Page 22 of Until You (Friarsgate Inheritance #2)

T he little page led her from the Great Hall down one long corridor and into a narrower, dimmer one. Finally he stopped before a paneled door, and opening it, ushered her inside. “I will wait outside to escort you back,” he said politely, closing the door behind him.

Rosamund looked about her. It was a small chamber with a corner fireplace in which a fire was now burning, warming the damp room. The walls were of linen-fold paneling. The well-worn floor of wide boards was darkened with age. There was a single lead-paned casement window looking out on an empty courtyard, above which she could see the blue sky of the late June day. The small courtyard itself was seasonless. Had she been a prisoner in this room she would have had absolutely no idea of the day, the month, or the time of year. There were but three pieces of furniture: a small square oak table and two chairs with high carved backs, each containing a single tired tapestry cushion of an indeterminate color and design. Rosamund sat down and waited. By now she was well used to waiting for Tudor monarchs, she thought to herself with a wry smile.

Finally a door she had not even noticed, for it was so well constructed and concealed, opened in one of the walls, and Henry Tudor stepped into the room. Had he gotten bigger? she wondered, until she realized that the design of his costume was meant to convey that very impression. Still, a man who stood well over six feet needed little else to make an impression. He looked straight at her with his small blue eyes as she came to her feet and made a deep curtsy.

“Well, madame, and what have you to say for yourself?” he opened the conversation forcefully.

“What would your majesty have me say?” Rosamund replied.

“Do not attempt to fence with me, madame!” he thundered. “You have not the skill for it.”

“I am also not gifted with the long eye, sire, and so you must be more specific in your queries of me,” Rosamund told him. She was not afraid. She should have been, but she was not. What was happening to her? What would happen if the king’s anger could not be stemmed?

Henry Tudor drew a deep breath and seated himself in one of the chairs. “Stand before me, Rosamund,” he said.

She moved to face him.

“Now kneel,” he commanded her.

Rosamund swallowed back her outrage and knelt before him.

“Now, madame, why did you go to Scotland?” he said.

“Because your majesty’s sister invited me, and as your majesty well knows, Queen Margaret and I are friends from our youth,” Rosamund responded.

“And why did you go to San Lorenzo, madame? It was my understanding that you disliked travel,” the king replied.

“I went because the Earl of Glenkirk asked me to go,” Rosamund said.

“He was your lover.” It was not a question.

“Aye, he was my lover,” Rosamund told the king quietly.

“I would not have expected such behavior from you,” Henry Tudor said primly.

“I was to confine my whoring, then, only to your majesty?” Rosamund snapped at him. The floor beneath her knees was hard, and she was becoming angry. For all he was her king, he was still a spoiled lad.

Henry Tudor jumped to his feet, towering over her as his big hand gripped her arm, yanking her up. “Do not try my patience, madame. You well know how dangerous I can become when provoked.” The blue eyes met her amber ones.

Rosamund pulled away from him. “Then, Hal, let us both sit down. I will freely answer any question you have of me, but this charade you attempt to play with me is both childish and hardly worthy of Great Harry.” Her gaze did not waver beneath his.

He motioned her impatiently to one of the chairs, seating himself in the other. “Do not forget I am your king,” he growled.

“I have never forgotten it, Hal.” He had not reprimanded her use of his name, and so she continued it.

“Richard Howard, my ambassador, saw you in San Lorenzo,” the king told her.

“I know,” Rosamund answered. “San Lorenzo is a tiny place, my lord, and there are no secrets there that can be kept for long. Lord Howard recognized my face and was told my name. He knew he had seen me before.”

“He said you lied to him when he asked if you knew him,” the king noted.

“Nay, Hal, I did not lie. He had seen me at court long ago, and I had seen him. But we had never been introduced, so we could hardly know each other, now, could we?”

The king emitted a short burst of laugher, then grew serious once again. “What was Lord Leslie doing in San Lorenzo? He had been my brother-in-law’s first ambassador there years ago. Why did he go back, madame?”

