Until You

Chapter 15

The morning after Bessie’s natal day they laid Henry Bolton to rest in the family burial site next to his mother. Rosamund’s parents and brother were interred next to her grandfather. His son had not returned for his burial. Rosamund was very concerned that Henry the younger was in the vicinity and that he had seen Philippa. “Did you know,” she asked Tom, “that my cousin was with his father this winter past?”

Tom shook his head. “If I had, I should have called the sheriff,” he said. “God’s blood, dear girl, I could have been murdered in my bed, and none the wiser!” He looked distinctly pale at the thought. “I wonder that Mistress Dodger did not tell me, but then I saw little of her during the winter. I shall certainly speak with her when I return to Otterly in a few days’ time.”

“If they cozened her, or threatened her, you can no longer trust her,” Rosamund noted, “especially as my cousin is about. God! What am I to do, Tom? If only Patrick and I had been wed.”

“Do you still think of him?” Lord Cambridge wondered.

“He is never far from my thoughts,” Rosamund said softly, sadly.

“You will never forget him, cousin,” Tom said, “but you must get on with your life, for he will never be with you again, and you know that.”

She nodded. “I do, and yet I cannot help but grieve. But that grief I will keep to myself, Tom. My problem remains if Henry the younger still lurks about. What am I to do to protect Philippa? I cannot have her constantly dogged by men-at-arms, and I would not frighten her.”

Rosamund’s answer to her problem came several days later when a messenger arrived from Queen Katherine commanding her to court. She was astounded, for she could not imagine that someone as unimportant as she indeed was had been remembered. Certainly the queen had more important matters to consider. Henry Tudor’s adventures in France the year before and England’s great victory at Flodden had placed England clearly in the world’s spotlight. Even here in the north it was known that representatives from all the countries of Europe were arriving in London to present their ambassadorial credentials to the king. How had she been recalled in light of all of that?

“Does it matter, dear girl?” Tom asked. “This is the solution you sought. We shall go to court, and take Philippa with us. She has met Queen Margaret and her late lamented spouse. Now let her greet her own king and queen. Who knows what may come of it, Rosamund? I shall send word to have both the London and Greenwich houses opened and made ready for us. The trip will serve another purpose, for I would have you meet with my goldsmiths, and we must choose a factor to serve us in London. Our ship will be ready to be launched by next year, and by withholding our cloth this year we will build up our stock and increase the demand for it.”

“I will set the men to work building a stone storage house for us while we are gone,” Rosamund said.

“Then, you will go?” he asked.

“Of course I will go. I was not here last year when the summons came, and then the war came, making it unsafe for travel. I cannot afford to offend the queen or her husband. Aye, I will go, and taking Philippa with us is the best way to keep her safe from Henry the younger. But will Banon and Bessie be safe from him?”

“Philippa is your heiress, and it is she he wants,” Tom assured her. “If she is not here, then there is nothing here for him. Still, I would make certain Friarsgate is well guarded in your absence. I hesitate to suggest it, but I shall nonetheless. Why not send to the laird, your neighbor, and ask if you may hire some of his clansmen for the purpose of guarding Friarsgate, and your younger daughters? You may not like Logan Hepburn, but he is honest and brave.”

“I do not dislike the laird,” Rosamund said slowly, “and what you have proposed makes strange sense to me, Tom. But I would have you send to him.”

“I think it would be preferable if Edmund made the overture, as he is your bailiff,” Tom said.

“Aye. You’re right,” Rosamund agreed. “I should not like Logan Hepburn to get the wrong idea.”

Tom hid his smile, nodding solemnly.

Edmund sent to the laird of Claven’s Carn, asking that he come to discuss a matter of business to both of their best interests. To Edmund and Tom’s amusement, the laird returned with the Friarsgate messenger. They kept their humor from Rosamund, who had decided to allow her uncle to manage the negotiation. The three men sat in the hall of the house while the servants brought them ale, bread, and cheese.

“What is it I can do for you, Edmund Bolton?” the laird asked the older man. His eyes quickly scanned the room.

