by The Raven
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.”
She stared at him as the thought formed slowly; I am a royal bastard! The revelation took her by surprise, yet it explained many things she had questioned in her childhood. Now the answers all fell neatly into place. “’Tis shameful to have carnal knowledge at fourteen and indulge until you got her with child,” she whispered accusingly.
“We were in love, Roseanna,” he explained.
“Then why did you not marry?” she demanded indignantly.
“Roseanna, but think for a moment,” he asked patiently. “I was fourteen. I was only the Earl of March. My father had just been named temporary protector of the realm because Henry of Lancaster had gone mad. Suddenly my father and his brother, the Earl of Warwick, had ambitions for the crown. I was in service to Warwick. He gave the orders, and I obeyed him implicitly. Warwick said marriage to Joanna was out of the question, and Warwick’s word was law!”
“Warwick,” she reflected, “the one they call the kingmaker?”
“He earned the title. I was King at eighteen!”
She reflected for a moment on the events of the past few years, on gossip she had heard. “If I remember aright, Warwick forbade your marriage to Elizabeth Woodville also, but you made her your Queen!”
He laughed shortly at the memory of it all. “Aye, I was twenty-two years old and had ruled England for four years. Yet still I feared Warwick so much, I had to keep the marriage secret.”
As she gazed at him, she could not imagine that he had ever been afraid of anything. Enclosed in a room with him, she could feel his strength.
He put a finger beneath her chin, and she did not shake him off. “My Rosebud, you were my firstborn, and ever have you held the softest place in my heart. Can you forgive me for not making you a royal princess?”
“I care nothing for that!” she flared, her pride stung. “Who knows of this?” she asked.
“None save your mother and of course Sir Neville. Roseanna, no one must know. For your own safety you must guard the secret. There are evil men who would eliminate all who have a blood tie to the throne.”
“The Woodvilles?” she
asked bluntly.
He searched her face with his eyes, wondering how much he could entrust to such a young girl. “The Queen’s family is a large one—six sisters and five brothers, not to mention her mother and stepfather, Lord Rivers. They are the most ambitious family I have ever encountered, barring us Plantagenets, of course,” He laughed. “My own brothers and Warwick, who loves me little now that I am no longer his puppet, would stop at nothing to further their positions.”
“I understand, Your Grace,” she said quietly. She did not want him to have to malign those he loved for her protection, for he was the best-natured man under the sun, bar none.
He gathered her to him and kissed her brow, then held back the covers while she slipped into the bed. “Will you be all right?” he asked.
She nodded, not daring to trust her voice further.
As she lay sleepless, her thoughts chased each other until she was exhausted. How did she feel? The same, yet different. Saddened, yet glad she knew the truth at last. Wiser, yet ignorant of the world and its ways. At last she admitted to herself that she understood his position and felt empathy for him. It was her mother’s role in this deceit that she could not tolerate!
Ordinarily, Roseanna would have arisen before dawn to examine the Arabian stallion awaiting her in the stables, but today she was filled with lethargy. The aroma of food reached her nostrils, and she wondered what Alice had been about, to fetch her breakfast in bed. As she sat up slowly, she saw that it was her mother who was bringing her the tray. She wished Joanna a thousand miles away. Roseanna’s dark lashes swept down to her cheeks; she could hardly bear to look at her mother. Joanna was thirty-two years old, and she looked every minute of it this morning. She set the tray down onto a leather-topped side table and gently sat down on the bed. She offered neither excuse nor explanation, and as Roseanna slowly raised her eyes to meet her mother’s, the image of the previous night’s laughing wanton dissolved, and Roseanna saw in its place the image of a fourteen-year-old girl, heavy with child. How she must have suffered! Punished by accusations, threats, whispers. Facing the shame and the burden alone. Suddenly she reached out to touch her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry. Do you love him very much?”
Joanna smiled. “No, I’m not in love with Ned. But oh, Roseanna, I was, I was!”
“I know the pain you must have suffered when they would not allow you to marry,” she said quietly.
“Nay, you do not. You will never know unless you are forced to give up your first love.”
A tear slipped down Roseanna’s cheek, and her mother stood up briskly. “However, I soon discovered that women are very resilient and can face anything that must be faced. Eat your breakfast. I’ve a hundred tasks to see to. We’ll talk again, Roseanna.”
When Alice came in to help her braid and bind her hair, Roseanna could see that she was filled with curiosity about last night’s tears and the King’s nocturnal visit. So improvising quickly, she said, “You were right, Alice. I should have worn the underdress. I received a terrible scolding from Mother, and if it hadn’t been for the King’s intervention, the rift between us would have been irreparable.”
Alice said with awe, “The King is reputed to be the best-natured man in England, yet his very presence terrifies me.”
Roseanna fastened her hose and pulled on soft riding boots. “Tis the office of Kingship that is awesome. But rest assured, beneath that Kingship breathes a man made of flesh and blood.”
As Roseanna walked to the stables, the only man she dreaded to encounter was Neville Castlemaine, her father yet not her father. She did not know how she could ever face him again. Her delicate cheeks were pink at the thought.
The stables were alive with King’s men and their servants saddling for departure to Belvoir, the King’s hunting lodge. Edward was pointing out the unmistakable characteristics of the Arabian stallion to Dobbin.