“When the earl and I first met at Stirling, Hal, something odd happened to us. We fell in love, if indeed you believe in love, but whatever happened between us happened. We could not bear to be parted. The Scots court, however, was hardly the place for us to carry on our liaison, any more than your court would have been the right place. It was cold and snowy that winter. The earl conceived the idea of taking me to San Lorenzo, where we might enjoy the warmth of the south and pursue our passion for each other.”

“You lived in the ambassador’s residence,” the king said suspiciously, still not convinced that her tale was completely innocent of deception.

“Aye, we did. It had been Patrick’s home once, and Lord MacDuff insisted that we make it our home. I saw no harm in it. Our apartments looked out over the town, a charming place whose buildings are all the many colors of the rainbow, Hal. We could view the blue sea from our terrace. We had a large bath set out upon the tiled terrace, and we bathed daily in the fresh air, beneath the warm sun. There were flowers in bloom in February! It was a paradise!” Rosamund’s face was alight with the memory.

“You were introduced to the duke,” the king said.

“He was an old friend of Patrick’s. His court is very informal, Hal. We visited several times, meeting a famed artist from Venice, a German countess, your own Lord Howard, and many others. Our servants fell in love there and were wed in a chapel within the cathedral by San Lorenzo’s bishop himself.”

“Lord Howard says this artist, a relation of the Venetian doge, painted you without garments,” the king accused, looking shocked.

“The portrait that hangs in my hall, Hal, is fully clothed. The maestro painted me as the lady defender of Friarsgate. He made my home a castle, which of course it is not. I am surrounded by a sunset. It is quite colorful,” Rosamund said, but then, because she realized the king was very well informed, added, “but he also painted me as a goddess. I wore a Greek chiton that left a shoulder and my arms bare. He vowed he wished to keep that painting for himself, which is why he also painted the other.”

“That portrait now hangs in the Great Hall of the Duke of San Lorenzo, madame! Lord Howard informs me that your naked limbs can be easily seen through the diaphanous draperies you have called a costume and that one of your breasts was quite bare!” Henry Tudor sounded outraged.

“What?” The surprise on Rosamund’s face convinced the king that her own tale was true, as far as she knew. “The maestro sold the goddess painting to the duke?”

Then she burst out laughing. “The duke, Hal, is a man of vast appetites where women are concerned. He would have enjoyed seducing me but that I would not have it. And the artist, as well. These men from the south are quite different from us, I fear. It took all my wits about me to prevent a disaster,” she concluded. Then she said, “My cousin tells me that Lord Howard is back in England. He is not a good ambassador, Hal. He is much too abrasive and rude. He quite irritated the duke.”

“When you returned in late spring you went back to my sister, did you not?” He ignored her remark about Richard Howard. It was not necessary Rosamund know that Duke Sebastian had sent him home to England for the very qualities Rosamund mentioned. It had been most embarrassing, especially as the duke had sent a message with Lord Howard saying he wanted no further English ambassador in San Lorenzo.

“Aye. I had promised Meg I would. She had been delivered then of her son,” Rosamund answered him. Let him ask what he would. She would volunteer nothing unless asked.

“The boy? He is truly healthy?” the king inquired.

Rosamund nodded. “He is strong of limb and heart and mind, Hal. Your nephew is what the Scots would call a ‘braw laddie.’ ”

“And after you had paid your compliments to my sister, you returned home alone?”

“I returned home with Lord Leslie,” Rosamund said. “We decided that we would wed even though both of us had estates that must be husbanded. We thought we could spend part of each year at Friarsgate and part of the year at Glenkirk. Do the high and the mighty not travel between their lands?”

“Yet he left you,” the king said.

“In the autumn, to return to Glenkirk. He wanted his son and heir, Adam Leslie, to know what it was he intended doing. He wanted Adam’s approval, for he had been widowed since his son’s birth.”

“If he was a capable bed partner, and I must assume he was, madame, then I am certain his son would not have been pleased by the thought of having to share his inheritance with another child of his father’s making,” the king remarked.

“Patrick’s seed was no longer potent due to an illness years before,” Rosamund explained. “There was no danger of another child to supplant his grown son.”

“And yet he was a passionate lover, for I know none but could satisfy you, Rosamund,” the king noted.

