Virginia Henley (4 page)

    Castlemaine Manor had only one turret, and Roseanna had claimed it for her chamber long ago. Slightly removed from the rest of the household, it gave her the amount of privacy she needed to be happy.

The sky was still dark the next morning when she awoke and lit up the turret room with a dozen candles. Alice, used to Roseanna’s arising early but not at this ungodly hour, shivered. “I’ll send for a page to light a fire.”

“No time for that, Alice. Help me with my hair. We’ll braid and loop it and fasten it with ribbons. I need it very secure so it won’t come tumbling down, for I’m hawking this morning.”

Alice shivered again just at the thought of riding in the wind at dawn. Later, the summer day would be lovely and warm, but at this hour the outdoor world was decidedly chilly.

Roseanna chose a linen underdress and long tabard in matching forest green. Her riding boots were soft red Spanish leather, and her cloak was scarlet. She was well aware that scarlet was one of the colors that showed off her dark hair to perfection. She pulled on her leather gloves, then took a bright green apple from a bowl of fruit and bit into it lustily.

Alice shuddered. “Ugh, isn’t that sour?”

Roseanna’s tongue shot out to catch the juices, and she laughed. “It’s so tart it sets my teeth on edge, but it’s delicious!”

The two girls made a startling contrast: one very alive, the color high in her cheeks for what adventure the day might bring; the other pale and thin and shivering.

“Go back to bed, Alice. Here, put on my velvet bedgown. If I’m hawking, I have to be up with the lark, but you most certainly do not. I’ll tell you all the juicy details when I get back.” She winked suggestively and whirled from the turret room, raced down the long flight of stone steps that led to the second story of the manor, then went quietly along to the backstairs, which led to the ground floor and out into the courtyard.

In the stables not even old Dobbin was astir yet, but Roseanna noted with pleasure that Sir Bryan was already there—as if he were impatient for the very sight of her!

He drew in his breath at the lovely vision in the scarlet mantle. She smiled up at him, not even trying to hide the pleasure in her eyes. “Come and select a hawk for yourself,” she bade as she led the way through the stables into an annexed building and then up into the loft.

The birds, now disturbed, set up a screeching cacophony that was almost deafening. The light in the loft was very dim, and the musty smell of straw and bird droppings
made Roseanna wrinkle her nose in protest. Then she unlatched the shutters and threw them back to let in the first light of day.

The birds were on wooden perches in long rows. Some were privately owned; the names of their owners were carved into the perches. One or two wore hoods with ornately fancy crests, but there were many varieties of hunting birds that were for general use by any of Castlemaine’s inhabitants.

Sir Bryan chose a fine falcon with a massive wing-spread and claws that could tear a man apart, let alone a bird. Roseanna almost chose a small sparrow hawk so that her companion would show to advantage in the hunting, but she changed her mind. She must not be too obvious, or he would know what she was about. She passed over the harriers, for she had been out with them before, and she knew that they did not always make a clean kill on the first try. She chose a female kite because of its smooth gliding motion and its forked tail and long pointed wings. Also, it went immediately from a view to a death.

Sir Bryan attached his falcon’s jess to a leash, and Roseanna did the same. “Perhaps we’d better take a lure. I don’t know how well trained your bird is,” she admitted. Downstairs, she fastened the birds’ leashes to a stall while Sir Bryan saddled his horse. She admired his deep-chested stallion and knew immediately that although it was a fine mount, it was not as many hands tall as Zeus. She moved along the stalls and selected a young mare for herself. A little voice inside Roseanna mocked her for playing devious, womanish tricks to make the man look and feel superior to her, but she ignored the little voice. As they rode out of the stables, Dobbin, who was now
about, scratched his head in mystification at why the young mistress was not mounted on her favorite wild animal.

The sun was up now, and the dew sparkled before them like a carpet of green and silver. Roseanna had taken in every detail of Sir Bryan’s appearance without seeming to do so. He wore deep blue hose, a doublet of the same color, and soft leather boots that reached to his thighs. Perhaps it was the deep color that made his eyes such an intense shade of blue. She found herself wondering whether, if he wore green, the shade of his eyes would change to match. The sun turned his hair and beard to spun gold. Roseanna found him most pleasant to look upon. On his shoulder was the Duke of Clarence’s badge, a black bull.