“Old Henry Bolton came with his ruffian son on our Bessie’s natal day. He interrupted the celebration. He wanted to make a match between Henry the younger and Philippa, something Rosamund had already told him was impossible. She told him again, and the old man fell into a terrible temper tantrum, which to our surprise, killed him on the spot. We buried him several days ago. Henry the younger, however, remains a danger to Philippa. Having been commanded to court, Rosamund will leave shortly with Tom, taking Philippa with her in order to protect her heiress. She means her daughter for better things, and being introduced into court is the first step.”

Logan nodded. “Aye, she is wise where the lassie is concerned. Friarsgate is no small inheritance. I see you have added Shropshires to your flocks.”

“We have,” Edmund replied.

“What do you seek of me, then?” the laird of Claven’s Carn asked his companions.

“We wish to hire some of your clansmen who might otherwise be idle, to serve us as men-at-arms in the event that Henry Bolton the younger and his friends decide to take matters into their own hands while Rosamund is in the south,” Edmund explained.

Logan nodded. “Aye, ’tis a wise precaution, Edmund Bolton. Now, allow me to make another suggestion. If Rosamund’s younger daughters are not at Friarsgate while she is away, they will be safer. I would gladly keep those two lassies secure from harm at Claven’s Carn. Henry the younger will never know or even consider the girls are so near, just over the border with me. And I will also lend you two dozen of my own people to serve you as men-at-arms. That should certainly deter the lady’s cousin from his mischief.”

“ ’Tis a brilliant suggestion, my dear boy!” Tom enthused, speaking for the first time in the matter. “Of course, we would send a lass or two with the girls to attend them, you understand.”

“Of course,” the laird replied, “but Jeannie, God assoil her sweet soul, trained me a fine housekeeper who keeps the servants in good order. Mistress Elton has granddaughters of her own. My house is well fortified. It has never fallen in a siege because our well is within our courtyard, as is our granary. I think the lady’s lasses would enjoy my wee son, Johnnie, and he them.”

“We must, of course, speak with Rosamund, Logan Hepburn,” Edmund said.

“I have not seen her since I arrived,” the laird responded, attempting to sound casual, but his tone gave him away. “I have news of the queen for her.”

“Go gently, lad,” Tom warned him softly.

“I am certain Rosamund will join us at table this evening,” Edmund answered. “We will discuss the matter further then, Logan Hepburn. It is a generous offer, and a clever one, too. It is unlikely Henry the younger would think to look to Claven’s Carn.”

“I do not know if I can sit at the high board with him,” Rosamund said when her uncle told her that the laird was with them.

“You must,” Edmund responded. “He has agreed to hire out his clansmen to us at a most reasonable rate, but it is his offer to shelter Banon and Bessie that pleases me greatly. They will be far safer from my nephew Henry at Claven’s Carn than here. At Friarsgate they could be kidnapped as they walked to the church, or played in a meadow or by the lake. If they are constantly guarded by men-at-arms it will frighten them, niece. Now, tell me why you will not face Logan Hepburn.” He took her hand and looked into her lovely face.

Rosamund blushed. “Now he is a widower, I fear he will begin again to importune me to marry him,” she said. “If I offend him, he could withdraw his offer of support.”

Edmund smiled. “Would it be so dreadful, niece, if a handsome man sought to pay you court? Forgive me, but Patrick Leslie is as dead to you now as Owein Meredith. You are fortunate in your memories, but you are yet young. Philippa is ten, and in a few years, too few I might add, she will be ready for marriage. You were willing to spend part of your year at Glenkirk as the earl’s wife. Would it be any different should you wed Logan Hepburn one day, Rosamund? At least he has an heir, and you know he has no designs on Friarsgate,” Edmund concluded.

She was silent for a long moment, and then she said, “I will come to the high board, uncle. More than that, however, I will not promise you.”

“Try not to fight with him, niece,” Edmund said with some humor.

Rosamund laughed. She could not help herself. “Very well, uncle,” she promised him.

Logan tried not to stare when she came into the hall. She wore a gown that matched her amber eyes. It was a simple dress that fell in graceful folds. Its neckline was low and square, but made modest by its soft linen pleating. The tight sleeves had little fur cuffs. The bodice was close-fitting as well. An embroidered girdle hung from her waist. Her auburn head was bare, and she wore her hair in two simple plaits.

