“Please tell Rosamund to continue to correspond with me, Sir Owein,” the young woman said. “I like her letters so filled with your domestic details, the news of Friarsgate, and your daughters. And you will pass on to me any information that you learn from your friends here.”
“I am your highness’ loyal servant,” Owein Meredith said, bowing as he kissed the regal hand a final time and then withdrew.
He hurried his horse northward over the next few days. The spring sunshine cheered him as he rode and thought of Rosamund. He could scarce wait to tell her all the news. She would be distressed by Katherine of Aragon’s pitiful plight, but they would continue to aid the princess as best they could. Owein firmly believed that Katherine would one day be England’s queen, and she was not a woman to forget her friends.
Finally he sat his horse above the hills overlooking Friarsgate. The lake below was a bright blue in the late May sunshine. The green hills were dotted with their sheep, and the pastures were filled with the cattle and horses. He could see the folk working in the fields, tending the new crops of grain and vegetables. He moved his mount slowly down the hill road, knowing that his wife and children awaited him this day and was very glad to be home once again.
A stable lad came to take his horse as he dismounted.
“Give him a good brushing, Tom, and an extra measure of oats. He has traveled a long way and back these last two weeks,” Owein instructed. “And turn him loose in his own pasture to run and graze afterward.”
“Aye, m’lord,” the stable lad said, “and welcome home!”
Owein nodded at the boy’s greeting, and hurried into the house.
Alerted by a servant, Rosamund ran to greet him, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him with great enthusiasm.
Laughing, Owein picked her up and carried her into the hall, setting her down gently as he said, “God’s blood, lady, ’tis a goodly greeting you give me. Have I been missed that much?” But he was pleased, for it was the first time since their marriage that they had been separated.
She looked up into his face, her eyes shining with her love for him. “Aye, sir, you have been very missed!” she assured him.
“Papa! Papa!”He felt the insistent tug at his doublet.
Looking down, he saw Philippa. He bent down and picked her up with a smile. “How is papa’s precious princess?” he asked her and he kissed her rosy cheek. “Have you been a good lass, Philippa, and helped mama with your baby sister?”
Philippa looked at her father and lisped, “Yeth.” Then her brow furrowed. “Bannie stinkth,” she told him.
“Bairns sometimes will,” he agreed, “but your sister doesn’t always smell, does she? Be truthful now.”
“Nay,” Philippa said reluctantly.
Owein put his daughter down. “Rivalry already?” he asked his wife, as Philippa toddled off with a twinkle in her eye, satisfied to have been noticed and fussed over by her father.
“We need another,” Rosamund said. “That will put an end to it.” She smiled seductively at him. “And did you miss me, sir?”
“The bairn is scarce out of your belly and you want another, madame?” he teased her. “I think we should wait a bit.”
“We need a son,” Rosamund reminded him.
“In God’s good time,” he answered her. “Now, woman, where is my supper? I have eaten little but swill since I departed here. I am tired and I am ravenous.”
“At once, sir,” she replied, calling to the servants to bring the food. “And you will tell me of all you have seen and heard after you have eaten your fill.”
He nodded and then sat himself down at the high board.
They brought him a capon, roasted golden and stuffed with bread, apples, onions, and celery. A fine trout, sliced, set upon a bed of bright green watercress. There was a bowl of mutton stew, the chunks of meat swimming in a cream gravy with pearls of barley and slices of carrot and sweet leeks. There was fresh warm cottage loaf, a crock of sweet butter, and a wedge of yellow cheese. They both ate heartily, mopping the gravy from the stew with pieces of the bread. They drained several cups of ale. And when they were sated with their supper a servant appeared to place a bowl of strawberries and another bowl of clotted cream upon the high board.
“Now,” he said, dipping a berry into the cream and popping it into his mouth, “I will tell you all, my love.” And he did.
Rosamund listened, not interrupting him until he had finally concluded his recitation. Then she said, “Poor Kate has even less control over her life than we do. She is a princess, and I should not have thought such a thing possible. I cannot believe the king so cruel. What kind of example does that set for the prince?”
“He is not being cruel deliberately,” Owein explained. “He and King Ferdinand play a game of power. It is something like chess. Unfortunately, the princess is their only pawn, and she suffers for it.”
“We must continue to help her, Owein. We have so much, you and I, here at Friarsgate. She has little but her hopes,” Rosamund told him. “I know we have not a great deal of coin, for we country folks live by barter and trade, but we must find the coin to send her when we can. Please do not deny me this, my lord.” She looked anxiously at him.
“You are the lady of Friarsgate, lovey, and I but your husband,” he told her. “Still, we are of one mind in this matter, Rosamund. Sometime in the autumn there will be a visitor from Princess Katherine. We will send him back with what we can.”
“Aye! We can sell some lambs or two young heifers. There is a yearling in the pasture not yet gelded that will give us a profit, for he was sired by ShadowDancer, the best sire of warhorses in all the north of England. I call him Tatamount, for he is his sire’s twin. If we put it out that we have him for sale, we can take the monies from such a sale and send them to Princess Katherine,” Rosamund said enthusiastically. “He should bring us a pretty penny.”
