Rosamund (19 page)

“How fortunate you are to be going home,” Kate said to her companion. “Sometimes I wish I could go home again.”

“Do not despair, your highness,” Rosamund said softly. “You are meant to be England’s queen one day, and you will be.”

“Your faith shames me,” Kate replied. “I must be strong, I know, but sometimes I am so afraid.”

“If you are, dear Kate, no one would know it,” Rosamund responded, “and I shall certainly never tell on you,” she finished with a smile.

The Princess of Aragon laughed. “You are unlike anyone I have ever known, Rosamund. You are open, and honest, and your heart is so very good. I am sorry you are going. I have few friends here.”

“It matters not if I am here, or at Friarsgate, dear Kate,” Rosamund answered the princess. “I am your true friend, and I shall be your liege woman always.” She knelt, and kissed the princess’s hand.

Young Katherine of Aragon felt tears pricking sharply at the back of her eyelids. She fiercely blinked them back, saying as she did so, “I will remember you, Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate. Your kind words, and your promise will help me to keep my spirits strong. I offer you my thanks for your friendship for I have nothing else to offer you now.
Vaya con Dios, mi amiga.
”

On the eighth of July, Margaret Tudor bid farewell to her father and her grandmother, as well as to many in the court. She would be under the protection of the Earl of Surrey, a soldier well-known for his suppression of border raids. The Countess of Surrey would act as Margaret’s chaperon and mentor. The current Scots ambassador, the Bishop of Moray, accompanied the bridal progress, and the Somerset herald John Yonge was chosen to chronicle the entire journey for posterity.

As the royal progress began, the Earl of Surrey rode with a troupe of his armed men. He was followed in their proper order by lords, knights, squires, and yeomen soldiery. The man chosen to be Margaret Tudor’s standard bearer, Sir Davey Owen, always preceded his young mistress. Mounted upon a snow-white mare, the young Queen of the Scots followed, magnificently arrayed, bejeweled, and gowned each day. Her master of the horse followed her, leading a spare mount. On the chance that Margaret should grow tired of riding, a litter was affixed between two beautiful horses.

Behind Margaret, her ladies and their squires followed along. They were all beautifully mounted upon superb horseflesh. The older women rode in unsprung carriages drawn by six fine chestnut horses each. Behind the horses came the rest of the gentlewomen, Rosamund among them. Owein, of course, rode with the knights at the beginning of the
procession. It was a lonely time for Rosamund, for she really didn’t know most of these women who accompanied Margaret Tudor. Some, of course, were with the court, but others had come just to be part of this historic occasion, and others joined them along the way. There was little chance for idle chatter amid the spectacle of the bridal progress. In a sense, they were an entertainment for the populace.

As they entered each town and village, drummers, trumpeters, and minstrels went ahead of the procession announcing with song and music the arrival of the young Queen of the Scots. Everyone dressed in their finest, with the badges and arms of their own houses or masters displayed. Sometimes Margaret rode upon her palfrey, wearing the crimson velvet gown trimmed in ebony black pampilyon, a fur resembling Persian lamb. It had been one of the last gifts her mother had given her before Elizabeth of York’s death. The snow-white palfrey was magnificently caparisoned with a cloth of gold covering sporting the red roses of Lancaster. But in other towns Margaret entered seated within her litter, which was hung with cloth of gold edged with black velvet and jewels.

All along the route, for the journey would take a total of thirty-three days, the people came out to see the Tudor princess, to cheer the young Queen of the Scots. As they passed through the various districts the local lords and their ladies joined them. Some to go the full distance to Scotland, some simply to ride with the great progress for only a day or two.

At Grantham the bride was greeted by the Sheriff of Lincoln. A group of friars came out from the town singing anthems to her. The young queen dismounted to kneel and kiss the cross presented to her. The sheriff of each county would ride with her into the next county but for the Sheriff of Northampton, who went as far as Yorkshire. The bridal party passed through Doncaster, to Pontefract, and on to Tadcaster. The roads were lined with cheering people, calling out their good wishes to Margaret Tudor.

