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 lang eey ,” she said. Her hand went protectively to her belly. “I don’t want to be an empty vessel like my brother’s wife. Pray God and his Blessed Mother that this child is a strong son, Rosamund. Pray hard for me!”
“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 au fait about their passions. I quite like it! Now come along, dear girl, and tell me absolutely everything!” He linked his velvet-clad arm in hers.
“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
“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 lang eey ,” she said. Her hand went protectively to her belly. “I don’t want to be an empty vessel like my brother’s wife. Pray God and his Blessed Mother that this child is a strong son, Rosamund. Pray hard for me!”
“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 au fait about their passions. I quite like it! Now come along, dear girl, and tell me absolutely everything!” He linked his velvet-clad arm in hers.
“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
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