When they reached the encampment’s hub, Jack dashed ahead toward a curious fountain. He ran up its two wide steps, grasped one of the many silver goblets that hung from chains around the base, and dipped it into a waist-high basin. “A toast to my Lady Rosalind!” he cried to the milling crowd. “Who will join me?”
“Jack has lost his last shred of dignity,” Rosie whispered. “He is making a spectacle of me. Please, Andrew, do something.”
Instead of shouting at the youth, Andrew dragged her up the steps to join him. On close inspection, she saw that two kinds of wine flowed without ceasing from twin spouts. A gilded statue of Cupid cavorted over the stream of malmsey while a cheerful golden Bacchus presided over the rivulet of claret.
Andrew took a goblet and glanced to her. “Which is it to be tonight, my dear? The god of Love or the god of Wine?” His beautiful hazel eyes flashed a wicked challenge.
“I could use the god of Courage,” she replied with as much cheer as she could muster, “but I will choose Love in its stead.”
He could not have looked more pleased. “You choose wisely. May this wine give you that which you most crave.” He dipped the cup into the malmsey, kissed its rim and held it out to her.
I crave only you, Andrew Ford, but no wine on earth will grant me that wish. She smiled, took the cup, and quaffed a large draft. Kissing its rim, she returned the goblet to him.
He grinned and drank over her kiss. The Cavendishes and their merry aunt joined the toast. Then they proceeded toward the most lavish pavilion Rosie had ever seen. She tugged on Andrew’s sleeve.
“There? Tis the king’s palace?” She gaped at the series of connecting tents that stretched before them. The sun’s waning rays glanced off the sides of the golden canvas. Painted leaves, trellises and pillars decorated the outside. Banners of green and white snapped from every tent pole.
Guy crowed at her awe. “Nay, tis only Great Harry’s banqueting hall. His palace lies yonder.” He pointed to a larger building of canvas that was painted to look like brick and plaster. Real glass covered the large arched windows.
“Tis a wonderment,” Rosie conceded. A monument to vanity, she added to herself. Why couldn’t the king have been contented with his banqueting pavilion? It was gaudy enough by itself.
Lady Mary’s husband, Sir Martin Washburne, waited together with his daughter and the Thornburys at the torchlit entranceway. Rosie swept the handsome earl and his beautiful countess a deep curtsy.
Sir Thomas’ eyes gleamed with approval. “You have done well, Andrew. Very well indeed.”
Lady Alicia kissed Rosie on the cheek. She smiled then brushed away a tear. “If only your dear mother could see you now.”
My mother would have probably sold everything on my back for a pretty penny. Aloud, Rosie thanked the countess for her compliment. She wondered why more tears dewed the lady’s thick lashes.
Leading Buttercup on a red leather leash, the imposing Earl of Thornbury, now flanked by his equally imposing sons, created a wide path through the crowd for Andrew and Rosie to follow. The countess, Lord and Lady Washburne together with Jack and Marianne brought up the rear. Rosie had the momentary sensation that she was being led to the gallows.
The dusty ground was paved with bricks, and over this sturdy floor lay several layers of Turkish rugs that were even more lavish than Andrew’s prized possession. “Ohhs” and “ahhs” escaped Rosie’s lips as her lord led her deeper inside this true-life vision from a poor girl’s dream. The harried lord chamberlain pointed to empty places at a long banqueting table in the main section of the hall. Andrew lifted Rosie over the bench, then sat down on her right. Jack quickly took the place on her left while the Cavendish clan sat opposite them. Buttercup settled herself under the table at Sir Thomas’ feet.
The clamorous din swelled when a fanfare of goldenthroated trumpets announced the entrance of the king and queen. Andrew helped Rosie to her feet and gave her a reassuring wink before they made their reverence. The royal couple ascended to the head table and took their places under a wide canopy made of cloth of gold.
“Tis the most costly thing I have ever beheld,” Andrew whispered. “And I have seen a great many lavish accouterments in my time.” He kissed her earlobe.