The Earl of Northumberland, the famed Harry Percy, joined the procession. His magnificence of dress was spectacular. He wore crimson velvet with jeweled sleeves and black velvet boots with gilt spurs when he met Margaret. The bridal progress began to swell in greater numbers as
many sought to join in this historic occasion. As they headed toward York, a rider was sent on ahead to warn the lord mayor that the Queen of the Scots’ procession had grown so large that it would be impossible to get it through the city’s gates. In response the lord mayor removed a section of the city’s ancient walls. Bells rang out joyously, and trumpeters sounded a fanfare as Margaret Tudor entered the ancient city through the wide opening created just for her. From every window people hung, curious and welcoming. It took two hours for the young queen to reach York Minster, where the archbishop awaited, so thick were the streets with revelers.

The following morning, a Sunday, Margaret attended the mass gowned in cloth of gold, her collar sparkling with precious gemstones. It was one of the few times that Rosamund was able to join her betrothed husband and Maybel. They stood, garbed in their finest, shoulder to shoulder within the crowded cathedral. Because there were so many people attempting to crowd into the archbishop’s open house, the three escaped to sit by the river with a meal of bread and cheese.

“I would not have in my wildest dreams imagined such a time as we have been having. The journey, while interesting, is utterly exhausting. I wonder how Meg endures it, but the Countess of Surrey thinks I am not worthy to associate with the Queen of the Scots. I hope I will have the opportunity to bid her farewell,” Rosamund said.

“We leave the progress at Newcastle,” Owein said. “Be glad we are not accompanying the bride all the way to Scotland, lovey. If you think the procession is bad now, just wait until it crosses over the border and the Scots begin to join the train.” He chuckled. “It would almost be worth it to continue on and watch while they all jockey for position with the new queen.”

“Well,” Maybel said, “our departure for home can’t come soon enough for me. All us serving women have been sleeping in haystacks and barns, wherever we can find accommodation,” she grumbled.

“So have the knights and yeomen,” Owein admitted.

“Only Meg’s intervention with that overweening Countess of Surrey has saved me,” Rosamund admitted, “although I have slept more on the
floor of the halls we’ve visited than anywhere else. Even a convent’s straw pallet will be an improvement.”

“So we are agreed,” Owein teased the two women, “that we will all be happy to be home at Friarsgate again?”

“Aye!” they chorused, and then they laughed.

Maybel arose from her place on the riverbank. “I need to move these old bones of mine a bit. Call me when you are ready to return to the general hubbub.” Then she moved off slowly.

“She has done it to leave us to ourselves,” Owein said.

“I know.” Rosamund smiled at him. “Do you really think of Friarsgate as home, Owein?”

“Aye, strangely I do,” he admitted, reaching out to take her hand in his. Lifting it to his mouth he began to kiss her fingers one by one. “I liked it from the start, even as I liked its lady,” he told her.

“Now it is you who are flirting with me, sir,” she told him with a smile. “I quite like it, Owein.”

“I am only slightly more experienced in the matter of courtship than you, Rosamund,” he admitted. “You know I never thought to have a wife to cherish, or the hope of children of my own. I have as I told you flirted with the ladies, but this is different. It never mattered before if a lady cared for me, but it matters now.” He laughed nervously. “Rosamund, I fear I wear my heart on my sleeve where you are concerned. I find I am not brave in your presence, but rather a little afraid.”

“But why would you be afraid?” she cried, her hand reaching out as if she would comfort him.

“I have been given a great gift in you, Rosamund. I want you to be happy, but do I know how to make a woman,
a wife,
happy?”

“Owein,” she reassured him, touched by this strong man’s vulnerability, “I am happy. I swear it! My marriage to you is the first real marriage I will have. John Bolton and I were babies. My dear Hugh more grandsire than husband, and I far too young at any rate. Now I am not too young, nor are you too old. We are friends, and comfortable with each other. Friendship is important between a husband and a wife, or so the Venerable Margaret told me. I trust her. I believe that we are starting off better than many.”

“But lovey, there is more to marriage than just friendship,” he said softly.

“There is passion I am told,” Rosamund answered him. “How lovely that I shall explore that side of my nature with my best friend, Owein. You will lead, and I will follow. Perhaps we will learn to love each other, but if not, we will surely respect each other.”

