Free Rosamund by Bertrice Small Page A

be an adventure, but Rosamund Bolton didn’t look like a girl who would welcome adventure easily. She was a solid girl. A practical girl, as he had already observed.
    “Then I will put my trust in you, sir knight,” Rosamund answered him finally. “But will the king not expect you back sooner than the autumn?”
    Owein Meredith laughed. “Nay, lass, he will not. I am just one of theking’s many servants. I am known to be loyal and reliable with any task given me. They know at court that I will return when I have completed my duties. I am hardly important in the scheme of things, my lady.”
    “A knight is not important?” She was puzzled.
    Around the table her uncles listened as carefully as did the girl, except for Henry Bolton, who was already in his usual evening drunken stupor. Both Edmund and Richard Bolton, while relieved that Rosamund had been rendered safe from Henry, wondered if Hugh had indeed made the right decision for Rosamund by putting her in the wardship of virtual strangers. They leaned forward to catch Sir Owein’s every word.
    “Like your late husband, lady, I am only a younger son. The youngest, in fact. My mother died giving me life. My father died when I was thirteen. My family is Welsh mostly. I served as a page to Jasper Tudor, the king’s uncle, from the time I was six years old, then as his squire. I was knighted after the battle of Stoke.”
    “How old were you then?” Edmund asked.
    “I was past fifteen,” came the answer.
    Edmund caught Richard’s eye at this revelation. They silently agreed that they were impressed by this quiet, seemingly gentle man who had been sent to escort Rosamund to court.
    “You will certainly be tired by now, sir,” Rosamund said, remembering her duties as chatelaine. “One of the servants will escort you to your chamber. You are most welcome at Friarsgate.” She turned from him and spoke to a large serving man. “Take my uncle to his chamber now, Peter. Then come back and put my young cousin to bed.” She arose from the table. “Sirs, I will leave you to your wine. My day has been a long and sad one.” Curtsying, Rosamund quietly departed the hall.
    “She prayed the night by her husband’s bier,” Edmund noted to Sir Owein.
    “She is a good Christian girl,” Richard chimed up.
    “She is very young to know her duty so well,” the king’s man observed. “She is thirteen?”
    “On the last day of this month,” Edmund replied.
    “The king’s mother was six months gone with child and widowed atthirteen,” Sir Owein remarked. “The Lady Margaret is an amazing woman. I imagine she was very much like your niece at that age.”
    “She has no experience of the world,” Edmund said.
    “Has she been educated at all?” the knight asked him. “Those who do the best at court are those who are well-schooled.”
    “Hugh taught her to read and to write. Father Bernard taught her church Latin. Her knowledge of mathematics is excellent. She keeps all the accounts for Friarsgate, and has done so for the past two years,” Edmund explained. “She is probably more educated than most country lasses, sir. What does she lack?”
    “I will teach her French and proper Latin,” Sir Owein said. “Can she play a musical instrument? The court loves music. Young Prince Henry is most adept at composing both music and words. He is an amazing young boy. His father meant for him to be the Archbishop of Canterbury one day. Now with Prince Arthur’s passing, he will be king. Not that the king teaches the lad how to rule. He has, perhaps, too tight a hold over his throne and his son.” Then Sir Owein flushed. “I become garrulous with your excellent wine, sirs. I should find my bed.” He rose and followed the servant assigned him from the hall.
    The two brothers refilled their own cups from the pitcher on the table and sat in silence for a time. Then Richard said, “How much of what Hugh plotted did you know, Edmund?”
    “Not a great deal,” Edmund