Rosamund (36 page)

Sir Thomas surprised his cousin with four new gowns he had had made for her. While she had been at court serving the queen he had taken one of her gowns, and the seamstress who made his own garments had taken
the gown apart, made measurements from it, and put it back together again. Then she proceeded to fashion the four dresses.

“Are you surprised, darling girl?” her cousin demanded of her. “The dark colors are elegant, I will grant you, but you are too young to keep to mourning for long. The colors I chose are not too garish, are they?” He looked at the four gowns upon her bed. One was a tawny orange, one a rich wine color, the third violet, and the last a true Tudor green, unlike her deep green velvet gown. They were the most fashionable gowns possible, embroidered and sewn with gold, small jewels, and pearls.

“Tom! I shall be the envy of the queen’s ladies, I vow,” she told him, laughing. “You should not have, for I shall not be here that long, but oh, my! How beautiful they all are! Thank you!” She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek.

He flushed with pleasure. “Of course I should spoil you, Rosamund,” he insisted. “Your company has made me happy for the first time in a long while.”

“But I shall go home as soon as I may,” Rosamund said. “You will be lonely then, and I do not want that, dear cousin.”

“Then I shall come to Friarsgate when the loneliness overcomes me. Then when I am bored with a surfeit of simple country living, I shall return to court again. It is the perfect solution, is it not?”

“What shall I wear tonight?” Rosamund asked him. “There is to be something titled
An Interlude of the Gentlemen of his Chapel Before His Grace,
followed by a pageant,
The Garden of Pleasure.
They say the king will wear purple satin.”

“The king would do better to accept my fashion direction,” Lord Cambridge sniffed. “Instead he will have his costume approved by those roughnecks with whom he is always jousting and drinking. He will have gold H’s and K’s sewn all over the garment, my dear girl. This fantasy of romantic love he persists in presenting to the world, when we all know he married the queen because she was available and he needed to sire an heir immediately, is ridiculous.”

“Oh, Tom, she is really a good lady, and so brave,” Rosamund defended her mistress.

“Aye, my dear Rosamund, she is, but I am a man of the world. Believe
me that, contract or no, Henry Tudor would have married someone else had there been a proper princess of the right age available. This nonsense with little Eleanor of Austria was a farce, and we all knew it. King Ferdinand knew it, but like his daughter he hung on with great tenacity. Only at the end, when it became apparent that the old king was dying, did Spain have Katherine’s dowry transferred to their Flemish bankers across the channel. Then the king died, and the prince became the new king, and suddenly he was most anxious to make Katherine his bride. And his counsel was so very reasonable about the dowry that had to be transferred back to England. No, dear girl, the king married his wife because he hoped, as his father hoped when he matched her to Prince Arthur, that she would prove to be the breeder that her mother was. Already the king’s eye has wandered, and it will not be the last time, I promise you.”

“ ’Tis true his eye is quick,” Rosamund admitted. “I see him in the chapel now and again casting his gaze among the women there.”

“Hmmmm,” Lord Cambridge said. Then his tone grew intimate. “Does his eye linger on any one lady longer than another, dear girl?”

She swatted at him and laughed. “Not that I have noticed. He certainly does not look at his wife’s ladies, I assure you. I think the debacle with the Duke of Buckingham’s sisters cured him of that. The queen’s women all have their own opinion of who it was, with most of them favoring the Lady Anne.” Then changing the subject she asked him, “What will you wear tonight, cousin?”

“Black,” he said. “It is simple, and I suspect that simple should be the order of the evening if one is not to compete with the king and his purple. Besides, he is letting the general public in, which I never consider a wise thing.”

Rosamund put on the tawny orange gown and preened happily about her chamber. Doll brought her a flat box, another gift from Tom. It contained a beautiful gold chain decorated with golden topaz, and a matching broach in the shape of a diamond and set in gold. Instead of her blue cloak Annie put a new cloak of rich brown velvet trimmed in marten over her shoulders and then drew up the fur-trimmed hood, for the February day was raw and windy.

“You spoil me outrageously, cousin,” Rosamund told Lord Cambridge as they prepared to leave for Westminster, each in their own barge, “and I must admit that I love it!”

He smiled, pleased. “Having you with me is like having my sister back with me again, Rosamund. I know you are not May, but you are much like her in your youth and sweetness.”

