Rosamund by Bertrice Small

course. The real Edward Plantagenet was imprisoned in London. To prove this the king paraded him through the streets. But it was still necessary to meet and vanquish this Lambert Simmel at Stoke.”
    “You fought well if you were knighted, sir,” she said.
    “I did fight well,” Owein admitted modestly. “I would give my life for the House of Tudor, for they took me in and raised me, and gave me everything that I have in life,” he declared passionately.
    “And what is it you do have, sir knight?” she wondered aloud.
    “I have a home wherever the king goes, but more important I have a purpose in life in their service,” he told her.
    “I understand,” she replied, “and yet it seems so little in return for your loyalty. You have no home or land of your own. What will become of you one day when you are too old to fight or to serve? What happens to good knights like you, Owein Meredith?”
    “I will either die in some battle, or perhaps my brother will give me a home in my last years because it is the honorable thing to do. At that point I would bring honor to him for my years of service to the House of Tudor,” he said.
    “When did you last see your brother or his family?” she asked.
    “I have not seen them since I left my birthplace in Wales,” he responded. “But when our father died, my brother sent word. He has not forgotten me, Rosamund.”
    No, he had probably not, she considered. It could not hurt Owein Meredith’s brother to have a friend at court, no matter that his brother was not a man of wealth or real influence. He would know men of wealth and influence, and could even petition the king for his family, should itbecome necessary to do so. It would be what she would do, Rosamund thought. It was the practical way.
    Now the days seemed to speed by in a manner that was almost disconcerting. Rosamund cherished each moment she had remaining at Friarsgate. She did not look forward to leaving. If only Hugh had consulted her, but Owein Meredith was correct when he said if she remained her uncle would find some way to regain her person and his hold on her manor. Leaving was the price she must pay for being the heiress of Friarsgate. She was a little frightened, although she would never allow anyone to know it. Tracez Votre Chemin. She would make her own path.
    Maybel wondered and fretted over what to take, cramming as much into the small trunk as she could. Sir Owein suggested to Edmund Bolton that it would be advisable to put a certain amount of gold with a London goldsmith for Rosamund to draw upon, for she would quickly learn that her wardrobe was too countrified and it would need to be remedied. He would direct Maybel to an honest and reliable mercer for fabric, but she would need coin for her purchases. Better they not carry too much currency with them to be robbed. The monies could be taken to Carlisle, and from there it would be credited in London with a reputable goldsmith.
    The route was carefully mapped out and a rider sent ahead to arrange accommodations in convent and monastery guesthouses along their way. The trip would take a fortnight or more, depending upon the weather. While Sir Owein was used to traveling great distances, he knew his young charge was not. She had, he knew, never been off her own lands but a couple times to purchase cattle or horses in the company of her husband and uncle. She had never even seen a real town.
    Rosamund spent her last few days at Friarsgate riding from one tenant to another, bidding them farewell and reminding them that while she might be gone, Edmund would be in charge in her absence. It was he who would speak for Rosamund Bolton. They were to obey him without question. Some of her people offered her small gifts made with their own hands: a comb of sweet applewood carved with two doves amid the apple blossoms, a needle case that had been made from a piece of leather and lined with a scrap of Friarsgate red wool felt. The woman who had won theblue ribbon