His look, his lips, made her suddenly breathless, but she yet managed to say boldly, “What, sir, is it not obvious? Then I must not be doing it very well, I fear.”
“Oh, Rosamund,” he said low, “you are doing itverywell.” Then he kissed her, his lips taking possession of hers and making demands that, innocent though she was, she recognized with some primal instinct.
Her arms wrapped about his neck, and she kissed him back, her mouth becoming more experienced with each passing moment that they embraced and her own passion waking and blazing up to engulf them both. She felt the hardness of his well-disciplined man’s body against her, and sighed.
It was that delicious little sound that pulled him back to exactly where they were. The softness of her young breasts against his chest had rendered him weak, but they stood in a public place and could not remain there for long without being discovered. He didn’t think he was up to a teasing by his friends, and theywouldtease him. Dependable, reliable Owein Meredith was obviously besotted by a lass. At least he had learned one thing. This girl who was to be his wife was filled with warmth and not afraid of pleasure. “Lovey,” he whispered against her auburn hair, “we must move on. I must return you to the princess’ apartments. In the morning I will come to escort you to mass. Afterward the papers should be ready for us to sign.”
“But I like this kissing and cuddling with you,” she told him candidly. “Can we not go someplace privily and continue it?”
He took her hand in his, and kissing it, began to walk with her. “Lovey. I am frankly astounded to have been given you to wife. I pray it is not a dream from which I will awaken. I find with you in my arms that my desires are beginning to awaken in such a manner as I have never experienced them. I admit to you that I have had women in my bed and felt lust enough to know that this is very different. I do not want to share what I feel for you with anyone but you, Rosamund. Do you understand?”
“Yes and no,” she admitted, “but I will be led by you in this matter, Owein Meredith, for you are wiser than I. But does this mean we shall not kiss again until we are wed?”
He laughed weakly. “I do not think I can wait that long, lovey. We will find little hidey-holes where we may be private, I promise you. But for now you must behave yourself.”
They had reached the princess’ apartments, where Rosamund slept. He kissed her hand and quickly left her. Rosamund entered the dayroom humming dreamily, to be met by a smiling Maybel who embraced her immediately and then sniffled.
“Ah, child, I am so relieved that they have found you a good man. Are you happy, my bairn? Sir Owein is so like Sir Hugh, but younger, and you are older now. Ah, soon my lady will be a mother herself!”
“Aye, ’tis time. I am grown enough to be a wife in all ways, Maybel. I am content with Sir Owein. He is kind, and Maybel, I think he may actually care for me,” Rosamund noted.
“Well pray our Blessed Mother Mary that you have recognized that,” Maybel said. “Aye, lass, he does indeed care for you. I would venture to say he isin lovewith you, although he may not recognize it as such yet. You must love him back, child. Not simply with your body but with your whole heart, if you can. You are surely the most fortunate girl I have ever known in your husbands!”
“And for all my complaining I have yet to choose one myself,” Rosamund laughed. “I am happy, aye! It was Meg who did this for me, Maybel. I owe her a great debt, for had she not suggested Sir Owein as my mate, who knows whom they would have chosen for me when they wished tohonorsomeone.”
“Well,” said Maybel, “whoever is responsible for this turn of events, I am right grateful to them. We are going home. I will be with my Edmund once more. I don’t think I am of a mind to travel ever again, my child. These last months have surely been adventure enough for both of us!”
In the morning after the mass Sir Owein Meredith and Rosamund Bolton were called into the presence of the king, his mother, Princess Margaret, Prince Henry, and the king’s chaplain. Upon the table were spread the parchments that they would sign.
“You are content in this, lady?” the king’s chaplain asked.
“I am, Reverend Father,” Rosamund replied with a smile.
“And you, Sir Owein, are also content to take this lady to be your wife?” the chaplain inquired.
“I am,” Owein Meredith responded, struggling to keep the grin off his face. This was a serious occasion after all, but the lilt that had long ago been in his voice, that hinted of his Welsh origins, was again very much in evidence.
The king caught his mother’s eye, and small smiles touched their faces. It was rare that their actions actually made someone so happy. They placed their signatures in witness of the marriage betrothal between Rosamund Bolton and Owein Meredith.
And when it was done, the parchments sanded and rolled back up, a copy was given to the king’s knight. The second copy would be kept by the king’s chaplain in the royal archives. The priest then instructed the couple to kneel before him. He blessed them, thus making official and irrevocable their betrothal. They were now, but for the marriage ceremony, man and wife.
“One day,” Prince Henry boasted, “you will show this document to your children and tell them your betrothal was witnessed by a king and a queen.”
“You are not yet England’s king,” his father said dryly. Then the king addressed Owein Meredith. “I will miss you, my faithful knight, but you are deserving of this pretty girl and a home of your own. And you, my lady Rosamund, do you think Sir Hugh Cabot would approve of the husband I have given you?”
“He would, your highness. He would very much approve, and I thank you for your kindness to me. I have received nothing but goodness in your house. First from your gracious queen, may God assoil her blessed soul. Then from your daughter and from your mother. And finally from yourself, my lord.” Rosamund knelt before the king, and taking his hand, kissed it reverently. “Thank you, sire,” she said. “I will always be yours to command.”
The king raised the young girl up, and looking directly at her, said, “Aye. I can see in your lovely face that you are worthy, Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate. God bless you, my child, and your good husband, Sir Owein.”
“Come,” said the Venerable Margaret, “we will drink a small toast to the happy couple.” She nodded at a waiting servant who passed about some goblets of wine. A health was raised to Rosamund and to Owein. The wine quickly consumed, they were dismissed.
“I am informed that we will leave in less than a week’s time,” Owein said to Rosamund as they walked from the king’s privy chamber.
“What is the date today?” she asked him. “How odd that I should not know, but I will remember it if you will but tell me.”
“It is the twenty-second of June,” he said.
“We are prepared to depart on the twenty-seventh,” she told him. “We are going to Collyweston, which I am told belongs to the king’s mother. Is it very big, Owein?”