The palace was more crowded than Rosamund had ever seen it. The public had been allowed in to view the royal festivities. As Lord Cambridge had suspected, it was a bad idea. When the pageant was over and done with, the crowds surged forward, tearing at the players’ costumes for souvenirs. The king found himself stripped down to his doublet and hose, and laughed uproariously, particularly when one of his gentlemen, Sir Thomas Knyvet, was stripped stark naked and had to climb a pillar for safety. When the crowd began to tear at the gowns of the ladies who had danced in the pageant, the king ordered the guard called in, and the public was ushered firmly from the palace. The court then went in to eat a large banquet that had been prepared for the occasion, despite the condition of their finery, although Sir Thomas Knyvet was forced to withdraw and find some garments to wear.

And then news arrived on February twenty-third that the little Prince of Wales had died suddenly that morning. Rosamund was in the queen’s chamber when the king came to tell her. He took her into her privy chamber, and her sudden great cries of anguish alerted her women to the tragedy. And to everyone’s surprise the king remained with his wife comforting her as best he could, forsaking his own grief in an effort to ease the queen’s sorrow.

“It will begin again,” Lord Cambridge murmured to his cousin as they spoke quietly together in a corridor of the palace. “He should have possessed his soul of patience and found another princess. She has lost two children now, God help England.”

“She is in agony, poor lady,” Rosamund told him, “but you are right. It does England little good. Still, her mother and her sisters have proven themselves good breeders and yet lost a few along the way. It will be different next time.”

“I pray you are right, cousin,” Lord Cambridge told her.

They walked together back toward the queen’s apartments, and then the door to those rooms opened and the king exited. Sir Thomas Bolton bowed gracefully, and Rosamund curtsied. The king nodded brusquely in their direction, and then he stopped suddenly.

The blue eyes fixed Rosamund with a look, and he said, “You are the lady of Friarsgate, are you not, madame?”

“I am, your majesty,” she answered him softly, her heart pounding with excitement. He had not mattered when he was a boy, but now this was the king who spoke to her.

“Aye, I remember you,” the king told her with a small smile. “My behavior toward you was churlish, and Sir Owein said so quite plainly. Yet you were not in the least abashed to learn a wager had been made involving your virtue. You gave poor Neville quite a setdown and he took it badly, but you did not scold me, as I recall.”

“One does not reprimand a young man who will one day be your king,” Rosamund said smoothly. “A king can do no wrong, and makes his own rules, I know. Besides, my lord, you held no grudge, for you witnessed my formal betrothal to Sir Owein and told me to remember it, for I should tell my children one day that you did.”

“And my father reminded me that I was not yet England’s king,” Henry said, and laughed. “I am sorry about Sir Owein. Was he a good husband?”

“There was none better, my lord!” Rosamund said, and to her surprise she felt tears in her eyes.

“And you had children?” the king continued, seeing her tears.

“Three daughters, my lord, and a son lost at birth,” Rosamund told him. “It was a foolish accident that took my husband from me.”

“We are glad you are here with our queen, to whom you were so kind in her difficult years,” the king said. Then he bowed and moved on down the corridor and out of their sight.

“God’s nightshirt!”
Thomas Bolton swore softly. “There is a story here, cousin, you have not told me. And may heaven help you, for I could see his interest as he looked at you. And you said all the right things to him! Never again tell me that you do not belong at court, Rosamund Bolton, for you are far wiser to the ways of the court than I previously believed.”

“I know he is the king,” she responded, “but you must remember I knew him as a boy. Of course I respect him as my king, but I still think of him as that mischievous lad, Prince Hal.”

“God help us! He will surely seduce you this time, my dear cousin! And while you may not realize it, you are ripe for it! Oh lord help us, my dear! Go back to your mistress, the queen. I must consider this new state of affairs,” he told her.

“You are making something of nothing,” she told him, laughing. “The king was kind enough to remember me from a time long ago. I am indeed flattered that he did. That he remembered who I was is in itself wonderful, Tom. I am not numbered among his high-and-mighty friends, and yet he recalled my name and an incident from our brief shared past.”

“He will get the queen with child again as quickly as he can, I assure you,” Lord Cambridge said, “and then he will cast his eye about for a lady to amuse him in the coming summer months. And mark my words, cousin, you are very much on his mind now.”

