Until You

Chapter 17

The 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.

“We are going to Windsor, mama, aren’t we? Cecily will be at Windsor. Her family always goes on progress,” Philippa said.

“And who is Cecily?” Rosamund inquired, smoothing her daughter’s disheveled hair. “Is she someone Uncle Tom has introduced you to, my daughter?”

“She is Cecily FitzHugh, mama. Her father is the Earl of Renfrew. She has two brothers, Henry, who is the heir, and Giles, and two sisters, Mary and Susanna. They are younger than Cecily, who is the oldest girl. We have become best friends!”

“Gracious,” Rosamund laughed. “All in a single afternoon, poppet?”

Philippa ignored her mother’s teasing, saying, “It is her first time at court, too, mama. She has been left at home with her little sisters in the past. Her brother Henry is one of the king’s gentlemen, and her other brother is a page. We both like to ride.”

“Well,” Rosamund said, “it would appear that you have had a fine day, Philippa, but it is your bedtime now. Run along with Lucy. I will come and kiss you good night.”

Without protest, Philippa obeyed her mother.

“And what have you been doing alone and by yourself?” Lord Cambridge asked his cousin.

“I have been thinking of Logan Hepburn, Tom, and whether I do indeed want to remarry. And if so, whether it is he I want to wed,” Rosamund said frankly.

“And what have you decided?” he asked.

“I do not know,” she answered. “I need to really get to know him, Tom. I will not remarry simply for the sake of having a husband. Do you understand that?”

He nodded. “I do. Still, I think you wise to reconsider your former position on the matter, cousin.”

“What you mean,” she teased him, “is that you think I am becoming too long in the tooth for another husband. I am, after all, twenty-five now.”

He laughed. “You will never be too old for another husband, Rosamund. You are too fair and too clever by far. Why, if I were a man to take a wife, I should seriously consider you above all women,” he told her.

“Why, Tom, that is a lovely thing for you to say to me,” she exclaimed.

“Alas, I am not a man for a wife,” he told her with a smile.

“It would be so simple if you were,” she considered.

“It most certainly would not, dear girl! Your laird once threatened to kill me if I admitted to being your lover,” Lord Cambridge said with a shiver of remembrance. “He was very fierce, and I quite believed him.”

Now it was Rosamund who laughed. Then she said, “Tell me about the FitzHugh family to whom you have introduced my daughter, Tom.”

They sat companionably in the Great Hall of the house, ensconced in the window seats overlooking the river as they spoke.

“Edward FitzHugh is like your Owein, of Welsh descent. His holding is not large. It is in the marches between England and Wales. His wife, Anne, comes from a good family of English landed gentry in Hereford. Her dower was more than generous, for her family was delighted to have made a match with the son of an earl. Ned was the third son. He was never expected to inherit, but both of his brothers predeceased him. The eldest from plague one summer. The second son returning from Spain, where he had made a match. The ship upon which he traveled went down in the Bay of Biscay in a storm. The old earl died shortly thereafter, they say of a broken heart, and his third son inherited. Ned had been educated for a time with the king, for it was thought he might take holy orders one day. When he became the Earl of Renfrew, he used that ancient connection to bring his family to court. His lamented second brother had been betrothed to a distant cousin of Queen Katherine’s. The family is also devout, so the queen favors them. It is said that little Cecily will eventually be offered a place in the queen’s household as a maid of honor. She is too young now, of course, but if she and Philippa remain friends, your daughter might also serve as one of the queen’s maids of honor one day.”

“Thomas Bolton, you are amazing!” Rosamund said admiringly. “How on earth do you know all of this? I do believe you have surpassed yourself this time with your intimate knowledge of others.”

“Nonsense, dear girl,” he said, delighted with her words. “The Countess of Renfrew’s father knew my grandfather in London eons ago. They had some dealings that turned out well for both of them, but especially for the countess’ papa. The connection has been kept. I was even invited to the earl’s wedding to his wife years ago, when he was simply a third son. I was generous in my gifts. After all, dear girl, one never knows.”

