Rosamund (18 page)

“Not yet,” came the reply. “I wanted to speak with you first. I will speak with the girl after the meal. Then I will send her to the privy garden by the river. Watch for her. You may speak with her then. My grandson and his friends will be informed as well. By you, I think,” she said with a chuckle, “after the meal and before you see Rosamund. You may tell Prince Henry that it was I who instructed you to give him this news.”

“I may make an enemy of him, madame, and I should rather not do that,” Owein said candidly. “Remember that it was I who found him with Rosamund. I believe it would be best not to link these two incidents.”

“You are right,” the king’s mother quickly concurred. “I grow careless with my age. I shall have the king announce your betrothal this evening in the hall.” She chuckled again. “My grandson will not need to be told to behave himself after such a royal declaration. You might, however, suggest to Charles Brandon that he return all the wagers to the young gentlemen. He will keep his peace, for he is a most politic fellow.”

Owein Meredith bowed. “I thank your highness for her benevolence to me. I shall ever be a loyal servant of the House of Tudor.”

“I know,”
the countess said with emphasis. “Now, I am hungry, and it is past the dinner hour. You may escort me into the hall, Owein Meredith. They will have waited for me, and my son becomes cranky when he is hungry.”

Owein Meredith arose and drew the king’s mother gently from her chair. “I am honored to escort you, madame,” he told her.

In the hall Prince Henry attempted to attract Rosamund’s eye, but while she did see him, she ignored him pointedly. His boyish companions sniggered at the prince’s discomfort.

“You’ll never have her,” Richard Neville taunted smugly.

“You have no patience, Dick. One day I shall labor mightily between her milky white thighs,” came the cool reply. “Ah, here is my grandmother. We can eat at last!”

Sir Owein Meredith found his place below the salt at a trestle full of his knightly companions. He suddenly found he had no appetite. He was to marry. It was not a dream. He had pinched himself several times when he was with the king’s mother. He was really to be wed. Wed to Rosamund Bolton. He had never considered he would have a wife. He had never believed that he had anything to offer a woman, but now his loyalty and service to the Tudors had won him a bride. A bride with a goodly holding. His firstborn son would inherit Friarsgate. It was a far larger estate than his father’s lands in Wales. He would have a bigger holding than his brother. He would have a home of his own at last. A home and a wife.

But what would Rosamund think of all of this? Not that it mattered in the general scheme of things. They were both bound to the king and would obey his command. But still, once more her fate had been snatched from her hands and decided by another. Would she be content to have him as her husband, or had some young man of the court caught her eye? He didn’t want Rosamund discontent. He wanted her happy to be his bride because . . .
because he cared for her
. From the moment he had met her he had cared, and until this very moment he had not dared to admit his feelings to himself. How could he, and then see her given to another? But she had not been given to another. She had been given to him. Now he dared to think the thoughts he had been suppressing all these months. A grin split his face.

“Jesu!” the man next to him said. “Look, boys! Owein is smiling. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile like that in the past two years. You’ve been with the Venerable Margaret twice today. What news, Owein? It must be good news to bring such a look onto your face.”

“Maybe his brother died and he’s to go home to his Welsh hillside and be the heir now,” another man teased.

“I cannot speak on it, lads,” Owein Meredith said, “but this evening I shall share my news with you. I swear it!”

They laughed and returned to their ale, satisfied, for Owein Meredith was the most honorable among them. Finally the meal ended and the hall began to empty. Owein looked for Rosamund, who had been sitting with some of the countess’ women. She was already gone. He rose from his place and sought out Maybel. Maybel would know how her mistress was feeling and if she was still anxious to return home.

Rosamund returned with the countess’ women to her apartments. To her surprise Margaret was not in evidence. Then one of the countess’ tiring women came and said, “Our mistress would speak with you, lady of Friarsgate.” Rosamund arose from her place and put down her embroidery frame. She dutifully followed the servant to the small privy chamber where the king’s mother conducted her business each day.

“Come in, child,” the Countess of Richmond said.

Rosamund stood before Margaret Beaufort and curtsied prettily.

“There will be no place for you among my women when my granddaughter has gone north to wed with the King of the Scots,” the Venerable Margaret began bluntly. “It is time for you to return to your beloved Friarsgate, Rosamund Bolton, but you cannot go without what you came for. A husband to watch over you and keep you safe from your uncle. We have chosen that husband for you this very day. I think you will be pleased.”

Rosamund’s heart began to pound with both fright and anticipation. She was to go home!
With a husband.
And this time the man chosen for her would be her husband in every way. She was no longer a child. She was older than the king’s mother had been when she bore Henry Tudor.

