Rosamund (15 page)

“But I’m hungry!” Rosamund wailed. “I want meat, Maybel!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maybel said with a small smile as she hurried out. If Rosamund hadn’t lost her appetite then she was certainly not badly injured.

Meg slipped into the bedchamber. “You were with Hal. Did he kiss you? Tell me everything, Rosamund!”

“There is nothing to tell,” she feigned, and then she yawned.

“Liar!” Meg cried. “He did kiss you! What else?” she demanded.

“Why do you believe there is anything else other than a simple kiss?” Rosamund asked her friend.

“Because I know my brother, Henry,” Meg laughed. “Now, tell me absolutely everything that happened! I will perish if you do not!” Her blue eyes were dancing and alight with curiosity. Her cheeks were flushed pink with her excitement.

“There is little to tell, I’m warning you,” Rosamund began.

Meg leaned forward in anticipation.

“Hal, he says I may call him that in private, insisted that I learn to play tennis. I fell and twisted my ankle. He carried me from the tennis court
up through the garden. Halfway to your grandmother’s privy apartments he stopped and said I must kiss him. He sat down upon a bench and kissed me. I quite liked it, Meg. I did!”

“I let Richard Neville kiss me yesterday eve,” Meg admitted. “I liked it, too, but of course I have not kissed him since. Especially as I am to go north in a few weeks to wed with the King of the Scots. I must guard my good name. Now, what else?”

By now Rosamund knew better than to prevaricate with the princess. “He fondled my breast,” she admitted.

“Ohhhh!”
Meg whispered, her blue eyes wide.

“I stopped him, of course,” Rosamund said quickly. “I, too, must have a care of my good name.”

“What did it feel like?” Meg persisted.

“I can’t put words to it,” Rosamund replied, “but I thought I might swoon with the pleasure it gave me.” Her eyes grew dreamy with the remembrance of that big hand cupping her little breast.

“I had heard that men do things like that,” Meg whispered. “And other things as well,” she added, her voice dropping even lower.

“What things?” Now it was Rosamund who was fascinated.

“I don’t know,” Meg responded, “but most of the women I know seem to enjoy their husband’s attentions. I suppose we’ll both find out soon enough,” she concluded with a laugh.

“You’ll know long before I will,” Rosamund said. “I won’t be married before you, Meg, and besides, no one has said anything to me about a husband.”

“And now Sir Owein is back in your world,” Meg teased. “Was it nice to be carried in his arms, or did you like my brother’s arms better? Of course, Henry is not for you, and never could be, but don’t you like Sir Owein? All the ladies do.”

“He is nice,” Rosamund said slowly.

“He carried you most gently. When he thinks that no one is observing him, he looks at you so tenderly. I think that Sir Owein may have a tendresse for you, Rosamund. I think he would make a good husband for you. He is handsome and mature, and yet he is young enough to be a vigorous lover who can get children on you.”

“Meg!”
Rosamund protested, but she had to admit that she had toyed with similar thoughts. Owein Meredith with his dark blond hair and his hazel-green eyes, his straight nose, and strong jaw was most attractive. She considered what it would be like to kiss him. His mouth was narrow-tipped, but big. And his large square hands—what would they feel like on her breasts? Would they elicit the same thrill that Prince Henry had aroused in her virgin heart? And he had ever been kind to her. He had always reminded her of a younger version of Hugh Cabot.

“What are you thinking?” Meg demanded.

“Do you really believe Sir Owein likes me?” Rosamund said.

“Aye,” Meg answered her, “I do. And he deserves a wife, a good wife, Rosamund. I have known Sir Owein my whole life. My mother always said that of all the family’s retainers he had truly earned the appellation of
the good knight
. Mama always said that Sir Owein was the most honorable man she had ever known. And he is kind as well, which you certainly know. It is true that he has nothing but his sword, his horse, his armor, and his good name, but you cannot seek an important name for your mate anyway. Would you rather not have a man like Sir Owein as opposed to a man like your uncle? A man with a little estate who would wed you for your lands and mistreat you. I recall what you have told me about your uncle’s first wife, the lady Agnes. How sad for her that she never knew real love.”

