Until You (59 page)

“It was obviously God’s will that we prevail against the Scots,” the king said piously, and he crossed himself. “God is on my side, Rosamund! He always will be.”

“If your majesty says so,” she murmured, her head bowing.

“But now, madame, what am I to do with you?” he wondered.

“I came to court for two reasons, Hal,” she said. “Because I was summoned and because I wished to introduce my heiress to your majesties. I would return home now.”

“Nay, not quite yet,” he told her. “I am not satisfied that your conduct in the matter of this Scot was not treasonous, madame.”

“God’s wounds!” Rosamund swore. “You know very well it was nothing more than I have told you, Hal. When have I ever been duplicitous with you? With your queen, aye, but only to protect her, but never with you!”

“I think you should accompany the court to Windsor,” he said, smiling suddenly.

“No!” Her look was angry.

“You do not believe that we may have certain unfinished business between us, madame?” he demanded of her.

“Nay, I do not!” Her color was high now.

Reaching out, the king pulled her from her chair and onto his lap. His big hand caressed her heart-shaped face, and then he kissed her a passionate kiss. His mouth demanded far more than she would ever again give him.

Rosamund jumped from his embrace like a creature afire. “Hal! Are you mad? I have but only convinced the queen I was not your mistress, but rather Charles Brandon’s lover, and you would attempt seduction? Do you know how fortunate we were in our brief encounter that we were not found out, given the example of the ladies FitzWalter and Hastings? If Inez de Salinas had not seen us parting that night we might have escaped detection altogether, but we did not. And I have had to weave a tapestry of lies to protect Kate, who is my friend. Do not do this to me! I will not have it!”

“I am your king, madame,” he thundered at her.

“And I am your majesty’s most loyal servant,” Rosamund said, curtsying, “but I will not again be your majesty’s whore. Imprison me if you will for it. But I will not yield what is left of my virtue and my dignity. How can you even ask it of me, Hal? Especially when I strove so hard to protect your reputation with your good queen.”

She saw the look blooming upon his face. He would want to put his bad behavior on her, for in his own eyes Henry Tudor did no wrong. “Madame—” he began, but she stopped him, making it easy.

“If I have misled your majesty in any way, I humbly apologize for it. It was not my intention at all to be provocative or lewd,” Rosamund said, stepping back from him and curtsying once more. “I beg your majesty’s pardon.”

He was silent for a long moment, and she knew he was considering the situation from all possible angles. How could he keep his sweets and yet eat them all up? It obviously proved too much of a conundrum even for him. “You are forgiven, madame. Nonetheless, I would have you come to Windsor. For Kate’s sake, of course. Inez de Salinas has been sent away at last. Your return gave me the opportunity to rid us of her, and for that we thank you. I know you will want to return home to Friarsgate from Windsor, and you have our permission. But bide a few weeks with us. Who knows when you will come to court again?”

“Perhaps never, Hal, but my Philippa will certainly come,” Rosamund said.

He nodded. “Your daughters will always be welcome at our court,” he told her.

“Thank you, your majesty,” she replied.

“You may return to the Great Hall now, madame,” he said.

Rosamund curtsied again and began to back from the room.

“You should really have another husband,” the king suddenly remarked.

“Do not attempt to shackle me to anyone, Hal. Any bridegroom foisted upon me will not live to see the morning after the wedding,” she warned him.

“I am your king, madame! I have the right to choose for you if I would.”

“I have wed thrice for the pleasure of others, Hal,” Rosamund replied. “It was your own grandmother, God assoil her good soul, who said that after a woman had done her duty, she had the right to marry for love.”

“Will you find love again, Rosamund?” he asked.

“Perhaps, Hal, I will be fortunate,” she said, and then she opened the door and slipped into the hallway, where the little page awaited her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, for he had been dozing on his feet. She smiled and patted his blond head. “Take me back to the hall, lad,” she told him, and she followed in his wake as he went.

She had scarcely arrived back at her destination than Tom was at her side. Philippa was not with him. “Where is Philippa?” she asked.

