“Aye,” he admitted with a mischievous grin. “Now, who are you, mistress? I know I have seen you before.” He picked up his jeweled goblet and drank down a draught of rich sweet wine.
“I am Rosamund Bolton, your highness, the lady of Friarsgate. My late husband Sir Hugh Cabot made me a ward of your father’s upon his untimely death last spring. I have been at court just a short time.”
“You are friends with my sister Margaret?” the prince asked.
“It is my great privilege to have found favor with the Queen of the Scots,” Rosamund modestly responded, realizing as the words flowed easily from her mouth that she was learning, really learning, how to conduct herself at court. She must tell Sir Owein when she next saw him.
“How old are you?” the prince demanded.
“I am a few months older than your sister, the Queen of the Scots, your highness,” Rosamund said.
“You are widowed?”
“Yes, your highness.”
His look was assessing. “Are you a virgin?” he asked her boldly.
Rosamund blushed to the roots of her hair. “Of course I am!” she gasped, shocked by his question. “My husband was an elderly man, and we were wed when I was but six. He was like a father to me.”
Young Henry Tudor reached out and caressed Rosamund’s hot cheek, which but increased her embarrassment. However, she could hardly slap him for his insolence, at least not here in public.
“I have discomfited you,” Henry Tudor noted, but he did not look in the slightest bit sorry. “I will be king one day, my lady. A real king, and not a Twelfth Night fool. If I do not ask questions, I cannot learn.” He smiled winningly at her. “Your cheek is very soft as well as being very warm.” His fingers stroked her face, while his other hand offered her his own cup. “Drink a bit of wine, and your little heart will stop racing so quickly. I can quite see your agitation in the pulse at the base of your throat, Rosamund Bolton, lady of Friarsgate.”
Rosamund gulped some wine. Then she courageously removed his hand from her face. “You are far too impudent, your highness. I am new to the court, and my education has been lacking in the niceties of polite behavior, but I am certain your manner is far too saucy.”
“But I am your king,” Henry Tudor said.
“And as your queen I am deserving of your respect,” Rosamund swiftly answered him.
He laughed. “You are quick,” he told her. “I like that!”
“If I have pleased your highness then I am glad,” Rosamund murmured smoothly.
He laughed again. “I kissed you on the first day of Christmas,” he admitted. “I think before this last day of Christmas is over I shall kiss you again, lady of Friarsgate. Your lips were sweet as untried lips are wont to be, I have found.”
“You are two years my junior, your highness, and you admit to much kissing and the knowledge of tried and untried mouths?” she teased him, a smile on her own lips.
“I do!” young Henry Tudor said enthusiastically. “I have not many years, lady, but look at me. I am bigger already than most men, and I am beginning to sense I have a man’s appetite as well.”
“Then sir, eat your eggs, for you have more to grow,” she told him, laughing, for she was unable to help herself. He was really quite a wicked boy. “Our eggs have been poached in a delicious sauce of cream and marsala wines. I have never tasted anything so good!”
“You may be older than I am,” he said with a smile as he dove into the plate before him that had been filled with eggs, “and you may be new to my father’s court, but I do believe, my lady of Friarsgate that you learn easily and will do well here.” He began to eat.
“I want nothing more than to return home,” Rosamund admitted to him. “The court is very grand, but I miss my home.”
“I have many homes,” he said, pulling a piece of bread from the loaf before him. He buttered it lavishly and ate it.
“I know,” she replied. “I have been to Richmond, Westminster, and Windsor so far. They are very beautiful and very grand.”
“We also live at Baynard’s in London. My mother far prefers it to Westminster, which is really cramped for us; and we have apartments at the Tower, another castle at Eltham, and one at Greenwich,” the prince boasted as he ate the second helping of eggs served him and two large slices of pink ham. He banged his goblet upon the table for more wine. It was immediately served him, and he drank thirstily.
“One home is more than enough for me,” Rosamund responded. “This moving about is quite tiresome, sir.”
“Do you know why we do it?” he asked.
“Of course, sir. Your sister explained it to me, but I still do not have to like it. I hope your father will send me home when he sends your sister to her husband in Scotland,” Rosamund said.
“What do you have at Friarsgate that you do not have here?” the prince said as he popped several sugarplums, one after another, into his greedy young mouth.
