Lady of the Knight Page 13

  Rosie peeked around Andrew’s broad shoulders. Her green eyes were simply enormous. “Both, so please you, my lady.”

  Andrew fidgeted. “Rosie! Retire and get dressed!”

  Alicia chuckled behind her fan. “Nay, Andrew, you have mistook my purpose and meaning. Tis you who must retire—outside, if you please. Twill do you a world of good to shave and break your fast in the fresh air.”

  He looked aghast. “But, Lady Alicia—!”

  She shot him a no-nonsense look. Even her grown sons quailed before one of those expressions. It gratified her to see that she had not yet lost her power over her husband’s former squire. “Shoo, Andrew! Out! I did not come to banter pleasantries with you but to have some serious conference with your Rosie.”

  Jeremy snickered but his master’s glare silenced the boy. The squire bolted out of the tent. Andrew mustered his best smile and bowed to Alicia.

  “As you wish, dear lady, but you do realize that I will probably become the laughingstock of my immediate neighbors when they see that I have been routed from my domicile and must content myself to gnaw stale bread crusts under the blazing sun and in full view of every jackanapes who might happen to stroll by.”

  Alicia nodded. “Of course, Andrew. You will survive the experience, I warrant, and will turn it into a jest or two—at my expense, no doubt.”

  For a brief moment, his expression grew sober. “Never would I hold you up to ridicule, my lady. My life upon it.”

  His heartfelt loyalty pleased the countess. She promised herself not to chide him too much for he had a good heart, even if his ways were extremely worldly. “I am glad to hear it. Now, away with you. Rosie, draw up that stool and sit by me. I promise that I will not bite you.”

  The girl placed the book carefully on one of the chests. “Never thought you would, my lady,” she murmured. She fetched the stool.

  Andrew looked at them, then gave a deep sigh of regret. “Two beautiful women within my own tent, and I must be sent away?”

  Alicia smiled behind the feathers again. “Aye, Andrew. Twill not be for long. Then I shall bore you to death with my company.”

  A wry smile wreathed his lips. “I had thought you might. Therefore, I will go—but not far, lest you might need me for something. Enjoy your breakfast. Rosie, mind your manners.”

  She nodded several times. “Aye, my lord. I will try.”

  With another exaggerated bow, Andrew finally departed. Rosie shifted on her seat and twisted her fingers in her lap.

  Alicia regarded the nervous girl. “Methinks that you find yourself in a confusing state and do not know which way the wind will blow next,” she remarked in a soft voice.

  Rosie sighed. “Aye, tis the nut and core of it, my lady.”

  Alicia nodded. “I can understand that. I was once in your position.”

  The girl blinked. “How now? Begging your pardon, my lady, but you could never have been a harlot.”

  Alicia sucked in her breath. Her sister-in-law had not told her the exact particulars about Andrew’s latest adventure. She fanned herself while she contemplated this latest tidbit. “You don’t look like a whore.”

  Rosie shrugged. “I am and am not, so to speak.” She wiped her hands on her shift. “Pray forgive me, my lady. Haint ever spoke to a countess afore. I mean, I have never spoke to a countess. Did I say that right?” Her beautiful eyes begged for approval.

  The last shred of Alicia’s objections melted like ice in the hot June sun. “Aye, Rosie, you spoke that right well.”

  The girl sighed with relief. “Thank you, my lady. Sir Andrew would scratch out another penny from my slate if he thought I said something improper.” She grinned again.

  Alicia was too stunned by the girl’s smile to ask her what she had meant by pennies and slate. For a brief moment, Rosie had. looked startling familiar.

  Just then, Jeremy returned bearing a cloth-covered platter. He placed it on the table next to the women, then lifted off the cover with a small flourish. The mouthwatering aroma of fresh-baked bread filled the air. He poured two mugs of cool ale from the pitcher.

  Alicia bestowed a warm smile of approval on the boy. “Splendid, Jeremy. Now go serve your master and keep him happy until I call.”

  The squire nodded in a respectful manner. “Aye, my lady.” He backed out of the tent.

