“I don’t know, your highness,” Rosamund said, her voice quavering.
“Well, first you must tell me why your husband put you into our care,” the queen gently pressed the girl standing before her. “And who is your companion?”
“This is Maybel, your highness. She is my nursemaid and raised me. She left her husband to come with me,” Rosamund explained. “And I did not know that Hugh, may God assoil his good soul, was placing me into your care until after his death. He did it to prevent my uncle Henry from marrying me to his five-year-old son and stealing Friarsgate from me. Uncle Henry has wanted Friarsgate ever since my parents and my brother died when I was three. He married me to his eldest son, but John died of a spotting sickness. Then he arranged my marriage with Hugh Cabot because I was yet a child and Hugh an old man. He thought to keep me safe for his next son, who wasn’t even born then. But Hugh was a good man. He saw what my uncle was about. As my husband it was his right to decide my future before he died. He sent me to the king to protect me,” Rosamund finished in a great rush.
The queen laughed softly. “But you wish he hadn’t, don’t you, my child? Still, we will indeed protect you from such a man as your good husband wished. Eventually we will find another good man worthy of you, Rosamund Bolton. Now, what shall I do with you?”
“I don’t know, your highness,” Rosamund said forlornly.
“You are too big to go into the nursery with Mary. You look to me to be about my daughter Margaret’s age. How old are you, Rosamund Bolton?” the queen asked.
“I was thirteen years this past April thirtieth, madame,” came the answer.
“You are six months older than my daughter Margaret. She is the Queen of the Scots, having been betrothed to King James several months ago. I could put you with her for a short time. She is to wed her king next summer. Perhaps then these wars between us will cease,” the queen considered. “Yes, I shall put you with Margaret and with Katherine, my son’s widow. You are all of an age. You will be a companion to them both for the time being. Princess Katherine.” The queen beckoned to the girl across the room.
The princess arose from her seat and hurried to her mother-in-law. She curtsied deeply.“Sí, madame?”
“Katherine, this is Lady Rosamund. She will be a companion to you and to Queen Margaret. Do you understand?”
“Sí, madame.I understand,” the seventeen-year-old Katherine of Aragon answered.
“Take her to Margaret and explain my wishes,” the queen said.
“Sí, madame,”came the reply.
“The word isyes,Katherine,” the queen said wearily. “You must speak English, my child. You are to be Queen of England one day.”
“I thought that her husband was—” Rosamund stopped at the stricken look upon the queen’s face.
“It is hoped,” the queen finally said, “that Katherine will wed with our second son, the new heir, prince Henry.”
A serving woman placed a goblet of wine in the queen’s hand and said, “Run away, lasses. The queen is tired with the new life she will soon bear. She needs her rest.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth of York said. “You are dismissed, Rosamund Bolton. I welcome you to our household and hope that you will be happy with us.” Then she closed her eyes.
“Come!” There was a tug on her skirts.
Rosamund turned and followed the Spanish princess, who led her from the queen’s chamber. They were suddenly surrounded by four ladies in black who jabbered at the princess in their foreign tongue.
“Your language is difficult for me,” the older girl said slowly, “but I speak better than they suspect. One learns more by feigning ignorance, but you will say nothing, Rosamund Bolton, eh?”
Rosamund giggled and replied, “Nay, your highness, I will not tell on you. Who are these ladies with you?”
“My duennas,” was the answer. “They are each from good families, but act as serving woman, companion, and conscience for me, especially Dona Elvira. They make no effort to speak English and can sometimes be very tiresome. Is your nursie like that?”
Rosamund nodded. “Sometimes,” she said, “but I would honestly be lost without Maybel. Where are we going?”
“To my sister-in-law’s apartments. When Arthur died and they brought me back to court, they put me in there with her. What will happen when she is sent to marry the King of the Scots next summer I do not know, but I doubt that either you or I will remain in such fine accommodations then. We will let this young queen decide where you are to sleep, as it is her lodgings to which we have been assigned.” Katherine of Aragon stopped before a double door and opened it, stepping through.
Rosamund followed and found herself in an exquisite chamber with pale paneled wooden walls. The windows were hung with heavy velvet drapes of deep blue. The fireplace was flanked by pink marble angels. It burned with a fragrant applewood fire.
“Margaret,” Katherine called, “I have brought us a new companion.”
The door to an inner room swung open, and a beautiful girl, her look proud, her hair a glorious golden red, her deep sapphire eyes sharp with curiosity, stepped forth. “We are crowded enough as it is,” she said pettishly.
“This is Lady Rosamund, and she is a ward of your father’s, the king. Your mama has sent her.”
“Your gown is very dusty and quite old-fashioned,” Margaret of England said as she walked slowly around Rosamund. “But I expect we can do something about that. What do you think, Kate? Turning her into a lady of fashion will keep us amused while everyone goes hunting.”