“You are thinking of the second son for Philippa, aren’t you?” Rosamund said.

Lord Cambridge nodded. “Giles FitzHugh is fourteen now. He is still involved in his studies, and he is serving the queen. He will soon be too big for her household, Ned tells me, and will not return to court in the autumn. He will be sent to France and then to Italy to study. His brother is sixteen and has served the king since he was six. He will be married in August to a Welsh heiress. Giles, for all his half-noble bloodlines, has a bent towards business. Philippa will need a husband who understands such things.”

“What if his brother dies?” Rosamund asked.

“Is that likely to happen again?” Tom said. “Besides, the heir’s bride is already with child. Both fathers wanted it that way.”

Rosamund was somewhat shocked. “I should certainly not allow my daughters-” she began, but he waved away her indignation.

“This was a unique case, dear girl. Ned wanted to be certain that his eldest son’s heir followed them. The bride’s father wanted the title for his daughter. Both the young people, healthy and lusty, were content to comply with their parental demands,” he chuckled with a wink.

“It could be a girl,” Rosamund said dryly.

“It could,” Tom agreed cheerfully. “Both FitzHugh sons, however, are, praise God, healthy. The heir will continue to get children on his bride until there is a son or two, perhaps even three.”

“What if Philippa and this boy do not get along?” Rosamund asked.

“They have not even met yet, dear girl. That will happen at Windsor. But our lass is only ten, and the boy is not ready, by any means, for a betrothal. This is merely a small fishing expedition at best. I know other families with eligible sons.”

Rosamund nodded. “But after Windsor, I want to go home. I have some business of my own to take care of, Tom. And before we depart London we must meet with your goldsmiths and choose a factor for our little venture.”

“Agreed!” he said. “Tomorrow, after we deposit Philippa with her new friend, we shall complete our own business, dear girl. And when I get home I must go to Leith to see how our ship is coming along. I should like to call this first vessel after you, cousin.”

“I think I have a better name than mine, dearest Tom,” she told him. “I think we should call our ship Bold Venture, for it is indeed a bold venture that you and I undertake.”

He nodded. “Aye, I like it. Bold Venture. Aye!” he agreed.

The following morning they took Philippa to court, leaving her with Lucy to find Cecily FitzHugh. They then went on to Goldsmiths’ Row, where the banking of the day was conducted. Lord Cambridge introduced his cousin to Master Jacobs, his goldsmith. Rosamund put her signature upon a piece of parchment several times so the goldsmith would have it to compare with any message purporting to come from her. Lord Cambridge had brought Master Jacobs a copy of his last will and testament for safekeeping and so that the goldsmith would know that Rosamund and her daughters were his heirs. He brought the agreement they had both signed for their enterprise, giving the goldsmith a copy of it, too.

“My cousin and I will both be depositing funds and withdrawing them, Master Jacobs,” he told the goldsmith. “Lady Rosamund is a large landowner in Cumbria, where I now make my home.”

“What will you use the ship for, my lord?” the goldsmith asked.

“We will export my cousin’s woolen cloth to Europe. There is none finer, and the Friarsgate Blue will be the most sought after,” Tom explained.

“What will your ship return with in exchange?” the goldsmith inquired.

“Tom!” Rosamund said. “We have not considered another kind of cargo. We cannot have our vessel returning with an empty hole. There is but half-profit in that.”

“I have relations in both Holland and the Baltic, my lord, my lady. For a small percentage of your profits, they could fill your ship for its return journey,” Master Jacobs said.

“It can be nothing that stinks,” Rosamund said. “We would never get the smell out of the wood of the hole. The next shipment of cloth would pick up the aroma. No hides or cheeses. Wine. Wood. Pottery. Gold. But nothing that would leave a noxious fragrance. My captain will have such orders, Master Jacobs. He will take no cargo that smells.”

“Of course, my lady. Now I comprehend your need for a new vessel. The fee I suggest is fifteen percent,” he told her, smiling. “It is a modest fee.”