“You are mistaken, I am certain,” Rosamund said. “The king was polite and gracious. Nothing more, nor can there be anything more.”

Lord Cambridge shook his head in despair. His lovely cousin was innocent in many ways. And how he was to protect her, he did not know.

The little prince was buried in Westminster Abbey, following a period of mourning in which his frail little body was displayed in an elaborate coffin surrounded by hundreds of candles that burned day and night until his midnight burial. He was given a torch-lit ceremony attended by the entire court, all garbed in deepest black. His soul was now with God and among the innocents.

The penitential season of Lent was now upon them, made all the more somber by the recent royal death. The queen prayed incessantly day and night, wearing a hair shirt, eating little and but once a day. The meals served in the queen’s chambers were spartan. Just brown bread and fish. At Easter the king received a Golden Rose from the pope, which the pontiff had blessed himself. It was a sign of great favor. And immediately after Easter, the court removed to Greenwich to celebrate the month of May.

“I
t is exactly like Bolton House!” Rosamund said, very surprised, as the barge approached her cousin’s house at Greenwich.

“Of course,” Tom told her. “Bolton Greenwich is identical in every detail to Bolton House. I dislike confusion, dear girl, and I abhor the chaos of dislocation. When I bought the property at Greenwich I commissioned an architect and builders to replicate Bolton House. Even the decor is the same. The servants come with me as I do not like paying them to be idle at Bolton House while I am at Bolton Greenwich. It is a perfect solution, as you will discover.”

Rosamund laughed. “Actually I believe I already like the idea, and I know Annie will. She has been so fretful of learning a new place when, as she says, ‘I am finally just getting this house right.’ Doll did not tell her, for Doll loves to play her tricks on my poor Annie.” Rosamund’s eyes moved just past Bolton Greenwich. “Is that the palace beyond, Tom?”

He nodded.

“God’s blood! You are next door to the king and his court, cousin. That was either most clever of you or most fortuitous.”

“It was both,” he replied loftily. “It is not a large property, which is why it was thought an undesirable acreage. Now, however, I am the envy of all. I have had any number of offers to purchase it from me, but for the time being I enjoy keeping it. It is not a property that will lose its value. Once again, I fear I display my less-than-noble roots by thinking like a merchant,” he said with a chuckle.

The barge had reached its destination. It docked, and Lord Cambridge’s servants were there to help their master and Rosamund from the comfortable vessel. She sniffed the air curiously.

“What is that smell?” she inquired of her cousin.

For a moment he appeared puzzled, and then he said, “Why it is the sea, dear girl. We are nearer the sea here, downriver. Of course! You have never smelled the sea before, or even seen it, have you? Landlocked in your Cumbrian hills you have not had the opportunity.”

“But I have been to Greenwich before,” Rosamund told him.

“It is the way the wind is blowing today,” he explained.

“How interesting,” she said, “but then, when the wind blows in a different direction at Friarsgate the scent is different. In the winter when it comes from the north I can smell the snow on it.”

They entered the house, and again Rosamund was slightly taken aback. As Tom had told her, the interior of Bolton Greenwich was identical to that of Bolton House. It was a bit confusing because she knew she would expect the outside to be as it was upriver at first, but, she supposed, she would get used to it as she had gotten used to any number of things since her arrival at court five months ago. “I will not have to worry about sleeping at the palace unless I am needed,” she said thoughtfully. “I like that, Tom.”

“Aye, my dear, you have but to go through the wall door in my gardens into the king’s park. You will be the envy of all.”

Rosamund sighed. “I wish the queen would allow me to go home, but she has said naught, and I am afraid to ask lest I offend her. I would not imply that her company was dull, but I miss Friarsgate, and I miss my children, Tom.”

“Do you miss your brazen Scot as well?” he teased her.

“I do not!”
she cried indignantly. “Why are you so damned curious about Logan Hepburn, cousin?”

Tom Bolton shrugged. “Your characterization of him rather intrigues me, dear girl. Nothing more. I hope that I shall get to meet him when I return you home.”

“But when will that be?” she wailed with a deep sigh.

“I hear a rumor that the king will make his summer progress in the midlands this year. That will take you in the direction of home, Rosamund, and probably at that point you may request your release from the queen. She will understand your concern about your daughters.”