“Good evening, Logan Hepburn,” she greeted him. “Thank you for coming to our aid once again.”

“Henry the younger is ever a trial to Friarsgate, isn’t he?” the laird teased her.

She smiled. “I can but hope I do not have to spend my life quarreling with him as I did his father,” Rosamund said. “Please sit down, here on my right hand,” she invited.

He obliged her, seating her first before taking his own place.

“I am sorry about your wife,” Rosamund told him. “And to lose a bairn, as well. If I had but known she was alone, I should have gone to her aid, Logan. I liked Jeannie muchly. How is your little Johnnie?”

“He thrives,” the laird answered. “She was a good wife, Rosamund, and I respected her greatly.” Then, after a pause, he said, “I am sorry for your loss, as well, lass.”

A spasm passed over her visage, but then she said, “Thank you.” Nothing more.

“I bring you happy news,” Logan told her. “Queen Margaret was delivered of a fine son, Alexander, Duke of Ross, on the thirtieth day of April.”

“How wonderful for her, and yet how sad,” Rosamund said.

“That is your birthday, isn’t it, lady?” he inquired.

“Aye,” she said softly, wondering how he had known it.

The meal was served. Of Rosamund’s three daughters, only Philippa sat at table.

“I am to go to court to meet the queen,” Philippa said. “I am now ten.”

“A perfect age to meet a queen,” he said with a small smile. She was a charming miniature of Rosamund, he thought.

“I was nine when I met Queen Margaret and King James, he who was slain at Flodden,” Philippa replied. “My mother says he was a good king.”

“God’s blood!” Tom swore, and then he said to Philippa, “You must not say that when we visit the English court, dear child. Speak of the king’s sister, the Regent of Scotland, if you must, but say naught about Jamie Stewart.”

“Why not?” Philippa demanded to know.

“Because,” her mother said, “these two kings were enemies. It is ill-advised to praise a man’s enemy before him, Philippa. Do you understand?”

“Why were they enemies?” Philippa answered her mother with another question.

“England and Scotland have been enemies since time immemorial,” Rosamund responded.

“Why?” Philippa persisted.

“I am not really certain,” Rosamund said honestly.

“But you visited King James’ court, and I know you did not think him your enemy. And if the Scots are our enemies, why is the lord of Claven’s Carn at our table this night, mama? And why is he protecting Banon and Bessie when we are away if he is our enemy?”

Tom chuckled.

“Your daughter is no fool, madame,” the laird of Claven’s Carn noted.

“Sometimes I think Philippa too wise for her own good,” Rosamund said quietly. Then she turned back to her child. “The English and the Scots in the borders sometimes have a different relationship than others of our race, Philippa. I cannot really give you a good explanation for it. Queen Margaret was my friend at her father’s court when I was growing up, but you know that. My friend asked me to visit her, and as there was no war between our countries then, I went. I should go again if she asked me. As for the Hepburns of Claven’s Carn, they have been our neighbors forever. I do not believe we have ever fought each other. Uncle Tom will be with us at court. Edmund is too old to mount a strong defense of Friarsgate, although I know he would try if asked, but I will not ask it of him. The laird has kindly offered to protect your sisters, and I am grateful for his offer. I will accept it gladly. The only thing separating England and Scotland in this particular matter is an invisible border, Philippa. But if it is invisible, then we cannot see it and so it is not there. The Hepburns are our neighbors. They are good neighbors.”

“Thank you, madame,” Logan said.

She nodded in reply, and for a moment she grew breathless. She had forgotten that his eyes were so blue-blue.

“Am I to understand that your lasses will come to me?” he said carefully, not wanting to press her in any manner. Tom had warned him to go gently.

“Did I not make myself clear in the matter, my lord?” she asked him, a trifle irritated.

“I would not presume, madame, which is why I query you,” he told her, and his eyes were dancing.

Rosamund felt her cheeks growing warm with a memory. Once she had indeed accused him of presuming when he had said he but assumed. She looked directly at him, and to her surprise, her heart began to hammer again. What the hell was the matter with her? “Yes,” she said, “I should like you to keep Banon and Bessie at Claven’s Carn while I am away, my lord. And I thank you for your kindness in offering my daughters your protection.”

