Not About Angels:
Rosemary Brandon and Henry Tudor grew up together. As the years passed by, childhood loyalty remained even when the two loathed one another. Now as a young woman, Rosemary is doomed to marry the arrogant and ambitious Duke of Buckingham and she would do anything to break off the betrothal; even if that meant marrying the man she couldn't stand. Finding peace within their marriage and their own country is one of the many obstacles the King and Queen will face together.
Hello everyone!
If you haven't guessed, this is my new Tudor story. This isn't one of the new ideas I have shared with you all in the past. As I was thinking about how to end the next chapter of ACL, a thought struck and I just knew I had to share with one with you.
For those who are reading ACL, thank you for checking out this new story and I hope you enjoy. If you haven't read my other Tudor story A Courtier's Life, please go check it out!
*Elizabeth Blount was the King's mistress (1514-1519) and gave birth to his son, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond, on the 15th June 1519, but she did not get married until 1522 and so was single when she was sleeping with the King. (I had to make the date 1510 to correspond with my story. Many of you know I have OCD when it come to history).
*The assassination of Henry VIII's uncle – This is fictional. Henry VIII did not have an uncle who was assassinated.
-I own nothing and no one except for Rosemary.
-Please go thank my amazing beta Hpuni101 for looking over this chapter.
-Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Whitehall Palace, End of Autumn, 1514
"You're the worse brother ever!"
"Come now, Rosie, you're just overreacting."
"Don't call me that, Charles! You know I hate that name," Rosemary said, her eyes piercing through her brother like daggers. "And I am not overreacting. If anything, I'm under acting."
Rosemary Brandon was a force to be reckoned with when made angry. She didn't think many things through whenever she was upset, much like her brother. Rosemary saw her way and only her way; anyone else's opinion didn't matter.
"Rosie," Charles sighed, ducking when his sister threw a pillow at his head. Even though Rosemary hated that nickname, Charles was the only person who was allowed to get away with calling her that.
"No, Charles."
"You don't have a choice, Rosemary," Charles said firmly. "The dowry has already been made."
Taking a deep breath, Rosemary closed her eyes to clam herself. "What and how much is my marriage portion?"
"Twenty pounds of gold and half of our father's estate." Charles cringed when his little sister's eyes popped opened. He knew she would be mad.
"Papa's estate?" She breathed, not believing what she had just heard. "You're giving him half of papa's estate – my half of the property? You're out of your bloody mind!"
Charles and Rosemary were only a year and two months apart. Their father had been William Brandon, Henry VII's standard bearer at Bosworth Field in 1485 and was killed by Richard III himself. Charles had just been over a year old when their father died and the late William Brandon hadn't even met his daughter. Their mother had died when Charles was ten and Rosemary was nine. The orphaned siblings were sent to the Royal court by their uncle. That was the custom, but since the Brandons were not heirs to an important title or great wealth, their case was decided more on sentiment. The children had made a claim on Henry VII's affections since their father had died in his service. That demonstration of loyalty at Bosworth meant a great deal to the first Tudor king.
As the Brandon siblings grew older, the late Tudor king had kept their family's estate in their name just for them when they came of age. The late King had split the property in half, that way both siblings had some right to their old home. That estate meant the world to both of them. It was the last place where the memories of their parents lived on. Rosemary even planned on moving out to the estate with her future children, but she doubted that would ever happen now.
"The estate is still yours," Charles said, trying to appease his sister. He certainly didn't want her to throw something heavier at his head, like the flower vase that was sitting right next to her.
Screaming on the inside, Rosemary looked like her head was going to explode.
The dowry was a wedding custom which benefited the husband. A dowry was an amount of money, good and property that the bride would bring to the marriage. It was also referred to as her marriage portion. The law gave the husband full rights over his wife. She effectively became his property.
"Rosie…"
"Out! Get out right now! Just go, I don't want to see you right now." Rosemary began pushing her brother out the door, ignoring his protest. "Leave me, Charles. You've already ruined my life, so just leave!"
She slammed the door in Charles's face, not caring for how rude and childish she was acting. She threw herself onto her bed and buried her face into the pillow. Tears of anger streamed down her face and she wiped them away as quickly as they came.
She couldn't believe her brother would do this to her.
She had been engaged before in the past to men of nobility because of Henry VII, but they had all fell through the cracks. Her first engagement was to some Spanish Duke, a relative of Catherine of Aragon since Arthur was to marry the Spanish princess. She had been just a young girl of twelve at the time. Her closest engagement that was almost a marriage was to one of the late King's privy chamber members. Rosemary had been fifteen and her fiancée had been fifty something years old. It wasn't uncommon for young girls to marry a man many times her seniors and like most girls, Rosemary didn't like the arrangement, but she realized it was her duty as a woman and to her family to go through with it. The engagement had been called off, however, because her fiancée had died of a stroke months before the ceremony.
But to be married to Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham? Charles may as well have just said he hated her.
Edward Stafford was the eldest son of Sir Henry Stafford, 2nd Duke of Buckingham and Lady Katherine Woodville. Through his father he was descended from EdwardIII's sons, John of Gaunt and Thomas of Woodstock, and his mother was a sister of Edward IV's queen consort, Elizabeth Woodville who afterwards married Henry VII's uncle, Jasper Tudor, Duke of Bedford. Therefore, the Duke was related to King Henry VIII in more than a few ways. Edward's father was attainted and executed for rebelling against King Richard III on 2nd November 1483. However, the attainder was reversed on Henry VII's accession to the throne and Buckingham was placed under the wardship of Lady Margaret Beaufort.
