“Aha! I have it. It is caught on something.” He paused. “There we go.”
Rosamunde felt the back legs slip from her grip and shift away. She just managed to tug her hands free of the mare as her father turned the animal within its mother until its head was at the right angle.
“The mare is too weak. You will have to—-” even as the words left her mouth, her father tugged on the foal’s head and front legs. Seconds later it slid out onto the straw.
“Oh,” Rosamunde breathed, peering at the spindly--legged creature as it wriggled on the straw. “Is it not adorable?”
“Aye,” Henry agreed gruffly; then he cleared his throat, grabbed her arm, and urged her to her feet. “Come. Time is short. ’Sides, ’tis not fitting for a girl of your position to be participating in such things.”
“Oh, Papa.” Laughing, Rosamunde turned and threw herself into his arms as she had when she was a child. Henry quickly closed his arms around her and gave up the reprimand as she knew he would.
“So that is the king’s daughter.”
Aric shifted on his feet, his gaze leaving the girl the king was embracing to glance at his friend. “It would seem so.”
“She is lovely.”
“Quite,” Aric agreed quietly. “Unless my memory fails me, she appears a copy of the fair Rosamunde.”
“Your memory fails you not. She is an exact likeness of her mother,” Shrewsbury agreed. “Except for the hair. That is wholly her father’s. Let us hope she did not inherit his quick temper along with it.”
“She has been raised right, my lord Bishop. With all discipline and goodness, and the disobedience worked out of her,” the abbess announced staunchly, glaring at Shrewsbury for the very suggestion that the girl might not have been. Then, seeming to regain herself, she forced a smile and in a much more pious tone murmured, “It is most gratifying that His Majesty received my message. We feared, when we heard that he was in Normandy, that he might not receive the news in time to make it back for the ceremony.”
Aric exchanged a glance with Robert, then asked carefully, “What ceremony?”
“What ceremony?” Adela echoed with amazement. “Why, Lady Rosamunde takes the veil tomorrow.”
There was silence for a moment after that announcement; then Robert murmured, “The king will no doubt be a bit surprised by that.”
“What!” Henry’s roar drew their attention.
“I believe he just learned,” Aric muttered. Turning, he found Henry a sight to see. The king’s face bore a furious scowl and was so red as to seem almost purple. Even his hair seemed to have picked up some of the fire of his temper and shone more red than gray. He stormed angrily toward them, hands and teeth clenched.
His daughter was hard on his heels, a startled and somewhat bewildered expression on her face. “I thought you knew, Papa. I thought you had received my message and come to witness—-” Her words came to an abrupt halt when her father paused in his stride and turned on her in a fury.
“It shall not happen! Do you hear me? You are not, I repeat, not going to be a nun.”
“But—-”
“Your mother—-God rest her soul—-insisted on the same thing ere she died, and I could do naught about it. But I can and will do something now. I am your father, and I will not allow you to throw your life away by becoming a nun.”
Rosamunde looked briefly stunned at those words; then, seeing the stiff expression on the abbess’s face at the insult in her father’s words, she allowed her temper free rein. “It is not throwing my life away! ’Tis perfectly acceptable to become a bride of God! I—-”
“Will God see you blessed with children?” Henry snarled, interrupting her curt words.
She looked taken aback briefly at that, then regained herself to snap, “Mayhap. He saw Mary blessed with Jesus.”
“Jesus?” For a moment it looked as though he might explode, or drop dead. His face was purple with rage.
It was the bishop who intervened, drawing the king’s attention with the gentle words, “Your majesty, it is a great honor to become a bride of God. If Rosamunde truly has a calling, it is not well done to force her to—-”
“You!” Henry turned on the man. “I will not hear your religious drivel. Thanks to your dillydallying, we nearly did not arrive here in time. If I hadn’t chanced to hear of Aric’s broken betrothal and saved a day’s riding by choosing him as groom instead of Rosshuen, we would have been too late!” Whirling on the abbess, he roared, “Why was I not informed of these plans?”
The abbess blinked at him, taken aback. “We . . . I thought you knew, my liege. It was Rosamunde’s mother’s wish that she follow in her footsteps and become a nun. She said so on her deathbed. As you had not arranged a betrothal, I thought you agreed.”