“Well, child, have you nothing to say?” the Countess of Richmond asked the girl standing before her. “Are you not in the least curious as to who this man is?”
“Does it matter, madame, if I am or not? The affair has been settled, my future decided, and I will accept the king’s will,” Rosamund replied, finding her voice and discovering that while she knew that this would be the result of her stay at court, she was still just a bit irritated that she had not even been consulted in the matter.
The king’s mother laughed softly. “You have spirit, my child, and that is good.”
“Madame, I beg your pardon if I have offended,” Rosamund said, kneeling before Margaret Beaufort and placing her hands in those of the older woman. “It is just... just...” Her voice faded away.
“It is just that you hoped to have some part in this decision, Rosamund Bolton,” the Countess of Richmond said. “I understand. However, when I tell you that it was my granddaughter who chose your husband for you, perhaps that knowledge will render your heart a bit lighter.”
“Meg chose?” Rosamund was astounded.
“The Queen of the Scots realized that once she had gone you would be very much alone. You have no real place here at court, and the core of your very being lies at Friarsgate, does it not?”
“It does, madame,” Rosamund answered softly.
“That being the case, it is time for you to return, but we cannot send you back without what Sir Hugh Cabot wished for you. A good man to husband you, to father your children, to keep Friarsgate safe and prosperous. There are many young men here at court who would willingly have a fair young heiress such as yourself to wife. Men from powerful northern families whose loyalty we wish to ensure. But my granddaughter does not believe we can buy such careless loyalties. She felt that we must put a man at Friarsgate whose loyalty to the House of Tudor is absolute and unquestioned. You know him. It is Sir Owein Meredith.”
Her heart felt as if it were soaring in her chest. She smiled, and her relief was very apparent. “You said I should be pleased, madame, and indeed I am. Sir Owein is a good man, and we are friends.”
“Friends,” the king’s mother observed, “make the best husbands, my child. I have had three husbands, and I should know. Now, Rosamund Bolton, get up and go into the privy garden where you will find Sir Owein awaiting you now. The betrothal papers are being drawn up and will be signed before my granddaughter departs for Scotland. You may wed at Friarsgate among your own people, but you will travel with the Queen of the Scots as far as your home.”
Rosamund took the countess’ hands up and kissed them. “Thank you, madame,” she said. She stood up, shaking her skirts as she did. “May I speak of this to my Maybel? May I thank Meg?”
“You may tell anyone you like, my child. The king will formally announce your betrothal tonight in the hall. You are, after all, his ward. I believe that the court should know of this happy event between one of our longtime servants and the lady of Friarsgate.”
“Thank you, madame,” Rosamund said once again. Then she curtsied and hurried from the countess’ privy chamber. In the dayroom she found Maybel mending one of her chemises. “I am to be married!” she said softly, bending so that only Maybel might hear her. “It is Sir Owein! We are to go home soon, dearest Maybel!”
“Praise be to God on both accounts!” Maybel said, a smile wreathing her face. “I will be right glad to see my Edmund.”
“I am to meet him in the privy garden now,” Rosamund said. “Is my face clean? My hair neat?” she wondered anxiously.
“The man would have you barefooted in your shift, lass,” Maybel said, “but aye, you are neat as a pin. Go along now, and tell Sir Owein that I am content that you will call him husband.”
Rosamund’s heart was racing as she went from the dayroom and down the corridor. She had almost reached the door to the garden when Prince Henry appeared from the shadows.
“Wither goest thou, fair Rosamund?” he demanded, blocking her route. “Come, love, and give me a kiss to show me you are not angry for the impetuousness of my youth the other day.”
“I am to be married, your highness,” Rosamund said stiffly. “Please allow me to pass. Your grandmother has sent me to meet my betrothed in her garden, and he is awaiting me.”
“One kiss, my pretty maid,” the prince persisted. She was to be married? How the hell could he seduce her now? It would hardly be honorable to seduce another man’s betrothed wife.
“If your highness does not step aside,” Rosamund said angrily, “I shall scream for the guard.”
“You would not!” he said, now nervous.
Rosamund opened her mouth and shrieked at the top of her lungs. Immediately the corridor was filled with men-at-arms.
“What is it, my lady?” the one to reach her first asked.
“Oh,” Rosamund said innocently, “I thought I saw a rat. It was a very big rat, I fear. I am sorry to have caused difficulty.” She smiled sweetly at the nearest man-at-arms, and brushing by him, opened the door to step out into the garden.
“Girls,” the man-at-arms sniffed. Then he turned to the prince. “Did you see a rat, your highness?”
Henry Tudor nodded. “Aye, and ’twas as large as a cat, I’ll vow. I should have killed it, but that the lady screamed.” He watched as the door closed slowly behind Rosamund.
Outside in the privy garden Rosamund smelled the sweet air of the greenery and the faintly pungent odor coming off the river as the tide went out. The air was warm, and there was just the faintest hint of a breeze. Rosamund walked slowly down one of the neatly raked gravel paths. The king’s mother had said he would be here. And then she saw him. He was standing with his back to her, facing the river, but obviously hearing her footfall, he turned.
“Rosamund!”