In 1495, Buckingham was made a Knight of the Garter and he was given many ceremonial roles at court. This continued after the accession of Henry VIII with Buckingham acting as Lord High Steward at the King's coronation in 1509 where he also carried the crown. He was made a member of the Privy Council in 1509 and also fought in the campaign against the French in 1513. Through the marriages of his children, Buckingham had wide connections within the nobility making him a potentially powerful political force. This resulted in him becoming a leader for the disaffected nobles who were unhappy with the growing influence at court of low-born men, in particular Cardinal Wolsey.
And in turn, Henry was both jealous and suspicious of Buckingham due to his wealth, lands and royal blood. And Buckingham was too prideful in his royal blood and believed that he was more rightfully endowed for the throne than Henry was.
Although Rosemary despised Henry, she truly believed that he was meant to be King of England. He had a charismatic presence and was full of enthusiasm and energy. He was affable and willing to trust his counselors, something Buckingham was not.
Out of all the men Charles could have chosen to be her husband, he had to choose Buckingham. His riches certainly didn't blind Rosemary like it would with many other women. Since she had grown up around the Royal family and in court, she knew that even though riches were good, they certainly didn't make a happy marriage. She was certain that most women would willingly change positions with her and Rosemary would gladly let them. She'd rather die an old maid before she married Buckingham.
But alas, she had no choice.
Women had very little, if any, choice in who her husband might be. Women were very much 'second class citizens'. Regardless of their social standing, women were expected to marry. Single women who weren't married were thought to be witches by their neighbors and their fate was most often a sad one to be sure.
There was a knock on Rosemary's chamber doors, breaking her train of thought.
"Rosemary?" A questioning voice called for her on the other side.
Still lying down, Rosemary rolled onto her left side. "Come in."
As the door opened and closed, Rosemary heard her visitor sigh, "Oh, sweetheart."
Elizabeth Blount or "Bessie" as she was more commonly known was Rosemary's best friend in court, minus the two Tudor Princesses. Bessie sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed the strands of hair out of Rosemary's face and then hugged her so hard she couldn't breathe. It was the best feeling in the world as of now since she had gone numb from the thought of her impending marriage.
A few minutes later, the two girls sat on the bed with their backs against the headboard, holding onto each other as they sat in the silence. Bessie didn't stare at Rosemary or ask as bunch of questions; it was why Bessie was her best friend. She could push and pull with the best of them, but she usually gave Rosemary time and neither had ever felt judged.
"What is wrong?" Bessie asked after the moment of silence became too much.
Rosemary rolled her eyes. "Stuff. How is His Majesty?"
"He is amazing. I think I'm in love."
"I could have told you that." Rosemary playfully pushed Bessie's shoulder. "Tell me all about this scandalous relationship."
Bessie began her affair with the King around 1510*, as a very young girl. She accompanied Henry as the lead in a Christmas mummery that year. Bessie certainly had been the first pre-teen to be Henry VIII's mistress. Her friend Elizabeth Bryan was given a diamond necklace and a mink coat, as well as a husband – Nicholas Carewe. When Elizabeth Bryan gave birth to a son at the age of 12, she was called "the young wife". However, Bessie clearly wanted more than a diamond necklace or a husband, and made the King's attentions to her public. It did not take much skill to notice the hidden agenda. No doubt the situation was reported to the Queen, by ladies who did not fail to notice that Bessie was also plumper and blooming. The Queen was so upset that she went into premature labor. Her tiny son died after a few days, and she never became pregnant again.
For the next half hour, Rosemary forgot all about her problems as she listened to Bessie's. She told Rosemary about the King who had captured her heart more so than her husband and how happy he made her, despite the Queen's cruel behavior. Rosemary was ecstatic because someone deserved some happiness in their life.
The two moved on to the news around court. Henry's uncle, Courtenay, was murdered in Rome by French agents*. This act caused a grief-stricken and furious Henry to call his council together and put forward the idea of war on France, something which was backed by the Duke of Buckingham and Duke of Norfolk. Cardinal Wolsey agreed that there was just cause for the war and the King told him to preparations. Sir Thomas More was not too keen on the idea, however; forever the pacifist that man was.
"You're pregnant?"
Rosemary was left speechless by her good friend's declaration minutes after they had ceased all conversation.
Bessie nodded her head. "I dare not tell my husband. He is already quiet jealous and is threatening to make a scandal and put me in a nunnery."
Both girls knew that Henry would never allow that to happen. He favored Bessie over his own wife.
"Have you told the King?"
Bessie wouldn't meet Rosemary's eyes as she shook her head. "No, I don't know if I want to tell him. I didn't plan for this to happen, Rosemary. I was content with being the King's mistress, but not with carrying his child."
At the time that the King took notice to Bessie, the Queen was still recovering from the loss of yet another new baby. Bessie had "wan the King's harte" (won the King's heart) and Rosemary couldn't blame Henry for taking an interest in her friend. Bessie was an extremely beautiful woman. She had long light brown hair and green-blue eyes, and was an average height for a woman of their time. Bessie had fair, beautiful skin with no flaws and often wore typical maiden clothes. Her father was promoted to 'Esquire of the Body', which meant personal attendance on the King in his bedroom.
"Well, you have to tell someone," Rosemary reasoned.
"I've told you."
"Other than me," Rosemary sighed. "It'd be best to tell Wolsey."
Bessie looked confused. "Why would I tell him? You hate that man."
That was very much true. Rosemary and Charles loathed the Cardinal with every fiber of their being. It brought a bitter taste in Rosemary's mouth to even utter his name.
"The King listens to him for some odd reason. Wolsey will speak in your favor. He dislikes the Queen more than he does you."
