“My wife is not well, which is why I missed your nuptials,” Henry Bolton said.
“Good morning, brother Henry,” Richard Bolton said as he entered the hall. “We missed you at the mass, niece, but under the circumstances you are forgiven.” He chuckled. “I will break my fast and then depart.”
Rosamund colored becomingly, but then she laughed lightly. “We shall be sorry to see you return to your monastery, uncle.”
Richard Bolton grinned, then turned to his youngest sibling. “Henry, you do not look well yourself. Too much rich food and too much wine, I will vow. Abstinence in your excessive habits is to be advised, I think.”
“Mind your business,” Henry Bolton snapped. “I will not be preached at by a bastard, even if he is a priest. Niece, will you offer me no food, and after I have ridden from Otterly Court since before the dawn? It was chill for August. I have no wine. Your servants are lax and need a firm hand. ’Tis to be hoped that your husband can manage them, since you cannot.”
Owein Meredith entered the hall at that moment. “Good morning,uncle. Certainly I may now call you uncle as I am Rosamund’s husband.” He nodded to Richard with a small smile of shared conspiracy.
The priest nodded back, a twinkle in his eye.
“Ten months at court, and you could do no better than this common, landless knight?” Henry said ungraciously, not answering Owein’s mockery. “You might as well have remained right here and wed with my lad.”
“I should have hardly been as happy and content the morning after such a marriage, as I am this morning,” Rosamund replied pertly.
Owein and Richard laughed aloud at this remark, but Henry Bolton scowled sourly.
“And,uncle,I would have you know that the Queen of the Scots, Margaret Tudor, with her grandmother, the king’s gracious mother, chose my husband for me. The king himself announced our betrothal in his hall before the entire court and was cheered for it. My husband has been raised in the House of Tudor. The king knows he can trust him to manage this small piece of his borderland and not betray him. My husband is respected by the most powerful and mighty man in England, King Henry. My husband is loved and well-regarded by men of consequence. I am proud to be his wife, uncle. I would have gone into a convent and deeded Friarsgate to my order before I would wed with another of your offspring!”
“But you did not have to, lovey,” Owein soothed his wife. “Come, uncles, and let us break our fast.” He led Rosamund to the high board and seated her, placing Henry Bolton on his right and Richard Bolton on Rosamund’s right.
The servants brought the food. Oat stirabout, boiled eggs, ham, bread, butter, and cheese. There was wine and cider. Henry Bolton spoke not a word once the food had been set before him. He ate with both hands and drank three goblets of wine. And when the servants had cleared away the few remnants of the meal Richard Bolton spoke up.
“When you are ready, brother Henry, I will ride with you.”
“Ride with me? Where?”Henry snapped.
“Home, brother Henry. You have paid your respects to the bridal couple, but surely you will not intrude upon their connubial bliss? Especially as your good wife is ill. You will want to be with her.”
“As you are leaving,uncle,” Owein said, “I will bid you my farewell. I must ride out today to inspect our livestock. The herds need to be culled and the culls taken to market. We cannot afford to feed useless beasts this winter, eh?” He stood up, and taking Henry Bolton’s fat hand shook it heartily. Then he turned to Richard. “I thank you, Richard, for all your help. Travel safe and return often.” He shook the older man’s slender and elegant hand. Finally he bent and kissed Rosamund, his lips lingering just long enough to set her pulses racing. “Are you making soap or conserves today, lovey?” he inquired solicitously.
“I have not decided,” she replied with a grin. “A woman’s work is never done. Perhaps I shall make medicinal salves, my lord.”
“Well,” Henry Bolton said, “I am pleased to see that at least you are finally behaving like a proper and docile wife, niece.”
“Thank you, uncle,” she replied demurely, arising. “Let me go with you to bid you both a proper farewell.” She curtsied to Owein. “I will see you tonight, my lord,” she told him, and he departed the hall. Rosamund turned to a young serving girl and told her, “Go to the kitchens and see that my uncles have sustenance for their travels today.”
“Yes, lady,” the girl responded, bobbing a curtsy before hurrying off on her mission.
Rosamund then sent a serving man to the stables to be certain her uncle’s mounts were fed, watered, and ready to travel. He returned at the same time the serving girl came from the kitchens carrying two squares of cotton cloth, carefully tied. Rosamund took them from her, smiling.
“What is in them?” she asked.
“Fresh bread, cheese, a small joint, and an apple, m’lady,” the girl replied quickly.
“Feel free to fill your flasks, uncles,” the lady of Friarsgate invited. “The sun will eventually grow hot, and you will welcome a drink.”
When the brothers were finally ready, their niece escorted them outside the house where two stable lads were holding their mounts. Richard Bolton bounded lightly into his saddle, his dark homespun robes riding up just slightly to show his well-muscled white calves and his slim feet in their leather sandals. Henry, however, needed a mounting block, and even so had to be pushed and pulled into his saddle. His own gown rode up, revealing his fat thighs straining in their dark hose. No, Rosamund thought, he did not look well, but it was not just his weight, she suspected.
“God go with you both,” she said, bidding them farewell.
“God grant you a son, niece,” Richard Bolton said. “We shall pray for you at St. Cuthbert’s.”
“Thank you, uncle,” she replied.
Henry Bolton grunted. “Can we get going?” he grumbled. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Farewell, niece.”