Rosamund flushed, continuing with her story. “We were to meet in Edinburgh in the spring. I arrived to discover he had suffered a seizure of the brain. Though I nursed him until he was able to travel, not all of his memory returned. He had completely forgotten the last two years of his life. He did not know me at all. There was no possibility, under such circumstances, of our wedding.” Her amber eyes glistened with tears as she spoke now. “His son keeps me informed as to his health, however.”

“You are yet in touch with my sister?” the king asked.

“She sent to me warning of the war to come,” Rosamund said. “You should not have encouraged King James to war, Hal.”

“I?” Henry Tudor sounded outraged with her accusation.

“James Stewart was a good king, Hal. He was a good husband to your sister, and she loved him dearly. You forced his hand because you were jealous of him.”

“Do you seek to visit the Tower, madame?” the king said coldly.

“I say to you the things that no others dare,” she agreed, “but you need to hear them, Hal. James Stewart marched into England hoping to lure you home from France, but instead you sent Suffolk to engage him in battle. But for an accident of fate, Scotland would have beaten you.”

“What accident?” No one had told him this. They had only trumpeted victory.

“The Scots phalanx broke on a slippery, muddy hill,” she said, knowing he would understand the rest.

“It was obviously God’s will that we prevail against the Scots,” the king said piously, and he crossed himself. “God is on my side, Rosamund! He always will be.”

“If your majesty says so,” she murmured, her head bowing.

“But now, madame, what am I to do with you?” he wondered.

“I came to court for two reasons, Hal,” she said. “Because I was summoned and because I wished to introduce my heiress to your majesties. I would return home now.”

“Nay, not quite yet,” he told her. “I am not satisfied that your conduct in the matter of this Scot was not treasonous, madame.”

“God’s wounds!” Rosamund swore. “You know very well it was nothing more than I have told you, Hal. When have I ever been duplicitous with you? With your queen, aye, but only to protect her, but never with you!”

“I think you should accompany the court to Windsor,” he said, smiling suddenly.

“No!” Her look was angry.

“You do not believe that we may have certain unfinished business between us, madame?” he demanded of her.

“Nay, I do not!” Her color was high now.

Reaching out, the king pulled her from her chair and onto his lap. His big hand caressed her heart-shaped face, and then he kissed her a passionate kiss. His mouth demanded far more than she would ever again give him.

Rosamund jumped from his embrace like a creature afire. “Hal! Are you mad? I have but only convinced the queen I was not your mistress, but rather Charles Brandon’s lover, and you would attempt seduction? Do you know how fortunate we were in our brief encounter that we were not found out, given the example of the ladies FitzWalter and Hastings? If Inez de Salinas had not seen us parting that night we might have escaped detection altogether, but we did not. And I have had to weave a tapestry of lies to protect Kate, who is my friend. Do not do this to me! I will not have it!”

“I am your king, madame,” he thundered at her.

“And I am your majesty’s most loyal servant,” Rosamund said, curtsying, “but I will not again be your majesty’s whore. Imprison me if you will for it. But I will not yield what is left of my virtue and my dignity. How can you even ask it of me, Hal? Especially when I strove so hard to protect your reputation with your good queen.”

She saw the look blooming upon his face. He would want to put his bad behavior on her, for in his own eyes Henry Tudor did no wrong. “Madame—” he began, but she stopped him, making it easy.

“If I have misled your majesty in any way, I humbly apologize for it. It was not my intention at all to be provocative or lewd,” Rosamund said, stepping back from him and curtsying once more. “I beg your majesty’s pardon.”

He was silent for a long moment, and she knew he was considering the situation from all possible angles. How could he keep his sweets and yet eat them all up? It obviously proved too much of a conundrum even for him. “You are forgiven, madame. Nonetheless, I would have you come to Windsor. For Kate’s sake, of course. Inez de Salinas has been sent away at last. Your return gave me the opportunity to rid us of her, and for that we thank you. I know you will want to return home to Friarsgate from Windsor, and you have our permission. But bide a few weeks with us. Who knows when you will come to court again?”

“Perhaps never, Hal, but my Philippa will certainly come,” Rosamund said.

He nodded. “Your daughters will always be welcome at our court,” he told her.

“Thank you, your majesty,” she replied.

“You may return to the Great Hall now, madame,” he said.

