By Bertrice Small
From Bertrice Small, the loved "queen of romance," (Publishers Weekly) comes a sweeping new novel of a tender girl's unforeseen trip into womanhood, into secret and keenness, and into history... Her identify is Rosamund Bolton. She is heiress to the Friarsgate fortune. greater than a ultimate inheritance, it's going to chart the destiny of the orphaned good looks, widowed at a priceless younger age. it's going to take her from the treacherous custody of her devious uncle to the fabulous courtroom of Elizabeth of York, into the arrogance of Katherine of Aragon, and earlier the intimate chamber doorways of Henry VIII. it really is an experience that may attempt the bounds of ardour and betrayal; it's going to swap the which means of the notice enemy, and switch even the main bold myth into real love. With this primary novel in an unique and interesting new sequence, the adventures of Rosamund are only beginning...
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Example text
The youngest, in fact. My mother died giving me life. My father died when I was thirteen. My family is Welsh mostly. I served as a page to Jasper Tudor, the king's uncle, from the time I was six years old, then as his squire. " Edmund asked. "I was past fifteen," came the answer. Edmund caught Richard's eye at this revelation. They silently agreed that they were impressed by this quiet, seemingly gentle man who had been sent to escort Rosamund to court. "You will certainly be tired by now, sir," Rosamund said, remembering her duties as chatelaine.
She next inquired of him, curious. "A lady at court would acknowledge such acclaim with a gracious nod of her head, but say naught," he told her with a small smile. She was a very charming girl, he thought, and quite unaffected. " "I understand you," he said. "But certainly my Cumbrian accent will not be comprehended by some," Rosamund fretted. " She eyed him anxiously. " "I will gladly tutor you, lady, in all you need to know," he promised her. "And will you trust me when I tell you we must leave Friarsgate and go south?
There was rabbit, goose, and duck, each with a different sauce. There was braised lettuce and tiny boiled onions, fresh bread, butter, and cheese. And afterward the last of the winter apples appeared baked with cinnamon and served with heavy cream. Wine and ale was plentiful, and the entire hall was served the generous meal, much to the delight of those below the salt who had expected little else but pottage and rabbit stew. When the meal had finally been consumed Henry Bolton said, "Well, priest, what of the will?