Even though it was treason Rosemary just spoke, it was the truth. The Queen did not trust Wolsey simply because he held too much power over the King. If Henry were to do anything he would seek Wolsey's approval before he would even act. Everyone knew that the Cardinal used his position and friendship with the King to his advantage at times, which cost many people many different things. Charles and Rosemary hated how the man practically had their old childhood friend wrapped around his fingers. Wolsey felt threatened by the Brandon siblings, however. If Henry wasn't listening or seeking Wolsey's advice, he was looking towards one of the Brandons. That did not sit well with the old man.
"You are right," Bessie sighed loudly and gave Rosemary a sideway glance. "Shall we speak of what has you so upset?"
Rosemary huffed and crossed her arms. "You already know so what's there to talk about? I'm sure the whole court knows by now."
Bessie pulled her friend close. "Of course everyone knows. Buckingham has been buzzing all this morning."
Rosemary looked up at the ceiling with annoyance written on her face. "Oh God, why me?"
Bessie laughed. "His Majesty is quiet upset about it, though. He wouldn't stop talking about it while we were alone. Dare I say he showed an inkling of caring?"
Rosemary laughed without humor. "Henry's just worried that I would tell all of his secrets to his enemy."
Henry and Rosemary had never gotten along. When Charles and Rosemary moved into court she had no problem with befriending Arthur. The late Prince was around the same age as the Brandon siblings and he was more bookish so he didn't share quiet as many interests with Charles so that meant Rosemary was still the center of her brother's attention; they would do everything together.
Then Charles began to befriend Henry.
Though they were seven years older than Henry, Charles shared his most prominent characteristics – natural athleticism, robust physical health and a devotion to all sports (wrestling, hunting, tilting and jousting, etc.). During their adolescent years, the two boys laid the foundation for a lifelong friendship.
And Rosemary hated it.
She was never a selfish girl; their mother certainly had made sure to install humility in her children, though Charles seemed to lack that characteristic. Rosemary was, however, selfish for her brother's affection. They had two older half sisters that they had never met so it had just been the two of them. After they had become orphans, Charles quickly adapted to the roll of Rosemary's protector and the young girl liked having her brother around. It gave her a sense of comfort. But when Charles started his friendship with Henry, Rosemary had a difficult time adjusting to actually having to share her brother's attention. Henry loved to rub it in Rosemary's face that there were certain things that she couldn't do with her brother that he could, and Rosemary enjoyed reminding Henry that Charles was her brother, therefore she came before anyone else in his life – even the young Prince Henry at the time.
It was no secret to the Tudor court that the King and Rosemary had an unusual relationship, it was a subject that provided the courtiers with something to constantly speculate about.
Bessie shook her head, suddenly becoming serious. "No, His Majesty knows how physical Buckingham can be, everyone knows, and he knows you, Rosemary. You and your brother are very important to the King, even if the two of you butt-head's at times. He's worried for you."
Rosemary, in all honestly, was worried for herself as well. The Duke's late wife, Lady Eleanor Percy, would walk around court sometimes with a limp, or appeared to be too sore to move. All signs pointed towards rape, not to mention how skittish she was around other men. And when the Duchess would lock herself away from the world, everyone knew that there was a bruise on her face that she was waiting on to heal. The Duke had a quick temper, something fierce and uncontrollable. And Rosemary was very determined in anything she did; she was headstrong and independent at times. Her personality certainly did not balance with Buckingham's. A man like that needed to be in control all the time or would rain hell upon her.
So that meant she had two choices: Play the submissive wife, or defy him with every breath and action – which would more than likely result in a bruise or two.
With a gentle smile, Rosemary said nothing. She couldn't because she didn't know what to say. She just rested her head on Bessie's shoulder and basked in the comfort her best friend had to offer for the time being.
-Page Break-
As the day had progressed, Rosemary put on a (fake) smile and accompanied Buckingham and his daughter, Anna, as they watched The King and Charles play against their two good friends Anthony Knivert and William Compton. Rosemary tried to focus on the tennis match in front of her, but she found it difficult to when she felt Buckingham's intense gaze on the side of her face. She had promised Charles that she would play this game of 'house', the game the Brandon siblings had played many years ago with the Tudor siblings.
Anna was too enticed with watching Charles run around the court to even try to conversate with Rosemary. She never understood why so many girls were drawn to her brother. Charles was a handsome man, Rosemary would give her brother that, but Charles had just recently come into land and a title of his own. He still wasn't considered by many a Duke or Lord yet; he was still simply Charles Brandon to them – King Henry's best friend. Maybe that's why women swarmed around him; maybe they were hoping something good would come out of being with the King's best friend. The women of court should have known by then that Charles wasn't a serious man when it came to taking a wife or mistress. Her brother enjoyed the hunt more so than anything else.
"Are you enjoying the match, my Lord?" Rosemary knew it was up to her to start a conversation. Neither Buckinghams showed any interest in talking.
Buckingham didn't even take his eyes off of Rosemary to spare a glance at the game. "Tennis has never been a favorite of mine. I much prefer something more physical and outdoors – like hunting and jousting."
Looking at him from the corner of her eyes, Rosemary hummed. "I can tell, My Lord."
With an impressive figure, Buckingham had the look of a fighter about him. Along with stern, dark eyes that showed no emotions.
"And you, Mistress Brandon?"
A small smile tugged at the corners of Rosemary's lips. "I have no choice but to like the games, My Lord. That doesn't mean I can't root for the other team, though."