“Well, child, have you nothing to say?” the Countess of Richmond asked the girl standing before her. “Are you not in the least curious as to who this man is?”

“Does it matter, madame, if I am or not? The affair has been settled, my
future decided, and I will accept the king’s will,” Rosamund replied, finding her voice and discovering that while she knew that this would be the result of her stay at court, she was still just a bit irritated that she had not even been consulted in the matter.

The king’s mother laughed softly. “You have spirit, my child, and that is good.”

“Madame, I beg your pardon if I have offended,” Rosamund said, kneeling before Margaret Beaufort and placing her hands in those of the older woman. “It is just . . . just . . .” Her voice faded away.

“It is just that you hoped to have some part in this decision, Rosamund Bolton,” the Countess of Richmond said. “I understand. However, when I tell you that it was my granddaughter who chose your husband for you, perhaps that knowledge will render your heart a bit lighter.”

“Meg chose?” Rosamund was astounded.

“The Queen of the Scots realized that once she had gone you would be very much alone. You have no real place here at court, and the core of your very being lies at Friarsgate, does it not?”

“It does, madame,” Rosamund answered softly.

“That being the case, it is time for you to return, but we cannot send you back without what Sir Hugh Cabot wished for you. A good man to husband you, to father your children, to keep Friarsgate safe and prosperous. There are many young men here at court who would willingly have a fair young heiress such as yourself to wife. Men from powerful northern families whose loyalty we wish to ensure. But my granddaughter does not believe we can buy such careless loyalties. She felt that we must put a man at Friarsgate whose loyalty to the House of Tudor is absolute and unquestioned. You know him. It is Sir Owein Meredith.”

Her heart felt as if it were soaring in her chest. She smiled, and her relief was very apparent. “You said I should be pleased, madame, and indeed I am. Sir Owein is a good man, and we are friends.”

“Friends,” the king’s mother observed, “make the best husbands, my child. I have had three husbands, and I should know. Now, Rosamund Bolton, get up and go into the privy garden where you will find Sir Owein awaiting you now. The betrothal papers are being drawn up and will be
signed before my granddaughter departs for Scotland. You may wed at Friarsgate among your own people, but you will travel with the Queen of the Scots as far as your home.”

Rosamund took the countess’ hands up and kissed them. “Thank you, madame,” she said. She stood up, shaking her skirts as she did. “May I speak of this to my Maybel? May I thank Meg?”

“You may tell anyone you like, my child. The king will formally announce your betrothal tonight in the hall. You are, after all, his ward. I believe that the court should know of this happy event between one of our longtime servants and the lady of Friarsgate.”

“Thank you, madame,” Rosamund said once again. Then she curtsied and hurried from the countess’ privy chamber. In the dayroom she found Maybel mending one of her chemises. “I am to be married!” she said softly, bending so that only Maybel might hear her. “It is Sir Owein! We are to go home soon, dearest Maybel!”

“Praise be to God on both accounts!” Maybel said, a smile wreathing her face. “I will be right glad to see my Edmund.”

“I am to meet him in the privy garden now,” Rosamund said. “Is my face clean? My hair neat?” she wondered anxiously.

“The man would have you barefooted in your shift, lass,” Maybel said, “but aye, you are neat as a pin. Go along now, and tell Sir Owein that I am content that you will call him husband.”

Rosamund’s heart was racing as she went from the dayroom and down the corridor. She had almost reached the door to the garden when Prince Henry appeared from the shadows.

“Wither goest thou, fair Rosamund?” he demanded, blocking her route. “Come, love, and give me a kiss to show me you are not angry for the impetuousness of my youth the other day.”

“I am to be married, your highness,” Rosamund said stiffly. “Please allow me to pass. Your grandmother has sent me to meet my betrothed in her garden, and he is awaiting me.”

“One kiss, my pretty maid,” the prince persisted. She was to be married? How the hell could he seduce her now? It would hardly be honorable to seduce another man’s betrothed wife.

“If your highness does not step aside,” Rosamund said angrily, “I shall scream for the guard.”

“You would not!” he said, now nervous.

Rosamund opened her mouth and shrieked at the top of her lungs. Immediately the corridor was filled with men-at-arms.

“What is it, my lady?” the one to reach her first asked.

“Oh,” Rosamund said innocently, “I thought I saw a rat. It was a very big rat, I fear. I am sorry to have caused difficulty.” She smiled sweetly at the nearest man-at-arms, and brushing by him, opened the door to step out into the garden.