  Without waiting for Alicia to give her permission to begin, Rosie grabbed her bread and honey as if it might disappear at any moment. Alicia sipped her ale and nibbled on a strawberry while she watched Rosie devour her breakfast. Alicia’s feeling of familiarity grew stronger. Rosie’s profile, the tilt of her nose, the way she held her mug—all reminded her of a dear, long-dead friend.

  Alicia waited until the girl had slacked her hunger before she continued her questions. “How is it you came to be in the stews of Southwark? Your accent tells me that you were not born in London.”

  Rosie answered in between bites of a large strawberry. “Nay, my lady. I come from Stoke Poges. My foster father, God rot him, sold me to a bawdmaster for five shillings. Tis more money than he ever saw since—” She stopped suddenly and pressed her lips together.

  On the scent of something interesting, Alicia sat up straighter. “My knowledge of the southern part of England is sketchy. Where is Stoke Poges?”

  Rosie licked a driblet of cream from her fingers. “Nearby Windsor town. I can walk there betwixt dawn and dinner.”

  Alicia gripped the ivory handle of her fan. Fenderwick lay only a few miles from Windsor. Dearest Margaret had eked out her loveless life inside the stone walls of that cheerless estate. “Who were your real parents, my dear?” she asked with an encouraging smile.

  Rosie shrugged. “Never knew. Father Gregory found me on the altar steps of Saint Giles’ Church at Stoke Poges. He gave me to the Barstows to raise—along with their geese.”

  Alicia quelled her rising excitement. Surely this changeling waif couldn’t be the same child that Margaret had borne her secret lover all those years ago? “And how old are you?” she asked.

  Rosie shrugged again. “I cannot count beyond my fingers, Lady Alicia, but my foster mother said she got me at the turning of the century during the harvest time.” She made a face. “My foster father said I was a poor harvest for all the trouble I gave him, but he only said that after the money stopped coming.”

  Alicia felt a little light-headed. She sipped her ale and did a quick calculation in her head. Margaret had confided her pregnancy to Alicia at the court’s Eastertide festivities in 1500. Since Alicia was also pregnant with Guy at the time, Margaret found an understanding ear. Alicia had welcomed Margaret’s friendship and had even helped to shield her swelling condition from the watchful eyes and wagging tongues of the bored courtiers. Rosie was the right age. “What money?”

  The girl rolled a large strawberry in the thick cream. “Father Gregory found a gold sovereign in my hand, or so he said. Every year after that, he found another coin on the altar steps on the anniversary of the day when he had found me. Said it was conscience money from my parents.” She popped the whole fruit in her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed before she continued. “The money stopped just when I began to grow my paps. That’s when Barstow moved me into the barn. Said I wasn’t good enough to live under the same roof with Christian folk because I was a bastard.”

  Alicia detected a waver in the girl’s voice. A knot formed in her own throat. Margaret had died of a chill and fever in the winter of 1512, having finally succumbed to the neglect and indifference of her cold husband, Gilbert. Her spirit had already died when her lover died of the plague shortly before she had given birth to their daughter.

  Alicia sent a joyful prayer of thanksgiving to heaven. After all this time, here was Margaret’s lost child—if Rosie truly was. Alicia needed to be sure. She buttered a piece of bread and remarked, “I know exactly how you feel, Rosie. I am a bastard too.”

  Rosie choked on her ale. She stared wide-eyed at Alicia. “Ye jest with me,” she gasp
ed. “Ye…you are a grand lady and a countess as well.”

  Alicia shook her head. “Tis true nevertheless. I was born out of wedlock to a great lord and his mistress. The difference between us is that my foster father loved me like a true daughter, and my real father had left me a goodly dowry. I was raised in a goldsmith’s shop in the city of York until I wed my husband. We had been betrothed at a young age when my Thomas had not been expected to succeed to the earldom of Thornbury. I am a countess purely through an accident of fate.”

  Rosie didn’t speak for several minutes while she mulled over Alicia’s startling revelation. Alicia wondered what the girl would say if she knew that Alicia’s real father had been Great Harry’s grandfather, King Edward IV. Some secrets were best left untold.

  Rosie swept her hair out of her eyes. “No wonder you are a sight better than the other ladies I met yesterday. You know what it means to work for your bread.”