Still seated, he bowed from the waist. “I am glad to be of some service to you, madame,” he told her, his face impassive, his tone mild. “I think it might be best if I took them back with me tomorrow. It is not likely your unpleasant cousin has gotten his thoughts or his men together yet. I realize it is short notice, but your daughters’ safety must be our first consideration. And in addition to the men-at-arms I shall loan you, I shall also send my men to escort you south. With Henry the younger skulking about, you cannot be certain any men-at-arms you hire will not be subverted by false promises. They will not wear their plaids, and to an untrained ear, a Scots borderer and an English borderer sound much alike. They will claim to be your own Friarsgate folk.”

“That is very generous of you, Logan Hepburn,” Rosamund exclaimed.

“It is brilliant!” Thomas enthused.

“Indeed it is,” Edmund agreed.

“With your permission, madame, I can make it so,” he said.

Rosamund looked closely at Logan. There was absolutely no mockery in his tone or his attitude. She nodded. “Aye, I would be glad to have your men protecting me. I will pay them the usual rate for hired men-at-arms, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied. “They will all be grateful for the coin, madame, for it is not often they can come by a bit of silver.”

The meal over, Rosamund arose from the table. “I must go and see that Banon and Bessie’s belongings are packed for the morrow.” She hurried from the hall.

When she had gone, Philippa said, “You like my mother, don’t you, Logan Hepburn?”

He turned his blue eyes to meet her gaze. “Aye, I have always liked your mother, lass.”

Philippa was very curious. “When did you first meet her?”

“I first saw your mother when she was Bessie’s age,” he answered her.

“She was married to Hugh Cabot, then, was she not?”

“Not the summer I first saw her, but soon afterwards,” he told the girl, looking to Edmund and Tom for guidance, but they said nothing, nor gave any indication that he should cease his tale. “Then, when your mother was widowed, I came courting, but she had gone to court. And when she returned she was betrothed and about to wed with your good sire, Owein Meredith. And sadly, she was widowed again.”

“Why didn’t you come courting then, my lord?” Philippa pressed him.

“I did, but I did not approach your mother properly. She turned me away and went up to Edinburgh,” he explained.

“And she fell in love with Uncle Patrick. But he has forgotten her now. She is always very sad, my lord. Do you wish to court her again?”

Logan heard his two male companions chuckle softly. He swallowed hard, not quite certain what he should say, but Philippa was not going to be denied an answer. She stared directly at him, her head cocked to one side questioningly. “Aye,” he told the little girl. “I should very much like to court your mother and marry her, lass, but she is a prickly creature, and I must move carefully this time, for I do not want to lose her again. You must not tell her this, Philippa. Do you understand why?”

Philippa nodded. “I will try to see she contracts no involvements while we are visiting King Henry, my lord. My sisters and I are in agreement that mama is happier with a good husband than without one. We think that you should do very well as our stepfather, if, of course, you are in agreement.”

Astounded, he nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said.

“Then, it is settled,” Philippa told him, and she arose from the high board. “Mama will need my help. I shall leave you gentlemen now.” And she glided from the hall with far more elegance than most girls her age had.

Tom and Edmund burst out laughing, and the two men laughed until their eyes watered, and their sides ached.

“She has far more presence at ten than my own poor Jeannie did at eighteen,” the laird of Claven’s Carn said when his companions finally ceased their laughter. “God’s blood! I hope she will not tell Rosamund of our conversation.”

“She won’t,” Edmund assured him. “She is much like her great-grandmother. My father’s wife was a woman of much good sense who liked to have her life and the lives of those about her well ordered. Philippa is the same. She may look like her mother, but she is nothing like her in character. She will keep this conversation that you have had to herself until she feels the time is right to reveal it. If indeed she ever does.”

“She is an unusual little lass,” Logan said.

Edmund arose from the table. “Come with me, Logan Hepburn, and I will show you where you are to sleep this night. Good night, Tom.”

Lord Cambridge stood up. “Good night, Edmund. Logan,” he said, and he strolled off to find his own bed.

In her rooms, Rosamund had gathered her two younger daughters to her and explained that they would be going to Claven’s Carn for a visit. “The poor laird is very lonely without his wife, and you will have his little lad to play with, my darlings.”

