Rosamund (41 page)

She nodded as they exited the little room. “We leave in the morning,” she told him.

When they had descended the tower and reentered the wider hallway, the king pulled Rosamund into his arms a final time and kissed her hungrily. Then he turned quickly, without another word, and was gone into the darkness. Rosamund turned to follow the king’s body servant, but he was no longer anywhere in sight. It was Inez de Salinas who stepped from the shadows of the hallway.

“I saw you!”
she hissed furiously at Rosamund.

Oh, God, that this should happen now, Rosamund thought, but then she said to Inez,
“You saw nothing.”

“I saw you in the king’s arms playing the whore,” Inez accused.

“You saw nothing,”
Rosamund repeated.

“Will you deny that you were kissing the king? When I tell the queen of your perfidy! Even I was fooled by you, the meek and gentle lady of
Friarsgate, but you are no better than the rest of these English
putas.
You all seek to advance yourselves on your backs like French bitches!”

“You are insulting, Inez, and you have no right to be,” Rosamund defended herself. “If you run to the queen you will upset her needlessly. She could lose the child she is carrying. Do you want to have that sin on your conscience?”

“How dare you!” Inez cried. “It is not I who was in the king’s arms this night, and you,
you would not upset the queen?
You are as bold a creature as I have ever met!”

“It was not the king,”
Rosamund said. She had to say something.

“Then who was it?” Inez demanded suspiciously. “It certainly looked like the king.”

“I don’t know how you could tell in this dim hallway,” Rosamund replied blandly.

“If it wasn’t that satyr my mistress is married to, then name me your lover, Rosamund Bolton,” Inez said.

“Before I tell you, you must swear not to repeat what I say, Inez. He is not my lover, at least not in
that
sense. It has been a harmless little flirtation on progress. We were saying farewell, for my cousin and I depart tomorrow for my home in Cumbria.”

“Who?”
Inez said a third time.

“Charles Brandon,” Rosamund said.

“I would have sworn it was the king,” Inez persisted.

“You know how alike they are, Inez. Everyone says so. They are both big men, and in the dark it is certainly possible for you to mistake Charles for the king. Please don’t tell on me, Inez! It was little more than a few stolen kisses and cuddles. Thank the Blessed Mother that I am leaving court tomorrow else I be led into serious sin. I could not help myself. I miss my Owein so much.” She dabbed at her eye with her handkerchief, which she had pulled from the pocket of her skirt. I am surely going to hell, she thought. She could not believe that she would tell such lies, but she would not harm the queen further.

Inez de Salinas sighed. “I have never known you to lie, Rosamund Bolton, but I am still certain it was the king you kissed.”

“It was Charles Brandon, Inez, I swear it! I know that you and the queen’s other women have never gotten over his bad behavior with the Duke of Buckingham’s sister, but I am not she. Why would the king be bothered with a woman like me? The king, who could have anyone, would hardly choose me. If you tell the queen this story, based on such evidence, you will embarrass me, and you will embarrass Charles Brandon. The king will be very angry, particularly if your vile gossip does injury to the queen. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to leave the castle and return to the inn. Tom and I want to make an early start, for we have a long way to travel over the next days.” She turned to go.

“It was the king,”
Inez said implacably.

Rosamund whirled about.
“It most certainly was not!”
she snapped, and hurried off, away from the Spanish woman. Dear God, she prayed silently, don’t let her tell the queen. Why should it matter to her so very much? I am gone on the morrow, no matter who it was. She ran down a large flight of stairs and into the courtyard. There at the castle gates she found the king’s servant awaiting her. Torch in hand he escorted her into the dark streets of the town toward her accommodations.

“I will warn the king,” Walter told her.

Rosamund nodded, but said nothing.

“I will tell him how well you protected him by swearing it was milord Brandon. That was cleverly done, m’lady, if you do not mind my saying so.” And Walter chuckled. “I think you have confused her enough that she will be silent.”

Rosamund finally spoke. “I would not hurt the queen.”

“I know that, m’lady. She is generally harmed by those closest to her who always claim that they are doing her a good turn,” Walter observed.

They finally reached the Crown and Swan Inn. Walter left Rosamund at its entrance, and she hurried inside and up to her own chamber where Annie awaited her.

“I just want to go to bed,” Rosamund said. “I will bathe in the morning before we leave.”

Annie nodded, seeing that her mistress seemed angry.

Rosamund was subdued the next morning, and for the next week as they traveled north through Darby and York into Lancaster and finally Rosamund’s home county of Cumbria. They stayed a night at Carlisle at St. Cuthbert’s where Rosamund greeted her uncle Richard happily. Then they continued north and east toward Friarsgate. Now that she was so close to home Rosamund did not want to stop. Lord Cambridge was becoming exhausted, but, she told him, he could rest at Friarsgate.

“It will take me days to recover from this pace you have set,” he complained to her.

She could smell it. The fragrance peculiar to her lands. She thought she might have forgotten, but no. She could smell it! The hills were familiar, and suddenly there were landmarks that she recognized all about her. The road topped a hill. Rosamund stopped. Her heart soared! She felt the tears slipping unbidden down her cheeks. Below lay her lake, sparkling in the September sunlight. There was her home! Her village! Friarsgate lay before her. She kicked her mount and galloped down the road toward it.

“Will she ever love anyone the way she loves Friarsgate?” Lord Cambridge said to the serving man, Sims.

“Probably not,” said the pragmatic servant.

Lord Cambridge’s party continued down the hill road toward the manor. Thomas Bolton had hired two dozen men-at-arms to escort them from Nottingham. Tomorrow he would pay them their wages and they would depart back the way they had come. By the time they reached the house Rosamund was already there, embracing Edmund and Maybel, hugging her three daughters, tears tracing down her cheeks.