Rosamund shook her head. “Nay,” she said in a hard voice. “It is too much.”

“Twelve,” he countered, and seeing the look in her eye quickly said, “Ten is the lowest I can go, my lady.” His mouth puckered nervously.

“Eight percent and not a penny more, Master Jacobs. I am being generous with you for the sake of your long-standing arrangement with my cousin. We have built the ship, grown the wool, and woven the cloth. The risk is all ours. Eight percent for bringing in return cargo is more than fair.”

The goldsmith’s pursed lips turned up into a smile. “Agreed, my lady!” he said. Then he turned to Lord Cambridge. “She both bargains and reasons well, old friend.”

“Indeed she does,” Tom said proudly.

“What are we to do about a factor?” Rosamund asked him when they were once more in their barge on the river.

“I think there is time for that,” Lord Cambridge said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we need not find someone on this visit to London. My instincts tell me to wait.”

“Your instincts have always proven reliable before,” Rosamund said. “We will wait.”

The following day the court decamped Westminster Palace and London for Windsor, where the king was looking forward to a summer of hunting in his green park. They rode with the royal progress, Lucy, Tom’s man, and the cart with their belongings mixed in with the baggage train and their own men-at-arms. Philippa rode with her friend Cecily FitzHugh and Rosamund and Tom with the Earl and Countess of Renfrew.

The earl was a large man with gray eyes and sandy-colored hair. His wife was petite and dark-haired with fine blue eyes.

“I remember your late husband, Sir Owein,” Ned told Rosamund as they traveled. “He was an honorable man and a devoted servant to the House of Tudor. I, too, have Welsh blood.”

“Owein barely remembered the place of his birth, my lord. He went into service as Jasper Tudor’s page when he was but six,” Rosamund told her companion.

“My wife and I spend more time at court now than in the marches,” the earl admitted. “Our son and his wife need to learn how to manage the family estates. It will be theirs one day. Tom tells me you have a large holding in the north.”

“Friarsgate,” Rosamund said. “My parents and brother perished when I was three. I became the heiress to Friarsgate. Philippa is my heiress. I have land, cattle, and many sheep, my lord. Now Tom and I have begun a new venture, exporting my fine woolen cloth. We are building our own ship, for the cloth must be transported carefully.”

“And your daughter will inherit all of it one day,” the earl said.

“Aye,” Rosamund replied. “Her second sister, Banon, will inherit Otterly from Tom. As for my youngest daughter, Elizabeth, she will be given a very large dower portion. I seek a title for her.”

The Earl of Renfrew nodded, understanding completely. Family connections were very important. “My second son, Giles-” he began.

Rosamund interrupted him. “Philippa is too young, my lord, for me even to consider it yet, but I thank you. When she is old enough, in another three years, perhaps your son will still be available, and we may speak.”

“You are a good mother,” the earl told Rosamund.

They reached Windsor, where Tom had provided them with an entire floor of a fashionable inn. He had even arranged housing for the men-at-arms, telling them if they wished to earn extra coin they might hire themselves out. They must, however, be prepared to depart Windsor in late July, when Rosamund wished to return home. They hardly saw Philippa, for she and her new friend were part of a group of young girls of good families following the progress. They rode to the hunt during the day and spent part of the evening dancing and playing games. Philippa had never known such a life existed, but she liked the court far better than her mother ever had and said so.

“It will be so dull to return to Friarsgate,” she said one morning as she prepared to depart for the day’s hunt.

“Nonetheless, it is where you belong for now, my daughter,” Rosamund replied.

“Oh, mama! You treat me like a child, and I am no longer a child!” Philippa cried.

“You are ten years of age,” Rosamund said stiffly, “and a long way from being grown, whatever you may believe.”

Philippa rolled her eyes at her mother and emitted a deep sigh.

“We cannot go home too soon,” she told Tom after she had repeated the conversation to him. “I see Philippa has a stubborn streak in her that must be controlled.”