They nodded, not objecting, but they knew the truth, for Philippa had told it to them earlier. She had also told them not to say anything to their mother, for it would but distress her to learn that they knew. “She thinks we are still babies,” Philippa had said.

When she had tucked her daughters into their beds, Rosamund went to help with the packing. Maybel was already gathering what Banon and Bessie would need.

“I am frankly surprised at your good sense in allowing Logan Hepburn to watch over the lasses,” she said bluntly to Rosamund.

“I had to put aside my own feelings and think of what is best for my daughters,” Rosamund answered her.

“So,” Maybel pounced, “you have feelings for the laird!”

“He still irritates me, if that is what you mean,” Rosamund said shortly, “but not so much tonight, perhaps. He was thoughtful and careful in his speech with me. I could not fault him at all.”

“Mayhap he has changed,” Maybel suggested.

“Men rarely change after a certain age,” Rosamund said dryly.

“But that young wife of his, God assoil her soul,” Maybel said, crossing herself, “may have taught him better. He did not love her, but it is said he liked her well enough.”

“You are getting as bad as Tom with all your gossip,” Rosamund laughed, teasing her old companion.

“I cannot believe that you are going away again,” Maybel replied. “You never relished all this traveling about before. Now suddenly you are home but a short time and then you are off again. I like it not!”

“I should have been perfectly content to spend the rest of my life at Friarsgate, Maybel. I have had more than enough of adventuring, but I cannot ignore a royal summons, can I?”

“But why has Queen Katherine summoned you? The friendship between you is nowhere near that of your friendship with Queen Margaret,” Maybel noted. “Queen Katherine does not need you as she once did when you were girls.”

“The summons may have the queen’s signature, but it comes from the king, I am most certain,” Rosamund said. “The English ambassador in San Lorenzo thought he recognized me. We had never met, but he had indeed seen me at court when I last visited. Tom tells me he has returned to England. He probably remembered who I was and told the king. Henry Tudor would have certainly been curious as to what I was doing in San Lorenzo last winter with a Scottish lord. His curiosity is such that he will not be satisfied until he knows the answer to that question.”

“But he is a mighty king,” Maybel said. “All of Europe is at his feet right now. He has won great victories in France and broken Scotland’s spirit at Flodden. Why should he care about the answer to such a question, Rosamund?”

“Because we were once friends, Maybel. He will want to assure himself that I have not betrayed him in any way. Everything like that matters to him. The smallest detail or fact consumes him. It is his way.”

“Will you tell him of the Earl of Glenkirk?” she asked.

“I have no choice, for Lord Howard will have certainly told him,” Rosamund answered her.

“Could you not send him a message explaining?” Maybel queried.

Rosamund laughed. “I wish I could,” she said. “But the king will want to look into my face, into my eyes, as I relate my tale. It is the only way he can be certain that I am still loyal to him. Henry Tudor is a jealous man, Maybel.”

“It seems to me,” Maybel muttered, “that he has changed little from that boy who attempted to seduce you beneath his own grandmother’s nose.”

“Oh, he has indeed changed, Maybel. Power and wealth have brought about that change. He wields both mightily, even if beneath the surface he is still that bad boy,” Rosamund said quietly.

Maybel sighed. “I don’t like your going,” she said.

“Nor do I, but to disobey a royal summons would bring dire consequences upon Friarsgate, and I have spent my entire life watching over my lands. I do not want to be forced into another arranged marriage with one of the king’s men; nor do I want Philippa endangered. I will go. Besides, Tom will be with me, and you know how much he can amuse the king and queen. I will be all right.”

In the morning the laird of Claven’s Carn prepared to take Rosamund’s daughters with him over the border into Scotland. They met unexpectedly in the Great Hall before the others had assembled. She had just come from the mass.

“I am glad we are alone,” he said. “I wanted to assure you that I will guard the lasses as if they were my own, Rosamund.”

“I know you will,” she said. Her insides were melting at the sight of those blue-blue eyes as he looked at her.

“When will you return?” he asked softly.

“I do not know,” she responded honestly. “I do not really enjoy King Henry’s court, but I cannot refuse my own queen’s call. I suspect the king has learned of my sojourn in San Lorenzo and wants an explanation. Henry Tudor is a suspicious man, always seeing demons where there are none to be found.”

