The court prepared for May Day. A maypole was set up in the gardens of Greenwich, and ladies were chosen to dance about it as an entertainment. To her surprise Rosamund was one of those ladies. She was not usually included in such events as a participant. She had decided to wear her Tudor-green silk gown in honor of the queen. There would be a hunt in the morning, but she would not take part in it. She did not like hunting, which put her at odds with most of the court who seemed to find the blood sport so stimulating. Rosamund, however, did not consider chasing a hapless animal through the woodlands with dogs only to kill it when caught, entertainment.
The sun had not quite crept over the horizon when she, Annie, and Doll came from the house to go a-Maying. They would first gather the dew of the morning, which was said to be most beneficial for the complexion. Then they would gather greens and flowers with which to decorate the hall. The three young women were barefoot and wore simple skirts of linen, their chemises acting as blouses.
“Do you think they will serve green food in the king’s hall tonight?” Annie wondered aloud.
“Of course!” Doll replied. “The master says the king loves May Day of all holidays, and keeps its traditions.”
“The meat is sometimes green in the king’s hall,” Rosamund observed wryly, “which is why I eat there as infrequently as possible.”
The two young servant women laughed.
A large patch of dew was found, and they gathered it in their hands and spread it liberally on their faces. Then they went about the task of gathering flowers, flowering branches, and other greens for the hall at Bolton Greenwich. Rosamund eventually became separated from her two companions as she wandered about her cousin’s gardens. Suddenly she heard a voice singing softly, and she followed the sound. It led to the door in the brick wall between the garden in which she now stood and the king’s park beyond. Still, the voice was so intriguing that she opened the portal and peeped through. There beneath a tree sat the king, strumming on his lute and singing quietly to himself.
“Now is the month of Maying, when merry lads do play
“Fa la la la la la la lala! Fa la la la la lala!
“Each with his bonnie lass, a-dancing on the grass
“Fa la la la la! La la la la la la la la! Lala Lala!”
Rosamund laughed, and the king, seeing her, jumped up, leaving his lute on the grass. “My Lady Rosamund of Friarsgate. I bid you a good May morning.” He came toward her. “Did you enjoy my song, madame?”
“I did, your majesty, very much,” she told him.
“Once you called me Hal,” he said, and his voice was suddenly low and very intimate. He was now standing directly before her.
“You were not my king then, your majesty,” she said softly, almost breathlessly. This was a dangerous game she was suddenly playing, but she could not seem to back away from it.
Reaching out his big hand he caressed her cheek gently. “The queen says you have the perfect English complexion, fair Rosamund. It is still damp with the dew of this May morning, though I do not think you need to resort to any artifice. You are beautiful enough.” Then his fingers caught her chin. He tipped her face up to his, and his lips brushed hers tenderly. “Beautiful, and gentle, and virtuous,” he said, and one arm wrapped about her to pull her close. “Do you know how often I have thought of you over the years, fair Rosamund?”
“Your majesty flatters me,” she managed to say, although where the words came from she was not certain. She could hardly breathe.
“Do you like flattery?” he questioned her, a small smile on his lips, his blue eyes locking onto her amber ones.
“Only if it is sincere, my lord,” she responded.
“I should never approach a lady without sincerity, fair Rosamund,” he murmured, his lips dangerously near hers again.
Was she going to faint? Her legs felt like jelly. His gaze was simply mesmerizing. His breath was scented with mint. Rosamund sighed, unable to stop herself.
The king’s mouth met hers again, kissing her this time with the beginnings of passion. His arms were now wrapped tightly about her. She could feel the strength of his big body, and she felt absolutely petite in his embrace. She let herself float away. She hadn’t felt this safe since Owein had died.Owein!His name slammed into her brain, and regaining her tenuous grip on reality, she pulled from Henry Tudor’s grasp.
“Oh, your majesty!” she said, her eyes wide with the terrible realization of what they had been doing.
“Fair Rosamund—” he began.
She backed away toward the garden door. “No, your majesty!This is most unseemly, and you know it as well as I do. I beg your majesty’s pardon for my shameless behavior. I certainly never meant to tease your majesty or lead him on into sin.” Then she curtsied quickly, and turning, dashed back into her cousin’s garden, pulling the door shut behind her as she went.
He heard the sound of other female voices calling to her. The king grinned, well-pleased. She was delicious. She was the most tempting confection he had come upon in a long time. Her sweetly submissive acquiescence had set his loins afire, but this time he would keep his lust to himself. He had no intention of letting those sharp-eyed harridans who served his wife catch him again, even if he was plucking the prettiest flower from their midst. Her show of modesty had delighted him, yet she had spirit. But no one, not even his closest companions should know of his interest in the lady of Friarsgate. How convenient that her cousin’s house was his neighbor. He would have her in her own bed. There would be no palace servitors, or anyone else to catch them. No one would see him coming through the midnight gardens. Only her cousin would know, so that he might leave a side door open for the king. Lord Cambridge was known to be a bit eccentric, but he was also said to be an exceedingly sensible man.
The king began to hum as he headed back toward the palace. He picked a bunch of wildflowers just coming into bloom for his wife. Kate was trying so hard to conceive another child for him. He would surprise her with the May morn bouquet. Perhaps he might even spend a few private moments with her before the hunt. The heat in his loins was great, and his seed needed immediate release. His lust would have made it potent, too. Yes, a little futtering with the queen before the activities of the day began would be most pleasant indeed. And then tonight, or perhaps tomorrow night, he would seek out the fair Rosamund and have his way with her. Henry Tudor smiled, pleased with himself and pleased with the world in general.
As the queen enjoyed the hunt herself, Rosamund knew she would not have to put in an appearance until it was time for the maypole in midafternoon. She rejoined her two companions, and they returned to the house, arms filled with flowers and branches with which they decorated the hall of Bolton Greenwich. When Lord Cambridge joined them later he expressed his pleasure at their efforts.
“You are such a lay-abed,” Rosamund teased her cousin. “The dew is all gone now, and you have got none of it.”
He chuckled. “You mean you saved none for me, you selfish wench. I am offended, but I will forgive you, for the hall is lovely.”
