Rosamund (28 page)

“ ’Tis that same spirit that kept her safe from her uncle Henry and his machinations,” Maybel replied, smiling back at Owein.

He hurried upstairs to their chamber and entered it to find his wife awaiting him. After closing the door to the chamber, he threw the bolt.
“And will you join me, madame? You did not answer me when I asked you in the hall earlier.” He sat down and offered her a booted foot.

Rosamund pulled the boots from his feet and peeled his sewn stockings off, her nose wrinkling as she did so. “Jesu! Mary!” she exclaimed. “Never have I smelled such a stink, and in answer to your query, my lord, aye, I will join you. How else can I scrub the dirt from your body and pick the nits you have undoubtedly acquired at court from your head? I can but imagine you in the king’s hall with your cronies, drinking and gossiping all night. As I recall, your companions are none too fastidious in their personal toilet.”

“A simple knight does not have many opportunities to bathe,” he admitted to her as she undressed him.

“Did you see Prince Henry?” Rosamund wondered.

“In the hall at dinner, aye, but not to speak with, lovey. He’s grown into a man—tall, big boned, and much like his grandfather, King Edward IV they say. He is wondrous handsome, with skin almost as fair as a maid’s, red-gold hair, and bright blue eyes. He is in some ways like his late brother, Arthur, though that prince had not this prince’s size, or height, or robust health. He is very boisterous and amusingly clever. The people seem to adore him every bit as much as they dislike his father.”

“Get into the tub,” she instructed him, and he obeyed her while she slid out of her chemise, joining him in the warm water.

“You must kiss me, madame, before you take a brush to me,” he said with a grin. “God! This water feels wonderful, lovey. No one can prepare a bath like you can.” He sniffed. “White heather.”

“It will not linger on you, sir, but considering your journey I thought it best to add a bit of scent.” She kissed him quickly on his lips, but he was not satisfied.

He pulled her back into his embrace, his lips pressed firmly against hers, and beguiled as she always was by his kiss, Rosamund sighed. Their tongues played a game of hide-and-seek. His hands began to roam her firm body, fondling her buttocks, caressing her breasts. His very quick arousal surprised even him. They did not speak. Instead, he pushed her back against the oaken walls of their tub, and lifting her up, impaled her on his love rod.

“Ahhhhh!”
They both sighed with pleasure together.

Her arms slipped about his neck as she pressed against him.

He took her face between his two palms. “Do not ask me to leave you again, Rosamund. I missed you greatly.”

“And I you, my lord. Ah, oh, that is nice, Owein.”

His buttocks contracted as he thrust into her. “Aye, ’tis heaven, lovey.”

Their lips met in a burning kiss that but intensified the passion felt between them. He could feel the crisis approaching as could she. His desire exploded as her sharp little teeth sank into his muscled shoulder. Then her legs unwrapped from about his waist, and she clung to him weakly, their breath coming in short quick pants that gradually died away to slow deep sighs of satisfaction.

Finally Rosamund opened her eyes once again. Her legs still felt a bit wobbly, but gamely taking up the flannel cloth, she began to wash her husband. Owein had a small smile upon his lips, and she laughed softly to see it.

Hearing her mirth he opened his hazel-green eyes and said, “You find something funny, madame?”

“You really did miss me, Owein,” she teased him. “Did no lady of the court offer her charms for old times’ sake, my lord? You were most eager to couple with me.”

“You did not naysay me, lovey,” he teased back. “I do not believe we have ever before made love in our tub. I found it quite stimulating. I wonder if all husbands and wives enjoy each other as we do. We have certainly made the best of the bargain given us.”

“ ’Twas not a bad bargain,” Rosamund admitted. “You loved me before we even wed, and I have come to love you with all my heart. I can only hope that poor Kate will one day have the same good fortune. Now, stand still, Owein. I have never seen such filth as is on your neck and in your ears, sir. I wonder if I shall ever get you clean.”

“Whether you do or not, lovey, I beg you to hurry. I long for our bed, and I long to hold you in my arms again.”

“We shall make a son sooner than later if you continue to behave with such enthusiasm,” she crowed, pleased.

“We shall make a son in God’s good time, lovey,” he answered her, feeling just a trifle guilty about the deception he and Maybel were involved in, but he really did not want to lose her now—or ever.

