The Marriage Prize (2 page)

twelve at the time, the gory details had been kept from her, but

she had heard whispers of the half-wild charger that had

trampled his body. At first the nightmares had come every

night, but with time, they had become less frequent, and she

had been free of them for almost two years.

Rosamond remembered the months fol owing the accident,

how everyone had been kind to her. Giles's companions, led

by Lord Edward, had been soberly contrite and extremely

solicitous. Because she was al alone in the world, several

had sought her hand in marriage, and at Lord Edward's

insistence she had been betrothed to his dearest friend,

Rodger de Leyburn, who held the coveted post of royal

steward in the prince's household. Yet Rosamond could not

help feeling a secret resentment toward Edward and his high-

spirited companions.

Rosamond sighed. It had happened five years ago, yet stil

she thought of the prince and his friends as arrogant, lawless,

spoiled young devils! And it was true. They had al been wild

and courted trouble with a vengeance. She thought of the

Demoisel e's older brothers, Henry and Simon de Montfort,

who had been Lord Edward's first companions. They were no

different. Al they thought of were weapons and horses and

tumbling the maidservants.

Her thoughts inevitably drifted to a more worthy knight, Sir

Rickard de Burgh. He was the son of the wealthy and noble

Falcon de Burgh, Lord of Connaught. Sir Rickard was a twin,

and reputed to possess the mystic gift of seeing into the

future. He was a mature man of middle years, not a dissolute

youth, but maturity only enhanced his rugged good looks. His

thick black hair had a distinguished touch of gray at the

temples, and his bril iant green eyes had attractive laugh-lines

at their corners. His voice, so low and melodious with its Irish

lilt, had insinuated itself into Rosamond's heart the first time

she heard it, and it made her sigh whenever he spoke.

To Rosamond, Sir Rickard de Burgh was everything that was

honorable and chivalrous, for he had pledged himself to serve

and guard Princess Eleanor Plantagenet when she was

tragical y widowed by Wil iam Marshal's untimely death. It was

rumored that he remained unwed because no lady had yet

touched his heart. Rosamond secretly

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daydreamed that perhaps she would be the one he would

honor with his favor. Her pulse fluttered at the mere thought of

Lady de Montfort's knight-errant. Her maiden's heart

overflowed with awe and admiration for the handsome Irish

warrior.

In the morning, Rosamond forgot about the dream as she and

Demi dressed and learned from their tiring-women that Earl

Simon had returned from Wales with a large group of knights.

As she saw the joy transform her friend's face, banishing the

worry Demi experienced whenever her father went on

campaign, Rosamond was thankful she no longer had to live

with such paralyzing fear. To love someone and lose them was

the worst thing that could happen in this world.

The Demoisel e was eager to see her father, and Rosamond

blushed, hoping that Sir Rickard de Burgh also had returned

and not tarried in Wales at one of his castles. The girls

spurned the head veils held out by their tiring-women, and like

two hoydens, picked up their skirts and raced from the ladies'

quarters of the castle down to the Great Hal .

Kenilworth was like a royal court in its size and importance.

The household was a hive of activity, with Eleanor de Montfort,

Countess of Leicester, presiding over it like a queen bee. She

was the sister of King Henry of England, but she took as much

pride in the title her husband had given her as she did in the

title of princess. Though Eleanor now had grown children, she

was stil a beautiful woman. She was vividly dark, and far too

vain to al ow her hair to turn gray. These days, however, she

wore her hair up, fastening the curls with jeweled pins or

braiding it into a regal coronet to enhance her smal , five-foot

stature. She wore cosmetics, painting her mouth with lip

rouge, and using kohl to outline her startling amethyst-colored

eyes and to darken her lashes.

Eleanor prided herself on her slim figure. Her waist was

almost as tiny as it had been before she had given birth to her

children, and the necklines of her gowns were always cut to

show off her beautiful breasts. Pride of blood showed in her

every gesture. Eleanor was a vibrant woman who loved to

laugh almost as much as she loved clothes and jewels. She

was both a princess and a countess down to her fingertips.

Her husband not only adored her, but also trusted her

implicitly.

When Simon spied his daughter, he swooped her up in his

massive arms and swung her about. "Can this young lady

possibly be my little girl?

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Demoisel e, you have grown into a woman in the months I've

been gone. You rival your mother in beauty; I just hope and

pray you are neither as wil ful nor as wicked as she." Simon's

dark eyes found Eleanor's and gazed into them for a moment,

deliberately reminding her of the passion they had shared

when he'd arrived home in the middle of the night. Though he

was in his fifties, Simon was stil an extremely virile man, with

a commanding presence. He had a soldier's body; the

muscles on his six-foot, four-inch frame were wel honed from

the rigors of the Welsh campaign. Simon de Montfort also had

a supreme air of confidence that drew younger men like a

lodestone.

His daughter dimpled with delight and gave him an

affectionate kiss of greeting. "The castle felt empty without

you, Father."

you, Father."

"It is fil ing up by the hour as the men return from Wales. No

doubt it wil burst at the seams when your cousin Edward

arrives."

"Lord Edward is coming?" Countess Eleanor raised a

perfectly plucked eyebrow at her husband. Her brother King

Henry and Simon de Montfort were almost enemies.

"I am Edward's godfather, Eleanor. Just because his father

and I disagree on every conceivable matter doesn't mean that

Edward and I cannot be friends."

"I agree, darling. You have been a wonderful influence on him.

My nephew Edward wil make a magnificent king. I warrant he

wil put both his father and grandfather in the shade when it is

his turn to rule."

