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  Windsor, which had been especially built for him. Rumor had it that the young nobles, influenced by continental ideas, were wilder than ever. Edward now commanded a large troop of young Gascons and was so eager for military action, it had been impossible to keep him from the campaign in Wales.

  As the two friends broke their fast, Demi confided, "I don't remember much about Edward except that his hair was flaxen and everyone called him Longshanks because he was so tall."

  Rosamond's glance, which had been searching the hall for a glimpse of one particular knight, came to rest on Demi's pretty face. "That's because it has been five years since we've seen him... thank the Lord!"

  Demi laughed at her friend's irreverence. "I can't remember any of the young men in his household."

  "How very fortunate for you," Rosamond teased. "They were a pack of uncivilized beasts, forever fighting and trading blows with each other. The only one I could tolerate was Harry of Almaine, and that's because his mother was Isabella Marshal and he's my second cousin."

  "What about Rodger de Leyburn?" Demi asked avidly.

  "What about him?" Rosamond shrugged a pretty shoulder to show her complete indifference.

  "He's your betrothed!"

  "Not for long! I'll soon rid myself of the ugly devil," Rosamond said lightly, licking honey from her fingers.

  "Is he truly ugly?" Demi asked with compassion.

  Rosamond's throaty laugh bubbled forth. "He left such an indelible impression upon me, I don't remember."

  The girls finished their breakfast and hurried off to their first lesson of the day. Eleanor de Montfort was a stickler for learning and would not excuse the Demoiselle from her lessons simply because her father had returned. They studied languages with Brother Adam, a learned Franciscan who had helped compile the library at Kenilworth. Both young ladies were fluent in French, and Rosamond had recendy developed a flair for Spanish, while Demi preferred to learn the Welsh tongue. They also studied history and government, as well as music and art.

  Along with this liberal education, each was preparing to become

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  the proficient chatelaine of her own castle. They learned how to run a kitchen, a laundry, a stillroom, and a household of servants. They learned how to make herbal cures from the nuns of St. Bride's and were taught to stitch, cauterize, and dress the wounds of men-at-arms in case bloody action became necessary in times of emergency.

  On top of all this knowledge, Rosamond had acquired something far more valuable. She had acquired a measure of self-confidence and was no longer the vulnerable, insecure child she had once been. Because she revered Princess Eleanor, Lady de Montfort had become her role model. She imitated the magnificent woman's sparkling wit, her full-bodied laugh, her exquisite clothes, and her regal demeanor. Eleanor could swear a blue streak with the stable boys or freeze the Queen of England with a haughty stare, and Rosamond Marshal was fast becoming the same sort of vibrant woman as the Countess of Leicester.

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  The next morning, Rosamond chose a lavender gown whose shade matched the color of her eyes. It was richly embroidered with delicate seed pearls on its sleeves and square-cut neckline. Her beautiful clothes not only gave her pleasure, they also lent her a great deal of confidence. She picked up the journal she was compiling on the medicinal properties of herbs and plants, and hurried to the stillroom, where she had been secretly experimenting with bayberries versus bay leaves to ease the pain and length of labor in childbirth.

  The nuns had been outraged when they discovered Rosamond reading a medical journal from Cordoba, Spain, the world's undisputed center of medicine. It not only contained information on the painkilling properties of plants, but listed herbs that prevented conception, such as dragonwort. The nuns lectured that herbal remedies to ease pain should be reserved for men who received wounds in battle. Rosamond vigorously argued that from what she had seen, the pain of childbirth was so great, it was quite reasonable to use herbs to relieve it. The nuns, however, insisted it was natural pain, which should, indeed must, be endured, and Rosamond lost the argument. Undaunted, she continued to distill her syrups surreptitiously, providing the women of Kenilworth with the soothing concoctions that were much in demand.

  Rosamond set down her herbal book to examine the bayberries she

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  had gathered and hung in bunches to preserve them. She was pleased that they were not rotting, but drying nicely as she had hoped. She made a note in her journal and moved on to a new perfume she was creating. She had blended rose petals and apricot blossoms and mixed in a little almond oil. The fragrance pleased her, so she dabbed a little between her breasts and then on a sudden impulse decided to climb to the castle ramparts to view the men-at-arms still streaming into Kenilworth.