“Girls,” the man-at-arms sniffed. Then he turned to the prince. “Did you see a rat, your highness?”

Henry Tudor nodded. “Aye, and ’twas as large as a cat, I’ll vow. I should have killed it, but that the lady screamed.” He watched as the door closed slowly behind Rosamund.

Outside in the privy garden Rosamund smelled the sweet air of the greenery and the faintly pungent odor coming off the river as the tide went out. The air was warm, and there was just the faintest hint of a breeze. Rosamund walked slowly down one of the neatly raked gravel paths. The king’s mother had said he would be here. And then she saw him. He was standing with his back to her, facing the river, but obviously hearing her footfall, he turned.

“Rosamund!”

She swept him a curtsy. “My lord,” she said softly.

He came forward, catching her hands in his, looking down into her face. “You have spoken with the king’s mother and you are satisfied?” His hazel-green eyes searched her visage for any sign of discontent.

She gave him a shy smile. “I think it is a good solution to both our problems, sir. I need a husband, and you will be able, by marrying me, to continue in your loyal service to the House of Tudor,” she told him gravely. “And you, sir. Are you content to be my husband?”

“I am,” he answered her. “And you understand, Rosamund, that this marriage you undertake with me will not be in name only, as it was with your two previous mates? You will be a wife to me in every way that a woman may be to her wedded lord.”

She blushed, but she responded, “I am old enough now, sir. I am older than the Queen of the Scots.”

Still holding her by one hand, he reached up with his other hand and gently grazed her cheek with his knuckles. His look was warm. “You are so very fair,” he said to her. Then he brushed her lips with his. “I will be a good husband to you, Rosamund.”

“I know,” she replied, and she did. In that single moment that his mouth met hers so briefly, Rosamund Bolton knew that she had waited her whole young life for just this moment. “I know you will, Owein,” she said, and she meant it.

“T
onight,” the king said as he stood at the high board, “I have a happy announcement to make. You all know Sir Owein Meredith. He has served the House of Tudor since his childhood. He has served it faithfully. The Queen of the Scots has requested a boon from me. She has asked that in honor of her marriage I reward this good knight. I am pleased to do so. So I give my ward, the Lady Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate, in marriage to Sir Owein, and I grant them permission to travel as far as their home in the company of my daughter’s wedding train. May their life together be a happy and fruitful one.” He raised his goblet to the couple who were seated at the trestle just below the high board tonight.

At once the entire hall arose, raising their drinking vessels, and shouted with one voice, “Long life and many children!”

Rosamund clutched Owein’s hand, blushing with her excitement.

“I fear Hal has lost his wager,” murmured Richard Neville, who was seated at the far end of the table.

“But neither have you won it,” Owein Meredith said softly, for he had heard young Neville’s remark. “Master Brandon, you will bring the stakes you have been holding to the Countess of Richmond. You will tell her ’tis a donation from Prince Henry’s friends for the poor. In future have more care with your gaming, gentlemen.”

“It will be exactly as you have dictated, Sir Owein,” Charles Brandon said, bowing from his seated position.

But Richard Neville was incensed. “Be careful, Meredith,” he snarled. “My family is very powerful where you are going!”

“You acted dishonorably, sir. Be grateful I do not tell your father, who I have not a doubt would send you home immediately,” Sir Owein replied sternly to the younger man. “Only that I would not have Rosamund’s good name damaged, I should give you the thrashing that you so richly deserve. Do not dare to threaten me.
And
how dare you encourage England’s future king to less than honorable behavior?”

Richard Neville opened his mouth to reply, but Charles Brandon hissed sharply at him, “Be silent, Dickon! There is no excuse for what we attempted, and I knew it when I agreed to hold the wagers. We have only gotten what we deserved in this matter.” He turned to the king’s knight. “You have my apologies, Sir Owein,” he said.

“They are accepted, Master Brandon,” Sir Owein responded.

“What is this all about?” Rosamund asked the man who was to be her new husband.

“It is of no import, lovey,” he answered her.

“Sir, if you persist in treating me like a witless and frail flower we shall not get on at all, I fear. Now, what is this quarrel about?” Rosamund demanded.

“We wagered on whether or not Prince Hal could seduce you,” Richard Neville said meanly. “You are such a little innocent bumpkin, lady.”

