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by the fire to entertain you.”
    “Why are you doing these things?” he challenged her.
    “Because I am mistress of Friarsgate, uncle,” she answered him. “Surely you didn’t expect I should grow up only to weave at my loom, or make conserves and soap.”
    “Those are women’s pursuits, dammit!” Henry Bolton shouted. “Of course those are the very things that you should be doing. You should leave the stewarding of Friarsgate to the men!” His face was growing very crimson once again.
    “Fiddlesticks!” Rosamund answered him pertly. “But if it will soothe your mind, uncle, I can also do all those things as well. Friarsgate, however, is mine. It is my responsibility to care for its welfare, and the welfare of my people, as any good chatelaine would do. I dislike being useless and idle.”
    “I want to speak with Hugh!” Henry Bolton practically yelled.
    “And so you shall, uncle, in due time. ” Then she turned about and left the hall. Behind her she could hear Henry Bolton sputtering his protests, and then she heard his son.
    “I don’t like her, father. I want another wife.”
    “Shut your mouth!” Henry Bolton shouted savagely at his heir.
    Rosamund grinned as she hurried off to seek her husband, who was indeed resting in his chamber. Catching hold of a passing serving wench she instructed the girl, “Find Edmund Bolton, but send him to the lord’s chamber and not to the hall where my uncle waits.”
    The servant nodded her understanding and dashed away.
    Hugh Cabot was sitting up in his bed when she entered his room. He had grown thinner and was very frail, but his bright blue eyes still danced with an interest in everyone and everything. “I hear we have a visitor,” he said with a small smile.
    Rosamund laughed. “I vow, my lord, that you know everything before I do.” She went and sat on the edge of her husband’s bed. “What we have, Hugh, is a spy among our people. I have told Edmund to find out who it is. Aye, we have not one visitor, but two. He has brought me my next husband. ”
    “And do you favor the lad, Rosamund?” Hugh teased her, a wicked smile lighting his narrow lips.
    “He’s an arrogant, snot-nosed little brat from what I have observed. And I will wager he’s wearing his first pair of breeches, Hugh. He struts like a small barnyard cock, and ’tis not much bigger,” she told him.
    He laughed. Then he coughed, waving the cup she offered him away. “Nay, lass, I don’t need it.”
    “What you mean is you don’t like it,” she scolded him gently, “but the herbs do soothe your cough, Hugh.”
    “And taste like swamp water,” he grumbled good-naturedly, but he drank down several swallows of the brew to please her.
    “My uncle wants to see you. Are you up to it? I will not let him near you if you wish it, Hugh,” she said earnestly. “I don’t want to lose you, my dear old man.”
    Hugh smiled at her. Reaching out he patted Rosamund’s hand. “You are going to lose me, my dearie. Sooner than later I fear. Now, do not shake your head at me, Rosamund. I have taught you to be more pragmatic than to allow your emotions to overrule your common sense.”
    “Hugh!” She softly chided him.
    “Rosamund, I am dying, but you need not fear my going. I have made preparations to keep you safe from Henry Bolton.” He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes.
    “What preparations?” she queried him. “What have you done, my dear Hugh? Don’t you think I should know what fate you have planned forme?” What had he done? she wondered. Over the winter months there had been much whispering between her husband and Edmund.
    “It is better that you not know until you need to know,” Hugh advised his young wife. “That way your uncle cannot accuse you of any collusion with me in order to cheat him out of Friarsgate.”
    “Friarsgate isn’t his. It never was,” Rosamund said irritably.
    Hugh opened his eyes and fixed her with his blue gaze. “I know that, and