"In spite of their reputations as hel -raisers and carousers, he

and his young nobles acquitted themselves wel in the Welsh

campaign."

"Such wild boys!" Eleanor said indulgently.

"Boys no longer... they are men, make no mistake."

Rosamond rol ed her eyes ceilingward and Demi giggled as

they imagined the spoiled boys parading about like men. In

truth, Rosamond found it hard to picture them at al , for a

month after her betrothal, the royal family had traveled to

Spain, where Prince Edward, heir to the throne, was married

to ten-year-old Eleanora of Castile. The political marriage had

taken place to ensure peace between England and Spain,

and immediately after the ceremony, Lord Edward and his

nobles had ridden to Gascony, where he had been instal ed

as ruler. When he returned to England at twenty, Lord Edward

had his own household at

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Windsor, which had been especial y built for him. Rumor had it

that the young nobles, influenced by continental ideas, were

wilder than ever. Edward now commanded a large troop of

young Gascons and was so eager for military action, it had

been impossible to keep him from the campaign in Wales.

As the two friends broke their fast, Demi confided, "I don't

remember much about Edward except that his hair was flaxen

and everyone cal ed him Longshanks because he was so tal ."

Rosamond's glance, which had been searching the hal for a

glimpse of one particular knight, came to rest on Demi's pretty

face. "That's because it has been five years since we've seen

him... thank the Lord!"

Demi laughed at her friend's irreverence. "I can't remember

any of the young men in his household."

"How very fortunate for you," Rosamond teased. "They were a pack of uncivilized beasts, forever fighting and trading blows

with each other. The only one I could tolerate was Harry of

Almaine, and that's because his mother was Isabel a Marshal

and he's my second cousin."

"What about Rodger de Leyburn?" Demi asked avidly.

"What about him?" Rosamond shrugged a pretty shoulder to

show her complete indifference.

"He's your betrothed!"

"Not for long! I'l soon rid myself of the ugly devil," Rosamond said lightly, licking honey from her fingers.

"Is he truly ugly?" Demi asked with compassion.

Rosamond's throaty laugh bubbled forth. "He left such an

indelible impression upon me, I don't remember."

The girls finished their breakfast and hurried off to their first

lesson of the day. Eleanor de Montfort was a stickler for

learning and would not excuse the Demoisel e from her

lessons simply because her father had returned. They studied

languages with Brother Adam, a learned Franciscan who had

helped compile the library at Kenilworth. Both young ladies

were fluent in French, and Rosamond had recendy developed

a flair for Spanish, while Demi preferred to learn the Welsh

tongue. They also studied history and government, as wel as

music and art.

Along with this liberal education, each was preparing to

become

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the proficient chatelaine of her own castle. They learned how

to run a kitchen, a laundry, a stil room, and a household of

servants. They learned how to make herbal cures from the

nuns of St. Bride's and were taught to stitch, cauterize, and

dress the wounds of men-at-arms in case bloody action

became necessary in times of emergency.

On top of al this knowledge, Rosamond had acquired

something far more valuable. She had acquired a measure of

self-confidence and was no longer the vulnerable, insecure

child she had once been. Because she revered Princess

Eleanor, Lady de Montfort had become her role model. She

imitated the magnificent woman's sparkling wit, her ful -bodied

laugh, her exquisite clothes, and her regal demeanor. Eleanor

could swear a blue streak with the stable boys or freeze the

Queen of England with a haughty stare, and Rosamond

Marshal was fast becoming the same sort of vibrant woman

as the Countess of Leicester.

******************

shade matched the color of her eyes. It was richly

embroidered with delicate seed pearls on its sleeves and

square-cut neckline. Her beautiful clothes not only gave her

pleasure, they also lent her a great deal of confidence. She

picked up the journal she was compiling on the medicinal

properties of herbs and plants, and hurried to the stil room,

where she had been secretly experimenting with bayberries

where she had been secretly experimenting with bayberries

versus bay leaves to ease the pain and length of labor in

childbirth.

The nuns had been outraged when they discovered

Rosamond reading a medical journal from Cordoba, Spain,

the world's undisputed center of medicine. It not only

contained information on the painkil ing properties of plants,

but listed herbs that prevented conception, such as

dragonwort. The nuns lectured that herbal remedies to ease

pain should be reserved for men who received wounds in

battle. Rosamond vigorously argued that from what she had

seen, the pain of childbirth was so great, it was quite

reasonable to use herbs to relieve it. The nuns, however,

insisted it was natural pain, which should, indeed must, be

endured, and Rosamond lost the argument. Undaunted, she

continued to distil her syrups surreptitiously, providing the

women of Kenilworth with the soothing concoctions that were

much in demand.

Rosamond set down her herbal book to examine the

bayberries she

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had gathered and hung in bunches to preserve them. She was

pleased that they were not rotting, but drying nicely as she had

hoped. She made a note in her journal and moved on to a new

perfume she was creating. She had blended rose petals and

apricot blossoms and mixed in a little almond oil. The

fragrance pleased her, so she dabbed a little between her

breasts and then on a sudden impulse decided to climb to the

castle ramparts to view the men-at-arms stil streaming into

Kenilworth.

Water had been dammed from the River Avon to create a

mere around the outer wal s of the castle, and the only

entrance was over an earthen causeway and through the

portcul is. The morning sun glistened on the water, and

Rosamond thought it the most beautiful place on earth. Her

heart sang with happiness that the fighting was finished. She

shaded her eyes, trying to identify the devices on the fluttering