Rosie barely heard his remark, though she shivered with delight at the momentary touch of his lips. King Henry in all his magnificence had captured most of her attention. The twenty-nine-year-old monarch was so splendidly arrayed and so bejeweled that he sparkled with his every movement. His sleeveless coat of purple velvet strained at his massive shoulders. When the king turned, the cloth of gold lining caught the torchlight. A jaunty purple bonnet trimmed with ermine perched atop his reddish-gold curls.
Rosie stared at the king’s ring-studded fingers, at his diamond-and-sapphire buttons that marched down his gold brocade doublet and at his massive collar of huge golden links. Smiling at his subjects, Henry twirled an eye-popping diamond the size of a walnut that hung on a chain from his collar. Almost engulfed by his presence, sweet Queen Catherine looked like a plump woodland duck.
Rosie squeaked with alarm when some of the fur around Henry’s neck moved. A long, ringed tail waved in the air. Two bright black eyes set in a puckish furry face blinked at the scene. She clutched Andrew.
“Fear not, tis only the king’s current pet. Tis called a marmoset and comes from the New World. Henry dotes on the creature.” he explained.
She made a quick sign against the evil eye. The animal reminded her of a gargoyle on a church rain spout. Another riff of trumpets announced a ponderous fat man dressed entirely in scarlet. He mounted the dais with difficulty then turned a piggish eye on the assembly.
Jack leaned over her shoulder. “Tis the great Cardinal Wolsey himself,” he whispered. “He is the real power behind the throne, though he looks like a hog dressed in red satin.”
Rosie suppressed a giggle. The cardinal made a huge sign of the cross and the crowded hall fell completely silent while he intoned a mercifully short prayer of praise and thanksgiving. At the “Amen” the hall erupted with joyful clamor as the fifteen hundred courtiers sat down to dine.
Thankful that she was hidden from the king’s view by Andrew’s enormous puffed sleeves, Rosie began the most lavish meal she had ever eaten. Lifting her lavender-perfumed napkin, she discovered that her trencher was a plate made of real gold. So was her goblet that the steward filled with claret. So were the great candlesticks that dotted the center of the table. So were the ewer’s basins and the massive salt cellars. Her vision swam with gold.
The first course of baked turbot, cold smoked salmon and asparagus in a light lemon sauce was followed by a spun-sugar subtlety made to represent the season of spring. The second course of roasted peacocks, quails and fresh cucumbers in a vinaigrette followed. Under the table, Buttercup growled to claim her territory when several small greyhounds attempted to steal her scraps. One of the grooms of the hounds who moved along the banquet tables snapped his small whip and shook his bells at the quarreling dogs.
After drinking a few goblets of the choice wine, Rosie felt much more at ease. Both Jack and Andrew watched over her in a delightfully protective fashion and the entire Cavendish family treated her as if she were one of them, instead of an interloping commoner.
Waves of servers continued the progression of rich food while the noise increased under the gilded canvas roof. Noblemen shouted to each other across the heads of the multitude. Ladies spoke in strident voices and shrieked when the king’s little monkey scampered among the goblets and platters. People called for more wine, more venison, more quince in comfits. The dogs snarled and bickered under the tables. Great Harry’s boisterous laughter rose above the general hubbub while he pelted his friends with sugared almonds and marchpane fruits. The king’s favorite harpist, Blind Dick, sang before the high table but Rosie could barely make out a word or two of his song.
A dull headache formed behind her eyes. She hid the discomfort and smiled, made polite conv
ersation and tried to remember all of Andrew’s etiquette lessons. She hoped she would be able to stand up after this long meal was over, for Andrew had told her there would be dancing to follow. The heat from hundreds of bodies melted the decorative sugar creations and softened the candles in their holders. Great globs of hot beeswax plopped on the damask tablecloth and mixed with the stains and spills of the endless food and wine.
She took another sip of her claret and wished she could put her head in Andrew’s comfortable lap and go to sleep. She nodded over her serving of pears in cinnamon and cream when a crashing sound startled her out of her daze. Standing on top of his table on the other side of the hall, Sir Edward Fitzhugh banged two platters together.
“I crave the king’s ear!” he shouted.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. “What the devil does that popinjay think he is doing?”