  Water had been dammed from the River Avon to create a mere around the outer walls of the castle, and the only entrance was over an earthen causeway and through the portcullis. The morning sun glistened on the water, and Rosamond thought it the most beautiful place on earth. Her heart sang with happiness that the fighting was finished. She shaded her eyes, trying to identify the devices on the fluttering pennons, but from this distance the flags and the men all looked alike, so she left the ramparts, curbing her impatience to catch a glimpse of Sir Rickard de Burgh.

  She had made herself late for her lesson with Brother Adam, so she hurried along an upper passageway that led to a stone staircase descending to the library. Suddenly, about thirty feet ahead of her, she spied Sir Rickard de Burgh. Delighted to find him right in front of her, walking down the same passageway, Rosamond quickened her steps and breathlessly called, "Sir Rickard."

  When he did not turn around, she realized he hadn't heard her. She hesitated for a second, wondering if she was doing the right thing. What harm is there in welcoming him back to Kenilworth? she asked herself as she closed the distance between them. "Sir Rickard?" she repeated.

  He turned and Rosamond's heart hammered as she saw the wide mail-clad shoulders, the jet black hair, and the green eyes. But these green eyes were not the ones she had expected to see. The expression in them was so bold, she gasped in protest, "You are not Sir Rickard!"

  "Alas, I am not." The man openly assessed her, his green gaze sweeping over her, lingering on hair that flowed about her like pale golden honey. Her eyes were neither blue nor purple, but some unique shade in between, and her generously shaped mouth looked equally capable of laughter or a sensual pout. Her breasts were high and thrust impudently from the neckline of her expensive gown, and beneath that

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  gown he imagined legs as long as a colt's. He couldn't help but smile at her. "Will I do in his stead, chérie?"

  Rosamond stiffened and froze him with a haughty stare. "Indeed you will not!" Inexplicably, she was furious at the resemblance between this insolent devil and the honorable knight of whom she daydreamed. "How dare you look at me in such a bold fashion?"

  His eyes filled with amusement. "I was but paying homage to your beauty, chérie."

  "Indeed you were not! You looked at me as if—"

  "As if I'd like to bed you? Such conceit. You are obviously an ice maiden in need of a thawing. I'm on my way to the baths, if you'd care to join me. A plunge in hot water might be just the cure."

  Rosamond drew back her hand with every intent to slap the dark insolent expression off his face, but quick as mercury he captured her fingers and drew them to his lips. "Mmm, apricots and almonds ... good enough to eat." His white teeth flashed as if he would bite her.

  "Unhand me, you uncouth knave, or I shall scream!"

  "In hope that the worthy Sir Rickard will come running to your rescue?" he asked mockingly.

  Rosamond's temper exploded. "You bastard, I need no man to rescue me." Swiftly she brought her knee up between his legs and made contact with the codpiece that protected his genitals.

  Just the thought of the damage she could have done him lit a fierce green flame in his
eyes.

  Rosamond gave him her sweetest smile, then her eyes slid down his body to the apex of his legs. "A plunge in hot water might be just the cure."

  Stormy green eyes watched her descend the stone steps. "Just wait, my beautiful little witch, we have a score to settle." He shook his head, both angered and impressed by the girl's fighting spirit, then suddenly he laughed, his good nature restored.

  ******************

  In the late afternoon it was the custom at Kenilworth for the females to gather in the solar. The countess had a wardrobe mistress and a dozen sewing women, but all of the tiring-women were proficient with a needle and could embroider a sleeve or repair a tapestry, and many of

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  the younger maids were given lessons. It was an enjoyable part of their day, where the women of the castle could socialize and exchange gossip.

  When Rosamond arrived, the women's excitement was palpable in the air. She soon learned that the heir to the throne had arrived, and by their description Lord Edward was nothing less than a golden god. His companions were so overwhelmingly handsome and charming that a squabble had broken out among the bathhouse women over who would attend them.