“Is the Duke of Clarence very like his brother, the King? I have never seen him. I’ve seen Richard when he was a boy, but never George.”

“The King’s brother George is very like him in appearance. Tall, red-gold Plantagenet hair, handsome—perhaps more handsome than the King. He has natural grace and beautiful manners. He has a regal bearing. In fact, if you saw Edward and George side by side, you could easily mistake George for the King.” He hesitated. “King Edward-or Ned, as he is called—is so informal, so heartily friendly.”

She looked at him and wondered if by chance he was criticizing the King. Then she remembered how fiercely loyal knights were to the lord they served.

They raced across the meadow, and as a covey of birds flew up into the sky, they let their falcons off their leashes and slowed to a canter to watch their performance.

“Where is your home, Sir Bryan?”

“On Marston Moor, near York. My father was in service to the Duke of York, George’s father.”

Roseanna laughed. “I always think of the Duke of York as the King’s father, but because of your service to the Duke of Clarence, you think of him as George’s father.”

“What odds does it make? My father lost his life in York’s service.”

Roseanna did not know if he meant York the man or York the faction that opposed Lancaster in the dispute that had resulted in the thirty-year War of the Roses—so named for the Red Rose of the Lancastrians and the White Rose of the Yorkists. “I am sorry, Sir Bryan,” she began softly.

“It happened long ago, when I was only four or five. Richard, Duke of York, gave up trying to rule through a mad puppet king and claimed the throne as his legal birthright. There was a Christmas truce in effect, and the Duke of York, his son Edmund, and a small Yorkist force including my father were out foraging. They were ambushed and annihilated by a force of Lancastrians led by Lord Clifford. They fashioned a paper crown for the battered head of Richard and mocked him as a king without a kingdom.”

Roseanna felt pity rise up within her. He spoke of her grandfather!

“My mother had the grisly details from my father’s squire. The tale goes that my father begged Clifford to spare Edmund’s life, but he coldly answered, ‘By God’s blood, his father slew mine, and so will I do him and all his kin!’ After thirty years of battles, vengeance was the order of the day.” His eyes focused on Roseanna as if he had only just realized where he was. “Forgive me, my
lady. I shouldn’t speak of such things to one gently born.”

“I hope you feel you may tell me anything. I am your friend, Sir Bryan.”

“I hope for more than friendship,” he said boldly.

Roseanna’s heart fluttered as she realized how he felt about her. She was attracted to the young knight and more than ready for her first romance.

He stroked his falcon when it brought back a pigeon and praised it lavishly. Then he took a piece of meat from his doublet pocket and fed the bird.

“Why, you’re bribing her!” Roseanna laughed.

“I believe in the reward system. What act is ever undertaken without hope of gain?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows, considered giving argument, then thought better of it. Their time together could be spent in more pleasant ways than arguing. The kite brought back its kill and presented it to Roseanna. They both laughed heartily when they saw it was a mouse. “Your pigeons can go into the stewing pot, but what on earth am I to do with this?”

“Try the reward system. Give it to her, then she will bring you something larger.”

When their saddlebags were filled with grouse and pigeons, they returned home. “Will you come again tomorrow?” he asked fervently.

“Yes, I’ll ride with you tomorrow. But I don’t think we need the pretense of the hawks, do you?”

    After her brother Jeffrey handed her the second missive, he spent the rest of the day teasing her unmercifully about Sir Bryan. Roseanna didn’t care. The only thing
that mattered to her was that he had written her another verse.

Her heart sang with the innocent melody of first love. But the change that had come over her caused her mother concern. Suddenly, Roseanna was amenable and biddable, and Joanna wondered if it was because she had learned that royal blood flowed in her veins. Roseanna did not seem to be brooding; rather, she smiled a lot, and her secret thoughts seemed miles away. These days she rode a mare more often than not, and after the evening meal she seemed enraptured by the ballads that the minstrels offered. Joanna put it all down to Ned’s talk with his daughter. Indeed, she herself had had to curb a tendency in herself to daydream and sigh after the King’s rare visit.