“My uncle had her for her bit of land, for he had none himself,” Rosamund reminded Meg. “I am certain Sir Owein would willingly have me for the same reason. But I think I want love this time.”

“Love is a luxury that women of property cannot afford,” Margaret Tudor told her companion. “Wed first, and with luck the love will come later. All women are sought in marriage for one reason or another, Rosamund. Love is usually not the primary concern of the matchmakers. A princess of England weds with the King of the Scots so there might be peace between their two lands, so the generation of children that they produce may have a bond with England and hopefully keep the peace.

“The daughters of the great noble houses are wed for their wealth and their family connections. You will be wed for your lands and flocks. A
farmer’s daughter because her mother has birthed mostly sons, and it is hoped she will too so there will be more hands to work the land. We are all taken for one reason or another, but love rarely enters into it. For the next few months my departure will be what is concentrated upon by the court and by my family. You have time to observe Sir Owein as a prospective husband. Use your time wisely, and do not dally with my brother again.

“He will be wed to Kate after our father has wheedled all he can out of the King of Aragon and Castile. That alliance is meant to be. Must be! We need to play Spain’s might against France for our own safety. And, too, such a match adds to the legitimacy of my family claim on England’s throne. My father has always wanted it as he has wanted the union between me and James Stuart.

“For you it is almost as if you have a choice. If you decide that you want Sir Owein, I will ask for you. They will give me what I ask. I am leaving my family, and I do it with a good heart. Whatever I want, within reason, before I go will be given me. It costs my father naught to reward his faithful retainer.”

“I will think on it,” Rosamund answered, thinking it would almost be like choosing. When Meg departed she would be lost at the court. Kate was a sweet girl, but she was so very royally proper. Meg was right. Kate was going to be England’s queen one day. One thing about being unimportant, Rosamund quickly learned, was that important people were unafraid to speak around you. They spoke as if you were not there because you were of no consequence to them. She had gained much knowledge just listening. The Spanish alliance was of paramount significance to King Henry. He would have it no matter what.

And Prince Henry? He was charming, but he was an unruly boy who might have a man’s body but was yet thoughtless and selfish. He was not in the least concerned for Rosamund’s reputation. He simply wanted to seduce a royal ward so he might brag upon it to his friends. And whatever happened to his victim afterward would be of no concern to him. He was to be England’s king one day. The precepts and codes of morality followed by ordinary people did not apply to him. Rosamund understood this from her few months with the court. Princes were laws unto themselves, and always would be.

And young Henry Tudor was indeed a law unto himself. If Sir Owein had not interrupted them he was certain he would have gained the fair Rosamund’s passion. He was determined to try again to breach her innocent defenses. She was not as stupid as he had anticipated. Her awareness that he meant to seduce her had surprised him, but her cleverness only made the game more interesting.

“I will have her,” he told his friends.

“Let it go, Hal,” advised Charles Brandon, who was several years the prince’s senior. “Now that she has injured her ankle your grandmother will be watching her closely. You may be certain she knows how Rosamund was sore wounded. And Sir Owein saw you, or so you believe. He is an honorable knight, and if he believes the girl is in danger, he will make certain she is protected. You do not need to have her, Hal. Not when there are those who would be willing to entertain your randy and strong young cock. Ladies with elderly husbands who thirst for a lustful encounter with a vigorous lover. Think on it, Hal,” he grinned knowledgeably.

“The fact that she is less accessible makes the game even more fascinating—and dangerous,” said young Lord Richard Neville.
“A virgin!
I don’t believe I’ve ever had a virgin, although I will certainly expect my bride to be one. To seduce the lass in her own bed, beneath your grandmother’s nose would be quite a coup, Hal. If anyone can do it, I will wager it is you!” His black eyes danced wickedly.