Rosamund curtsied again and began to back from the room.

“You should really have another husband,” the king suddenly remarked.

“Do not attempt to shackle me to anyone, Hal. Any bridegroom foisted upon me will not live to see the morning after the wedding,” she warned him.

“I am your king, madame! I have the right to choose for you if I would.”

“I have wed thrice for the pleasure of others, Hal,” Rosamund replied. “It was your own grandmother, God assoil her good soul, who said that after a woman had done her duty, she had the right to marry for love.”

“Will you find love again, Rosamund?” he asked.

“Perhaps, Hal, I will be fortunate,” she said, and then she opened the door and slipped into the hallway, where the little page awaited her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, for he had been dozing on his feet. She smiled and patted his blond head. “Take me back to the hall, lad,” she told him, and she followed in his wake as he went.

She had scarcely arrived back at her destination than Tom was at her side. Philippa was not with him. “Where is Philippa?” she asked.

“I have introduced her to several young ladies, all close to her in age,” he said. “A young girl should not be shackled at court to an older relation. Now, tell me at once, dear girl, what has happened?” He led her to an alcove where there was a bench, and together they sat.

“There is little to tell,” Rosamund began. “He demanded to know why I had gone to Scotland and San Lorenzo. Lord Howard had indeed reported my presence there with Patrick. I explained all, but I will admit to keeping it as simple as possible. Then he thought perhaps we might take up where we had left off.”

“No!” Lord Cambridge actually looked shocked, though he should not have been surprised.

“I have dissuaded him, of course, Tom, but he would have us come to Windsor. He says we may return home from there, but we must bide a while,” Rosamund explained.

“Actually,” her cousin replied, “if you departed now it could cause gossip to arise, especially as Inez de Salinas has been sent publicly from court. They say she and her husband will leave for Spain soon, ostensibly to visit her elderly parents. And a few weeks of the court’s amusements will not harm Philippa. She can make some valuable connections, Rosamund. Just recall your own stay as a girl. There are few who can claim a friendship with two queens.”

“But I have no friends at the court,” Rosamund said.

“It is time, then, that you made some,” he said.

“I don’t intend returning if I can possibly help it,” she told him.

“But Philippa will return, and it is probably from those who people the court that we will choose Philippa’s husband, Rosamund. It cannot hurt you to make friends,” he explained patiently. His cousin had always preferred her own company and that of a few relations over strangers, but that needed to change.

“I suppose you mean to introduce me to some people,” she grumbled at him.

Tom grinned at her. “My habits, dear girl, may not conform to most, but I assure you I know many people of the right sort. I am considered witty and amusing, you know,” he said mischievously. “Now that you have concluded this business with both of our dear monarchs and you have been commanded to Windsor, it is time for you to meet others of your own kind, cousin. How do you expect to find the right husband for our Philippa if you do not mingle among the nobility?”

She laughed. “That is the difficulty, Tom. I think Philippa too young for a proposed marriage.”

“Of course she is,” he agreed. “But it will take us two or three years to find the right connections, and then another year for Philippa to decide which among her suitors will please her. These things must be done delicately and with finesse, my dear girl. One does not purchase a pig in a poke, Rosamund.”

“You make it sound so calculated, Tom,” she told him.

“It is,” he agreed.

“But I want Philippa to fall in love and be in love forever,” Rosamund said.

“If only life were that simple, my dear girl. With luck, she will indeed love the man she marries before they wed—if they have the time to know each other. But more than likely, that love will come afterwards. Your marriage to your cousin was arranged to keep Friarsgate in the family. Your marriage to Hugh Cabot was for the same reason. You were too young to know of love then, but when you were wed to Owein Meredith, you did not love him, did you?”

Rosamund shook her head.

“But you came to love him because he was a good man and he respected your position as the lady of Friarsgate. With careful planning, dear girl, we shall gain the same good fortune for Philippa. But unless we begin our search now, what chance have we? And do not, I pray you, bring up the love that you and Lord Leslie shared, cousin. It was unique and rare. Few in this world have such love.”

“I know,” she whispered to him, feeling the tears coming again.