The summer passed peacefully. They heard little news from the south. The king would be on his progress, and he never came this far north. The weather was not as clement as they would want, and so the harvest was not as bountiful as the previous year. Still, they would survive the winter. The word was put about by Edmund Bolton that Friarsgate would be selling a fine young stud after Lammas. The sale was set for the first day of September.

Tatamount was a dappled gray animal with a coal-black mane and tail. He pranced and snorted and tossed his mane about as he was brought into the enclosed area where he was to be displayed to the prospective buyers.

“Has he been trained to fight?” asked the Earl of Northumberland’s representative.

“He’s too young,” Sir Owein answered, “but if the buyer wishes him trained, we will train him. However, we left him ungelded because his value is in his ability to sire. His own sire is ShadowDancer.”

“The earl wants a fighting mount,” came the reply.

“This is not the animal for him, then,” Sir Owein responded. “But we do have a well-trained gelding that might interest you. If you will follow Edmund Bolton to the barns he will display the animal to you.”

The earl’s man nodded and trailed after Edmund. This left but two other bidders. A representative from Lord Neville and Logan Hepburn. Owein was surprised, for he did not think Logan Hepburn had the funds for such a purchase. Yet the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn bid heatedly against Lord Neville’s man. It finally reached a point where Sir Owein had to say, “Gentlemen, I must see your monies before we can proceed further.”

Each man held up a heavy bag. Lord Neville’s man topped Logan Hepburn’s bid. Now it was the Hepburn who bid the price even higher, adding, “I am bidding for my cousin, the Earl of Bothwell, who seeks the beast as a gift for his queen.”

Lord Neville’s man laughed ruefully. “Then I must decline to bid
further, for I will not bid against a man who seeks to gift Margaret Tudor, my own king’s daughter. The beast is yours, my lord.”

Logan Hepburn bowed. “Thank you,” he said.

“We will conclude our business inside the house,” Owein said. He turned to Lord Neville’s representative. “Will you join us and have some wine, sir?”

“Nay, but my thanks, Sir Owein. I must return to give my master the disappointing news.” He bowed to the two men, and mounting his own horse, which had been tethered nearby, he rode off with a wave of his hand.

Owein led the Hepburn into the hall where Rosamund was waiting. Her eyebrow arched in surprise as she saw their guest.

“Logan Hepburn has bought Tatamount for his cousin, the Earl of Bothwell, who wishes the beast for the queen.”

“It will not prove a good gift, Logan Hepburn,” Rosamund said. “The Queen of the Scots likes only well-mannered palfreys. What would she do with a stud like Tatamount?”

Logan Hepburn handed his bag of coins to Owein. “I lied,” he said, his blue eyes dancing. “Lord Neville’s man was beginning to irritate me, and I had only so much to spend. You shall have it all if you so wish. I want the stallion for myself.” The defiant look he gave them dared them to argue with him, but Owein did.

“You have acted in a dishonorable manner, my lord,” he said. “I should send after Lord Neville’s man and let him have the animal.”

“But you will not,” Logan Hepburn said. “Neville does not treat horses well, and you have heard the rumors yourself. I have simply saved you from an unhappy ending of this auction. The earl’s man wants a fighting horse. I want a stud. I would have outbid Lord Neville’s man in the end at any rate. Are my monies not as good as an Englishman’s, my lord?”

“It is not your monies I question, but your manners,” Owein replied. “Open your bag and spread the coins before me.”

Logan Hepburn carelessly spilled his monies onto the high board. Owein counted out the amount agreed upon. He was about to return the remaining coins, but to his surprise Rosamund stepped forward and swept the balance into her own hands.

“Since, my lord, you were willing to bid your entire stash, you shall indeed forgo it all for your duplicity. You see, I find your Scots’ coin every bit as good as English coin, being a sensible woman.”

Logan Hepburn burst out laughing.

“Rosamund, we cannot,” Owein said.

“Aye, we can!” she replied. “Remember what it is for, my lord. Yon canny Scot would have cheated us if he could. He deserves to forfeit all of his monies.”

“Keep it,” Logan Hepburn said, wiping his eyes of the tears that his laughter had brought forth. “Each time, lady of Friarsgate, that I think you are as meek and mild as the lambs dotting your hillside, you surprise me with your claws, which are still very sharp. You are a most worthy opponent.” He bowed to them both. “I know my way out. I shall take the animal with me if you will prepare the bill of sale.”