Along with Princess Mary, Rosemary was always dragged to the games that Henry and Charles played as they were growing up. The boys always told the girls that they were their good luck charms, and like the naïve child she was, Mary always believed them. Rosemary would join them only to keep an eye on the young Princess. Mary certainly liked to roam around and get comfortable with the palace. The two girls would always bet something from their wardrobe as to which side would win. Mary was always for Henry and Charles, and Rosemary was always for the opposing team.
Anna finally drew her eyes away from the match and looked back at Rosemary. "Why would you cheer for the other team? Your brother and His Majesty are fine athletes."
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Rosemary simply smiled. "It annoys them both that I do that and it brings me great entertainment."
Rosemary and Henry had gotten into more fights than she could count because of that. Henry hated it when anyone questioned his abilities to perform in anything. It was quiet funny to watch the King – then Prince – get all red in the face as he spewed obscene words at her. Rosemary wouldn't say anything back, much to Henry's displeasure. She had always wondered what it was with men, especially Tudor men, which made them all rile up to fight.
"Lady Brandon, pardon me for asking, but why hasn't your brother taken another wife?"
Rosemary hesitated for a few minutes.
Buckingham's dark eyes seemed to have intensified at his daughter's question.
And, in all honesty, Rosemary didn't know what to say.
But before 1509, the young Charles at the time had undergone an embarrassing marital situation which revealed his ambition and callousness. In 1505, he had become engaged to Anne Browne, a young woman of impressive lineage; her father was Anthony Browne, Governor of Calais, and her mother was Lucy Neville, niece of the 'Kingmaker.' Charles and Anne were betrothed per verba de praesenti, a binding contract under canon law. In such cases, there was no ceremony or witnesses; as one can imagine, this led to several unpleasant cases of men and (more rarely) women repudiating their betrothed if they lacked proper respect for church law.
Charles apparently did.
He and Anne slept together, as evidenced by the birth of a daughter in 1506, but he did not marry her. Instead, he married her aunt, a very wealthy widow named Margaret Neville Mortimer. The marriage was never taken seriously due to its mercenary nature and, more importantly, legal action begun by Anne's angry family. Eventually, the Mortimer marriage was annulled due to the previous contract and Charles married Anne in a well-attended public ceremony; which was greatly overdone in Rosemary's opinion. They had another daughter in 1510; Anne died just two years later.
By late 1512, Charles had recovered from his grief enough to contemplate yet another union. This was even more mercenary since his betrothed was an eight-year-old orphan. It was common practice for the Crown to assume guardianship of an orphaned minor child who had inherited property. The Crown then sold the guardianship to the highest bidder, often the child's own relatives who wanted to receive the property revenues until the child came of age and decide whom they would marry. Charles had been given the wardship of Elizabeth Grey, the heiress to Lord Lisle of Sparsholt in Berkshire. This, along with various offices, grants & pensions, was a mark of Henry's continued favor. In early 1513, Charles announced his engagement to the girl and, on 15 May 1513, the king created him Viscount Lisle, in right of his betrothed wife. Charles Brandon finally had a noble title and even more property.
That same year, the new Lord Lisle accompanied the king to France and also helped entertain the Hapsburg Emperor Maximilian and his twice-widowed, 33-year-old daughter, Margaret, Regent of the Netherlands. For Henry, the meeting was also a diplomatic necessity since, in 1508, his father had entered into a formal contract of marriage between his (Henry VII's) youngest daughter, Mary, and Maximilian's son, Charles of Castile. But over the next few years, little mention had been made of the contract. Henry used the visit to broach the subject; the end result was an agreement that Princess Mary and Charles would wed in 1514, after Charles had reached his 14th birthday.
Meanwhile, Rosemary's brother had made a fool of himself by flirting with Margaret, Regent of the Netherlands. There is little chance she truly favored Charles, and certainly none that she planned to marry him, but they flirted, Henry translating for his friend.
Once again, Charles Brandon was demonstrating his heavy-handed flair for the ladies.
In the end, he greatly offended Margaret by encouraging gossip about their meeting. In particular, it stressed her attraction to him and a possible marriage. As a Hapsburg Princess, she was not amused and Henry VIII was forced to make a public apology. But he was not angry with his friend; on 1 February 1514, he created Charles the duke of Suffolk, the title once held by the Yorkist de la Poles. He also received the majority of their confiscated estates. This elevation was remarkable; it meant that Suffolk was one of only three dukes in the kingdom. The other two were Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk (reinstated to the title after his victory at Flodden in 1513), and Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham and descendant of Edward III. Of course, many were surprised that a yeoman's son was now one of their greatest peers but Brandon's friendship with Henry explained matters. In Europe, it was said that Cardinal Wolsey and Brandon truly ruled England through influence upon Henry VIII.
Choosing her words wisely, Rosemary said, "My brother is getting older every day, he isn't looking for just a fling, Lady Buckingham, but a true wife – a woman."
Something Anna Buckingham surely was not.
Anna was only nineteen years old and although she was deemed a woman to society, she certainly was still childlike in her ways. Rosemary had, had her fair shares of flings in court when she was a young girl as well, but those days were put behind her now. She would take partners here and there whenever there was a party, but that was mostly it. It became tactless when women who were no longer spring chickens continued on with their elicit affairs.
Rosemary held no judgment towards Anna, for she was a pretty, young girl, but Anna was one of the many women of court that Charles would fuck and then soon forget their faces and names.
Knowing her brother like the back of her hand, Rosemary knew that Charles tried to fill the void of being a widower by spending all his time sleeping with the women of court. If Rosemary ever had a say in who her brother should marry then she would have picked her best friend Mary, who she missed dearly.
