YORKSHIRE WINTER--From Roan Rose-Sunday Snippet

Rose obeys Richard and Anne's command and marries Hugh. Now she's back at Middleham

Castle, but the Lord and Lady she loves more than any husband are not at home...

ROAN ROSE: http://store.payloadz.com/go/?id=2387279

 

 

 

"It was odd to find myself at chores that for years had seemed the province of servants lower than I. I swept and hauled wood and water. Hugh was also out of practice at domestic tasks, and I heard him cursing like a madman as he worked on the broken shutters, but he did the heaviest lifting and was resourceful and good with his hands—far better than I. The bedstead and the trunks made their way upstairs to the dark, warm loft by the chimney. Hugh lifted me while I strung hanks of Sweet Annie, rosemary and lavender from the dusty rafters to sweeten the air.

            Out of doors it snowed. Wind howled. The towers of Middleham Castle appeared and disappeared magically behind slashing white. I was home again, but not in the way I had so long imagined.

            It was bitter to stand in the shadow of the great keep and find myself reduced to a humble cottager in the sparse northern village of a lord who was not presently at home.

            "Do not grieve," Hugh said, catching me at it one day. He patted me on the back.

            My first instinct was to pull away.

            "Oh, Rosie!" he scolded, gathering me patiently against the heat of his big chest. "That is no life for the likes of you and me, running like dogs whenever they call. We can make something of our own now. I tell you, lass, he said," rubbing my shoulders and settling me warmly against his gut, "for years I imagined I had a good life, but what does a young fool know? This is contentment, to be well-settled, to know where I'll rest my head at night, and who will rest beside me."

 

~~Juliet Waldron

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Middleham Castle, present day, by Bumblekite

 

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A Gift from the Duke

Young Duke Richard of Gloucester has gone to his brother's court in London, as the rift between King Edward and the Earl of Warwick deepens. Daringly, Richard has presented his cousin Anne with a ring as a going-away present, but he's also left something for Rose...

 

 

"...It was several days before we were permitted to ride. As usual, True Thomas came to accompany us. He lifted Anne onto her Precious, and made certain the saddle was tight by surreptitiously punching the pony in the stomach. Precious coughed, stamped a back foot and glared, but she had a naughty trick of bloating her stomach, and this would let the saddle slip.

            I climbed from the mounting block onto the little strawberry pony, mine to ride with my mistress. Every time I did this, I wanted to pinch myself. Horseback was an experience a peasant rarely enjoyed. Horses were for the wealthy. Ox carts or "shanks mare" sufficed for my low kind.

            As I gathered up the reins and adjusted my seat, Thomas appeared at my side.

            "Gotten yourself up, have you?"

            Anne, in a hurry to escape the confines of Middleham bailey, had already started off.

            I began to say that I had been getting myself up for the last year, when I realized it was a ruse. Thomas had something in his hand, something he wanted me to take.

            "For you, Rosalba," he whispered softly, "from a young Lord who says he will miss you, too."

            I gazed in astonishment at an enameled white rose, a pendant strung on a fine strand of braided silver thread.

            "Thomas--" I began.

            "My Lord of Gloucester prays you will take special good care of Lady Anne," Thomas interjected. Then, with a wink and a knowing look, he added, "Further, the duke also says you are to understand that this is a gift and no wage."

For a "Downstairs" view of the romance of Richard of Gloucester and Anne Neville:

 

 

 

 

 

Amazon readers say:

..."If you are a fan of all things Richard III, as I am, don't pass this one up."
"...I loved the strength of this woman..."

"...Powerful Sense of Time and Place"

  "...Waldron certainly knows her history...Yet despite its accuracy ... Roan Rose is ultimately a book about character..." Meredith Whitford, Author of "Treason."

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And for more Sunday Snippets, hop along to these talented Books We Love Writers:

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http://authorjamiehill.blogspot.com/ (Jamie Hill)

http://romancingscifi.blogspot.com/ (Vijaya Schartz)

http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines

 

 

 

ROAN ROSE ~ Love Comes to Rose

It's more than loyalty for Rose. There's love, too.