“I wonder where she has gotten that,” he murmured, casting his eyes heavenwards.

“Tom! I always did my duty when I was her age,” Rosamund protested.

“I cannot say, dear girl, for we were not acquainted then,” he told her with a grin.

“Edmund will tell you it is so,” Rosamund said heatedly.

“We are departing in another few days, cousin,” he soothed. “Let her have her fun. Soon enough she will be back in the hall studying with her sisters and Father Mata.”

“And the sooner, the better,” Rosamund muttered. Philippa was suddenly making her feel very old.

Windsor Castle was a most impressive castle. It sat upon a hilltop overlooking green meadows and lush woodlands, the Thames River below it. The castle had been begun by the Normans in the year 1080. It was one in a nexus of nine castles being built to encircle and protect London. In the beginning it was no more than a wooden keep used as a hunting lodge by its Norman kings. The first of the Plantagenet kings, Henry II, rebuilt the castle in stone. Runnymede Meadow, where King John had signed the Magna Carta, was nearby. In the year 1216 Windsor had withstood a great siege. Henry III, John’s son, had the damage repaired and enlarged the royal apartments as well. A fire in 1296 destroyed much of Henry’s rebuilding.

Edward III, born at Windsor, loved the castle and did much to add to its beauty and its use. Silver-gray stone from a nearby quarry at Bagshot was used in the new walls and buildings. Edward IV began building a magnificent chapel he dedicated to St. George, but it was not finished in his reign. His grandson, Henry VIII, was now in the process of completing the chapel. Henry Tudor loved Windsor for its great forest where he might hunt at his leisure all day.

While Rosamund found the castle an impressive edifice, she thought Greenwich fairer. Windsor had no gardens or walks to enjoy. Philippa didn’t care. She was out a-horse with Cecily FitzHugh almost every day. And when the two girls were not hunting, they were with the queen, who might or might not be with child again. Katherine called Rosamund to her the day before the lady of Friarsgate planned to depart.

The queen did not ask, she simply said, “I will want Philippa sent to me when she turns twelve, Rosamund. I have decided to have her as one of my maids of honor. Young Cecily FitzHugh will also be one of my maids. You know I will keep your daughter safe and chaste while she is with me.”

Rosamund was not pleased. Philippa had taken too easily to court life, and if she were ever to remain at court, what would to happen to Friarsgate? Still, one did not argue with a queen. She curtsied to Katherine and said, “This is a great honor, your highness, and I know that Philippa will be thrilled to have received it. Am I to tell her, or will you?”

“I have already spoken with her and with the Earl of Renfrew’s daughter, as well,” the queen replied.

Rosamund curtsied again. “With your highness’ permission, I will withdraw now. We are departing in the morning for Friarsgate.”

“You are eager.” Katherine smiled. “You have always loved your home, Rosamund. Go, then, and travel safely with God. I will pray for you.”

“And I will pray for your highness,” Rosamund replied as she backed from the queen’s presence.

When she told her cousin of the queen’s words, Lord Cambridge was delighted. “The trip has been a great success, dear girl. You are back in favor, and Philippa is to be a maid of honor in two years’ time. Wonderful!”

They were seated in the small private dining room of the inn, having their main meal of the day as they spoke.

“Philippa likes the court too well for my peace of mind,” Rosamund said. “If she becomes involved in the life surrounding the king, she will neglect Friarsgate. I do not like it, but there is nothing I can do about it.”

“It is but a phase she is going through,” Tom said. “Philippa has extraordinary common sense and will not allow herself to be lured by the pleasures the court can offer her.”

“I was not like that at her age,” Rosamund said.

“Nay, you were a dutiful chatelaine with an ancient husband at ten,” Tom reminded her. “The weight of Friarsgate was heavy on your shoulders, cousin, but Philippa is not you. It is a different time in which she lives. Besides, at court she is safer from Henry the younger.”

