“Then who was it?” Inez demanded suspiciously. “It certainly looked like the king.”
“I don’t know how you could tell in this dim hallway,” Rosamund replied blandly.
“If it wasn’t that satyr my mistress is married to, then name me your lover, Rosamund Bolton,” Inez said.
“Before I tell you, you must swear not to repeat what I say, Inez. He is not my lover, at least not inthatsense. It has been a harmless little flirtation on progress. We were saying farewell, for my cousin and I depart tomorrow for my home in Cumbria.”
“Who?”Inez said a third time.
“Charles Brandon,” Rosamund said.
“I would have sworn it was the king,” Inez persisted.
“You know how alike they are, Inez. Everyone says so. They are both big men, and in the dark it is certainly possible for you to mistake Charles for the king. Please don’t tell on me, Inez! It was little more than a few stolen kisses and cuddles. Thank the Blessed Mother that I am leaving court tomorrow else I be led into serious sin. I could not help myself. I miss my Owein so much.” She dabbed at her eye with her handkerchief, which she had pulled from the pocket of her skirt. I am surely going to hell, she thought. She could not believe that she would tell such lies, but she would not harm the queen further.
Inez de Salinas sighed. “I have never known you to lie, Rosamund Bolton, but I am still certain it was the king you kissed.”
“It was Charles Brandon, Inez, I swear it! I know that you and the queen’s other women have never gotten over his bad behavior with the Duke of Buckingham’s sister, but I am not she. Why would the king be bothered with a woman like me? The king, who could have anyone, would hardly choose me. If you tell the queen this story, based on such evidence, you will embarrass me, and you will embarrass Charles Brandon. The king will be very angry, particularly if your vile gossip does injury to the queen. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to leave the castle and return to the inn. Tom and I want to make an early start, for we have a long way to travel over the next days.” She turned to go.
“It was the king,”Inez said implacably.
Rosamund whirled about.“It most certainly was not!”she snapped, and hurried off, away from the Spanish woman. Dear God, she prayed silently, don’t let her tell the queen. Why should it matter to her so very much? I am gone on the morrow, no matter who it was. She ran down a large flight of stairs and into the courtyard. There at the castle gates she found the king’s servant awaiting her. Torch in hand he escorted her into the dark streets of the town toward her accommodations.
“I will warn the king,” Walter told her.
Rosamund nodded, but said nothing.
“I will tell him how well you protected him by swearing it was milord Brandon. That was cleverly done, m’lady, if you do not mind my saying so.” And Walter chuckled. “I think you have confused her enough that she will be silent.”
Rosamund finally spoke. “I would not hurt the queen.”
“I know that, m’lady. She is generally harmed by those closest to her who always claim that they are doing her a good turn,” Walter observed.
They finally reached the Crown and Swan Inn. Walter left Rosamund at its entrance, and she hurried inside and up to her own chamber where Annie awaited her.
“I just want to go to bed,” Rosamund said. “I will bathe in the morning before we leave.”
Annie nodded, seeing that her mistress seemed angry.
Rosamund was subdued the next morning, and for the next week as they traveled north through Darby and York into Lancaster and finally Rosamund’s home county of Cumbria. They stayed a night at Carlisle at St. Cuthbert’s where Rosamund greeted her uncle Richard happily. Then they continued north and east toward Friarsgate. Now that she was so close to home Rosamund did not want to stop. Lord Cambridge was becoming exhausted, but, she told him, he could rest at Friarsgate.
“It will take me days to recover from this pace you have set,” he complained to her.
She could smell it. The fragrance peculiar to her lands. She thought she might have forgotten, but no. She could smell it! The hills were familiar, and suddenly there were landmarks that she recognized all about her. The road topped a hill. Rosamund stopped. Her heart soared! She felt the tears slipping unbidden down her cheeks. Below lay her lake, sparkling in the September sunlight. There was her home! Her village! Friarsgate lay before her. She kicked her mount and galloped down the road toward it.
“Will she ever love anyone the way she loves Friarsgate?” Lord Cambridge said to the serving man, Sims.
“Probably not,” said the pragmatic servant.
Lord Cambridge’s party continued down the hill road toward the manor. Thomas Bolton had hired two dozen men-at-arms to escort them from Nottingham. Tomorrow he would pay them their wages and they would depart back the way they had come. By the time they reached the house Rosamund was already there, embracing Edmund and Maybel, hugging her three daughters, tears tracing down her cheeks.
Maybel comforted Rosamund. “They have been such good girls. Philippa reminds me of you at that age. She is most helpful and obedient.”
Lord Cambridge was welcomed back. They went into the hall for the meal, which was simple, for they had not been expected. Afterward, the children gone to their beds, they sat about the fire, talking and drinking newly pressed cider.
“You wrote that the ewes had produced a greater number of lambs this year,” Rosamund said to Edmund, “but I did not see evidence of it as I rode in. Were they diseased?”
Edmund Bolton sighed, and then he said, “Let us discuss this matter in the morning, niece. You are surely tired from your travels, and poor cousin Thomas is falling asleep in his chair. On the morrow I will give you a full report of all that has happened in your absence.”