Mary Tudor, born in 1495, was the baby of the Tudor family and was widely considered the most beautiful princess of her time, which she was in Rosemary's eyes. Mary shared Henry's exuberance for spectacle and was the star of his court. Like him, she loved dancing, masques, and parties; they were also close emotionally. So when Henry told her that she would marry the widowed King of France, a man in his fifties with gout and a pock-marked face, she poured out her heart. Certainly she would do her duty as a Princess, she told Henry, but when the marriage was over, she wanted to choose her next spouse – and choose him for love alone. It was an extraordinary demand for any woman of that time but Henry VIII loved his sister and he agreed; partly because he loved her but also because he wanted her to leave for France peacefully and willingly; and also, perhaps more troubling, because she had confessed her secret love to him (and Henry, in turn, told Rosemary about his sister's confession about her secret love in private, surprising the youngest Brandon as well). It was none other than Henry's best friend and Rosemary's brother, Charles Brandon.
Mary had enjoyed unprecedented freedom at her brother's court, staying close to Rosemary to learn the ways of a courtier, but also basking in the attention that was entitled since she was the Princess. Just fourteen when her father died, Mary had spent the next five years virtually unchaperoned in Henry's hectic court, her brother and best friend openly encouraging her participation in every event.
In 1514, she was nineteen years old, very beautiful, and very willful. She had developed an attachment to the Brandon siblings, especially towards Charles; she had known them all her life.
Mary's attachment to Charles may have begun as a child's awe of a robust, attractive man, successful in all sports (so important at the Tudor court) and very charming. But it had changed into something more and, by 1514, most of the king's inner circle knew of her affection. There was no scandal, however. Mary believed her brother's promise and married the aged Louis XII at Greenwich Palace on 13 August 1514. The Duc de Longueville acted as the king's proxy in every respect; he even lay down on a bed with Mary and touched her body with his naked leg, thus 'consummating' the marriage.
Mary enjoyed herself at her wedding festivities and its attendant celebrations. It would have been impossible to feel otherwise. She had a splendid trousseau, marvelous jewels sent over from France, and all the honors due to the queen of France. All contemporary accounts remark on her great beauty, particularly her clear complexion and long red-gold hair, the Tudor trademark. Her husband was eager to see her, telling the English ambassador that he had many gifts for his bride and expected a kiss for each one.
Mary eventually traveled from Dover to Boulogne on 2 October, after waiting weeks for stormy weather to end. She actually left in the midst of more storms since Henry VIII had grown bored waiting for them to end. Upon her departure, she kissed her brother and reminded him of his promise about her future. Henry, eager to leave, committed her to God and her husband and left. There were fourteen ships in Mary's retinue but the weather was so terrible that only four reached port on time; the rest docked at various ports on the French coast.
Poor Mary, suffering from seasickness and constant rain, was carried ashore by one of her gentlemen, Sir Christopher Garnish. She had written to Rosemary all about her journey from Montreuil to Abbeville and contemporary chroniclers recorded her outfit; they were much impressed with her beauty and charm. She wore cloth of gold on crimson with tight sleeves in the English style and a hat of crimson silk which she wore cocked over one eye. Her husband met her at a carefully arranged 'accident' outside Abbeville and, on 9 October, they married in that city.
Mary, who was still in France, wrote to Rosemary weekly; something the two friends promised to do.
"I'm sure the Princess Mary would be eager to stand by the Duke as his wife," Buckingham said, finally voicing his opinion on the matter; almost reading Rosemary's mind.
"I'm sure she would," Rosemary said, keeping her anger at bay. She reminded herself that she had to be smart and cautious when speaking to Buckingham. "My brother is one of the handsomest men in the entire western world. But the Princess has a duty that she is now fulfilling and we courtiers have a duty to keep our noses out of Royal business, right, Lord Buckingham?"
Rosemary bit the inside of her cheeks as she suppressed the smile that dared to creep onto her face as she watched Buckingham go red in the face. Maybe she could find some entertainment in the arrangement after all.
As the watcher called for "love", signaling Henry's and Charles's victory, Rosemary watched as Henry and Charles looked over at the three of them sitting in the stands. Their eyes lingered on Anna, who was watching them just as intently. Charles must have felt the holes his sister was burning into his face because he looked up and met Rosemary's glare. Her brother didn't even look the least bit bashful for being caught and laughed loudly when Henry whispered something in his ear.
Boys will be boys, Rosemary thought with a roll of her eyes.
"But maybe my brother has his eyes set on another for the time being," Rosemary said coyly, the smirk in her voice evident.
-Page Break-
"How could you agree to this?!"
Henry, who was taken by surprised by Rosemary's attack and sudden outburst, took a step backwards. Both he and Charles were well accustomed to Rosemary throwing things when she was upset.
"Out of all the men in court – in the world, you agree to me marrying Buckingham? Buckingham out of all people! What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Have you forgotten that he is your enemy?! No doubt he's using me to get to you. Please tell me you're not that blind."
Making sure she was finish, Henry said, "Hello to you, too, Rosemary. How is your day?"
Eyes flashing with annoyance, Rosemary stalked towards Henry and pointed her finger at his chest. "Don't play games with me, Harry; I'm in no mood for them."
"Really? You certainly had me fooled."
Despite the growing anger in her eyes, Henry continued to joke with Rosemary, knowing he was getting under her skin. Some said that the King and Rosemary absolutely hated each other and some said that they were like siblings. A silent majority of people said that they were actually in love and that they didn't even know it yet because they covered it up with their banter.
