Page 23 of The Raven and the Rose
The landscape lifted its rainy veil and let the pale sun finger the light-colored Yorkshire limestone buildings and glint on all the church weathervanes in the crystal-clear air. York’s walls stood strongly against any enemy. The spires of its magnificent cathedral soared high above the other buildings and could be seen from miles away.
The party of eight clattered through the gates onto the cobbled streets that led toward the Royal Palace. Roseanna wore the only dress she had brought with her. It was of rose-colored wool with a square neckline and long sleeves edged with soft gray squirrel. Her cloak was the color of deep wine, with a high collar of the same gray fur. Ravenspur also was cloaked in wine, which irritated Roseanna, for on his black stallion that so closely resembled Zeus, they looked like a matched pair.
King Edward was in the great dining hall for the midday meal The room was filled with trestle tables to accommodate his Court and the men-at-arms who traveled with him. Edward knew everyone by name, down to the lowest scullion, and it endeared people to him. Always informal, anyone could approach him. He even allowed children and dogs to take advantage of him, never fussing over their messy pawing.
Roseanna stood coolly by the entrance, trying not to let the large gathering of men and dogs intimidate her. Ravenspur strode in without hesitation. When the King saw him, his face lit up with a welcome grin and he cried, “Roger!” and held out his arms. Roseanna watched in amazement as Edward, grinning like a lunatic, picked up Roger and lifted him rafter-high. Not to be outdone, Roger then hauled the King up with arms so strong, she couldn’t believe the bulge of the muscles. Even from a distance she could see that their right wrists were almost twice as thick as their left wrists from practice with the heavy sword.
“Plague take you, man, where have you been?” demanded Edward. “I’ve decided to hold a tourney in honor of your wedding next week. When’s the bride to arrive?”
“She’s here now, sire.” Roger bent toward Ned’s ear. “She’s come to beg off. I’d like a private word before you give her an audience.”
The King chuckled, “The young baggage is monstrously conceited. You’ll have your work cut out for you. Go up to my apartments—I’ll see you now.” Edward quit the great hall and took his daughter’s hands into his to prevent her from curtseying. “Welcome, my Rosebud,” he said low.
“Were you two conspiring against me?” she asked hotly.
“Nay, you saucy wench, but ’tis an idea.” He chuckled. “I want you to go with my chamberlain, who has set aside a suite of rooms for you. In a couple of hours, when you are rested, come along to my apartments, and we’ll discuss whatever it is that has sent you hell-bent for leather up here ahead of your family.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered with docility that he knew she did not mean.
“Plague take you, can’t you call me Edward once in a while?”
“When we are alone I will call you many things, sire,” she promised.
He grinned at her audacity, and she went off meekly with the chamberlain. She had things to do before seeing the King privately. One was to seek out Sir Bryan and make some fresh plans.
In the King’s apartments it was quite a few minutes before he could dismiss all the servants and squires whose duty it was to attend his person at all times.
Roger poured ale into leather tankards and handed one to his friend and King. He waited until Edward sprawled into an easy chair, then he straddled a wooden chair and folded his arms along its high back.
“So,” said Edward. “You no doubt guessed long ago that Roseanna is my love child.”
Roger nodded silently.
“God knows who else has guessed. None, I hope! For her safety I want it kept secret.”
“I agree, Your Grace,” said Roger solemnly.
“Plague take you, call me Ned! So you’ve changed your mind about marriage. Are you sure, Roger?”
Roger was sure. She had been his from the moment he set eyes on her. “Never have I done anything in my life with a thousandth part the joy which I do this.”
The two men’s relationship was close and easy. When they supped together, the tales went ringing around the hall; there had always been more laughter shared than curses. They had wrestled and fought since boyhood, had drank and whored together, and when alone they had shared inner thoughts on death and life that they could trust to no other ears.
“I entrust her to you without hesitation,” said Edward.
“I’ll cherish her always,” pledged Roger. “But as I told you, she’s come to beg you on her knees to get her out of this marriage.”
“Has the chit set her sights on an earl? All Plantagenets are cursed with ambition.”
“Nay, she is in love with her hatred for me. She has set her will against mine and is determined to have her own way at all costs.”
Edward grimaced. “Poor Roger. Leave her to me. Women can be the very devil!”
Roger hesitated. His face softened as he thought of Roseanna. “She fancies she is in love with a young knight. Don’t be too hard on her, Ned.”
The King changed the subject. “I decided on a tournament as a show of strength here in the North. You know I refused Warwick when he asked for my brother to marry his daughter, and I expressly forbade George to marry the girl. But I have information that they are going ahead with secret plans, and the marriage is imminent. Warwick cannot pull my strings any longer. The moment he gets George for his son-in-law, I fear he will try to depose me and set George up as King.”
“You should have clapped them in the Tower and had their heads for treason long ago,” said Roger flatly. Yet he knew Edward was never the first to pick a fight.
