Bertrice Small - Until You

“Why do they all stare at me, mama?” Philippa asked, noticing the interest in her small person.

“You are my heiress,” her mother said softly. “You are already being appraised as a marriage possibility.”

“I know I must marry well one day,” Philippa noted, “but I would hope to love my husband as you and my father loved each other. I know I shall not find the kind of love you found with Lord Leslie, but I remember my father well. He had a great care and respect of you, mama.”

“Aye, he did,” Rosamund said, remembering Owein Meredith, her third husband and the father of her three daughters and deceased son. He had been a good man, and he had loved her as much as he was capable of it. Until they had been matched, Owein had spent all of his life but six years in the service of the Tudors. “I shall not give you to just anyone, Philippa. I will have to be satisfied that the man you wed does indeed care for you. Do not fear, my daughter. You and your sisters will go to good husbands. I promise.”

They were now in the Great Hall. About them the courtiers milled, waiting. Rosamund moved through the crowd until they were before the high board. There she stopped, waiting for the king and queen to enter the hall. The trumpets sounded a flourish. The people in the hall drew back, opening an aisle down which Great Harry and his queen traveled, smiling and nodding to those in the hall, their attendants following them.

Seeing Rosamund and her daughter, the queen stopped. “This is Philippa, isn’t it?” she said with a warm smile. “Welcome to our court, my dear child.”

Philippa curtsied deeply, replying a bit breathlessly, “Thank you, your highness.”

“Henry, here is the lady of Friarsgate, and she has brought her child to greet us,” the queen said softly to her husband.

Henry Tudor took Rosamund’s hand in his and kissed it. “We are happy to greet you again, madame, and your child.” Then he turned his attention to Philippa, and he was all charm, smiling down from his great height at the little girl. “Why, poppet, you quite resemble your mama. I see nothing of Owein Meredith in you, but for your gentle manner. You are most welcome to our court, Philippa Meredith. Your sire was a fine man and a good servant to the House of Tudor. I believe he would be proud to have such a beautiful little daughter. I know I would be.”

“We all pray for your majesty’s wish to be fulfilled,” Philippa said tactfully.

The king lifted the little girl up so they were face-to-face, and then he kissed her cheek. “Thank you, my child,” he said as he set her down, and then he moved on.

Philippa almost swooned with her excitement. “He kissed me, mama!” she trilled. “The king kissed my cheek!”

“The king can be kind, Philippa, and he likes children. You said the right thing to him, and he will remember it. You have his favor, and that is important.”

“Wait until I tell Banon and Bessie that the king kissed me,” Philippa said. “They will be so jealous. They were jealous when you decided to take me to court, mama.”

“Of course they were,” Lord Cambridge chuckled. “All little girls want to come to court. It is every girl’s dream, Philippa. But you must not boast and brag when we return to Friarsgate.”

“But I can tell them that the king kissed me, can’t I, Uncle Tom?”

“Of course, my child,” he told her. Then he turned to Rosamund. “My friend Lord Cranston has a young son from a second marriage who is two years older than Philippa. I see him across the hall, and I would like to introduce Philippa to him.”

“She is too young for a match, Tom,” Rosamund said.

“Of course she is,” he agreed. “But Cranston’s family is very well off, and it cannot hurt for Philippa to meet them. When she is older and ready to wed, can she not love a rich man’s son as well as a poor man’s son?” he teased her.

Rosamund laughed, but then she grew serious. “I hope to obtain a title for her,” she said. “There must be some poor earl whose heir could be matched with Philippa, provided they were suited to each other.”

“Ah, cousin, you are more ambitious than I thought. I am not unpleased. But let me introduce Philippa to Lord Cranston, anyway. He may be of help to us one way or another,” Lord Cambridge said. “And I do know an earl with a son who might do.”

“My lady?” A young page stood at her side.

“Yes?” Rosamund replied. The boy wore the king’s livery.

“His majesty would see you immediately. I will escort you,” the page responded.

“And I will take Philippa off to be introduced about,” Tom said. “Keep your temper in check, dear girl. Philippa, my angel, walk with your uncle. I shall be the envy of every man here today.”

Philippa giggled and moved off with her uncle as Rosamund turned and followed the boy in the Tudor livery from the Great Hall.

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.”