Whatever the truth was, the people doubted that they would ever truly know because one thing was for sure: The King and Rosemary enjoyed making the other angry. It was like a game to them with no end in sight. Of course there were lines that neither would dare think about crossing, but the two always walked away laughing, no matter how serious their fighting may appeared to have been.
"Is my life nothing but a joke to you?"
Henry tried, he really did, but when Rosemary looked up at him with those big blue eyes filled with anger and slight pain, he cracked. He hated seeing Rosemary hurt, everyone knew that. Those who hurt Rosemary not only suffered the wrath of Charles, but that of the King's as well.
Sighing, Henry shook his head in defeat. "The church has agreed to the arrangement as well."
"Buy why did you agree to it? I wouldn't have to go through with this if you had just said no."
Countless times before in the past men had asked for Rosemary's hand in marriage. They were all noble men and at that time Charles was not a Duke, so Rosemary knew that they were hoping to win the favor of the King by marrying one of his good friends; although Charles and many others said that it was her beauty alone that had enraptured the men. And countless times before Henry had turned all of them away. Like his little sister Mary, Henry wanted a suitable husband for Rosemary. One he knew that he could depend on and take care of her. So Rosemary was truly confused as to why Henry thought Buckingham was a suitable husband.
Making sure that the doors to the privy chamber were sealed shut, Henry guided Rosemary into a seat and sat down next to her. He took her hands in his and made her look him in the eyes so she knew he wasn't lying.
"There have been rumors that Buckingham has been speaking of dethroning me and taking the crown for his own."
"How?" Rosemary knew it was a stupid question, she wanted to kick her own self for asking such a thing, but she had to know that she wasn't the only one thinking of the answer. She had to hear Henry say it.
"By assassinating me," Henry said, his grip tightening on Rosemary's hands slightly.
Rosemary gasped and her eyes were wide. She had heard the people say that Buckingham was planning something – something along the very lines of treason. She had assumed that Buckingham had something up his sleeves, but she hadn't expected that it was to be something so extreme. She hadn't expected Buckingham to be the stupid to confine in other people about his thought as well.
"But that's treason," Rosemary said. "High treason, Harry. He needs to be arrested."
"With what evidence? There's nothing but words that can be held against him, Rosemary, and that's not very convincing."
Rosemary shot up out of her seat; her eyes frantic and filled with nothing but worry. "You're the King! The council will do anything you ask, you know that. Don't try to be the noble man here, Harry; don't be stupid. This man is talking about taking your life. This is serious."
"You don't think I know that?" Henry watched from his seat as Rosemary paced back and forth, possibly attempting to put a hole in the floor. "I have to be smart about this. My wife and daughter's life are also in danger because of Buckingham. I won't have them in harm's way just because I was impatient."
Rosemary bit her tongue before she said out of line about the Queen.
In his own way, Henry loved Catherine; Rosemary knew that, but she doubted that Henry would wallow in despair over Catherine's death. He would be devastated, for she was the mother of his beloved daughter, but he would get over it soon enough. Mary was another story altogether. She was the pearl of Henry's world, his little girl, and no matter how much Henry complained about not having a male heir; Rosemary knew that Henry absolutely adored Mary. His whole face would light up whenever she would visit him in court and his entire demeanor would change from being Henry VIII, King of England to just plain ole' Henry Tudor, proud father of an adorable little girl. Everyone knew that Henry loved Mary with all his heart and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to her just because of him.
"So you're going to sacrifice me instead?" Tears gathered in Rosemary's eyes, threatening to fall, but she wouldn't allow them to. "Am I not your family, too?"
Once again Henry cracked.
He didn't know how Rosemary did that.
He stood up from his seat and gathered Rosemary into his arms. It was rare for the two to show affection so freely, but it would happen every once in a blue moon. There were times growing up when Henry would comfort Rosemary, or where the roles were reversed. Neither would admit it, but they enjoyed the comfort and company the other person brought. They would certainly deny it, though.
Cupping her face in his hands gingerly, Henry wiped the tears that had escaped away. He hated seeing the tears there. They made her clear, blue eyes look like broken glass.
"You are my family, Rosemary, even if we do bicker like school children. You have been a part of my life for so long that I cannot think of a life without you; it's impossible. I would never give you off to a man who I could not protect you from. Buckingham may be richer than I am and may be able to command his own army, but for as long as I am King I will protect you from him. If he even dares to think about raising a hand with intent to harm you then I will have his head for it. That I swear."
I will not cry, I will not cry, Rosemary chanted repeatedly in her head. I'll be damned if Henry sees me ball my eyes out like I'm some newborn babe.
"Why can't you always be like this?" Rosemary sniffled as she laughed. She knew Henry would hold this over her head, but she didn't care in that moment. "I like this you very much."
Wiping the few tears that did escape, Henry leaned down to kiss Rosemary's forehead. He pulled her into a tight hug once more to let her know that he was there for her.
"Lady Brandon, if you tell anyone that I was actually nice to you then you'll force me to tell everyone that you cried in my arms like a babe," Henry teased, smirking when Rosemary pulled back to look at him with a menacing, but not quiet intimidating look.
"Henry Tudor, you wouldn't dare!"
-Page Break-
After the jousting match, where Rosemary had unwillingly given Buckingham her favor, the court had moved itself into its usual jovial dinner. Rosemary had lost Charles in the crowd and had been swept up by Buckingham, who she had been trying to avoid.
She had been trying her hardest to be nice and sweet, but it was just so damn hard to do. Especially when all her fiancé did was talk ill about the King.
Rosemary had just spent the day with Buckingham and she was already sick of him.
"He has no right to any of this," Buckingham said, his eyes trained on the people below them. "His father seized the crown on the battlefield. He has no real claim to it, only through a bastard on his mother's side."