  All eyes swung to Bertha, a strapping young matron in charge of the bathhouse, for confirmation. Bertha couldn't wait to embellish the tale. "Lord Edward called one of the men Dick and the other Rod—never have names been more fitting!"

  The corners of Rosamond's mouth rose in a smile. "Surely the measure of a man should be his intellect?" she said.

  Her tiring-woman, Nan, winked. "I prefer brawn over brains any night of the week. Come, my lamb, it is time for you to dress. You must look your best tonight in the hall."

  When Rosamond entered her chamber, the Demoiselle was already dressed in her new deep red gown. The sleeves of her white silk underdress were embroidered with garnets to complement the gown and set off her dark coloring. She pirouetted before Rosamond. "Mother wants me at her side tonight; I must hurry."

  "That's because she wants to show you off! You look absolutely lovely; don't forget to make a grand entrance." At fourteen, the Demoiselle was quickly learning her female power.

  Rosamond knew that every woman at Kenilworth would be adorned in her finest attire tonight, and she decided to wear her peacock blue velvet, which had a small train in the very latest fashion. Nan brushed Rosamond's long golden hair until it crackled, then held back the curling tendrils with a silver circlet studded with aquamarines.

  The sound of voices from the Great Hall could be heard the moment Rosamond left the ladies' quarters. At the entrance, Nan left her to join the other servants, who sat below the salt. Even in that crowd, it didn't take Rosamond more than a moment to pick out the royal heir to the throne. Conversing with Lady Eleanor, who was dressed in royal purple, and the Demoiselle, Lord Edward dwarfed the two beautiful dark-haired females.

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  Rosamond was astonished at the prince's appearance. He was resplendent in a crimson tabard embroidered with three golden lions, while soft leather boots encased his long shanks, but it was not his stylish clothes that astonished her; it was the man he had become. No longer a lanky youth, he had a man's muscular torso and wide shoulders. Above a close-cropped golden beard were brilliant blue eyes, burning with zeal and a passion for life.

  When Eleanor spied her ward, she beckoned to her, and as Rosamond approached Lord Edward, she sensed his immense energy. Lady de Montfort reintroduced them. "Believe it or not, this is Rosamond Marshal."

  As she went down in a curtsy, Edward stared at her in amazement. "Splendor of God, the rose has bloomed!" He reached down, took possession of her hands, and lifted her to her feet. "What happened to the grubby urchin who cursed the stableboys?"

  "I still curse when the occasion demands it, my lord Edward, and may I say your own transformation is nothing short of miraculous."

  Eleanor threw back her head and laughed. "Indeed, he is splendid enough to revive the belief in the godlike origin of kings."

  "No wonder Simon adores you, it is your silver tongue." Edward slipped his arm about Rosamond's waist. "May I steal her for a moment?"

  As he led her down the long hall, all eyes were upon them. "I cannot wait to see the look on his face when he first lays eyes on you."

  "Who?"

  "Rod."

  An unbidden picture of the man the bathhouse matron had described brought a blush to her cheek. A small knot of people who were gathered about Simon de Montfort stepped aside as Lord Edward approached. Rosamond stiffened when she saw the man deep in conversation with Earl Simon; she might have known the green-eyed devil she'd encountered earlier in the day was the Rod who had set the maids atwitter.

  "Rosamond Marshal, it gives me the greatest pleasure in the world to reacquaint you with your betrothed, Sir Rodger de Leyburn."

  They stared at each other in stunned disbelief. Rosamond saw him recover from the shock before she did. The look on his face told her the news pleased him greatly. He looked like a man who had just discovered

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  a pearl inside an oyster shell. She knew her behavior was gauche, but she couldn't stop staring at him. He was almost as tall as Lord Edward and Earl Simon. He too was elegantly garbed in continental fashion. He wore an emerald green tabard emblazoned with a golden eagle. Below it his long, muscular legs were encased in soft leather thigh-high boots.