Logan nodded, understanding. Then he said, “Rosamund, I do not always speak with delicacy, but might I humbly request that you contract no alliances while you are away. I should like, nay, I should enjoy, the opportunity to become your friend when you return.”

“My friend?” She looked at him askance.

He flushed, realizing what he had said might easily be misconstrued. “Your friend,” he repeated. “And perhaps a friendship between us could lead to a…” he hesitated, afraid to say the word lest he frighten her off for good.

“You wish to court me with an eye towards marriage?” she asked frankly.

“Aye!” And his look was one of such relief that she laughed.

“Then I will contract no unions while I am away, Logan, but other than that I make you no promises. Do you understand me? I am still not certain that I will marry again.” The smile she gave him was tremulous and brief.

He wanted to say that she had shown no hesitation with Lord Leslie, but he did not. He remembered seeing them together at Stirling. He had never in his life beheld such raw and unbounded love as they had exhibited for each other. He had never imagined love like that existed. But even if she never loved him like that, he knew he wanted her as he had always wanted her. He would accept what she had to give, if indeed there was anything left in her heart. “I understand,” he told her. “I ask nothing, and you render me no promise. We shall begin anew, and perhaps something good may come of it, Rosamund.”

The hall began to be peopled now with servants, and the children came, eager and excited, running to Logan and bidding him a good morning. Rosamund was touched by the sight of it. Her daughters obviously liked the Scotsman, and that was to the good.

“My lord! My lord!” Bessie was tugging at his sleeve. She was the daughter most like Owein Meredith with her soft blond hair and gray-blue eyes.

“Yes, Bessie,” he asked her, “what is it, lass?”

“May I take my puppy with me, my lord? The terrier that Uncle Tom gave me for my natal day celebration?” She was holding a small black and tan pup in her arms.

Logan leaned down, saying as he did, “He doesn’t look very big, Bessie. I suspect he won’t take up a great deal of room, and he would be very lonely without you. Aye, we must take him. Does he have a name yet?” His big hand stroked the pup’s head, and the puppy’s tongue licked at his fingers.

“He is Tam for my Uncle Tom,” Bessie answered.

“We’ll put him in a small basket, lass, and you will carry him yourself on your pony,” the laird told her with a smile.

“He is a very kind man, mama,” Philippa murmured, coming to her mother’s side. “I do believe Banon and Bessie will have a fine time with him.”

“Yes,” her mother said. Nothing more. She was suddenly seeing Logan in a new light. Perhaps Jeannie, God assoil her soul, had indeed civilized him.

After the morning meal they prepared for the laird’s departure. In the courtyard, the girls already mounted upon their ponies, Logan said to Rosamund, “I will return tomorrow with the men I intend to watch over Friarsgate, as well as those I choose to escort you south.”

“I would leave tomorrow, but I will travel only as far as my uncle’s monastery.”

“ ’Tis a good plan. Young Mistress Philippa should not be tired her first day on the road,” he answered.

She nodded in agreement and, looking about, said, “I see no one upon the hills spying on us yet.”

“Nay. I sent my men early to see what was happening, and as we suspected, your cousin hasn’t gotten himself together yet. I think we may both make our getaways before he is aware you and your daughters are gone,” Logan said. “I thank you for your hospitality, Rosamund Bolton.” Then he mounted his stallion and moved to the front of his men, and they moved off, Rosamund’s daughters in their midst, the cart with the children’s belongings and two servant girls following.

Rosamund waved to Banon and Bessie, but after a cursory salute the two little girls were more intent on what they perceived as the adventure ahead than their mother behind. Rosamund felt tears coming. “Oh dear,” she said, brushing them impatiently away.

“They are only going to Claven’s Carn, mama,” Philippa said. “You are not losing them forever, you know.”

Rosamund laughed a watery laugh. “Philippa, you have such common sense. I do not know where you got it from, but I am glad.”

“Edmund says I am like my great-grandmother,” Philippa told her mother.

They spent the day completing the arrangements for their journey. Several of Rosamund’s gowns had been altered and remade at Tom’s direction, so she would not appear unfashionable at court. Philippa’s gowns from the previous year at the Scots court were also remade, and a third gown was added to her wardrobe. The proper accoutrements and jewelry were chosen and packed.