“I have introduced her to several young ladies, all close to her in age,” he said. “A young girl should not be shackled at court to an older relation. Now, tell me at once, dear girl, what has happened?” He led her to an alcove where there was a bench, and together they sat.

“There is little to tell,” Rosamund began. “He demanded to know why I had gone to Scotland and San Lorenzo. Lord Howard had indeed reported my presence there with Patrick. I explained all, but I will admit to keeping it as simple as possible. Then he thought perhaps we might take up where we had left off.”

“No!” Lord Cambridge actually looked shocked, though he should not have been surprised.

“I have dissuaded him, of course, Tom, but he would have us come to Windsor. He says we may return home from there, but we must bide a while,” Rosamund explained.

“Actually,” her cousin replied, “if you departed now it could cause gossip to arise, especially as Inez de Salinas has been sent publicly from court. They say she and her husband will leave for Spain soon, ostensibly to visit her elderly parents. And a few weeks of the court’s amusements will not harm Philippa. She can make some valuable connections, Rosamund. Just recall your own stay as a girl. There are few who can claim a friendship with two queens.”

“But I have no friends at the court,” Rosamund said.

“It is time, then, that you made some,” he said.

“I don’t intend returning if I can possibly help it,” she told him.

“But Philippa will return, and it is probably from those who people the court that we will choose Philippa’s husband, Rosamund. It cannot hurt you to make friends,” he explained patiently. His cousin had always preferred her own company and that of a few relations over strangers, but that needed to change.

“I suppose you mean to introduce me to some people,” she grumbled at him.

Tom grinned at her. “My habits, dear girl, may not conform to most, but I assure you I know many people of the right sort. I am considered witty and amusing, you know,” he said mischievously. “Now that you have concluded this business with both of our dear monarchs and you have been commanded to Windsor, it is time for you to meet others of your own kind, cousin. How do you expect to find the right husband for our Philippa if you do not mingle among the nobility?”

She laughed. “That is the difficulty, Tom. I think Philippa too young for a proposed marriage.”

“Of course she is,” he agreed. “But it will take us two or three years to find the right connections, and then another year for Philippa to decide which among her suitors will please her. These things must be done delicately and with finesse, my dear girl. One does not purchase a pig in a poke, Rosamund.”

“You make it sound so calculated, Tom,” she told him.

“It is,” he agreed.

“But I want Philippa to fall in love and be in love forever,” Rosamund said.

“If only life were that simple, my dear girl. With luck, she will indeed love the man she marries before they wed—if they have the time to know each other. But more than likely, that love will come afterwards. Your marriage to your cousin was arranged to keep Friarsgate in the family. Your marriage to Hugh Cabot was for the same reason. You were too young to know of love then, but when you were wed to Owein Meredith, you did not love him, did you?”

Rosamund shook her head.

“But you came to love him because he was a good man and he respected your position as the lady of Friarsgate. With careful planning, dear girl, we shall gain the same good fortune for Philippa. But unless we begin our search now, what chance have we? And do not, I pray you, bring up the love that you and Lord Leslie shared, cousin. It was unique and rare. Few in this world have such love.”

“I know,” she whispered to him, feeling the tears coming again.

“Dear cousin,” Tom said, and he brushed the tears from her cheek, “be grateful that you knew such love, but also be sensible where your child is concerned.”

Rosamund nodded. “I will meet these people you seek to introduce me to,” she said with a small smile. “But can I meet them another day? I have had all I can bear today, cousin. I want to go home and sit out in your garden to watch the river.”

“And think, mayhap, of your brazen Scot?” he teased her.

“Aye,” she said, surprising him.

“Take your own barge, dear girl. I will return later with Lucy and Philippa,” he told her.

Rosamund leaned over and kissed her cousin on his smooth cheek. “What, dear Tom,” she said, “should I ever do without you?”

“If the truth be known, dear girl,” he responded, “I shudder to even contemplate it.” And he grinned.

