The music died, leaving her quite breathless. He took her small hand in his as he lay the lute aside and kissed it tenderly. Their eyes met, and Rosamund felt a strange stirring within her heart.
“I have never been serenaded before,” she said softly. “Did you write the song?”
“Nay,” he admitted, realizing that he might have lied to her, and she would have never known. “The poem is said to have been written by Abelard, a French philosopher and sometime poet. The tune, however, is mine. Like most Welshmen I have a knack for music. I am glad that I have pleased you with my small effort, lovey.”
“My uncle Henry did not come. I thought surely he would,” Rosamund said after a small silence.
“He knows there is nothing he can do now,” Owein replied. “He has had a year to grow used to the idea that Friarsgate will belong to your children and not to his grandchildren.”
“But I thought surely he would come, if only to complain at us forstealingthe manor from him,” she said with a small smile.
Owein laughed. “He will be here eventually, and before the winter I am certain,” her bridegroom assured her. “Are you tired, Rosamund? It has been a very long day for you, and neither of us is quite recovered from our journey with the Queen of the Scots.”
“I will call Maybel to help me,” Rosamund answered him, and she stood up. She was relieved that their guests had departed and forgone the traditional putting to bed of the bride and the groom.I am brave, but if they had made a fuss I should have grown quite embarrassed. I am not certain that I am not frightened.She turned to her husband. “I will send Maybel to fetch you when I am ready,” she told him.
He stood, and kissing her hand, said, “I will wait here.” He watched her hurry from the hall, and he sat back down before the fire. She was nervous. Of course she was. She was a well-brought-up virgin, and he was a man of experience. But I have never made love to a virgin, he thought. He struggled to recall what he could about virgins. They must be treated gently and not hurried. That much he knew. But he would be firm with her, for the marriage must be consummated in order to be completely legal. He heard a discreet cough and looked up.
“The Hepburn brought us a small keg of whiskey, my lord,” Edmund Bolton said. “I suspect you could use a dram or two now, eh?”
Owein Meredith nodded and gratefully accepted the cup. He swallowed down a great gulp, savoring the smoky taste and the heat that suffused him from throat to belly. “I love her,” he said, almost despairingly.
“I know,” Edmund answered him.
“She doesn’t understand love,” Owein said.
“Nay, not a love between a man and a woman,” Edmund agreed. “But she will, and sooner rather than later I believe, my lord.”
“I am Owein when we are together,” the new master of Friarsgate said to Edmund Bolton. “Have a dram yourself, man.”
Edmund nodded. “I thank you,” he said. “The whiskey from Claven’s Carn is reputed to be excellent.”
“And sit down,” Owein told him.
Edmund Bolton poured himself some whiskey and then sat next to Owein Meredith. He sipped the brew appreciatively. “’Tis excellent,” he pronounced, a smile lighting his features.
“I’ll be good to her,” Owein promised.
“I know you will,” Edmund responded.
“I don’t know what a husband does, Edmund,” Owein said. “My father never remarried, and all the men I’ve known in the Tudor household have been soldiers. A man doesn’t love a wife like a whore. The king loved his queen, but I never knew what they were about when they were alone, which was rare, I tell you. You are a husband. What do I do?” His look was slightly despairing, and his voice now bordered on panic.
Edmund chuckled. “Husbands mostly do as they are told, Owein lad,” he said. “At least that has been my experience. Rosamund was raised by Hugh and me to be independent. We both hated Henry’s lust for this manor. We wanted our lass to be free. What does a husband do? Well, he must be strong where a wife is not, or when she needs him to be. He must be a lover, a friend, and a companion. She will want to spoil the bairns. You will know when she must not, and you will make certain your will prevails in that matter. You must be the strength and moral compass in your family, Owein Meredith. You will be loyal to her and to Friarsgate. ’Tis the best I can tell you. But for tonight, be gentle, be patient, and show her the pleasures of the marriage bed. Tell her what is in your heart so she may feel free to tell you what is in hers. Women like Rosamund never like to admit to love unless they are loved in return. I have never understood it, but there it is.”
“Thank you, Edmund,” Owein said quietly, and he put the dram cup aside. “I shall try to follow your advice.”
“You’ll learn along the way, Owein lad, but as I said, for now just love the lass. The rest will come.”
“Will you keep the man talking in the hall all night when his bride awaits him?” Maybel demanded as she bustled in. “Go on with you, Owein Meredith. Your bride is already in your bed waiting for you. Do not be a laggard now!”
The lord of Friarsgate jumped up from his seat and hurried from the hall, a smile upon his lips.
“You’re a wicked old woman,” Edmund teased his wife. “I had him all calm and quiet, and you come shouting orders.” He pulled her down into his lap and kissed her soundly.
“You’ve been drinking,” Maybel scolded.
“Would you like a dram yourself, old woman?” he asked her.
“Aye, but kiss me again before you get it for me,” Maybel said. “We may not be a bride and groom, but you’ve never been a loiterer in love, Edmund Bolton.”