The Duke of Norfolk had accompanied the two for the night, as to why, Rosemary didn't know. When the Duke gave her a quick sideways glance she shrugged her shoulders gingerly and took a sip of her ale.
She wasn't the other man here.
If Rosemary could, she would have dismissed herself the moment Buckingham had caught her in the crowd.
"Your Grace's family is more intended," Norfolk said, although it didn't sound like he meant it. He was only trying to appease the scorned, slightly drunk Buckingham.
"I'm a direct descendent of Edward III," Buckingham exclaimed, startling Rosemary slightly. "This is my crown! This is my court! Not his crown or his court."
Rosemary and Norfolk shared a troubled look. People were already spreading rumors that Buckingham was talking treason, but of course no one had the balls to stand up and testify against the Duke.
That was Buckingham's greatest downfall, though.
He was too cocky for his own good. He may have been richer than the King, had his own army, but he always forgot one simple fact (which was shocking since he talked about it all the time): He was not the King. The late King Henry VII had worked hard to get all his alliances and treaties, and Henry was determined to keep and improve his father's success. There were many people who would either come to Henry's aid or give him some of their men to go against the Duke. Buckingham always seemed to have forgotten that outside of England, there were wealthier men.
"That's treason, my Grace."
Norfolk looked up at Rosemary with surprise. He hadn't anticipated for her to say what they both had been thinking, but then again, she was a Brandon. Like her brother, Rosemary was witty, coy and got straight to the point.
No one knew if that trait was a blessing or a curse yet.
Rosemary didn't know what had possessed her to open her mouth and speak her mind, but it was too late to take it back now. She blamed it on Henry, though. In Rosemary's mind no one, and she meant no one, could speak poorly of Henry expect for her. He was her Harry, no matter what. It was quiet justifiable in her opinion.
Buckingham's eyebrows pulled down; his eyes wide open with a glare full of outrage. His lips were tightly closed with the red margins of his lips becoming narrower and his lips became thinner. His dark brown eyes turned into nothing but blackness and Rosemary knew she had messed up.
She had spoken out of turn in the presence of not only her fiancé, but in front of another Duke. And even if she didn't like Norfolk all too much, she knew it didn't matter to her fiancé. She knew that Buckingham didn't truly here her words. All he heard was the woman who would soon be his wife speak out of turn, disobediently.
Buckingham stepped towards her and she took a step back, almost bumping into Norfolk. She gulped when Buckingham's large frame practically engulfed her tiny one.
His arm shot out, the one not holding his drink, and he gripped tightly on her forearm. She whimpered when she felt his fingers indent her skin painfully, knowing that there was going to be a bruise there in the morning. He dragged her closer until their noses were touching.
To anyone from afar it would appear like they were a couple stealing a few kisses from one another, but no one was able to see the tears that had begun to gather in Rosemary's eyes from the intense pain her arm was in.
"It's. The. Truth," Buckingham spat, talking slowly as if thought Rosemary was a small child incapable of understanding what he said. "And one day I'll make it come true. Do you understand me, woman?"
Rosemary nodded her head frantically, still trying to get her arm out of Buckingham's grasp. She sobbed lightly when it felt like her bones were bending under the pressure he was applying. She quickly lowered her eyes in a submissive fashion not only to please Buckingham, but to ignore the sinister look in his eyes. It made her stomach churn.
Buckingham let go of Rosemary as if though she disgusted him, which she probably did. Norfolk caught her as she tripped over her feet as she tried to get her bearings. Her drink had fallen to the ground, but she wasn't worried about that. Her now free hand quickly went up to the area Buckingham had grabbed her at and tried to the sooth the pain away. She bit back a whimper when she lightly applied pressure.
"Are you alright, Lady Brandon?"
Rosemary had completely forgotten about the Duke of Norfolk as she kept her eyes trained on her fiancé.
They both watched Buckingham walk through the crowd as if though he was the King. He practically stopped in front of people just so they would kiss his ring and show him the respect he thought he deserved. He made his way to the exit, which was also the entrance, most likely to check on his daughter. Anna had disappeared for the night, which was quiet odd. No doubt Buckingham was cornered for his daughter.
Rosemary wondered if she could ever be happy being married to Buckingham. She worried that if she couldn't find some happiness in the marriage then she would go mad, and that made her paranoid and a bit suicidal in her mind as well.
It was a cycle she realized.
A cycle of insecurities, unconfident, fear and second thoughts.
And it would – if it hadn't already started – destroy her.
-Page Break-
"You did what?"
Charles chuckled lightheartedly and scratched the back of his head. "She gave me her consent."
"And that makes it better how?"
"I didn't rape her."
"I doubt that matters to Buckingham."
Charles watched as his little sister's fingers twitched; a sign that she was looking for something to throw at his head and he knew it would be something heavy.
Moving to pour himself a drink, Charles cockily said, "I doubt Harry would listen to Buckingham."
Rosemary threw her arms in the air in a dramatic fashion and rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes; let's have Harry take care of all the fathers and husbands who wish to have you banished, of worse – dead. Because not only is he the King, but our best friend, too."
God, she wanted to slap that smug look of his face.
Charles was the complete courtier – athletic, fun-loving, fashion-conscious, arrogant and unprincipled. Despite the generous gifts lavished on him by the King, keeping up his position at court meant that he was constantly broke. He also possessed an animal magnetism women found irresistible. His matrimonial life (whether it was his marriage or not) was a tangle of dishonorable commitments and desertions besides which even Henry's paled into insignificance. The King was so attracted by this macho, ebullient man that he was prepared to overlook on of Charles's failings – a state of affairs that encouraged Charles to push his luck to the limits.