Sensing a novelty, the pavilion miraculously quieted. The silence was almost as deafening as the noise. A prickle of warning shivered down Rosie’s spine.
Andrew slipped his hand in hers. “Keep your head up, and do not chew your lip, my sweet. Your lips were meant for kissing, not for dinner.”
She tried to give him a smile but her mouth felt as if it had frozen in place despite the stifling heat.
Great Harry rose, planted his hands on his hips and bellowed, “How now, my lord? Why do you break our good cheer with your rude noise?”
Fitzhugh smiled like a reptile. “I crave your pardon, Your Grace, but your feast has been dishonored. One of these gentlemen has dared to bring a whore into the royal presence.”
Rosie stiffened. The hot chamber shimmered before her eyes. Andrew gripped her cold hand. Jack swore under his breath.
The king chuckled and scanned the hall. “Only one, Fitzhugh? Usually there are more.”
The guests laughed and applauded the king’s wit. A hot blush stained Rosie’s cheeks.
Fitzhugh shook his head. “Nay, sire. I do not mean a woman who is gentle born but one who is straight out of the foul gutters of London.”
The king appeared intrigued. “And who is this farflung wanton?”
Andrew massaged her icy fingers. “Keep your head high.”
Rosie gulped for air. “How do I keep from fainting?” she mumbled. She wondered if she should throw herself upon the king’s mercy and thus spare Andrew from the threatened embarrassment and royal displeasure. She started to rise, but he tightened his grip and held her in place.
“Do nothing but smile!”
Her lower lip trembled. “But, Andrew—”
“Smile!”
With a broad sweep of his arm, Fitzhugh pointed to Rosie. “There, Your Grace. Sir Andrew Ford has tainted your hospitality with a common tavern wench—a slut who takes all comers for a groat.”
Rosie sagged. “God shield me!” she whispered through numb lips.
Andrew wrapped his arm around her shaking shoulders. “Keep your head high. Please, do not cry now, my love.”
The king stared down at the couple. “Sir Andrew! Bring forth your lady!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack half rose out of his seat, but Andrew clamped his hand around the rash youth’s arm. “Sit down, hothead!”
“Let me tell him who—”
Andrew tightened his hold on the boy until beads of perspiration broke out on Jack’s forehead. “Tis not the time for such a rash action. Twill make you look a fool and could put Rosie in mortal peril. Your father has many friends here.”
Jack glared at him but sank back down, mumbling oaths. Andrew stood and turned to Rosie. The poor girl looked like a deer ready to bolt. Though his own mouth had gone dry, he flashed her a brilliant smile of confidence. He had called this tune in jest. Now the piper demanded to be paid.
“Take my hand, Rosie. Royalty does not like to be kept waiting.”
She raised her fear-widened eyes to his. All the blood had drained from her face, making her look even more beautiful in the candlelight.
“I cannot,” she whispered.
Andrew steeled himself to speak harshly. She must not lose her nerve now. “Cannot?” he retorted. “I thought I had bought a spitfire who stood barefoot on a barrel and challenged the world with her eyes. If you do not stand up now, I will wash my hands of you this instant.”
A steely glint replaced the fear in her expression. Her temper visibly rose. “Very well, my lord. Damn your bloody wager! Lead me to rack and ruin.” She gave him her hand and glared daggers at him.
Forgive me, sweet Rosie, I promise I will make amends for this.
Andrew escorted her to the base of the dais. There he made a deep reverence before the king and queen. Rosie sank to the rug in a graceful curtsy and remained there with her golden head bowed.
Andrew cleared his voice so that every soul in the hall could hear him. “Your Grace, I have the honor to present to you my Lady Rosalind, the most beautiful of all England’s fair flowers save for our blessed Queen.”
Henry’s eyes gleamed with hungry appreciation as his gaze roved slowly over Rosie. He descended the steps and leaned down to cup her chin between his fingers.
“Rise, my child,” he told her in a voice as seductive as silk.
Andrew chewed on the inside of his cheek as Rosie gracefully stood. Without a hint of the terror he knew she felt, she looked straight into the king’s eyes and smiled.
Great Harry chuckled. “Aye, Ford, methinks you do not exaggerate this time. You are welcome to my court, Lady Rosalind.”