“Dear cousin,” Tom said, and he brushed the tears from her cheek, “be grateful that you knew such love, but also be sensible where your child is concerned.”

Rosamund nodded. “I will meet these people you seek to introduce me to,” she said with a small smile. “But can I meet them another day? I have had all I can bear today, cousin. I want to go home and sit out in your garden to watch the river.”

“And think, mayhap, of your brazen Scot?” he teased her.

“Aye,” she said, surprising him.

“Take your own barge, dear girl. I will return later with Lucy and Philippa,” he told her.

Rosamund leaned over and kissed her cousin on his smooth cheek. “What, dear Tom,” she said, “should I ever do without you?”

“If the truth be known, dear girl,” he responded, “I shudder to even contemplate it.” And he grinned.

Rosamund arose. “Do not remain too late,” she said. “It is Philippa’s first day, and we will be leaving shortly for Windsor.”

He nodded, then watched as she departed the Great Hall.

Rosamund’s little vessel was brought to her, and after entering it, she sat down on the blue velvet bench and closed her eyes. “Take me home,” she told her rowers.

The air was warm as they rowed, but some of the smells in the air were distinctly unpleasant as the barge moved along. Her servants rowed in midriver, as the tide was low now, and the mudflats along the bank were visible to the eye and discernible to the nose. Rosamund sighed to herself. The worst was certainly over now, she thought, and having thought it found herself longing for Friarsgate. But Tom was right. If she was to one day see her daughters matched with men of eminent families, she must socialize and make contacts now. A smile touched her lips as she considered that just a few short years back she had been considered a girl. Now she was a woman of twenty-five, widowed thrice and looking for husbands not for herself but for her three daughters. Yet the need for love had not deserted her. Surely not.

Rosamund knew she was lonely. But did she want to marry again? Did she want Logan Hepburn? It seemed she had been running away from him her whole life. Or he had been running after her. She hadn’t, of course; nor had she even known of the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn until . . . God’s wounds! Was it that long ago that he had sat his horse atop a hill overlooking Friarsgate and told her he wanted her for his wife? Eleven years. Nay! It could not be eleven years ago! It had been just before she married Owein, and Philippa was now ten years of age. The realization dawned upon her. It was indeed eleven years ago that she had sparred indignantly with him and forbade him to come to her wedding. But he had, of course, with his brothers in tow. They had brought whiskey and salmon, and they had played their pipes for the bride and groom. Eleven years!

Yet she did not know him. Not really. She knew he was determined and that he was stubborn. She knew he had been willing to let his lands go to his brothers’ sons rather than marry another. For her. For Rosamund Bolton. Never before had she considered Logan Hepburn in any other way but an annoyance. She had called him a crude borderer, a Scots scoundrel. And she had meant it.

She had dismissed his offer of marriage because rather than saying he loved her, he had talked about sons. When she had upbraided him for it, he had claimed that he had always loved her, that he had thought she knew it. But he had not said it, and until this moment she had not understood that a man who was willing to give up his birthright for a woman did indeed love her. I have been a fool, Rosamund thought silently.

But it still did not answer the question of whether she was willing to remarry. And all of her newfound knowledge would not answer that question. She needed to get to know this man she had been so busy scorning out of pride that she could not comprehend the depth of his devotion to her. He would be awaiting her return, she knew, and suddenly she was more anxious than ever to return home. But if he won her, would he be satisfied with his victory? Or would that victory merely cause him to lose interest?

Rosamund felt her little vessel bump the stone quay of her cousin’s house. She opened her eyes, blinking once or twice to clear her vision as the sunlight filled her sight. She took the servant’s offered hand and stepped up from the craft, then hurried into the house. The summer gardens held no interest for her today. She needed to think. If she was going to allow Logan Hepburn into her life, they were going to have to get a few things straight before anything progressed beyond friendship. She remembered how kind he had been with her daughters and how they all liked him. Well, that was one point in his favor, she considered. But he was still a Scot. And there was certain to always be difficulties between England and Scotland. Yet would that matter in their tiny corner of the world? she wondered.

Lord Cambridge and Philippa arrived home as the long summer twilight was beginning to deepen into darkness. Rosamund’s daughter could hardly stop talking of the sights she had seen and the people she had met.