  Rosamond stood mutely as he bowed, then reached for her hand and drew it to his lips. His green eyes shot her a look of triumph and once again his white teeth flashed as if he would bite her. "My lady, I am enchanted."

  The bold devil was mocking her, and she felt an urge to wipe the smug look from his dark face. "Betrothed? No, no, I wouldn't dream of holding Sir Rodger to a chivalrous gesture he made five years ago to comfort a distraught child."

  His green eyes narrowed; his powerful fingers tightened possessively on her hand. "My lady, I am honor-bound."

  "My lord, I release you!" Rosamond snatched back her hand and kicked her train behind her in a gesture that lent finality to her words.

  Lord Edward's laughter rolled over her. "The wench is toying with us, Rod. She knows this match pleases me."

  Rosamond felt thwarted and cast a desperate look at Earl Simon, who remained silent, much to her annoyance. Knowing she could not stand and argue with the royal prince, she did the next best thing. "My lords, will you kindly excuse me? I must find my cousin Harry; I have neglected him shamefully."

  "We will excuse you for the moment, Rosamond, but later you will join us on the dais for supper." It was a royal order.

  She did her best to decline. "I should dine with Harry."

  "You forget, our cousin Harry of Almaine is royal too. He'll be up on the dais with me."

  Rosamond knew better than to pit her will against Edward's; he always got what he wanted. Seething inside, she sank into a curtsy and murmured, "Until later, then."

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  At the first opportunity, Simon de Montfort took Rodger de Leyburn aside. Rod had hero-worshipped Earl Simon since he was a boy. The earl was a magnetic figure who had earned the reputation of being the greatest warrior in Europe. He appealed to young men's idealism with his unswerving devotion to a cause. Compared with the weak and feckless King Henry, Earl Simon was a knight in shining armor. The barons had chosen him for their leader, and even nobles who had been royalist, such as Richard de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, had recently switched their allegiance to Simon de Montfort.

  "Thank you, Rod, for persuading Edward to visit Kenilworth."

  "He seeks your guidance, my lord earl. He has a natural military instinct and more energy than any man I've ever known. You have taught him to be a great soldier, and if he will but listen, you will teach him to be a great king."

  "If he commits to the right course and is steadfast, Edward has it in him to be England's greatest king."

  Rod smiled. "He allows nothing to stand in his way; he is fanatical about achieving whatever goal he sets himself." />
  "Which is, of course, the only way to succeed." Simon's black eyes examined de Leyburn's face. "I suspect you are much alike."

  Rod glanced at Simon warily. "Does my determination to wed Rosamond Marshal offend you, my lord? "

  "Good God, no, I find no fault with a man ambitious enough to wed an heiress; I did it myself. Rosamond Marshal is a great marriage prize. She will bring you two estates, whose income should increase steadily. I heartily congratulate you."

  "Thank you, my lord earl."

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  "Are you and Rosamond planning to wed soon?"

  "I would marry her tomorrow, if she were willing, but I believe Rosamond needs a little more persuading. Certainly I should like to make her my wife before we return to London."

  "With King Henry away in France, it is wise that Lord Edward return to the capital. As heir to the throne, it would be politic for Edward to get to know the Council of Fifteen appointed by the Provisions of Oxford, before Parliament opens."

  Rod knew a political struggle loomed between de Montfort and King Henry, and it was obvious to him that Simon wanted Lord Edward on his side in the coming conflict. "Lord Edward is a shrewd man; he can always be counted upon to act wisely."

  "Your intense loyalty to Edward is to be commended."

  "Thank you, my lord earl."

  ******************

  Rosamond found her cousin Harry paying his respects to his aunt Eleanor de Montfort. She felt relieved that he looked much the same as she remembered. Compared with his cousin Edward, who was so physically mature, Harry's rosy cheeks and chestnut curls made him look youthful in the extreme. Rosamond knew he resembled his mother, Isabella, but she was careful not to stir painful memories by telling him so, for lovely Isabella Marshal was dead. His father, Richard of Cornwall, the brother of King Henry, was now remarried to a foreign princess.