To their surprise Rosamund laughed aloud. “And you, sir, are a fool if you thought that Prince Henry’s charm was all that was required to steal my virtue. We country lasses are clever in our own way. Perhaps we are not wise to your sophistication, but an attempted seduction be it by a prince or a cowherd, is very much the same. Although I will agree a prince’s language is more flowery.” She laughed again, and then as if an afterthought said, “
Oh,
and when your father wonders why I will not put my stallion to his mares any longer, tell him of this conversation we have just had. I know he was hoping to breed up several good warhorses by my King Valiant. What a pity.” Then Rosamund smiled up into her betrothed husband’s face and murmured, “Will you take me from the hall, sir. I find the air here has become rather fetid.”

Without another word Owein arose and escorted her out, smiling and
nodding at the congratulations they received along the way. When they had exited the great hall he turned to Rosamund saying with a grin, “I had forgotten how clever
and
how fierce you can be, lovey.”

“I know I have been a quiet little ninny these months I have been at court,” she admitted. “I have never been sure of myself in these surroundings, but now I am to go home. I can be myself once again. I hope you like who I am, sir, for you would, it seems, have no choice in the matter any longer.”

He stopped, and looking down at her, took her face into his two hands. “I have liked you since the moment we met, Rosamund Bolton. I just never expected to be any more to you than a friend.” The hazel-green eyes engaged her amber ones most directly.

“But now you are to be my husband,” she answered him softly.

“Tomorrow we sign the papers,” he told her.

“I am not unhappy about the matter,” she told him. Her heart was racing madly, for he was looking at her so intensely.

“Are you flirting with me, madame?” he asked, and unable to help himself, he brushed her full ripe lips with his.

His look, his lips, made her suddenly breathless, but she yet managed to say boldly, “What, sir, is it not obvious? Then I must not be doing it very well, I fear.”

“Oh, Rosamund,” he said low, “you are doing it
very
well.” Then he kissed her, his lips taking possession of hers and making demands that, innocent though she was, she recognized with some primal instinct.

Her arms wrapped about his neck, and she kissed him back, her mouth becoming more experienced with each passing moment that they embraced and her own passion waking and blazing up to engulf them both. She felt the hardness of his well-disciplined man’s body against her, and sighed.

It was that delicious little sound that pulled him back to exactly where they were. The softness of her young breasts against his chest had rendered him weak, but they stood in a public place and could not remain there for long without being discovered. He didn’t think he was up to a teasing by his friends, and they
would
tease him. Dependable, reliable
Owein Meredith was obviously besotted by a lass. At least he had learned one thing. This girl who was to be his wife was filled with warmth and not afraid of pleasure. “Lovey,” he whispered against her auburn hair, “we must move on. I must return you to the princess’ apartments. In the morning I will come to escort you to mass. Afterward the papers should be ready for us to sign.”

“But I like this kissing and cuddling with you,” she told him candidly. “Can we not go someplace privily and continue it?”

He took her hand in his, and kissing it, began to walk with her. “Lovey. I am frankly astounded to have been given you to wife. I pray it is not a dream from which I will awaken. I find with you in my arms that my desires are beginning to awaken in such a manner as I have never experienced them. I admit to you that I have had women in my bed and felt lust enough to know that this is very different. I do not want to share what I feel for you with anyone but you, Rosamund. Do you understand?”

“Yes and no,” she admitted, “but I will be led by you in this matter, Owein Meredith, for you are wiser than I. But does this mean we shall not kiss again until we are wed?”

He laughed weakly. “I do not think I can wait that long, lovey. We will find little hidey-holes where we may be private, I promise you. But for now you must behave yourself.”

They had reached the princess’ apartments, where Rosamund slept. He kissed her hand and quickly left her. Rosamund entered the dayroom humming dreamily, to be met by a smiling Maybel who embraced her immediately and then sniffled.

“Ah, child, I am so relieved that they have found you a good man. Are you happy, my bairn? Sir Owein is so like Sir Hugh, but younger, and you are older now. Ah, soon my lady will be a mother herself!”

“Aye, ’tis time. I am grown enough to be a wife in all ways, Maybel. I am content with Sir Owein. He is kind, and Maybel, I think he may actually care for me,” Rosamund noted.

“Well pray our Blessed Mother Mary that you have recognized that,” Maybel said. “Aye, lass, he does indeed care for you. I would venture to say he is
in love
with you, although he may not recognize it as such yet.
You must love him back, child. Not simply with your body but with your whole heart, if you can. You are surely the most fortunate girl I have ever known in your husbands!”

“And for all my complaining I have yet to choose one myself,” Rosamund laughed. “I am happy, aye! It was Meg who did this for me, Maybel. I owe her a great debt, for had she not suggested Sir Owein as my mate, who knows whom they would have chosen for me when they wished to
honor
someone.”