Joanna invited her daughter into her workshop, where she designed her jewelry. It was a small room that had been added onto the west wing to catch the afternoon light. Roseanna admired the sketches her mother was working on. They were for a clasp to fasten the neck of a cloak. The clasp was in the shape of a large letter E and was set with purple amethysts on a spiked background of diamonds, representing the Sun in Splendor.

“Oh, it’s truly lovely, Mother,” said Roseanna with admiration.

“I’m not sure I’ll actually make it, though,” replied Joanna.

“Why ever not?”

“Because though ’tis designed for the King,
she
could wear it.”

Roseanna asked, “Do you mean Elizabeth, the Queen?”

“Yes, the Woodville woman!”

There was such a depth of feeling in Joanna’s voice that Roseanna asked, “You hate her?”

“It is not just I who hate her. All England hates her! The Woodville tribe will suck Edward’s generosity until it dries up. They are swollen with gain like fungus on a tree!”

Roseanna knew her mother was a strong-minded woman who had strong opinions that she was never loath to express, but she had never heard her speak with such undisguised hatred before. “She hadn’t a farthing to her name before the King set eyes on her. She was a widow with two small sons and a tribe of brothers and sisters. She’s five years older than Edward, you know,” said Joanna with satisfaction.

“Why did he marry her?” asked Roseanna, perplexed.

“She’s a witch who led him by his prick! Oh, I’m sorry Roseanna. Now I’ve shocked you.”

Roseanna’s lips twitched into a smile. “No more than you did the other night!”

The two women looked at each other and dissolved into laughter.

“This isn’t just jealousy. Her father is Lord Rivers, and there is a spate of jokes up and down England about how ‘Rivers’ are multiplying and overflowing the land, and about how all ‘Rivers’ stink! No one speaks well of them.
There are too many of them, and they have too much wealth and power. I’m afraid Edward will have grave cause to regret allowing them to rise so high.”

Roseanna suddenly realized how sheltered her life was at Castlemaine Manor, far from the intrigue of the Royal Court, and she was glad of it.

Later, Roseanna sought out Jeffrey in his chamber. She was not the least surprised, after she knocked, to see a disheveled serving maid slip past her as she entered. “I’ve come to seek a favor,” she said solemnly, but her eyes were alight with amusement.

He teased back, “Are you sure you have the right chamber? Sir Bryan is down the corridor from me.”

She ignored his words. “I want to take the new Arabian out for a run, but Zeus needs exercise. If you would ride out with me, we can do both.”

Jeffrey grinned, “Ah, now I know why you have chosen me over Sir Bryan. You don’t want to show him that you can ride the pants off him, while you don’t mind for one moment humiliating me. Brat!”

“You think the Arabian’s faster than Zeus?” she questioned.

“With a lightweight like you on him, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“They are famous for being swift and graceful. I’d like to cross him with a garron—they’re broad-hooved and sturdy but not fast.”

“Take some advice from a brother. Don’t speak of breeding horses this afternoon at the rendezvous.”

“What rendezvous?” she gasped.

“The one I’ve promised to arrange between you and Sir Bryan. And for heaven’s sake, Roseanna, don’t go
about this liaison so openly if you don’t want mother to put a stop to it.”

“Why would she do that?” questioned Roseanna.

“God, girl, you are thick-witted. I can think of a dozen reasons, aside from your being spoken for.”

“Oh, that,” said Roseanna, dismissing the long-standing betrothal with the contempt it deserved.

“Here’s the plan. You and Alice take cushions and your lute and stroll down through the orchard toward the river. The banks of the Trent can be very romantic, take my word for it.” He winked. “Bryan and I will bring food and wine. Then Alice and I will disappear.”

Her eyes widened, and she said in mock surprise, “I didn’t know you were pursuing Alice.”

“Brat!” he said, pulling a tress of her long, dark hair. She gave him a hefty push that sent him sprawling, then dashed off to the stables with Jeffrey in full pursuit.

    Roseanna had chosen her gown with infinite care. It was a delicate shell pink that gave her a fragile air yet made her lips look like rose velvet. The four young people laughed the afternoon away beneath the willows that dipped their branches to the water. They had enjoyed the first plums from the orchard, and they had drunk both wine and cider. Eventually, Roseanna found herself alone with Sir Bryan.