  Alicia smiled at her. “Aye, Rosie, that I do.” She caressed the fan’s feathers with her fingertips. “Prithee, child, lift your hair away from your face for a moment.”

  Rosie assumed a guarded look. “My neck and ears are clean.”

  Alicia patted the girl’s hand. “I might have a headdress that would compliment your looks perfectly,” she murmured. She did not think it would be prudent to divulge her real reason.

  Still on her guard, Rosie gathered her blond tresses in both hands and pulled them back, revealing a perfect oval face and the fine cheekbones that whispered better breeding than a goose yard.

  “Turn this way and that so that I can see your profile. Have no fear, dear Rosie. Your skin is as clean as milk.”

  Rosie wrinkled her nose, but did as Alicia requested. The countess stifled a small cry. Though not as tall as her mother, the goose girl of Stoke Poges was the mirror image of Margaret when Alicia had first known her.

  “Twill do very well,” the countess murmured. “You shall see anon.”

  Rosie looked directly into Alicia’s eyes. “Then ye had best loan me that coif soon, my lady, for I do not know how long Sir Andrew’s fancy will last. I could be back in the tent of the Golden Cockerel by tomorrow.”

  Alicia cleared her throat. “Ah, Andrew—I had forgotten him for a moment. Tell me the truth, Rosie, has he bedded you?”

  The girl shook her head. A quick look of regret flitted across her face. “Nay, my lady, he has acted right proper with me. Oh, I admit to you that Sir Andrew is a little odd in his habits and long-winded in his speech, but he has treated me as…as a little sister.” Leaning her elbow on the table, she cupped her chin in her hand. “Tell me true, my lady, am I too ugly for him?”

  Her question startled Alicia. Then she realized that the poor child fancied herself in love with him. He had that same effect on most women, especially his late wife. How could Rosie wonder such a thing when she possessed her mother’s ethereal beauty? “Of course you are pretty,” Alicia hedged. “I am sure many of your… ah…gentlemen have often told you.”

  The girl blushed and looked at her toes. “If you mean customers in a bawdy house, haint ever…I mean, I have never had any.”

  Alicia stopped fanning herself. “But methought you said you were a…a…” Margaret would weep without ceasing if she had known to what depths her daughter had been thrown.

  “A whore?” Rosie gave her a cynical smile. “Not yet.”

  Alicia drew in a deep breath. “Pray explain, my dear. Others have found that I am a good listener and do not make rash judgments.” Your blessed mother for one.

  Rosie chewed on her fingernail, then stopped herself when she realized what she was doing. “Sir Andrew thinks I am a virgin. That’s why he bought me two nights ago. The truth is I gave myself once to the son of our esquire on May Day.” She drew closer to Alicia. “I pray, lady, do not think less of me than you already do. Twas a beautiful day and Simon was so handsome and so nice to me. He bought me sweetmeats and ribbons and he told me that he loved me. He lied, of course.”

  Alicia squeezed her hand. “He seduced you.” She wished she had the opportunity to throttle the perfidious Simon.

  “Aye, in our barn. Twas the only bed I had. Some of the children saw us and told old man Barstow. He caught us.” Rosie chewed her lower lip and looked away. “Twas too late for me. I thought Simon would protect me, but he did no such thing, of course. He thanked my foster father for the use of me, then he left without so much as a backward look.”

  “A puling slug, methinks,” Alicia remarked. If Rosie had been their daughter, Thomas would have killed the debaucher on the spot. “Didn’t your guardian demand that Simon marry you?”

  Rosie shook her head. “Ha! He said he always knew I came from bad blood. He locked me in the grain house for over a week until he sold me to Quince. Said he would have done it sooner if he hadn’t needed me to raise his children when my foster mother died.”

  The countess quivered with repressed indignation. There wasn’t a drop of bad blood in Rosie. Her natural parents were gentle born. How dare that lout say such a thing! “I presume he told this Quince you were a virgin?”

  Rosie nodded. “To get a better price. Quince thought he got the best of the bargain. He said he expected me to fetch him a fortune here. Tis why he saved me for this trip. Now I am at sixes and sevens. God knows what Sir Andrew will do to me when he finally—”

  “He will not take his pleasure at your expense,” Alicia vowed. “Tis well for him that he has not done so already!”

