“Your mother is an artist,” said Kate Kendall in a reverent voice that could have been used to describe the Holy Mother of God.
Roseanna lowered her eyes and breathed deeply to regain a measure of control. In a quieter voice she replied, “You are right, of course. Thank you for bringing the gown, Kate.”
The older woman cast her a long, penetrating look, as if to discern what trick the girl would be up to next. Then she left without a word, her composure unruffled. Kate contended that Roseanna had been born with an oversupply of “wicked juices” that bubbled over every once in a while, and that she needed a firm hand.
After the thick oaken door was firmly closed, Roseanna cried, “The bitches!” She walked to the bed and looked at her new garments with distaste. Only last week, when she had stood for the final fitting, the delicate white underdress with its trailing sleeves had brought her pleasure. Even now, Alice caressed the red velvet tunic and murmured, “It’s lovely. The red and white make a beautiful contrast.”
Roseanna tossed her head. “I’ll not wear it!”
Alice protested softly, “But you must, my lady.”
“Ah yes, a command performance. Well, so be it!” said Roseanna, stubbornness firming her soft pink mouth. In a deceptively sweet tone, she bade Alice hang the white underdress in the wardrobe. She slipped the crimson velvet tunic over her head and smoothed its slimness down over her hips until it fell to her ankles. The overdress left her neck and arms completely uncovered.
“You cannot go down like that!” gasped Alice, scandalized.
“Why not?” demanded Roseanna.
“It—it is so bare!”
“My mother bids me to stop acting like a child, so tonight I’ll dress like a woman. Fetch me the coffer with my gold jewelry, Alice.” She chose eight golden bracelets —two for each of her wrists and two to clasp about each of her upper arms. She fastened a golden girdle about her hips and surveyed the effect in the polished silver mirror.
As Alice came up behind her to cover her hair with the veil, Roseanna shook her head firmly. “I shall wear my hair uncovered. Hand me the brush while I try to tame it a little.” Her eyes fell upon a dog collar of garnets that her mother had designed for her. Each stone had been chosen for its depth of color, and when she clasped it about her slender throat, they looked exactly like rubies. “Mm, Mother is an artist, you know. I must be a sore trial to her sometimes.”
Alice said low, “Oh, dear. I feel quite sick.”
Roseanna put her arm around the girl and hugged her warmly. “Do stop worrying, Alice. It’s me they’ll punish, not you.”
“But you look like a pagan, my lady!” whispered the girl.
Roseanna smiled radiantly. “I think perhaps I am a pagan, Alice!”
The good-natured laughter of the King reached Roseanna’s ears even before she entered the great hall. As she stepped through the archway, she easily glimpsed Edward’s golden-red hair; he stood head and shoulders over any assembly—six feet six inches when wearing his crown, it was rumored. Her father’s knights and the King’s gentlemen stepped aside to clear a path for her to the King. No man hid his admiration for her incomparable beauty.
When Edward spied her, he almost snatched her up to the rafters as he always did, reveling in his great strength. But now, when she demurely went down before him murmuring, “Your Grace,” he raised her and kissed her hands. “My Rosebud. I see you have begun to bloom!”
She expressed her pleasure with a smile and took up the wine goblet her father offered her. As she turned toward Neville, her eyes widened in surprise. “Jeffrey! I did not know you had returned.”
“Sir Jeffrey,” the King emphasized. “Your brother was knighted by my brother during his service in Ireland.”
Sir Jeffrey bowed to the King. “His Majesty graciously allowed me to travel from London in his party.”
Roseanna smiled happily at Edward. “You have brought my mother the one gift in all the world that will please her most.”
Jeffrey was one year younger than Roseanna. But now that he had finished his service with the Duke of Clarence and had fought in Ireland, he looked the elder. Jeffrey had his mother’s blue-black hair and his father’s handsomely shaped head. Roseanna knew without a doubt that he would set the heart of every one of her mother’s ladies aflutter.
Edward winked at Roseanna. “I’ve a present for you, you saucy baggage.”
She looked in wonder from the King to her father, who was fairly bursting to tell her the news. “A horse?” she ventured hopefully.
Edward’s good-natured grin spread across his handsome Plantagenet features. “A pure-blooded Arabian. I can’t wait to see what you breed from him.”
The musicians arrived with their fiddles, flutes, harps, and dulcimers. Close on their heels, Joanna made her entrance. She was as slim as a reed, with high, upthrusting breasts that belied her thirty-odd years. No posy cap and veil for Joanna, but a jewel-encrusted device of her own design that lifted her blue-black hair high from her temples before it fell in a smooth waterfall to her shoulder blades. To honor the King, she wore the York colors of murrey and blue. Her underdress of pale blue was complemented by a velvet tunic of purplish murrey, its borders gilded by real thread of gold.
Joanna did not so much as glance at Roseanna, having eyes only for her men, but her daughter smiled inwardly and reminded herself not to think her mother hadn’t noticed every last detail of her pagan attire. There would be a reckoning, but not now, not tonight. So Roseanna vowed to enjoy the royal visit to the fullest!
The hall was crowded tonight. All the Castlemaine men-at-arms had come for a glimpse of their King; they lined the walls, and young pages and squires sat high on the ledges of the casements. As the food was being brought in, Roseanna made her way toward the head table. Her brother Jeffrey touched her shoulder. Whirling toward him, she looked into a face that had a strong impact upon her senses. She heard Jeffrey’s voice as if from a great distance: “Roseanna, I would present my great good friend, Sir Bryan Fitzhugh. We were knighted together.”
The knight who stood before her was her own age, perhaps a year older.He’s beautiful,she thought as her eyes lowered demurely; her cheeks flushed at his nearness. Through her lashes she saw him place his hand over his heart, and he bowed gravely. She saw his lips say, “I am honored, my lady,” but there was such a roaring in her ears, she heard nothing but the thunderbeat of her own heart. He had a golden beard and a smiling mouth, and by a trick of the torch behind his head that bathed him in its golden light, he looked like the shining knight of her dreams.