“It will be almost a year,” Rosamund said. “Bessie and Banon will not know me at all. It is not as if my presence is necessary or vital to the queen.”

“I know,” he said sympathetically, placing an arm about her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze, “but poor Katherine believes that she is doing you a good turn. For her the court is the world but next to heaven itself. Be grateful at least that her concerns for an heir have kept her from matchmaking, dear girl.”

“God forbid!” Rosamund responded.

The court prepared for May Day. A maypole was set up in the gardens of Greenwich, and ladies were chosen to dance about it as an entertainment. To her surprise Rosamund was one of those ladies. She was not usually included in such events as a participant. She had decided to wear her Tudor-green silk gown in honor of the queen. There would be a hunt in the morning, but she would not take part in it. She did not like hunting, which put her at odds with most of the court who seemed to find the blood sport so stimulating. Rosamund, however, did not consider chasing a hapless animal through the woodlands with dogs only to kill it when caught, entertainment.

The sun had not quite crept over the horizon when she, Annie, and Doll came from the house to go a-Maying. They would first gather the dew of the morning, which was said to be most beneficial for the complexion. Then they would gather greens and flowers with which to decorate the hall. The three young women were barefoot and wore simple skirts of linen, their chemises acting as blouses.

“Do you think they will serve green food in the king’s hall tonight?” Annie wondered aloud.

“Of course!” Doll replied. “The master says the king loves May Day of all holidays, and keeps its traditions.”

“The meat is sometimes green in the king’s hall,” Rosamund observed wryly, “which is why I eat there as infrequently as possible.”

The two young servant women laughed.

A large patch of dew was found, and they gathered it in their hands and spread it liberally on their faces. Then they went about the task of gathering flowers, flowering branches, and other greens for the hall at Bolton Greenwich. Rosamund eventually became separated from her two companions as she wandered about her cousin’s gardens. Suddenly she heard a voice singing softly, and she followed the sound. It led to the door in the brick wall between the garden in which she now stood and the king’s park beyond. Still, the voice was so intriguing that she opened the portal and peeped through. There beneath a tree sat the king, strumming on his lute and singing quietly to himself.

“Now is the month of Maying, when merry lads do play

“Fa la la la la la la lala! Fa la la la la lala!

“Each with his bonnie lass, a-dancing on the grass

“Fa la la la la! La la la la la la la la! Lala Lala!”

Rosamund laughed, and the king, seeing her, jumped up, leaving his lute on the grass. “My Lady Rosamund of Friarsgate. I bid you a good May morning.” He came toward her. “Did you enjoy my song, madame?”

“I did, your majesty, very much,” she told him.

“Once you called me Hal,” he said, and his voice was suddenly low and very intimate. He was now standing directly before her.

“You were not my king then, your majesty,” she said softly, almost breathlessly. This was a dangerous game she was suddenly playing, but she could not seem to back away from it.

Reaching out his big hand he caressed her cheek gently. “The queen says you have the perfect English complexion, fair Rosamund. It is still damp with the dew of this May morning, though I do not think you need to resort to any artifice. You are beautiful enough.” Then his fingers caught her chin. He tipped her face up to his, and his lips brushed hers tenderly. “Beautiful, and gentle, and virtuous,” he said, and one arm wrapped about her to pull her close. “Do you know how often I have thought of you over the years, fair Rosamund?”

“Your majesty flatters me,” she managed to say, although where the words came from she was not certain. She could hardly breathe.

“Do you like flattery?” he questioned her, a small smile on his lips, his blue eyes locking onto her amber ones.

“Only if it is sincere, my lord,” she responded.

“I should never approach a lady without sincerity, fair Rosamund,” he murmured, his lips dangerously near hers again.

Was she going to faint? Her legs felt like jelly. His gaze was simply mesmerizing. His breath was scented with mint. Rosamund sighed, unable to stop herself.

The king’s mouth met hers again, kissing her this time with the beginnings of passion. His arms were now wrapped tightly about her. She could feel the strength of his big body, and she felt absolutely petite in his embrace. She let herself float away. She hadn’t felt this safe since Owein had died.
Owein!
His name slammed into her brain, and regaining her tenuous grip on reality, she pulled from Henry Tudor’s grasp.

“Oh, your majesty!” she said, her eyes wide with the terrible realization of what they had been doing.

“Fair Rosamund—” he began.

