“He had many wards,” the king responded.But none with such rounded breasts and melting amber eyes.
“She was a favorite of your sister’s in the months before Margaret was married to Scotland,” the queen persisted. “Your grandmother and your sister convinced your father to give her to Sir Owein Meredith as his wife. They were betrothed here at court and went north with Margaret’s wedding train, although they left it before it got to Scotland,” the queen further elucidated.
Sir Owein Meredith! Aye! That was the knight who had taken him so to task. The king smiled at his wife. “Did she have red hair, Kate, my love? I think I recall a lass with red hair. Or was it dark?” the king’s brow wrinkled again as he appeared to ponder the matter.
“Her hair is auburn, and her eyes the same shade as good Baltic amber, Henry,” the queen said. “She has that exquisite English complexion that I have ever admired. All cream and wild roses, which I always thought appropriate considering her name. Rosamund.”
“Yes,” the king said now. “I do believe I recall the lady. A pretty girl who had been widowed twice though she was but fourteen.”
“Aye! That is right! Oh, I am so glad that you remember her, Henry! I want to ask her to court,” the queen told him.
“What, sweetheart, have you not enough ladies to serve you that you must request the company of a Cumbrian lady? Her husband may have something to say about it, I fear. I should not want to allowyouto go off without me,” the king said with a broad smile.
The queen colored prettily. But then she responded, “She has been widowed once again, Henry. Her poor heart is quite broken, for she loved Sir Owein. They have three little girls, you know. I am godmother to the second lass, though I have never seen her.”
The king was now intrigued. “How is it, Kate, that you know so much about this country lady and are even godmother to her child?” he asked his wife. Sometimes, he thought, she surprised him, and usually when he least expected her to do so. He still had much to learn about his Kate.
“We have corresponded, my dear lord, almost from the time of her departure from court. You have no idea of how kind she has been to me, Henry, nor how loyal she is to our house. Rosamund Bolton is the best of women. If I can ease her sorrow in the least I should do it most gladly. Please say she may come. It will be such a treat for me.”
“Of course she may come,” the king said, even more curious now, “but tell me, in what way was she kind to you, sweet Kate?”
“She learned of my financial plight during that time when your father, may God assoil his soul,” the queen said, crossing herself most devoutly, “was unsure whether our marriage would take place. And while he and my father niggled about my support, Rosamund Bolton sent me a purse. And not just one. Twice yearly she gave me what she could. It was not a great deal, no more than a few weeks’ worth of coins, but she was faithful. Once, I am told by my messenger, she sold a young stud, a yearling, sired by a great warhorse, and sent me all the proceeds of that sale. Lady Neville, whose husband sought to have the animal but was outbid, confirms the tale.”
“Damn me!” the king said, astounded.
“And her sweet letters brought me such comfort. She wrote me about her life at Friarsgate, her confinements, her children, but mostly about Sir Owein. She lost a son, born earlier this year, even as I lost our child. Now she is bereft of Sir Owein.” The queen stopped and looked up at her husband. “You do see that I owe her a debt, Henry.”
He nodded slowly. How interesting that his Kate had commanded such loving loyalty from an unimportant little girl she had but known briefly. Then he said, “How did Sir Owein die? He was not a young man, but neither was he a graybeard.”
“He fell from a tree,” the queen said, “though I do not know what he was doing in a tree. His age was thirty-eight years, poor Rosamund tells me.”
“You may send an escort to Friarsgate to bring her to you, Kate. And send her a purse so she may purchase some materials to have a fine wardrobe while she stays with us,” the king generously instructed his wife.
“Oh, Henry, you are so kind!” the queen cried, and flung herself into his lap, covering his face with kisses. “I do love you, my dearest lord!”
Henry Tudor chuckled and returned her kisses while fondling her breasts as her cheeks grew pink with both her pleasure and embarrassment.
The royal messenger arrived at Friarsgate carrying a bountiful purse for its lady as well as a letter from the queen. Rosamund was to take the purse and purchase fine materials from which she would make several gowns suitable for wear at court. She would be escorted in six weeks’ time from her home to London. She could bring one servant with her.
“I cannot possibly go,” Rosamund said to Maybel.
“Of course you can go!” Maybel said.
“How can I leave my bairns?” Rosamund wailed. “Bessie is barely weaned. I have responsibilities.”
“Rosamund,” her uncle Edmund said quietly, for he could see his volatile spouse was beginning to work herself up. “Dear niece, this is not a simple invitation. The queen of this realm has asked you to join her court. She will not expect you to remain with her long, but this is a royal command, Rosamund. The harvest is in, and all is in readiness for the winter. Tomorrow I will escort you and my good wife to Carlisle where you will shop for materials for your gowns. We have not a great deal of time to prepare, my dear, but you must go.”
“How long do you think I shall remain?” Rosamund asked. “You know how very much I dislike being away from home, uncle.”
“A few months at the most, my child. Remember, the last time you were at court you were a royal ward, but now you are a woman grown. Perhaps you might even find a fine new husband among the king’s men,” he said, chuckling.
“Jesu! Mary!” Maybel said despairingly, glaring at Edmund. Poor Owein was barely in his grave, and there was her husband going on about another man!
“Oh, uncle, I shall never wed again!” Rosamund told him.
“Well, be that as it may, my niece, you will certainly have a bit more freedom this visit. The young king is said to be quite merry, and his court a gay one. Owein would not want you mourning him for the rest of your life.”
“Uncle, he is gone from me just two months,” Rosamund said, tears springing to her eyes.