My flat girl's chest pressed against his wool and linen padded jousting jacket. Even through thirty layers of fabric, I swear, I could feel his heart beat.  I could smell him, too, the sweat and horses of the tilting yard, his dark, sun-warmed hair. Strawberries spilled into the grass. In that instant, with strong boy's arms locked around me, my life changed forever.

 

            And why should this have been so important? I have plowed and planted beside a prudent, hardworking husband. I have borne and raised children of whom I am devilishly proud. I have healed the sick of every kind, and soothed the passage from this world of those I could not save.

            I have taught the lore of herbs. I have brewed a famous ale, to the benefit of my family. Why should a kiss, a mere trial by a royal boy, be so perfectly remembered?

 

~~~

Juliet Waldron

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ISBN:   978-149224158X

~~~

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http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines

 

 

ROAN ROSE ~ Friday Freebit

A peasant girl's life will change forever.

"I observed your apprentice."

 

The Countess looked better. As her lady-in- waiting had suggested, she had called for mother early the next day. She did not, however, speak of herself, but seemed inclined to other matters.

"She is my daughter, your ladyship."

"She is young."

"It is never too early to study the craft, Milady."

The Countess nodded. Her great gray eyes turned thoughtfully upon me.

"You wish her to follow you."

"I do hope and pray she will, Milady of Warwick, God willing."

"Her touch hath healing. How does she in your garden?"

"Well, Milady. She is my eldest, obedient and clever."

"Come here, child."

I did as I was told. Sunlight fell precipitously through a window, a sudden break in the eternal galloping clouds of spring. I was walking, although I did not know it, into another world.

The Countess stretched out a long-fingered white hand. I had never seen so many glistening jewels. They danced before my eyes like blue and red stars.

"Give the Countess your hand, child!" From behind, the lady-in-waiting delivered a jab between my shoulder blades. Thus prompted, my small freckled fingers met the elegant hand of the lady.

"Such beautiful eyes!" Hers met mine and I knew that her spirit was exactly as hard and as brilliant as those jewels upon her fingers.

"What is your name, child?"

"Rosalba."

"Rosalba—White Rose."

 

The name made her smile and once more I was astonished. Unlike most breeding women of our village, she had all her teeth....

 

 

~ Juliet Waldron

 

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ROAN ROSE ~~ An excerpt

Rosalba's Tale begins:

 

 

 

"Little Witch!" A slap always followed the malediction.  "Dost thou stare?"

            This was my father. He did not like children whose opinions showed in their eyes. Large dark eyes I had—my mother's eyes—and when I displeased him, he was not slow to punish the unbroken will he saw.

            I was born at the village of Aysgarth in the house of a stark yeoman farmer, Master Whitby. He was not pleased when my mother gave him a daughter, and then another and another, as if by the force of her own contrary will.

            Master Whitby acknowledged me, however, as he acknowledged my sisters. I was written down in the book at the Church of Our Lady as "Rosalba Whitby, legitimate, born to Master Raymond Whitby and his espoused wife, Roseanne."

            When I was old enough to hear the tale, my mother very kindly let me know matters stood otherwise. To learn I had been conceived in liberty and was not the get of that humorless, ham-fisted tyrant fills me, to this day, with satisfaction.

 

 Aysgarth lies on Wenslydale, north and west of the great Keep of Middleham. Here our peasant houses grew from the ground like mushrooms. The poorest were of turf, but the best homes, like the one in which I was born, rose upon a costly timber frame.

            Those hard packed earthen floors! In the East Wind time, rain slanted through the central smoke hole and pelted the fire of our hearth. I remember huddling close, thinking how the flames were like serpents, lowering their fiery heads and hissing whenever the drops landed. During the worst weather, the entire family, including Master Whitby's curly-pelted white cattle, sheltered with us...

 

 

 

ROAN ROSE may be purchased at:   http://amzn.com/149224158X

Juliet Waldron

 

 

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