Page 3 of The Raven and the Rose
Her mind went blank. No clever phrase flew to her lips, and her voice almost deserted her along with her wits. “Sir Bryan,” she managed to whisper at last; then she fled to the safety of the King and her father.
She knew not what she ate; swan or boar—it was all the same to her. When her dinner companions spoke to her, she did not hear them, and they had to repeat everything. She answered with sighs. Her eyes ever traveled in one direction, slipping along the diners to the young man seated next to her brother. Finally, she had to turn her head away, for her eyes would not leave him of their own accord. Suddenly she wished she had worn the delicate white underdress with its pretty trailing sleeves and matching hair scarf. Sir Bryan would think her nothing but a bold piece dressed as she was, with her hair uncovered and falling to the backs of her knees.
She panicked when she saw the servants stack the trestle tables to make room for the dancing. What if he asked her to dance? Or worse, what if he did not? She sat rigid, unable to move; then with vast relief she saw Sir Bryan take leave of her mother to retire early. Suddenly she relaxed, found that her saucy wit hadn’t deserted her after all, and rose to dance the first measure with the handsomest of the King’s gentlemen.
The torches had burned low in their cressets and the hour was well advanced before the last servant at Castlemaine Manor laid down his weary head that night. Roseanna dismissed Alice to her bed quickly, for she wanted to be alone to savor the memory of Sir Bryan’s handsome image. She shivered as her body touched the cool sheets; then she let her mind wander dreamily to the man with the golden beard and the smiling mouth.
But thoughts of her mother began to intrude. She tried to push them away as she concentrated on the young knight, but try as she might, the image of Joanna came stronger and stronger. Roseanna sighed. The trouble was, her conscience was bothering her. She had. Spoken disrespectfully to her mother and had added insult to injury by behaving overboldly. She knew her mother loved her and wanted only what was best for her. This was the lady who had dismissed the servants to tend her herself whenever Roseanna was sick with a childhood illness. She turned restlessly in the bed, wishing sleep would claim her.
Coincidentally, Joanna’s mind was centered on her daughter at that moment. In her cozy bedchamber in the west wing of the manor, she lay curled in the King’s lap before the warm fire. She raised her head at last from his massive chest as he murmured, “She is wondrously fair, Joanna.”
“The young baggage is monstrously conceited. She knows she is beautiful,” said her mother.
“How could she not know? When men see her for the first time, their mouths fall open.”
“She is willful and spoiled,” insisted Joanna, “and she has a fiery temper to boot.”
Edward’s lips twitched as he gently mocked, “Traits that run in the blood of her mother and father.”
“Your Plantagenet blood perhaps, not mine,” she teased. “Ned, promise me you will speak to her about riding that wild uncut animal.”
He stroked her blue-black hair, which reflected the flames of the fire; his fingers sought to unfasten her bedgown.
Joanna stayed his hands. “Ned, my love, I know that our precious time together is short, but I must speak of this. Roseanna’s betrothal to Ravenspur has stood for six years, and he has never come forward to claim her. I have no quarrel with the match; she could do no better than your close friend, Roger Montford. But if he cannot be brought to the altar, perhaps we should look elsewhere.”
Edward shifted uncomfortably, and Joanna slipped from his lap to stand her ground on this most pressing matter. “Joanna, I’m sorry, but we were not completely honest with you at the time of the betrothal.” He shrugged helplessly, knowing that the truth must now be faced. “At the time I was thinking only of what was expedient for Roger. You know he had two disastrous marriages, and he swore he’d never enter the state of wedlock again. To remove him from pressure applied by his family and matchmakers, I suggested a betrothal to Roseanna, who was only eleven at the time.”
“Damn men! Women are only pawns to be used in your interests!” she said, clenching her fists.
To placate her and restore her loving mood, Edward poured them a goblet of malmsey and held it out to her as a peace offering. “My love, I promise you I will broach the subject to him. He’s just back from a hellish campaign in Wales. You know what it’s like to subdue those wild Welshmen. I’ve loaned him the hunting lodge for next month. God knows, he’s earned a little sport and relaxation. I’ll urge him to either claim her or withdraw.”
“But it’s a legal contract,” she said stubbornly, hating to give up the prize.
He moved toward her purposefully, taking her slim shoulders in his strong hands. “You will be compensated if it comes to naught, and I’ll find her a match with the highest in the land.” He took the goblet from her fingers and drained it. “Enough of my daughter; it is you I need.”
She laughed up at him, “You have a greater capacity for wine than any man in England.”
“Not true. Ravenspur once drank me under the table! However, my capacity for making love is another matter entirely.”
After a sleepless hour of tossing in her bed, Roseanna arose and slipped on her bedgown. She couldn’t rest until she had apologized to her mother. The passageways that led to the west wing were cold and only dimly lit at this hour, so she hurried along, hoping her mother’s fire would soon warm her hands and feet.
She passed quietly by Kate Kendall’s adjoining chamber, hoping she would not come face to face with the watchful servant. Quietly she turned the iron ring that lifted the bar on the door to her mother’s room. The dark oaken door swung back to reveal a pair of lovers. The King’s massive torso was bare. The fire’s glow highlighted his muscular shoulders as he lifted the naked Joanna high above him. She laughed down at him like a young girl with her first great love.
Roseanna’s eyes widened in shock. Her hand flew to her throat as she gasped her disbelief. On legs that threatened to collapse, she fled the chamber.
she reached for her bedgown and whispered, “I must go to her.”
“Nay, Joanna. At this moment she hates you. I will go to her.” He pulled on hose and soft boots and reached for his purple velvet bedgown. He had no trouble finding her chamber, as her door stood ajar and the sound of choking sobs reached his ears, mixed with the soft voice of her maid, pleading to know what was amiss.
The King spoke softly to Alice: “Leave us.”
Roseanna was huddled miserably on her bed. But Edward’s voice made her fly from her haven and face him like a vixen in her lair. “You have no right!” she hissed. “You may be the King of England, but you have no right to be here.”
There was pain in his eyes as he said with quiet authority, “I have a right. Not because I am King, but because I am your father.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. The truth of his words had not yet reached her heart; she flung at him the accusation, “You are lovers!”
He winced at the ugly implication she attached to the word. “Sweethearts, Roseanna. Since we were fourteen.”