“You’re on, Neville!” said Lord Percy. “I will wager a gold rose noble that he cannot do it!”

“I thoroughly disapprove,” Charles Brandon murmured, “but I will hold your wagers for you.”

Prince Henry laughed. “You are foolish to bet against me, Percy. You have but whetted my appetite for virgin flesh. The girl’s cherry shall be mine before week’s end,” he boasted.

One of the prince’s serving men kept company with the countess’ tiring women. He learned that the countess and her ladies would be taking a small pleasure cruise on the river several afternoons later. Rosamund would be left behind as her ankle had yet to heal. She would be alone but
for a few serving women who would think the naughty prince was simply using his grandmother’s absence to play kiss and cuddle with a pretty lass. A few coins, and their silence and their absence would be guaranteed.

Rosamund had developed a slight fever, and slept restlessly. She awoke suddenly, feeling the rope springs of the bed give way with the weight of another person. Turning, she looked into the laughing face of Prince Henry Tudor.

“Hal!” she gasped, startled. “What are you doing here? You must go at once! ’Tis most improper.”

In reply he pulled her into his arms, murmuring, “Darling Rosamund, my sweet lady of Friarsgate, I adore you! You must let me kiss you, sweeting. Just a kiss and a brief cuddle. Then I will leave you, I swear! I have done nothing but think of our afternoon in the privy garden.”

“No!”
Rosamund said firmly. “You will not wheedle me this time, Hal. Even now if you were found here in my bed I should be ruined! How cruel you are that you think only of your own pleasure. You care not for me at all!”

“But I do think of
your
pleasure, sweeting.” His quick hands began to fondle her breasts. “Such ripe little fruits, and surely they need to be appreciated as only I can. I can see how fair your flesh is through the linen of your perfumed chemise, Rosamund.” His red-gold head dipped to kiss the twin mounds.

Rosamund gasped with the shock of his lips on her bosom. Her head reeled with a mixture of fear and pleasure.
“No!”
she cried as his other hand began to creep beneath her chemise.
“No!”
And when he would not cease she screamed. She would be ruined, of course, but she could not let him steal her most precious possession, her virtue. Whoever finally wed her would know her honesty on their wedding night. She screamed again, and his hand covered her mouth.

“Don’t, sweeting,” the prince murmured softly. “I only want to make us happy. You’ll see, Rosamund.”

She opened her mouth once again, but this time her teeth fastened on the side of his hand, and she bit him with all her might. Henry Tudor howled with both pain and outrage, as at that moment the door to the
bedchamber was flung open to reveal Sir Owein Meredith, his face dark with his anger. The prince leapt from the bed, and pushing past the older man, dashed from the bedchamber without another word.

To her own astonishment Rosamund burst into tears. “Thank God you came,” she sobbed. “I truly believe he meant to do me harm.”

“He meant to have your virtue from you, Rosamund,” was the blunt reply.

“How did you know?” she wept nervously, clutching the coverlet to her breasts.

“Maybel found out from one of the other women that the prince’s man had been asking questions. Then Maybel saw the prince enter these apartments. When she followed after him discreetly, she saw that there were no other servants in evidence. She knew at once what our fine young prince was about. She ran for me immediately.”

“Oh, what am I to do?” Rosamund sobbed. “If this powerful boy is determined to have me, what am I to do?”

“I shall speak with the countess herself and explain what has happened. I believe it is past time, Rosamund, that a husband was chosen for you. If you are given a husband, Prince Henry will leave you in peace. You will have lost your allure. There can be no scandal, my lady of Friarsgate, over the prince, for his prospective in-laws of Spain are most strict in their moral code. The Spanish ambassador is most watchful and careful for the Princess of Aragon’s happiness.”

“Will I go home if I am given a husband?” Her voice quavered.

“It depends upon the man they choose for you,” he said. “But after what has almost happened here, my lady, it is obvious that you must have a husband to protect you.”