“Sheep,” Rosamund told him drolly. “They cause me far less difficulty than trying to recall all the whys and wherefores of court etiquette, my lord prince.”
“Aha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed England’s heir. “What an amusing girl you are, my lady of Friarsgate. Do you speak French?”
“Badly, butoui, monseigneur,” she answered him.
“Latin?”
“Ave Maria, gratia plena,”Rosamund parroted wickedly.
He chuckled. “I won’t inquire about your Greek,” he said with a wide grin.
“That is fortunate, my lord King of the Bean, as I don’t have any knowledge of such a tongue. It is a tongue, isn’t it?” Her amber eyes were twinkling at him.
“Aye,” he said.
“I play the lute, and I can sing, or so I have been told,” Rosamund volunteered. “I can keep accounts, and I will one day, with my lord’s gracious permissions, tell you all about wool, of which I am very,veryknowledgeable.”
“You are learned in other ways than I would have imagined,” the prince noted, “and you have enough education of a more traditional kind, which combined with your quick wit, my lady of Friarsgate, makes you a most amusing and delightful companion. Do you dance?”
“Not nearly as well as the Queen of the Scots,” Rosamund said.
“Aye, Meg is light of foot, but I am even better,” he boasted.
“So even she has said, your highness,” Rosamund flattered him with a smile.
“We will dance this evening,” he promised her. “Ah, look! Here are some mummers coming into the hall for our entertainment.” He took her hand in his, and lifting it to his lips, kissed it, his bright blue gaze meeting her startled look. “I am a hundred years older than you, my lovely lady of Friarsgate. I think we are going to become very good friends eventually.” Then, still holding her hand in his, he turned to watch the mummers as they danced.
Her heart was beating wildly. This boy had deliberately set her senses reeling, Rosamund thought. While she would never show it, she was not just a little afraid. She had not enough experience in such matters, but she sensed this bold prince was planning her seduction. How did one refuse England’s future king? She must find Sir Owein and obtain his advice. He would know how to advise her in such a delicate matter.
Chapter 6
She did not see the prince after the Twelfth Night festivities over which they had reigned as king and queen. He had, as promised, kissed her once again, but it had been a chaste kiss. They had danced that evening, and she had, according to Meg, acquitted herself well. They left Richmond, and the queen’s household settled itself into the royal apartments at the Tower to await the birth of the hoped-for prince. The Tower apartments were a warm and comfortable place, almost like her own home, Rosamund thought as she gazed out on the river Thames. Their life settled into a familiar monotony of lessons in French and etiquette. They kept regular hours, eating twice daily. The queen enjoyed music, and when it was discovered that Rosamund could sing well she found herself called upon often in the following weeks. The queen found her simple country melodies soothing.
The queen went into labor in the early morning of February second. The king was sent for, and there was much to-ing and fro-ing back and forth of serving women and physicians. The royal midwife arrived, as did the Venerable Margaret, who began to argue with her son over a name for the expected prince.
“We have had an Arthur and an Edmund, and we have a Henry,” the Countess of Richmond said.
“He shall be named after my uncle of Pembroke,” the king replied.
“Nonsense!” came the quick retort. “We cannot have a prince named Jasper. It is not English enough. Will you remind England that your blood is more Welsh? What about John?”
“’Tis a bad-luck name, mother,” the king said.
“Edward! You and Bess both descend from Edward III, and John is not bad fortune. My father was John. Now, Richard is another matter,” the Countess of Richmond said, frowning.
“No,” the king agreed. “Richard would not be appropriate, particularly in light of the slant our family took with regard to the former king. We made him the villain for the disappearance of Bess’s two young brothers, although I never really thought he was responsible. ’Twas probably some damned sycophant who thought to make Richard’s position more secure and gain his favor. He could not have known Richard of York well to have done what he did. Of course, when Richard learned what had happened he could hardly admit to it, now, could he? Poor man. I can almost feel sorry for him, for I know from Bess that he loved his nephews.”
“It didn’t stop him from attempting to prevent you from your rightful place as England’s king,” the Countess of Richmond snapped.
Henry Tudor smiled one of his rare wintry smiles. “No,” he agreed, “it did not, mother. I was born to be England’s king. Did you not always tell me that?”
She laughed. “I did,” she said.
“Your highness!” A serving woman hurried from the queen’s chamber. “My mistress has been delivered of her child!”
Both the king and the Countess of Richmond hurried to the queen’s side. She lay pale and fragile, a small swaddled bundle in the crook of one arm. She gave them a wan smile.
“Edward?”the Countess of Richmond said hopefully.