“Edmund Bolton will see that you have it,” Owein said shortly.

The Hepburn of Claven’s Carn bowed again. “I will bid you both a good day then. I look forward to our next encounter, lady.” Then, with a wave, he was gone from their hall.

“I am beginning to understand your dislike of the man,” Owein said through gritted teeth. “He looks at you as if you were the next meal he anticipated devouring.”

Now it was Rosamund who laughed. “Are you jealous, my lord?” she teased him, stroking his clenched jaw. “He did not cheat us, Owein. He paid full price for the beast and a bit more. We shall send it south with Kate’s man when he visits us this autumn. I am content, and I would have you be, too.”

He bent and kissed her hard. “Aye, I find I am jealous, lovey. Each time we meet I remember that Logan Hepburn wanted you for his wife before we wed. He has not yet married I am told.”

“But you are wed, and to me, my lord. Let us put this rude borderer from our minds, and enjoy each other,” she said softly, seducing him with a smile and a caress.

He nodded. “Aye, lovey. I must remember. I have you. He doesn’t.”

R
osamund received but one letter from Katherine of Aragon after the summer of fifteen hundred and six and Owein’s visit to court. In it Kate began joyously writing that the king was permitting her to spend more time with Prince Henry. It would appear the difference in their ages was smoothing itself away as he grew into manhood. The prince was attentive. He was kind, the princess wrote, continuing to refer to her in public as “my most dear and beloved consort, the princess, my wife.” The bond of affection began to grow between Katherine of Aragon and young Prince Henry Tudor. The king, however, seeing what was happening, decided to separate the couple, for he had still not determined that the marriage take place.

I believe,
the princess continued,
that he now thinks the marriage between his son and I will not take place. I have been sent to Fullham Palace again, although the king has said if I prefer any other of his houses I may have it. I cannot afford to maintain Fullham, and have so written to the king. Why does he not understand my plight? I am now told I will return to court come autumn. Oh, Rosamund, what will happen to me? I am beginning to be afraid, but I must trust more in God and his Blessed Mother to protect me and keep me from all harm. Of late I have felt my faith wavering and must make amends for it lest I be punished.

“It is intolerable that they play this game of cat and mouse with her,” Rosamund said indignantly.

Then in November a messenger arrived from the Princess of Aragon with stunning news. Kate’s brother-in-law, Archduke Phillip, had died suddenly at the age of twenty-eight. Her sister, Juana, the Queen of Castile, was devastated. Never stable, Juana had collapsed, resolutely refusing to believe that her husband was dead. She would not, at first, allow his body to be buried, opening the coffin and kissing the decomposing remains passionately before falling into great bouts of hysteria and weeping. Finally her attendants were able to convince her to permit her husband a decent Christian burial.

King Ferdinand immediately moved to take possession of Castile, as it was very obvious to everyone that Queen Juana, never strong under the best of circumstances, would not ever again be entirely sane. She could not govern, and her eight-year-old son Charles was declared Carlos I of Castile, his grandfather of Aragon acting as regent for the boy. Now Ferdinand had all of Spain back in his hands. It did not, however, help Katherine’s position, as her nephew should one day be ruler of Castile.

Rosamund and Owein gave the princess’ man the proceeds from the sale of Tatamount and enclosed a loving letter of support with the instructions to have the messenger return in the spring with news and they would try to help further.

“We will sell lambs,” Rosamund said, determined. “Oh, Owein, that I were a wealthy heiress with bags of gold in my vault! But I am just the lady of Friarsgate. My wealth is in my lands, my flocks, and my herds. Do you think poor Kate will ever be Queen of England now?” She sighed. “Poor lass for all her fine title.”

In the late spring of fifteen hundred and seven Rosamund’s two daughters celebrated birthdays. They were, to their parents’ relief, strong and healthy little girls. Wherever Philippa would go, Banon was sure to be found toddling on fat baby legs right behind her. By late summer Rosamund knew she was once again with child, and she despaired.

“Another daughter, I am certain of it!” she wailed. “Why can I not make you a son, Owein?”