He shook his head in wonderment at her words. “You reason like a London lawyer,” he teased gently. “You are young and inexperienced, but God’s boots, lovey, you are wise!” Reaching out, he cupped the back of her head in his palm and pulled her forward to kiss her lips.

“Mmmm,” Rosamund approved his actions. “I like your kisses, Owein Meredith. They are delicious. Not at all like Prince Henry, whose kisses seem to demand everything of a lass, especially that which she should not give him.” Then she leaned toward him and kissed him back enthusiastically.

After a few breathless moments he broke the embrace between them, saying, “I want the church marriage performed between us as soon as we return to Friarsgate, Rosamund. I do not think I can wait to love you, my betrothed wife.”

“Why must we wait?” she asked him candidly. “We are formally betrothed. It is legal if we decide to enjoy each other, is it not?”

“I will have no hasty first coupling with you, lovey,” he told her, “and in this you must defer to my wisdom. Besides, when we come together at last ’twill be in our own bedchamber, not upon some riverbank where we might be discovered by any low peasant.” He took her chin between thumb and forefinger. “The first time must be perfect for you, Rosamund, for it will surely be perfect for me, my beautiful bride.”

God’s boots! How this man set her heart to racing when he said things like that, she thought. Her breath grew short, her mind reeled with an elusive pleasure she didn’t quite understand, but certainly enjoyed. “Owein Meredith,” she teased softly, “I believe that you have already begun to make love to me, and I find it most pleasant.”

The afternoon had become an idyll, but it had to end. Maybel returned from her stroll, and they rejoined the wedding party. Margaret Tudor
departed York on the seventeenth of July, traveling to Durham next. It was there that a new bishop was to be installed. The bridal progress remained three days, entertained by the bishop, who gave an enormous feast for all who might come, and his hall was filled to overflowing with all the guests who arrived, each eager to see and be seen.

They next traveled to Newcastle where the young Queen of the Scots made another state entry into the town. She was greeted at the city’s gates by a choir of fresh-faced children singing happy hymns of joy to her. On the quayside of the river Tyne the citizens scrambled into the rigging of the moored ships in order to get a better look at the wondrous public display. The young queen rested that night at the Augustinian monastery in the town. It was there that Rosamund came to bid her friend farewell.

When the officious Countess of Surrey attempted to prevent Rosamund’s entry into the queen’s rooms, Tillie, Margaret Tudor’s faithful tiring woman since her birth, said boldly, “This is the Lady Rosamund Bolton, the heiress of Friarsgate, who has been my mistress’ dearest companion these last months. She is much in both the Queen of the Scots favor and that of the Countess of Richmond, even as she was with our dear queen, God assoil her soul. Tomorrow this lady departs the progress for her own home with her betrothed husband, Sir Owein Meredith. My mistress will want to see her before she goes, your ladyship.” This last was said with a rather strong emphasis.

“Oh, very well,” the Countess of Surrey said, bested. “But do not remain too long with her highness, Lady Rosamund.”

Rosamund curtsied. “Thank you, madame, for your kindness,” she said with innocent malice.

“Well, at least she has manners,” the countess sniffed as Rosamund disappeared into Margaret Tudor’s apartments, while Tillie swallowed her laughter.

“Meg!”

“Oh, Rosamund!”
Meg cried. “I was fearful the old dragon wouldn’t let you in to see me before you left us.” The two girls embraced.

“Thank your Tillie. She is a far fiercer dragon than the Countess of
Surrey.” Rosamund laughed. “You look tired, Meg.” She took her friend’s hand, and they sat together.

“I am,” the young queen admitted, “but I cannot show it. Such a great to-do is being made over this marriage. Everyone is so anxious to please my father with their entertainments. John Yonge is keeping a most careful chronicle of the entire journey. I have seen some of his writings. He has written in copious detail of the Earl of Northumberland’s wardrobe, which is, of course, magnificent. I do not know if Harry Percy means to do me honor as they all say, or make himself look royal.” She laughed. “I am gaining the first prerequisite of a queen. A suspicious nature.” And she laughed again, this time almost ruefully. “When will you leave us?” she asked.