“You don’t play this... tennis thing,” Maybel said angrily.
“It’s played with a ball,” Rosamund explained. “I fell and twisted my ankle trying to send the ball back to the prince.”
“It don’t sound like anything a lady should be involved in, especially if it has you running all over like a hoyden,” Maybel decided. She bustled about the small room, rooting around in the trunk for the herbs she needed to make the poultice for Rosamund’s ankle.
A servant appeared with the hot water. “Sir Owein sent me,” the servant said. “Will you need anything else?”
“Nay, this will do,” Maybel replied. Then she set to work to make the dressing for her mistress’ ankle. While the herbs were drawing in the hot water, Maybel helped Rosamund from her gown and into bed. She soaked a small length of linen in the water, affixing the poultice on the swollen limb and wrapping it. She tucked a small hard pillow beneath Rosamund’s ankle. “I’ll bring you some soup,” she said.
“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.