“You cannot know until the bairn is born,” he said, “and if it another lass I shall be content as long as you are both safe and well. Besides, it will give me great pleasure to match my girls while your uncle Henry sits by gnashing his teeth that I overlook his sons.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Aye, it will drive him quite wild to see my female progeny inheriting Friarsgate,” Rosamund agreed. “I hear that Mavis has whelped another bastard, although my uncle must claim it as his own.”

“What shall we name another daughter, if indeed it be a lass?” he asked her.

“Well,” Rosamund considered, “we have named the first after my mother and the second after your mother. I think I shall call this one after the king’s late wife, Queen Elizabeth, who was so good to me when I first arrived at court. It is a lass, Owein. I quicken the same way as with the others and am as healthy as a sow.” She sighed, then said with a grin, “We do have a great deal of fun producing these daughters of ours. Yet we must be doing something wrong. After I have birthed Bessie we must consider it well, for I will have a son, dammit!”

Rosamund birthed her third daughter, Elizabeth, on May the twenty-third fifteen hundred and eight. The child was also given the names of Julia, for her birth date was the saint’s day, and Anne, for the mother of the Blessed Virgin, who was said to be the patron of expectant mothers. Like her sisters, Bessie was a strong and healthy child, but unlike them she had blond hair like her father, and Owein was visibly pleased.

The princess’ messenger arrived from Greenwich and was filled with gossip. Rosamund insisted upon being carried into the hall so she might greet him and learn all the news. It was not good. The Princess of Aragon’s few remaining servants were the joke of the king’s court. Those proud Spaniards walked about now, their clothing and livery virtually in rags. Not only that, but the king was in negotiations with Emperor Maximilian of the Holy Roman Empire, to betroth the emperor’s grandson, Archduke Charles, the mad queen of Castile’s son, with his youngest daughter, Princess Mary. As the boy archduke was heir to the Low Countries, this would very much be to England’s advantage regarding the wool
and cloth trade it had with that part of the world. It would also act as a counterbalance to a surprising political alliance only recently made between King Ferdinand and France.

The English king had decided that Ferdinand was no longer necessary to his plans. The Princess of Aragon was made very aware of Henry Tudor’s
want of love for her
as she delicately put it. She had written to her father, begging him for aid. Her few remaining servants were her responsibility, she pointed out again. She was not asking for luxuries, but the simple ability to sustain them. Like all the women of her family, Katherine had been taught from the cradle to submit to the men in her life. Hence she would not criticize, but she would beg. Yet her great pride sustained her somehow, especially when she was being constantly dunned by her creditors. They were aware of the gossip regarding the king’s manner toward the Spanish princess. They feared she would be removed to Spain before they might be paid what was owed them. They did not understand that even a princess may be destitute.

Rosamund wept at her friend’s plight, but as Owein wisely pointed out to her, there was nothing more she could do for Katherine than she was already doing. These were the affairs of the mighty, not of a small landowner in Cumbria. The coins they sent to the princess were great for them, although they would probably sustain the lady for little more than a few days, and poorly at that. Still Rosamund set aside what she could to send to Katherine of Aragon whenever her messenger came to Friarsgate.

The princess’ messenger did not return to Friarsgate for over a year, but when he came the tale he told was worthy of a bard. King Henry Tudor had gotten it into his head that he would marry the mad Queen Juana of Castile. Her mental state meant little to him. What counted was that she was a breeder of healthy children. The king suddenly decided he must have more heirs. Katherine favored the plan, for she was wise enough to realize her own future depended on it. She had managed to convince her father to recall his ambassador, Dr. de Puebla, who was now ill. King Ferdinand, his conscience finally troubling him, sent his daughter two thousand ducats and appointed her his ambassador until he could send another man. The sum of money was not great, but it did allow
Katherine to clear many of her more serious debts, pay her servants, and see to their welfare. Her new ranking as ambassador from Spain again increased her status with Henry’s court. She found herself briefly in favor once more.

Good-hearted and loyal and lacking in malice, the princess had finally learned the hard lesson that the morality practiced by men good or bad was far different from that practiced by women. She grew more assured in her dealings with the king, charming him one moment, learning how to look at him directly and lie facilely. The king even began paying the princess a small allowance once again, but the goodwill did not last long.

Henry Tudor quickly realized that King Ferdinand had no intention of giving up Castile, or Juana, who was totally mad now and confined. He began casting about for another wife. Katherine’s star once more descended into the depths. The king again attempted to make a match for Prince Henry with Eleanor of Austria, but the negotiations quickly collapsed.

