“Across the sea? I ain’t ever been on any boat, my lady!” Annie exclaimed.
“Neither have I,” Rosamund chuckled. “It will be quite an adventure for us.”
“And how long would we be at sea?” Annie asked nervously.
“A few days at the most,” Rosamund promised her.
“And we’ll come home after you have all this adventure out of yourself?” Annie pressed her mistress. “You swear on the Blessed Mother’s name?”
“I swear,” Rosamund said with utmost seriousness. “I expect we will be back by autumn at the latest, Annie. Probably sooner.”
Annie drew a long, deep breath. Then she said, “I’ll come, my lady. But what will Mistress Maybel and Master Edmund say? And who is to tell them?”
“Lord Cambridge will tell them, Annie,” Rosamund answered the girl.
“Have you told him?” Annie persisted as she unrolled two pairs of stockings.
“I shall tell him today, Annie. Now, remember, this is a great secret. I shall have to lie to the queen, I fear, for she would not understand my leaving her now. And it is not yet time for all the dissembling to begin. Put it from your mind now, and I shall tell you when you may recall it again,” Rosamund said. “Now, I would get dressed before I am late for the mass.”
Margaret of Scotland signaled to her friend to come and be by her side just as the mass was beginning. This was an honor, and Rosamund well knew it. For a moment she felt almost guilty at the deception she would play on her old friend. But then her eyes met those of the Earl of Glenkirk across the royal chapel, and her guilt vanished. When the morning services were over, the queen linked her arm in Rosamund’s, and they walked together towards the Great Hall where the morning meal would be laid out.
“What is this gossip I hear about you and Lord Leslie?” the queen asked bluntly.
“I do not know the gossip to which you refer, madame,” Rosamund answered formally, for they were in public.
“It is said that you have become lovers,” the queen replied. Then she lowered her voice. “Is it true, Rosamund? Have you? He is very handsome, even if he is old.”
“He is not that old, Meg,” Rosamund whispered, a twinkle in her amber eyes.
“Ohhh, then it is so!” the queen chortled. “What a naughty girl you have suddenly become, Rosamund.”
“I would not offend your highness,” Rosamund quickly said.
“Offend me? Nay, I envy you!” the queen answered. “Do you remember how my grandmother always said a woman married first, perhaps a second time for her family, but after that she should find her own happiness? Does Lord Leslie make you happy, Rosamund? I hope so! Have you ever had a lover before?”
The first lie, Rosamund thought to herself. “Nay, Meg,” she murmured softly. “Never before.” And in a sense it was the truth, for she had not really loved Margaret Tudor’s brother, England’s king. But she was surely in love with Patrick Leslie.
“ ’Tis rather sudden, isn’t it?” the queen pressed her friend further.
“I cannot explain it,” Rosamund said. “Our eyes met, and we both knew.”
The queen laughed softly. “You sound like my husband with his
“I do,” Rosamund said. “Every day, Meg.”
“Your highness.” The king’s page was before them. “His majesty would break his fast with you this morning,” the lad said. “I am here to escort you.”
The queen nodded, and Rosamund gracefully slid into the background, seeking either Glenkirk or her cousin Lord Cambridge. It was Lord Cambridge who found her first.
“My darling girl, you have set the court upon its ear, I fear. Is it true? Has Lord Leslie become your lover? I have never before heard such delicious tittle-tattle. The Scots court is far more fun than the English court, where poor Spanish Kate and her mate, our stodgy King Henry, hold sway. There everything is proper and ordered while the king casts his eye boldly about and then swives his little conquests in secrecy-no offense, my darling cousin.”
“None taken, dearest Tom,” Rosamund replied dryly.
“But in this delightful court,” Lord Cambridge continued, “people are not so damned
“I am hungry, Tom,” Rosamund protested. “We have only just celebrated the mass, and I have not eaten since last night.”
“We shall go to my house, and my cook will feed you,” he responded. “And that will allow us our privacy, cousin, for I do indeed mean to hear all.”
“You bought a house in Stirling Village!” Rosamund exclaimed.
“Nay, I have just rented it. It is little more than a cottage, but quite charming, and the old woman who owns it cooks like an angel. I had no intention, dear girl, of sleeping in the king’s hall with those other poor disenfranchised souls who are at court. You were given a little box to nest in, cousin, but I am not the queen’s friend. I only accompanied you. Therefore I was on my own. The royal hospitality does not mean to be niggardly, but you see how many follow this court. There is simply no room to house them all decently, Rosamund. Now, come along, my darling. Shall we invite Lord Leslie?” he teased her wickedly, and he gave her arm a little pinch.
“Do I need my horse?” she asked, ignoring his teasing.
“Nay, darling girl. ’Tis only a short walk down the hill. The house is but a few yards from the castle gates. The old woman used to cook for the royal nursery when it was at Stirling. Your little friend, the queen, however, objected to the king housing his bastards in a castle she had a particular fondness for, and she threw such a tantrum when she first discovered the little by-blows there that the king moved his nursery to a more discreet location out of his queen’s sight. The king wanted to make his eldest son, Alexander, his heir, you know, and the queen still fears he might if she doesn’t give him a nice healthy babe.”
“Alexander Stewart is the bishop of St. Andrew’s,” Rosamund said.
“Aye, he is, and he is amazingly well suited to the task despite his youth. He and the king have a great bond of love between them. The queen is jealous. She knows that even if she gives her husband a healthy son and heir, Alexander will always be his favorite. But then, of course, he is the firstborn.”
“How do you learn all this gossip, and in such detail?” Rosamund demanded of her cousin. “We have been here scarce a week,” she laughed.
They had exited the castle, walked across the great courtyard, and were now passing through Stirling’s open gates into the street beyond. It was a cobbled byway lined in well-kept stone houses with dark slate roofs. Three houses down on the left Lord Cambridge stopped and turned to enter the building, calling as he did, “Mistress MacHugh, I have brought my cousin home, and we are hungry, having just come from the mass.”
A tall, thin woman appeared from the depths of the darkened hallway. “Yer cousin, is it, my lord?”
“Rosamund Bolton, the lady of Friarsgate and the queen’s good friend, Mistress MacHugh. I’ve spoken of her,” Lord Cambridge said. He divested himself of his cloak and took Rosamund’s from her.
“Ye’ve done naught but chatter away since ye rented my dwelling from me,” Mistress MacHugh replied sharply. She looked directly at Rosamund. “Does he ever stop speaking, my lady?” But her gray eyes were twinkling.
“Not often, I fear, Mistress MacHugh,” Rosamund answered with a smile. Then she shivered involuntarily.
The lady saw it and she
The parlor of the cottage was indeed warm with the blazing fire. Rosamund sat down in a tapestried chair next to the warmth. Tom placed a small goblet of wine in her hand, advising her to drink it to restore the heat to her slender frame.
“I’ll not press you until the meal is served,” he said. “I don’t want to be interrupted, and you, I am certain, don’t wish to share your news with the entire world.”
She nodded and slowly sipped at the sweet wine.
“You are wearing one of my favorite gowns,” he noted. “The fur-trimmed sleeves make it a whole other