Rosamund arose. “Do not remain too late,” she said. “It is Philippa’s first day, and we will be leaving shortly for Windsor.”

He nodded, then watched as she departed the Great Hall.

 

Rosamund’s little vessel was brought to her, and after entering it, she sat down on the blue velvet bench and closed her eyes. “Take me home,” she told her rowers.

The air was warm as they rowed, but some of the smells in the air were distinctly unpleasant as the barge moved along. Her servants rowed in midriver, as the tide was low now, and the mudflats along the bank were visible to the eye and discernible to the nose. Rosamund sighed to herself. The worst was certainly over now, she thought, and having thought it found herself longing for Friarsgate. But Tom was right. If she was to one day see her daughters matched with men of eminent families, she must socialize and make contacts now. A smile touched her lips as she considered that just a few short years back she had been considered a girl. Now she was a woman of twenty-five, widowed thrice and looking for husbands not for herself but for her three daughters. Yet the need for love had not deserted her. Surely not.

Rosamund knew she was lonely. But did she want to marry again? Did she want Logan Hepburn? It seemed she had been running away from him her whole life. Or he had been running after her. She hadn’t, of course; nor had she even known of the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn until . . . God’s wounds! Was it that long ago that he had sat his horse atop a hill overlooking Friarsgate and told her he wanted her for his wife? Eleven years. Nay! It could not be eleven years ago! It had been just before she married Owein, and Philippa was now ten years of age. The realization dawned upon her. It was indeed eleven years ago that she had sparred indignantly with him and forbade him to come to her wedding. But he had, of course, with his brothers in tow. They had brought whiskey and salmon, and they had played their pipes for the bride and groom. Eleven years!

Yet she did not know him. Not really. She knew he was determined and that he was stubborn. She knew he had been willing to let his lands go to his brothers’ sons rather than marry another. For her. For Rosamund Bolton. Never before had she considered Logan Hepburn in any other way but an annoyance. She had called him a crude borderer, a Scots scoundrel. And she had meant it.

She had dismissed his offer of marriage because rather than saying he loved her, he had talked about sons. When she had upbraided him for it, he had claimed that he had always loved her, that he had thought she knew it. But he had not said it, and until this moment she had not understood that a man who was willing to give up his birthright for a woman did indeed love her. I have been a fool, Rosamund thought silently.

But it still did not answer the question of whether she was willing to remarry. And all of her newfound knowledge would not answer that question. She needed to get to know this man she had been so busy scorning out of pride that she could not comprehend the depth of his devotion to her. He would be awaiting her return, she knew, and suddenly she was more anxious than ever to return home. But if he won her, would he be satisfied with his victory? Or would that victory merely cause him to lose interest?

Rosamund felt her little vessel bump the stone quay of her cousin’s house. She opened her eyes, blinking once or twice to clear her vision as the sunlight filled her sight. She took the servant’s offered hand and stepped up from the craft, then hurried into the house. The summer gardens held no interest for her today. She needed to think. If she was going to allow Logan Hepburn into her life, they were going to have to get a few things straight before anything progressed beyond friendship. She remembered how kind he had been with her daughters and how they all liked him. Well, that was one point in his favor, she considered. But he was still a Scot. And there was certain to always be difficulties between England and Scotland. Yet would that matter in their tiny corner of the world? she wondered.

 

Lord Cambridge and Philippa arrived home as the long summer twilight was beginning to deepen into darkness. Rosamund’s daughter could hardly stop talking of the sights she had seen and the people she had met.

“We are going to Windsor, mama, aren’t we? Cecily will be at Windsor. Her family always goes on progress,” Philippa said.

“And who is Cecily?” Rosamund inquired, smoothing her daughter’s disheveled hair. “Is she someone Uncle Tom has introduced you to, my daughter?”

“She is Cecily FitzHugh, mama. Her father is the Earl of Renfrew. She has two brothers, Henry, who is the heir, and Giles, and two sisters, Mary and Susanna. They are younger than Cecily, who is the oldest girl. We have become best friends!”