“I wish we would go back to learn he has been hung,” Rosamund said darkly. “I do not relish the next two years, if he survives. Keeping Philippa from him will not be easy, Tom, but as God is my witness, I will do it!”

“I know you will, dear girl. Why, you frighten me half to death when you get that look in your eye,” he teased her.

“Are the men-at-arms gathered together now?” she asked him.

“We will depart as early on the morrow as you can arise, cousin,” he said.

“I am most eager to get back,” Rosamund said.

“To Friarsgate or to your brazen Scot?” he asked, a single eyebrow cocked.

“To Friarsgate, of course!” she said immediately. “I do not know what is to happen with Logan Hepburn and myself. We shall see.”

Tom did not pursue the subject further with Rosamund. He knew what was going to happen even if she didn’t. She was going to marry the laird of Claven’s Carn, and damned well about time, he thought. He didn’t know how Logan would bring off this miracle, but it would happen. The Scotsman loved his cousin deeply, even if she was too stubborn to see it. They had both been through much in their lives, but now it was time for them. And Lord Cambridge intended to see it happen. He knew that Edmund and Maybel were in agreement with him on this. It was just a matter of making Rosamund see reason. It amazed him that his cousin, an intelligent and clever woman where Friarsgate was concerned, could be so foolish in the matter of her own emotions. He did not doubt for a moment that Patrick Leslie would always be in her heart, even if she spoke little of him anymore. But there had to be room in her heart for another love, as well. For the first time in a long while, Tom prayed.

A knock at the chamber’s door opened to reveal the same page who had escorted Rosamund to the king at Westminster. The lad bowed smartly, saying as he did, “His majesty wishes to see the lady of Friarsgate before she departs. Please come with me.”

“Where is the king?” Rosamund asked the boy.

“At the edge of the wood behind the inn, my lady,” was the answer.

“Come, Tom. For my reputation’s sake, I beg you to accompany me,” Rosamund said.

He nodded, standing immediately, and together they followed the boy out the back door of the inn, through the kitchen courtyard, and across a small swath of meadow to the edge of the forest where the king stood half-hidden in the trees. The page and Lord Cambridge stopped, while Rosamund moved forward and curtsied to the king.

“You are determined to ruin my reputation with the queen, Hal,” she greeted him.

He laughed. “And you, fair Rosamund, are determined to be what you were born to be.” Reaching out, he took her small hand in his big one and kissed it. “I came only to tell you that you will always have my friendship, as you have Kate’s. I wanted there to be no misunderstanding between us on that point.”

“I am glad, then, that you called me to you,” Rosamund told him. “It is a wise woman who keeps the friendship of both her king and her queen.”

Again he laughed. “Direct and honest as you ever were, madame. I am sorry we may not take up where we left off. No one has ever spoken to me as you do, Rosamund.”

“I am a countrywoman, my liege, and we do see things differently,” she told him.

“Then this is adieu, fair Rosamund,” he told her as he drew her into his arms and kissed her lips.

Now it was Rosamund who laughed as she drew away, shaking her finger at him. “You will always be the bad lad,” she told him. Then she curtsied, saying as she did, “I am grateful for your friendship, Hal. My daughter Philippa will be coming to serve the queen as a maid of honor in two years’ time. I hope you will grant her your friendship, as well. She is Owein’s child, and the Merediths were ever loyal to the House of Tudor.”

“I will watch over her as if she were my own child,” he said. If I had a child. The unsaid words hung in the air between them.

“There will be a child, Hal. I will pray for it,” Rosamund promised. Then, with another curtsy, she backed away, finally turning to rejoin her cousin, the page passing her as she went.

“He wanted to say good-bye,” Tom said. “How charming. It is good to know that you still retain his favor.”

“If I had remained, if we had taken up where we left off, he would have soon been bored. Hal has always sought the unattainable. It is the chase he enjoys far more than the possession,” Rosamund noted.

“Then it would appear that our business here is done, cousin.”

She nodded. “Aye, Tom, and I am indeed eager to get home to Friarsgate.”