Maybel comforted Rosamund. “They have been such good girls. Philippa reminds me of you at that age. She is most helpful and obedient.”

Lord Cambridge was welcomed back. They went into the hall for the meal, which was simple, for they had not been expected. Afterward, the children gone to their beds, they sat about the fire, talking and drinking newly pressed cider.

“You wrote that the ewes had produced a greater number of lambs this year,” Rosamund said to Edmund, “but I did not see evidence of it as I rode in. Were they diseased?”

Edmund Bolton sighed, and then he said, “Let us discuss this matter in the morning, niece. You are surely tired from your travels, and poor cousin Thomas is falling asleep in his chair. On the morrow I will give you a full report of all that has happened in your absence.”

It was the tone of his voice that alerted her to the possibility that something was not right. “Tom is already asleep,” Rosamund noted. “I would know what it is you are keeping from me.”

“Tomorrow, Rosamund,” he responded.

“Now!”
she said sharply. Her first visit to court had taught her the value of good connections. Her second visit had taught her how to wield her authority.

Edmund Bolton had never before heard his niece speak with such command. She has finally grown up, he thought to himself, and then he said, “The Scots have been raiding the flocks, I fear.”

“How is this possible?” she demanded to know. “Our steep hills have always protected us from raiders. What have you done to combat this thievery? Do you know who it is?”

“They have taken to coming in the night,” Edmund began, “and only when there is a border moon to light their way. They steal from the meadows closest to the hilltop. They have killed two of our shepherds and strangled their dogs to keep them from barking.”

“How many sheep have we lost?” she queried him.

“Over a hundred head, Rosamund,” he told her.

She looked at him astounded, and then she shouted, “Uncle, that is intolerable! How many times have they come to help themselves to my flocks? And you have done naught to prevent it?”

Lord Cambridge was now fully awake again.

“What can I do?” Edmund said helplessly.

“You know that they strike when the moon is full,” she said.

“But we do not know where they will strike,” he countered. “The flocks are spread over several hills and in many meadows.”

“Then we must gather the sheep together and separate them into two or three large flocks, that we may have better control of the situation. Then we will post guards with the shepherds and arrange a signal so that
when the raiders come the manor may be alerted. We will have a better chance of catching thieves if we do. Friarsgate has been thought impregnable forever. If it is known that the Scots are raiding our flocks, Edmund, heaven only knows what they will raid next!”

“It will take several days to gather the sheep in and realign the flocks. Where will you put them?”

“I must think on it,” Rosamund told him. Then she asked, “When is the next border moon? I do not intend losing another single sheep to these borderers. Damn the Scots! I wonder if Logan Hepburn is involved.”

“I do not know,” Edmund answered her honestly.

“It would be like him to do something like this just to show me that he is cleverer than clever,” Rosamund muttered. “Where is this Claven’s Carn of his anyway, Edmund?”

“Why?” asked her uncle.

“What is a border moon?” Lord Cambridge asked.

“Because I think it is time I paid the Hepburns a visit,” Rosamund answered Edmund, and then she said to her cousin, “It’s a bright full moon, Tom, when traditionally the borderers on both sides of the hills go raiding, because they can see their way about then.”

“I am not certain that it is a good idea that you go to Claven’s Carn,” Edmund said.

“Why not?” she demanded of him. “You say the Scots are raiding my flocks, but that you do not know if they are Hepburns. Well, whether or not they are, I think I should pay Logan Hepburn a visit, uncle. If it is indeed he or his clansmen raiding us, he will know we are aware of it. Perhaps he will even cease, having made some point or other with his behavior. If, however, it isn’t Logan Hepburn raiding my flocks, then perhaps he will know who it is.”

“And you think he will tell you?” Edmund asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Why?” Edmund wanted to know, but Thomas Bolton was already chuckling with his understanding of her tactic.

“My dear girl,” he said, “what a clever puss you are! Of course he will
tell you whatever you want to know. How naughty of you to use the man against himself.”

Rosamund grinned at her cousin, then said to her uncle, “Logan Hepburn claims to be in love with me. Well, if he is indeed, then he will want to help me, won’t he?”

“I don’t like it,” Edmund said. “It is somehow dishonest for you to behave like that, Rosamund.”

Maybel spoke up. “You will have to show her the way, Edmund, or she is likely to get herself lost, for you know whatever you may say Rosamund will go to Claven’s Carn.” Rosamund threw her a grateful look. “You had best go tomorrow, my lass, if you are rested by then.”

“Nay, tomorrow we must prepare for the raiders. Then the day after I will go to Claven’s Carn. Tom, will you come with us?”

“Dearest girl, I thought you would never ask! Of course I will come with you. I cannot miss meeting your brazen Scot.”

“Mata will take her,” Edmund said, glancing curiously from Tom to Rosamund. “One of us must remain here to oversee the preparations.”

“Agreed!” Rosamund decided. Then she stood up. “I am tired, and am glad to sleep in my own bed after these many months. Good night.” She walked slowly from the hall.

“Will you not go with her, old woman?” Edmund asked his wife.

“Nay,” Maybel responded. “She is Annie’s responsibility now.”

“You are surprised that she has changed,” Lord Cambridge noted.

Edmund nodded slowly. “It is time,” he said, “but I am still surprised by it. I think you may have eased her way at court.”

“We Boltons are not a great or influential name,” Tom replied. “I had a younger sister who died in childhood. Rosamund reminds me of Mary, and I have come to love her as I would my sister. It was her friendship with the queen that smoothed the path before her. She will tell you all, but the queen was so fond of her that she asked Rosamund to write her most personal correspondence. Not official documents but letters to her father, her family, her close friends. She thought Rosamund had a fine hand.”

“Oh, I cannot wait to tell Henry Bolton that!” Maybel exulted.