“Oh, Your Grace,” Roseanna said in deep appreciation, “he’s white!” Quickly she spat upon the ground, and the King threw back his head and roared. “You are superstitious.” He laughed. “By God’s blood, ’tis years since I spat at the sight of a white horse.”
Roseanna laughed back. “I still bow three times to the raven and never, ever look at the new moon through glass.”
“And wish upon a star, and carry a rabbit’s foot,” said Edward with nostalgia for youthful days long past. He watched Dobbin lead the Arabian to a rear box stall. “See if you can breed me some war horses from that one.”
Sadly she said, “The life of a war horse is short, and consequently the demand for them is great.” They walked together to Zeus’s stall, and the animal nickered a greeting to Roseanna.
Edward spoke after only a slight hesitation. “I promised your mother that I would speak to you about riding this uncut horse. Why don’t you choose a gelding, Roseanna? She would rest easier.”
Her eyes darkened as she spoke with passion. “You answer me a question first. Why do you ride an uncut stallion into battle? There is no logic to it. A gelding would be easier to control and wouldn’t give your position away to the enemy by screaming wildly.”
Edward grinned. “Damned pride! Stubborn Plantagenet pride!”
“Did you think I had none?”
The King looked at her with admiration in his eyes. “Then all I can do is bid you to take care. Ride over and join our hunting. We’ll be there until the end of the month, then I’ve promised the lodge to Ravenspur.” He strode off. For a moment it seemed the light was dimmer after his departure. Deep in thought, Roseanna leaned against Zeus’s stall. A beautiful voice behind her startled her from her reverie.
“Don’t stand too close, Mistress Castlemaine. The beast could harm you.”
She raised her eyes to his, then lowered her dark lashes quickly. “Thank you, Sir Bryan,” she whispered demurely, and allowed him to place himself protectively between herself and the black stallion. Anyone else would have received a setdown for their presumption! With all the emotional turmoil she had just been through, she had forgotten all about Sir Bryan. Now she wished fervently that she hadn’t braided her tresses so severely nor worn the plain blue riding dress. She forced herself to raise her lashes and speak to him lest he think his friend had an imbecile for a sister. “I pray you, call me Roseanna, sir.”
He bowed; his manners were flawless. “It will be my honor, Lady Roseanna.”
She sighed with relief when she heard her brother Jeffrey’s voice hail them, for indeed she had exhausted her store of conversation with the young knight.
“There you are, brat! Father’s been asking for you. I think he went into the garden to look for you.”
Her color became high when she realized that Jeffrey was only her half brother. Then that thought led to another—that she had three little half sisters at Westminster, all royal princesses. To her dismay, she found herself curtseying to Sir Bryan as she excused herself. Then she murmured under her breath, “Silly girl, he’s addled your brains!”
Her feet dragged as she walked toward the walled garden and entered through the little ornamental gate. He stood by a rosebush, and she searched desperately for words. But he spoke first.
“Joanna has told me that you know all.”
“Joanna?” she echoed. “How can you bear to utter her name?” she asked in an agonized voice.
“My dear one, Joanna never deceived me in any way. I knew she carried you when we wed. She has been a good wife to me all these years, and the year after you were born, she gave me my son. No man could ask for more.” He said it honestly, and she knew his words were sincere. At last she dared to raise her eyes to his, and she saw love there, clearly written. “You have been a good father to me. I shall always think of you as my father.”
“And you will always be my daughter,” he said simply. He held his arms wide, and she went into them, not caring that tears slipped down her cheeks. She whispered, “I was afraid to face you, but you are such a good man. You have eased my way, as always.”
Slightly embarrassed, he quickly changed the subject. “Come, I must bid Edward godspeed. Then we’ll have a closer look at that Arabian. Have you a name in mind?”
“How about Mecca?” she smiled.
“Well, it’s certainly a name to live up to.”
Alice handed Roseanna a small parchment. “My lady, a certain knight bade me give you this.”
Roseanna took it curiously, asking, “Which knight?” But as her eyes fell upon the lines, she knew it was from Sir Bryan.
Moon, moon shining bright
White and silvered over,
All night long you shed your light
Upon her sleeping bower.
Oh, that my lady dreams of me
Would be my desire,
Though I know well this cannot be
Yet still my heart’s afire.
Her pulse quickened. “Very pretty,” she told Alice, trying not to let her excitement show too obviously. So, she thought privately, he feels as I do. The thought pleased her inordinately. What a lovely day this was! Only yesterday everything had seemed clouded, and now this day seemed shining; it felt as if it were a new beginning. And perhaps it was.
Everyone noticed that Roseanna was preoccupied. Her thoughts had carried her off to some secret place; she answered with sighs when she was spoken to.
When she took her place for the evening meal in the great hall, which seemed empty after the crowds of yesterday, she found a white rose lying beside her plate. She took it up, cupped its delicate beauty, and buried her nose in its heady perfume. She smiled and felt positively light-headed from its fragrance.
She raised her eyes to search the hall and like a magnet found the face she sought. She smiled brilliantly; then, overcome with sudden shyness, which was most unlike her, she lowered her eyes to her plate. When the meal was over, from the corner of her eye she saw Sir Bryan leave the hall. She felt a small pang of disappointment that he had not waited until she rose so they could have the excuse of leaving together. However, as she walked from the dining hall through the archway that led to the courtyard, she saw that he awaited her, and her heart lifted dizzily. Her footsteps slowed, and he fell in beside her. They strolled across the courtyard, sending the pigeons and doves flying up to the eaves.