“My granddaughter likes her. Do you? What kind of a girl is she, Owein Meredith?”
“Sensible,” he said, “and reliable. She loves Friarsgate, and was taught to manage it herself. She does it well, and her people love her. The place is prosperous. It seems to be safe from the Scots because of an unusual feature of the land about it. The hills are too steep, and consequently cattle and sheep cannot be driven away fast enough. So Friarsgate has been left in peace but for her uncle.”
“How long was she orphaned?” the countess asked.
“She was three,” he answered. “The uncle came posthaste and married her to his five-year-old son. The boy died. It was then she was wed to Hugh Cabot. Henry Bolton thought Sir Hugh would be content to have a place in his old age. Instead Hugh Cabot taught Rosamund how to run her own affairs. He loved her as he might have loved a daughter, and she adored him. She was most devastated when he died.”
“And Sir Hugh foiled the uncle by placing his wife in the king’s care,” the countess said slowly. “A clever man, I would say.”
“I arrived as they sat at the funeral feast. The uncle was already insisting that Rosamund wed his next son, a child, newly breeked just for the occasion. She was resisting, and only my timely arrival saved her, I believe,” Owein Meredith explained.
The Venerable Margaret smiled and said in an amused tone, “You seem to have a habit of saving this damsel, Owein Meredith. Well, I thank you for bringing this little matter to my attention. I shall see that Rosamund Bolton is carefully watched and not allowed to be alone with Henry, the naughty scamp. And I shall think on a husband for the girl. She is Margaret’s age, even a bit older. It is time she was wed again, and this time for good and all.” She held out her hand to her companion.
Sir Owein arose from his chair, and taking her hand, he bowed as he kissed it. “I thank your highness for her kindness,” he said, and then he departed the little room.
When the door had closed behind him the countess said quietly, “You may come out now, child, and join me. Tell me what you think of what you have heard.”
Young Margaret Tudor stepped from behind the tapestry on the far wall where she had been hidden. She seated herself with her grandmother. “Rosamund was subdued when we returned from the river, madame, but I did not think to ask why,” she said. “How like Hal to allow his pride to direct his cock. If he does not learn better it will one day lead to his downfall.” She smoothed out her skirts, her long fingers brushing over the tawny orange silk.
The countess laughed. “Thank God you are a clever and wise girl, Margaret, my namesake. As Scotland’s queen you may one day be called upon to make hard decisions. And, child, you will want to have your husband turn to you as well as his counselors. Now, if the decision were yours to make, who would you choose to be Rosamund Bolton’s husband?”
“Sir Owein Meredith, of course, grandmama,” the princess answered without any hesitation at all.
“Not the son of some good northern family? One of the troublesome Nevilles, perhaps?” the countess asked. “An heiress would put them in our debt.”
“Nay, grandmama. The Nevilles are indeed troublesome. We can never be certain of them, for they blow like the wind in whichever direction they consider is best for them alone. Even while I am wed to Scotland, we can never be certain that war will never break out between our countries again. ’Twould be best to marry Rosamund to a man in whom the Tudors could have complete confidence. Sir Owein is Welsh. He has been in service to our family since before I was born. He was even younger than Mary when he entered our household. There is absolutely no question as to his loyalty to the Tudors, and to England, grandmama. We could trust him to guard our flank,” the princess said.
“But he is not a great lord,” the countess countered.
“He is not,” Meg agreed, “and so to give this loyal servant of the Tudors an attractive young heiress, certainly something he has never expected, will put him far more into our debt than a Neville,andwe can be sure of his loyalty. The important sons of a great name would not want, or accept, Rosamund. You would have to choose a lesser light among the unmarried men. In fact, you would have to inquire among the great lords as to which of their young men would be suitable. The lord would pick a relation who would be in the lord’s debtfirst,and not in ours. It is to us, the Tudors, that the debt must be owed if we are to profit from this match. Sir Owein is our man, and no one else.”
“I wonder if a man so used to being in our service would be content as a husband, not that it matters,” the Venerable Margaret said. “If we say he must marry her, then he will do so.”
“I believe he cares for her,” Meg said. “You, yourself, noted that he is always saving her from one peril or another. And I think that she likes him very much, although she is careful not to admit it. In fact, I am certain of it, grandmama. ’Twould be a good match for them both. Sir Owein is not yet old. He will probably outlive you and my father. There will be no place for him at my brother’s court. What will become of this loyal servant of the House of Tudor? Owein Meredith deserves to be treated in a kindly manner by us. Do you not think so, grandmama?”
“They would be well-matched,” the Countess of Richmond agreed. “The girl is old enough to bear children now, and Sir Owein is young enough to get them on her. If they are both comfortable with each other, then, aye, ’twould be a good mating. The girl will be safe from her greedy uncle and grateful to us. Sir Owein, with his long service to us, would also be content and would remain loyal. A loyal man in the borders would be to our advantage, especially one who was not particularly made visible due to his own great wealth or a greater name.” She leaned forward and patted her granddaughter’s rosy cheek. “You have made a wise and thoughtful decision, my young Queen of the Scots. It shall be as you have suggested. We shall give Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate to our good and loyal servant, Sir Owein Meredith.”
“Thank you, grandmama,” the princess said. She could scarcely wait to tell Rosamund of her good fortune, but then the Countess of Richmond held up a ringed hand.
“You can say nothing yet, child. I must gain your father’s permission, for he is the girl’s guardian,” she told Meg.
“If you want it, papa will approve it,” the princess said candidly. “When has my father ever refused you anything, grandmama?”
The older woman laughed. “Until your father came into his own, he and I had a rough life with the Yorkists always seeking to destroy him. All those years spent at the court of Brittany while your grandsire of York, and afterward Duke Richard, sought to kill him so that the House of Lancaster would die, I gave my youth for your father’s safety, and he has always known it, though I never complained. He is a wonderful son, my darling Henry. May the son you give James Stuart be as loving to you, my child.”
“I will keep our secret, grandmama,” Meg responded. “But gain papa’s permission quickly, for it will not be easy knowing what I know.”
“Your father is to return to Richmond tomorrow with your brother. I shall ask him this evening. It must be done before you leave to go north to Scotland. Rosamund and Sir Owein can ride with your train as far as Friarsgate. That will cement our ties even more. It is a great honor to be allowed to be included in your train.”
“Thank you, grandmama,” the princess said. Then she curtsied and left the old woman to her thoughts.
The countess’ favorite tiring woman entered the small chamber. “It is almost time for the midday meal, madame,” she said.
“Go to my son, the king, and tell him that I would speak with him as soon as possible,” the Countess of Richmond told the woman.
The servant bowed. “At once, madame,” she said, and turning about, hurried from the room. When she returned she brought the king with her, to his mother’s surprise, for Margaret Beaufort had only meant to meet with her son at his convenience. Still, she was grateful for his dutiful kindness in coming to her at once.
“Henry,” she said, smiling as he bent to kiss her cheek, “I could have come to you, my darling son.”