And Rosemary certainly felt like wringing both their necks because of that.
It was a game to the two of them. Rosemary realized that years ago. Charles and Henry would always dare or bet the other to sleep with a woman and, of course, the other person would go through with the challenge. Rosemary remembered many heartbroken, embarrassed women.
And there was no doubt in her mind that Anna Buckingham was just another challenge.
A challenge Charles clearly had won.
"You slept with Buckingham's daughter, Charles." Rosemary scoffed, "My soon to be step daughter. Are you out of your bloody mind?"
"To be fair, she wasn't a virgin so I didn't take her honor. Someone else already did that."
I'm surrounded by fucking children, Rosemary thought. She knew Charles wasn't going to take this seriously. To him, Anna was just another fuck that he would grow board of within a week or two. It was always like that and Rosemary would usually turn a blind eye, but she couldn't this time.
This was concerning her fucking future step daughter for God's sake! She certainly wasn't going to become an aunt/grandmother – ever.
Shaking her head, Rosemary made herself comfortable on her brother's bed. "You just want to make my life more complicated than it already is."
Charles just chuckled and lay down next to her. He pulled his sister close, burying his nose in her hair. "It certainly has become a hobby of mine."
Playfully, Rosemary slapped Charles upside his head, laughing. She could never stay mad at her brother for too long, it was impossible. The two had always been extremely close, especially as children. There had been countless nights when one Brandon sibling would sneak off in the middle of the night and sleep with the other one. It was a habit they hadn't fully broken; only laying next to the other sibling unless there was something wrong.
Plenty of the courtiers knew of this odd behavior, but none dared to vocalize their opinion on it. Charles and Rosemary's relationship was something none even attempted to joke about. Everyone knew how close the siblings were and respected them because of their bond. They honestly wouldn't be complete without the other. It was like yin and yang.
When Charles tightened his grip on his sister and pulled her closer, he heard her hiss. It was a light sound, he knew she was trying to cover it up, but he had heard it nonetheless. It was then that Charles realized that Rosemary was favoring her left hand whenever she was doing something, which was odd considering the fact that Rosemary was right handed.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Try as she may, Rosemary wasn't all too good with lying to her brother. "It's nothing, just a small bruise. I don't even know how I got it."
To Charles, Rosemary was an open book, but an onion at the very same time.
Whenever he would turn to a new chapter in his sister's life, there were always more layers to get through.
Without any warning, Charles pushed the sleeve of Rosemary's nightgown up, revealing a nasty looking bruise. The bruise was etched in multitude of hues, colors that normally should not be on someone's skin. There were garish purple splotches, roughly the size of a hand, while some areas of the bruise were more grayish, but still looked just as bad.
And it practically covered her whole upper arm.
It was horrible.
And it wasn't just a bruise. There were scars, too. Lines across her body, like someone or something had dug its nails into her, tearing her flesh, making small half moons. Someone had torn their way into her skin, the gashes told the whole story. It was horrible; Charles could hardly bear to look at his little sister.
"Who did this?" He asked calmly, barely concealing the anger.
Rosemary didn't know what to say. A part of her wanted to scream that it was Buckingham, but another part of her – which was clearly winning – told her to keep her mouth shut. She knew that if she told Charles who had done that to her then he would fly off the handle. Her brother was never a logical thinker when it came to protecting his sister.
Charles usually did relatively well with controlling his rage. Many saw her brother always smiling and laughing, just having a good time, but Rosemary was one of the very few people who got to witness Charles losing his temper. It was a cluster mess of many different emotions fueling his rage, making him stronger in strength, too. When that happened, Charles senses of empathy and acknowledgement for the law went out the window, and he was just set on a pathway of destruction.
For it was Charles's habit of throwing things in a fit of anger that had rubbed off on Rosemary.
No one liked to see either of the Brandon siblings upset because everyone knew that the other sibling would have heads rolling until they found the one responsible for hurting their sibling.
Charles growled, "Who did this, Rosemary?" He was growing impatient with his sister, and although he had a good idea on who it was, he wanted to hear it from Rosemary herself.
Finally, Rosemary looked everywhere besides at Charles and mumbled, "Buckingham."
Cursing the Duke's name with every word he knew, Charles softly ran a finger of his sister's bruised skin. Buckingham was going to pay for this.
"That son of a whore," Charles said, echoing Buckingham's exact words that were directed towards himself just a few hours ago. "I should have his head for this."
Rosemary shook her head. "No, Charles, no. It's just a bruise, it will heal soon. Just forget about it. No one will even see it."
Rosemary didn't need nor want her brother to start a war over her. And she certainly didn't need Charles going to Henry about this. Henry meant what he said about protecting Rosemary and the King would surely have Buckingham's life for this small matter. Buckingham, like Henry, had many supporters and she didn't want England to submerge into a civil war over a bruise on her arm.
Seeing the silent plead in his sister's eyes, Charles sighed loudly. "Fine, I'll forget about it this time and only this time. If he ever places a hand on you again, you must tell me, Rosemary."
Rosemary nodded her head. She knew she Charles was serious. "I will, brother."
Buckingham was going to rue the day he ever thought he could harm Rosemary Brandon; that was for sure.
Softly rolling her sleeve back down, Charles gingerly hugged his little sister to his chest, afraid that if he held her any tighter she would shatter like glass.
As the two drifted off to sleep, Charles whispered, "I should have said that I did take his whore of a daughter's honor."
The last thing either of them heard was Rosemary's fits of laughter.
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