of Richmond’s badge. “What is it, lad?” he asked, a kindly smile touching his lips. It seemed so long ago that he had been in this boy’s place. He wondered who the lad was and what his fate would hold.

“My mistress would speak with you immediately, sir,” the page said, and he gave a small bow.

“I will come at once,” the knight said, and followed the child back through the corridors of the palace to the little privy chamber where he had earlier been. He was curious to have been recalled by the king’s mother at all, let alone in the same morning. Without breaking stride he entered through the door the page held open.

“Thank you, William,” the countess said to her page as he backed from the room. “Sit down, Sir Owein. You are undoubtedly wondering why I have brought you back into my presence. With the princess to leave soon for Scotland, time is of the essence in the matter of Rosamund Bolton. The king has agreed that she must be wed, although I did not tell him of young Henry’s untoward behavior in the matter. You are aware of how deeply he mourns Prince Arthur, who was always his favorite. Even the slightest blemish on my grandson’s behavior will but depress my son further. The boy is young and filled with life. He cannot help himself, so we
must. His attempts at seduction must not be allowed to continue. The Lady Rosamund will be betrothed with the king’s approval to the gentleman of my choice. She and her betrothed husband will accompany my granddaughter, the Queen of the Scots, as far as Friarsgate. It is there they will be formally wed by the lady’s own priest, before her own people, in order that her husband may be accepted by the Friarsgate folk, as he will be their new lord. Does that please you, Sir Owein?” The Countess of Richmond’s eyes were filled with mirth. Her narrow lips twitched with silent laughter.

“It is not my place to be pleased, madame, but I am, and I thank you for the asking,” he answered her. So she would be wed. It was better that she was, and safe at home. Not prey to the prince or his group of young lordlings who loved the chase but cared not for the consequences that followed their victims.

“Are you not in the least curious as to whom I have chosen, Owein Meredith? My instinct tells me that you are,” the king’s mother said.

“I am certain you have chosen a suitable gentleman for the Lady Rosamund,” he replied, and he prayed the fellow would treat her kindly and respect her knowledge of her manor and lands. He prayed swiftly and silently that she might even find love.

The king’s mother had ever been a skillful player in the game of life. It had been rumored that she was much like her great-grandfather, John of Gaunt, a son of King Edward III. She saw the emotions upon Owein Meredith’s face as he attempted to conceal them. He cared for the girl. He was worried as to who her husband would be and whether the man would treat her well. Margaret Beaufort was tempted to tease the poor fellow further, but the dinner hour was near. “I have chosen you, Sir Owein Meredith, to husband Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate,” she said quietly. “You are, I hope, pleased.”

“
Me?
You have chosen me?” Had he heard aright, or was he going mad?

Margaret Beaufort saw the genuine astonishment on the knight’s face. Reaching out, she lay a calming hand upon his arm. “I have chosen you, Sir Owein Meredith,” she responded, “and the king is pleased with my decision.”

“I am to marry Rosamund Bolton?” he said, dizzy with the surprise.

“The marriage contract is being drawn up as quickly as it can be. Your Rosamund must be protected,” the Venerable Margaret said.

“But why me?”
he burst out.

Now the Countess of Richmond laughed aloud, pleased by his attitude and genuinely amused. “Do not be so modest, Owein Meredith. You have served the House of Tudor for close to twenty-five years. You have served it well. I remember when you first were brought to Jasper Tudor by your kinsman. You were so eager to please, and sang for us in your sweet Welsh voice. I am an old woman, Owein Meredith. My son is not well. The old ways are dying, and may indeed be gone with my grandson’s reign. The children now serving at court will grow up in a different manner than you and I did. They will have other opportunities. You are not a young man any longer, Owein Meredith. You need a wife. It is time for you to settle down. Why you, you ask, and not another? Perhaps in my grandson’s time it will be different than it is now, but my son is still considered an interloper, especially by the northern families whose loyalties today, beneath the surface, are to York. Giving the heiress of Friarsgate to them would not bring them any closer to our side. They serve themselves first, and always have. They are fair-weather allies at best.

“Friarsgate is in the borders. My granddaughter’s marriage, it is hoped, will bring peace for a time. But the Scots and the English have too long a history of enmity between them to remain at peace for long. There have been English queens before Margaret. My own ancestress, Lady Joan Beaufort, was James the first’s queen. We cannot trust northern families. We need a man in whom we have complete faith to watch for us in the borders. You are that man, Owein Meredith. You are not well-known outside of the court, nor do you draw needless attention to yourself. Yet those who know you like you. Your marriage should not offend any, for Rosamund is not important. It is the location of her lands that is of interest to us.”

“The Scots do not harry her people, for the hills about her lands are too steep for driving cattle up and over,” he said honestly. “Friarsgate is quite isolated, madame. It is unlikely I should know anything before it happened. Before your own royal warden of the northern marches knew.”

“Shepherds guarding their flocks on those hills can be taught to be vigilant, Owein Meredith,” the king’s mother said quietly.

“In other words, madame, you want us to spy,” he said.

“In a sense, aye, we do. Watching from your own lands should not put Friarsgate or its people in any danger, but it cannot hurt to be a bit more vigilant than in the past. It would please us if you were, Owein Meredith,” the Venerable Margaret said.

He nodded. “It can be arranged once I am lord of Friarsgate,” the knight told the king’s mother. Then he said, “Have you told Rosamund that she is to be wed, and that I am to be her husband, madame?”