“I wish I could go with you this time, my lady,” Annie said wistfully. She was again with child, and her son was not yet weaned.

“Lucy suits me,” Rosamund told her tiring woman. “You have trained her well, and you can be proud of your little sister.”

“But she gets to go to court,” Annie bemoaned her fate. “I should like to go again.”

Rosamund laughed. “There is no pleasure in all that traveling, as you well know, Annie, or have you forgotten so quickly?” her mistress teased her.

“Aye, I’ve forgotten the trial of travel, but I remember San Lorenzo in the winter sunlight, my lady,” Annie said wistfully.

“You have had the best of it, Annie. San Lorenzo and King Henry’s court, and King James’ court, God assoil his good soul,” Rosamund told her

Annie nodded. “I have,” she agreed. “Still, I should like to see Great Harry in all his glory. Will you remain long?”

“No longer than I must,” Rosamund said.

Annie closed the trunk holding her mistress’ gowns, which she had packed very carefully. “They say the lord of Claven’s Carn would court you if you would allow it.”

Rosamund shook her head. Why was it the servants always knew what you did not want them to know? “I am on my way to London, Annie. I have scarce time for a lovelorn Scot now, do I?”

Annie grinned at her mistress. “You was always one for keeping secrets,” she said.

“No one can keep anything secret at Friarsgate,” Rosamund replied with a laugh.

Logan returned the following morning bringing with him thirty men. “The younglings will remain at Friarsgate to keep it safe. The more experienced men I am sending with you,” he said.

“How are Banon and Bessie?” she asked him anxiously.

“Tired after their ride yesterday, but God’s blood, Rosamund! You have bonnie daughters. They’ve charmed my housekeeper already, and Johnnie is enchanted with them. He’s never had playmates before.”

“Is he like you?” she asked him.

“It’s like your Bessie. He looks like me, but he is his mother’s son, with Jeannie’s sweet manner about him. He may change as he grows older, but having never raised a lad myself, I don’t know.”

“If the girls become too much, send for Maybel. She will keep them in order. I thought it better she remain here, as her absence would be more quickly noted than my younger daughters’,” Rosamund told him. Then she said, “I thank you again, Logan Hepburn, for the hire of your men and your care of my girls.”

“I will anxiously await your return,” he said.

“I think I may miss your arrogance just a little,” Rosamund said to him. “You are so polite with me, it is if you are walking on eggs, Logan Hepburn.”

“I am,” he replied. “I am attempting to prove to you that I am not a rough borderer, a Scots scoundrel, as you once called me, Rosamund, that I am indeed worthy of your hand. If I allowed myself to revert to my former self, I should seriously consider preventing your going. I should sweep you into my arms and kiss you until you were weak. Then I should carry you to the church and have Mata marry us.” He smiled just a trifle wolfishly. “But you prefer a more civilized lover, so if I am to have any chance of winning you, I must be the man you desire. When we are at last wed-if you will have me,” he amended, “then I shall become the man you need, Rosamund Bolton.” He bowed, then bent, cupping his hands together to boost her into her saddle.

Rosamund settled herself, but her heart was hammering nervously. Yet when she looked down at him, her amber eyes were grave. “Yes,” she considered, “I do miss the arrogance.” And she smiled wickedly at him, gathering her reins in her gloved hand.

“Golden brown velvet suits you,” he murmured, taking her other hand and kissing it. “Give my regards to your uncle Richard, madame.”

“Be assured, I will,” she responded, and then she kicked her mount, moving away.

They traveled as far as St. Cuthbert’s Monastery, where Rosamund’s other uncle, Richard Bolton, was prior. They were welcomed into St. Cuthbert’s and settled into the guesthouse for the night. Prior Richard invited them to dine with him in his private dining chamber. She had not seen this uncle, Edmund’s younger brother, in well over a year.

“So, niece, while my brother has kept me well informed, I am surprised to see you once again journeying down to court. I did not consider you particularly interested in that sort of life,” the prior said.

“I am not, but the queen has summoned me, and I thought it an opportunity for Philippa to be introduced to her and presented to the king. In too few years, uncle, I must find a good match for my daughter.”