  Rosie only sighed. “Your pardon, my lady, but I can tell you have never wanted for anything. Tis a cloth of a different color for me.” Her expression hardened. “I must make my own way since I have no one to protect me. I do what I must in order to live. My wits are all that I have.”

  Alicia’s good heart nearly broke. She wanted to take Rosie in her arms and shield the child from the wickedness of the world, yet she knew that the girl would disdain her pity. For dear Margaret’s sake, Alicia must do something, but she had no idea what. In his cheerful, careless way, Andrew was unwittingly creating a person who was neither fish nor fowl. Rosie, by her birth, was already too far above the gutter ever to fall back into it, yet she could not continue her disguise as a lady unless—

  Alicia sighed. There was one man who could transform Margaret’s waif into the lady she was born to be. All he had to do was to say “aye.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rosie sopped up the last few crumbs of honey-soaked bread with her finger, then sucked them into her mouth. All the while she observed a curious flow of expressions cross the countess’ beautiful face. She wonders what to do with me. Rosie straightened her shoulders and waited for whatever would happen next. Both women jumped when Andrew poked his head inside the tent flap and whistled.

  “Hoy day, ladies! By your stern looks, tis a serious talk indeed. Have I your leave to come in yet? Tis as hot as hell out here in the sun.”

  His clean-shaven face was quite red and he dripped with perspiration. Rosie had never seen Sir Andrew look quite so uncomfortable. He mopped his face with his wrinkled handkerchief.

  Lady Alicia waved him inside with her yellow-plumed fan. “Aye, Andrew, we have finished—at least for the present.”

  Smiling broadly, the gentleman swept through the entrance. Jeremy scurried behind him. With a burst of activity, the squire threw open one coffer after another and pulled out a number of items from each. Sir Andrew’s large boxes held the wonders of the world, Rosie thought. There seemed to be no bottom to them.

  “What mischief will occupy you today, Andrew?” The countess ignored the growing pile of bright clothing that Jeremy draped across the empty stools and chest lids. “Do you wait upon the king?”

  Andrew held up a beautiful jacket of butter-yellow and bright-orange. Gold thread trimmed the buttonholes and edges. “Nay, my lady. I am to demonstrate my skill on the archery range within this very hour.”

  He nodded his approval of his squire’s selections. “Mind you, tis a waste
of everyone’s time and arrows. The judges should award me the prize at the start. No one need draw a bowstring in this heat.” He grinned. “All of England and soon France will see that I am the best shot in the world.”

  Rosie wrinkled her nose. No doubt this outrageous boast was merely another one of Andrew’s wild jests. How could anyone take him seriously when he wore such garish colors? Or such tight hose? Rosie couldn’t help but admire his figure. For a gentleman of leisure, Sir Andrew had quite strong legs. His thigh and calf muscles rippled under the parti-color stockings. Her gaze roved over his tight backside. He radiated a vitality that drew her to him and made her pulse leap with stirring excitement.

  Lady Alicia smiled up at him with a motherly fondness in her eyes. “Then with your permission, Rosie and I shall accompany you. Twill be good experience for her to see what a gentleman does.”

  “I already know what a gentleman does,” the girl muttered.

  Andrew shot her a warning look. He had the ears of a fox.

  The countess stood and beckoned Rosie to follow her into the rear chamber. “Pray wait until we have removed ourselves before you dress, Andrew,” she admonished him with a clicking of her tongue.

  He chuckled. “I quite agree, my lady. The sight of my manly form would be too much for your chaste eyes. You would swoon within seconds.” He held up a codpiece that was decorated with a golden sunburst. “Do you think this would distract my French competitors?”

  The lady pushed Rosie behind the silk curtain. “How you do love to hear yourself talk, Andrew!” Then she pulled the drape completely closed.

  Rosie felt more than a little embarrassed when she realized that this stately woman intended to play the maid and dress her. “I can tie my laces as well as you, my lady,” she protested.

  Lady Alicia chuckled. “Not if they go up your back. How your laces are tied tells the difference between a girl who works for her living and a lady who lets others do her work. Suck in your stomach and don’t slouch.” She pulled the laces of the pale blue dress she had picked out for Rosie.