Rosie inclined her head. “My humble thanks, Your Grace,” she replied in a voice as sweet as silver bells. “I am honored almost beyond speaking to be here this evening and to see you at long last.”
The king’s smile grew wider. “Very pretty, Ford. And very prettily said, my dear.” He looked over their heads to her accuser.
“Tell me, my Lord Fitzhugh, is this the same lady whom your good friend Sir Gareth so dishonored that he was punished and exiled?”
Fitzhugh, who should have recognized the danger in the king’s mild tone, grew redder in the face and replied, “The very same, sire. Now that jester Ford seeks to make a mockery of you under your own roof.”
Andrew prayed that his nerve would hold for the next five minutes.
The king lifted one sandy brow. “Does he now?” He glanced at Rosie.
She tossed back her head and turned up her smile a notch.
Good girl!
With his rage boiling unchecked, Fitzhugh plunged ahead. “That woman is no lady! She is a filthy whore!” he shouted.
Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Jack grip the hilt of his dagger. Keep your temper, Jackanapes, or twill be the Tower for us all.
The king smiled. “She looks newly washed to me,” he observed. “Be careful whom you call a harlot, my lord. Methinks there are a number of ladies here present who have not slept only with their husbands this past fortnight. You dishonor them as well. How many challengers do you wish to face in the tiltyard tomorrow, eh? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?”
Great Harry laughed and broke the tension. The hall filled with the answering laughter of the lords and ladies. They subsided when the king’s expression changed to simmering anger.
“You have broken our good company this evening with your churlish accusations, Fitzhugh.”
The idiot did not have the sense to know he was in serious trouble. “But, Your Grace—”
The king held up a hand glittering with rings. “Since you cannot be silent, you may leave—at once. Go, pack your baggage and be off to England. Skulk in your castle at Bodiam until we send for you again.”
He snapped his fingers and two of his halberdiers stepped out of the corners of the chamber. They marched down the center between the tables until they stopped in front of Fitzhugh.
“These men will aid your leave-taking,” King Henry remarked. “And, Fitzhugh, in case you or Sir Gareth harbor any further ill-feelings toward this wronged lady or her knight, be aware that they have my personal protection
. Adieu!” He waved him away. Amid much laughter, the flushed lord and his escort left the hall.
Andrew released his breath.
“Fie upon you, Ford!” bellowed the king.
Andrew swallowed. Rosie shot him a quick glance.
“Your Grace?” he murmured in his throat. God in heaven, protect Rosie and me from the king’s protection.
Great Harry chuckled. “You have been most niggardly in bedecking your dainty prize with jewels to accent her beauty.”
Andrew was so relieved that he could not frame a clever reply.
“Permit me to amend this omission.” Henry removed a small ruby ring from his finger, then took Rosie’s hand and slid his gift onto her thumb. Her hand shook. Then he leaned over and kissed Rosie fully on the lips. She gasped and blushed.
“By the bones, my lords. Twas a kiss of an angel,” the king announced to the assembly. “I perceive no wanton jade here, but only a sweet maid named Lady Rosalind.”
The gladsome company applauded the king’s judgment. Rosie’s lips trembled. Andrew desperately wanted a large goblet of wine.
Then the king lowered his voice and spoke to the couple. “Guard your prize well, Ford. She is too beautiful by half.”
Andrew swept him another bow. “Exactly, Your Grace.”
Great Harry took Rosie’s hand and turned it palm up. He touched each of her work-hardened calluses with his lips. Then he gave Andrew a conspiratorial wink. “Very well played, Sir Andrew. My compliments.”
Andrew caught Rosie’s hand as she sank into another deep curtsy. He bowed to the king, then led her back to their places while the hall shook with the sounds of cheers and stamping feet. Grinning like an imp, Jack helped Rosie to her seat. Brandon blew her a kiss while Guy lifted his goblet to her in a silent toast. Andrew collapsed beside her and mopped his face. Never in his life did he want to relive those past five minutes. He offered his wine cup to her. She grasped it with shaking fingers, but did not look at him. She took a long swallow.
Lady of the Knight Page 23