“Well,” said Maybel, “whoever is responsible for this turn of events, I am right grateful to them. We are going home. I will be with my Edmund once more. I don’t think I am of a mind to travel ever again, my child. These last months have surely been adventure enough for both of us!”

In the morning after the mass Sir Owein Meredith and Rosamund Bolton were called into the presence of the king, his mother, Princess Margaret, Prince Henry, and the king’s chaplain. Upon the table were spread the parchments that they would sign.

“You are content in this, lady?” the king’s chaplain asked.

“I am, Reverend Father,” Rosamund replied with a smile.

“And you, Sir Owein, are also content to take this lady to be your wife?” the chaplain inquired.

“I am,” Owein Meredith responded, struggling to keep the grin off his face. This was a serious occasion after all, but the lilt that had long ago been in his voice, that hinted of his Welsh origins, was again very much in evidence.

The king caught his mother’s eye, and small smiles touched their faces. It was rare that their actions actually made someone so happy. They placed their signatures in witness of the marriage betrothal between Rosamund Bolton and Owein Meredith.

And when it was done, the parchments sanded and rolled back up, a copy was given to the king’s knight. The second copy would be kept by the king’s chaplain in the royal archives. The priest then instructed the couple to kneel before him. He blessed them, thus making official and irrevocable their betrothal. They were now, but for the marriage ceremony, man and wife.

“One day,” Prince Henry boasted, “you will show this document to your children and tell them your betrothal was witnessed by a king and a queen.”

“You are not yet England’s king,” his father said dryly. Then the king addressed Owein Meredith. “I will miss you, my faithful knight, but you are deserving of this pretty girl and a home of your own. And you, my lady Rosamund, do you think Sir Hugh Cabot would approve of the husband I have given you?”

“He would, your highness. He would very much approve, and I thank you for your kindness to me. I have received nothing but goodness in your house. First from your gracious queen, may God assoil her blessed soul. Then from your daughter and from your mother. And finally from yourself, my lord.” Rosamund knelt before the king, and taking his hand, kissed it reverently. “Thank you, sire,” she said. “I will always be yours to command.”

The king raised the young girl up, and looking directly at her, said, “Aye. I can see in your lovely face that you are worthy, Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate. God bless you, my child, and your good husband, Sir Owein.”

“Come,” said the Venerable Margaret, “we will drink a small toast to the happy couple.” She nodded at a waiting servant who passed about some goblets of wine. A health was raised to Rosamund and to Owein. The wine quickly consumed, they were dismissed.

“I am informed that we will leave in less than a week’s time,” Owein said to Rosamund as they walked from the king’s privy chamber.

“What is the date today?” she asked him. “How odd that I should not know, but I will remember it if you will but tell me.”

“It is the twenty-second of June,” he said.

“We are prepared to depart on the twenty-seventh,” she told him. “We are going to Collyweston, which I am told belongs to the king’s mother. Is it very big, Owein?”

He chuckled, understanding Rosamund’s distress at the rather large royal residences she kept encountering. “Well, lovey,” he began, “once it was a simple manor much like Friarsgate, but it has been renovated several times since its beginnings. A rather large guesthouse has been
established there just this spring, I fear. It has a large park where the king hunts whenever he visits his mother there. We should not bide too long before we must continue on our way.”

They departed Richmond precisely on schedule, arriving at Collyweston, which was just a few miles west of Stamford on July fifth. They remained three days, entertained by the countess’ choir, along with choirs from Cambridge and Westminster. There were contests of archery and dancing and a hunt. Rosamund, however, was far more interested in the architecture of the house, particularly four great bay windows that had been specially built for this visit. They were decorated in stained glass, the first Rosamund had seen outside of a church window.

While the rest of the court pursued deer in the park at Collyweston, Rosamund questioned the countess’ domestic butler on any number of household matters, for she much admired the king’s mother’s sense of organization. Mr. Parker was flattered that a member of the court, even one so unimportant as this girl, would be interested in how the house was run. He was most forthcoming with Rosamund.

Rosamund also spent her idle hours in the Venerable Margaret’s rose gardens with the Princess of Aragon. Poor Kate had no horse of her own now, so while she enjoyed hunting she was forced to remain behind. Most of her servants had been sent away, and she was struggling to support those who remained on her meager income. It was very embarrassing for the princess who had a great sense of pride. Two years ago she had been the bride of England’s next king. Now she knew not what she was to be. Her father and King Henry argued over monies while completely forgetting about her. She was grateful for Rosamund’s company. While the girl seemed to favor the young Queen of the Scots, she had ever been kind, respectful, and generous.