She backed away toward the garden door. “
No, your majesty!
This is most unseemly, and you know it as well as I do. I beg your majesty’s pardon for my shameless behavior. I certainly never meant to tease your majesty or lead him on into sin.” Then she curtsied quickly, and turning, dashed back into her cousin’s garden, pulling the door shut behind her as she went.

He heard the sound of other female voices calling to her. The king grinned, well-pleased. She was delicious. She was the most tempting confection he had come upon in a long time. Her sweetly submissive acquiescence had set his loins afire, but this time he would keep his lust to himself. He had no intention of letting those sharp-eyed harridans who served his wife catch him again, even if he was plucking the prettiest flower from their midst. Her show of modesty had delighted him, yet she had spirit. But no one, not even his closest companions should know of his interest in the lady of Friarsgate. How convenient that her cousin’s house was his neighbor. He would have her in her own bed. There would be no palace servitors, or anyone else to catch them. No one would see him coming through the midnight gardens. Only her cousin would know,
so that he might leave a side door open for the king. Lord Cambridge was known to be a bit eccentric, but he was also said to be an exceedingly sensible man.

The king began to hum as he headed back toward the palace. He picked a bunch of wildflowers just coming into bloom for his wife. Kate was trying so hard to conceive another child for him. He would surprise her with the May morn bouquet. Perhaps he might even spend a few private moments with her before the hunt. The heat in his loins was great, and his seed needed immediate release. His lust would have made it potent, too. Yes, a little futtering with the queen before the activities of the day began would be most pleasant indeed. And then tonight, or perhaps tomorrow night, he would seek out the fair Rosamund and have his way with her. Henry Tudor smiled, pleased with himself and pleased with the world in general.

As the queen enjoyed the hunt herself, Rosamund knew she would not have to put in an appearance until it was time for the maypole in midafternoon. She rejoined her two companions, and they returned to the house, arms filled with flowers and branches with which they decorated the hall of Bolton Greenwich. When Lord Cambridge joined them later he expressed his pleasure at their efforts.

“You are such a lay-abed,” Rosamund teased her cousin. “The dew is all gone now, and you have got none of it.”

He chuckled. “You mean you saved none for me, you selfish wench. I am offended, but I will forgive you, for the hall is lovely.”

“Tom, I must speak privily with you,” Rosamund said quietly.

He heard the serious tone in her voice, and said as quietly, “Let us walk in my gardens, cousin. The day is fair, and I have not yet taken the air. Nor am I apt to unless I am in your company.”

On a stone bench overlooking the river she told him of her adventure earlier that morning. Thomas Bolton listened, not in the least shocked, for he had suspected that sooner rather than later the king would approach his cousin with seduction in mind. The tenor of her voice told him that she was both distressed by her behavior and yet tempted by Henry Tudor’s handsome looks and power.

“What am I to do, Tom?” she said to him despairingly.

“He will not resort to rape,” Lord Cambridge said slowly. “That has never been his style. Not only would it violate his personal code of chivalry, but his sense of self as well, for the king thinks most highly of himself and his honor. Yet despite his marriage vows he would not think his honor compromised by bedding a woman other than his wife. The queen is there to breed up heirs for England. That is her raison d’être, dear girl. That he is fond of her, that her pedigree is flawless, that she knows how to conduct herself as a queen of England, these things are all of benefit to him and to his realm. Queen Katherine serves her purpose. Other women, however, are another thing entirely, Rosamund. Other women are there to be pursued, to be courted, to be bedded. They are for the king’s pleasure, but certainly nothing more. He will not force you, but he will seduce you, cousin.”

“I remember the boy,” she said. “I know much more about him than he would suspect, for Margaret Tudor spoke of him all the time. He is not a man to accept rejection gracefully, Tom. So what am I to do? I have my honor as well, and I serve the queen.”

“You have two choices open to you. You could ask the queen this day for her permission to return home to Friarsgate, but if she refused you, what would you do? You risk offending her
and
the king without solving your dilemma. Or you can surrender yourself to the king should he require it, but if you do, you must confide in no one about your relationship, and you must be more discreet than a nun visiting the pope’s bed in Lent. While a king is expected to take his mistresses, notoriety is not a good thing for those ladies, my dear. We are not, after all, French,” he finished with a disdainful sniff.