Now he turned to France for a bride for his son, but as the year fifteen hundred and nine began, the king was growing sicker. A group of his nobles approached him to beg that he honor the match with Katherine. The last of her dowry was finally ready for payment. He was ill. They feared for the succession if the prince were not quickly wedded and bedded and producing heirs for England. Convinced by his mother, the Venerable Margaret, that he was growing sicker by the day, the king agreed to consider it. But now there was serious talk of Katherine returning to Spain to await another match. She was twenty-three, a bit long in the tooth to begin breeding heirs according to the standards of their day.

Katherine was yet again in financial straits. The tension within her little household was fierce. She had dismissed Dona Elvira at long last, but now there was no one to run her household. Her chamberlain treated her boldly and impertinently. She could not dismiss him because she could not pay him. Her confessor, Fray Diego, an extraordinarily handsome Franciscan, had too great a hold over her and a wicked reputation for lechery among the ladies of the court. Katherine would hear nothing against him, for she adored him, and was frankly besotted. The new
Spanish ambassador, Don Guitier Gomez de Fuensalida, noted the princess’ frightening dependence upon the young priest. He wrote of his genuine concern to her father, sending his own personal servant with the details and asking that the king replace Fray Diego and send the princess an “old—and honest—confessor.”

Learning of the ambassador’s correspondence with her father, the princess cut him dead from that moment on. The ambassador was recalled at her insistence, and Katherine refused to do anything without her confessor’s consent. Then on the twenty-second of April Henry VII finally died at Richmond. After his funeral the court moved to Greenwich, and the new king’s intentions were soon patently clear. He intended honoring his betrothal to Katherine of Aragon, although for a brief few days he hesitated, troubled by his scruples of conscience. Would he, he wondered aloud, commit a sin by marrying his brother’s widow? Or was the pope’s dispension all right? Some churchmen were not happy with the dispension, but as King Ferdinand pointed out, two of Katherine’s sisters were wed to the same King of Portugal, and each bore him healthy children.

The Privy Council pressed the new king to marry the princess. Despite his qualms, he admitted to them that he loved Katherine and desired her above all women. He had admired her since he was a boy of ten, and now he was eighteen. He respected her and thought her courage these past five years admirable. The Venerable Margaret agreed, and her influence with the young king was considerable. Without further hesitation Henry proposed to Katherine. They were married privily on the eleventh of June in her apartments.

I am happier now than I have ever been in all my life, dear Rosamund. Happier than I could have ever imagined. My lord husband is the finest and gentlest of men. I shall always love him. As for you, my dear friend, I cannot thank you enough for your kind sustenance and especially your prayers these last years. I do not know if I shall ever be able to repay you. . . .

Rosamund read the missive, tears streaming down her face.

“Tell the queen,” she said to the royal messenger, “that the little I did
warrants no repayment. I was honored to serve her highness. I will serve her again given the opportunity. You will tell her my exact words? I will not write them, for they would only be seen by some secretary and probably filed away.”

“I will tell her, m’lady,” the messenger said, “and if I may say it, I shall miss my visits to Friarsgate. I have enjoyed watching your daughters grow. May God watch over them.” He bowed.

“Thank you,” Rosamund said with a small smile.

“So there is an end to it,” Owein said quietly that night as they lay abed. “The Henry I served is dead and buried. The young king has done the honorable thing and married Princess Katherine. Now we have but to wait for their heirs.”

“And speaking of heir,” Rosamund murmured in his ear, “it is past time we tried to make a son again, my lord.” She nibbled at his earlobe mischievously.

“Bessie is just a year,” he demurred. “It is too soon.”

“I am twenty years old now, Owein,” she reminded him. “Let us make a son or two, and I will cease my maternal natterings. Besides, the bairn would not be born until next year, and by then Bessie will be two. It is time enough.” She looked down into his face. “Do you not desire me any longer, my lord?”

“You are becoming a very wicked woman, madame,” he told her.

“It is obvious I must be if I am to arouse your passions for me, Owein,” Rosamund said. Then she astounded him by mounting him. “If a man may bestride a woman, why not a woman a man?” she demanded to know, looking down into his surprised face.