The prior nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Philippa is indeed growing up,” He turned to the little girl. “You have no desire to serve Holy Mother Church, my child?”

“Only in the capacity of a wife and mother, my lord prior,” Philippa answered him politely.

Richard chuckled. “You have done well with her,” he said.

“Edmund says she reminds him of her great-grandmother,” Rosamund answered him with a smile.

“Yes,” the prior replied thoughtfully. “Our father’s wife was a woman of good sense and good heart. She treated all her husband’s sons equally, though it surely must have been difficult, as Edmund and I were bastards. Still, she loved us the same, and she chastised us the same. Now, why has Queen Katherine called an unimportant northern landowner to court?”

Rosamund explained to her uncle why, she believed, she had been summoned.

“You must be very careful,” the prior advised her. Then he smiled at Philippa. “My child, go with Brother Robert. He will show you about my little realm before it is too dark. You will not have time in the morning.”

“If you wished to speak with my mother privily,” Philippa said, “you had but to ask, my lord prior.”

“I am asking,” he responded, not in the least ruffled by her boldness.

When the young girl had gone, the prior spoke seriously to his niece. “You were the king’s lover. He is bound to be jealous of your relationship with the Earl of Glenkirk. You must deal with him most skillfully if you are to escape his wrath, Rosamund.”

“Uncle! The king does not care about me. He simply wished to accomplish what he had earlier set out to do. But nonetheless, I know he will be curious as to why I was with Patrick. He will not be satisfied until he knows the entire story.”

“You had some feelings for the king, I am certain,” the prior persisted. “You have not the nature of a trollop or a courtesan. And he would have had feelings for you, for this king never does anything he cannot justify. Therefore, he will have convinced himself that he was in love with you, even if it was for only a brief time. The fact that you did not remain in love with him when you parted will be your greatest sin in his eyes, niece. You must be careful how you present your relationship with your earl to him. Edmund said to see you with Patrick Leslie was something magical. He said he had never seen such love between two people. I am sorry for what has happened. And there is no sign of his memories returning?”

“The Moorish physician said if after a year or more nothing had changed, it was very unlikely it would. At least Patrick remembered everything prior to his return to court. He did not lose everything,” Rosamund told her uncle.

Richard leaned back in his chair. “But you did,” he said.

“It broke my heart,” Rosamund admitted. “But life must go on, uncle, mustn’t it?” She smiled a small smile at him.

“The laird is after her again,” Lord Cambridge volunteered cheerfully.

“Tom!” She was blushing.

Richard laughed. “I am happy to hear it. Now, niece, all you must do is convince Henry Tudor that you are his most loyal subject and escape his clutches so you may come back to Friarsgate. I shall pray for you.”

“Your prayers, uncle, will be my shield against the king,” she told him.

In the morning they began their journey in earnest, traveling south deep into England. It was even more exciting a journey than her travels into Scotland, Philippa thought as they went. There were neat little villages and charming towns the likes of which she had certainly never seen. As she rode through England, Philippa began to realize just what being heiress to Friarsgate entailed. She suddenly understood the talk of a proper marriage. She was not some simple village maiden. She was the daughter of a knight who had been the loyalist of the king’s men. Her parents had been wed at a king’s command. And now she was going to court to be presented to their majesties, to be shown off by her mother and to attract a family with an eligible son. She might be only ten years old, but she was the heiress to Friarsgate, and in a few more years she would be ready to marry. Philippa sat her white mare proudly.

After many long days of travel they arrived in London and went directly to Lord Cambridge’s house on the river. Built of weathered brick, it was covered in green ivy and stood four stories high from its entrance to its gray slate roof. Watching them pass through the iron gates, the gatekeeper doffed his cap at them. They rode up the raked gravel driveway through the green park. The first week of June had already passed, and the air was warm.

The front door to the house opened as they approached it. Servingmen hurried out to unload the luggage cart as the majordomo, bowing, greeted them and ushered them into the house.

“My lord, we are relieved you have finally arrived,” he said.

“You received my messenger yesterday,” Tom said. “Did you send to the queen to say the lady of Friarsgate would arrive sometime today?”

“I did, my lord. The royal messenger came with a message not an hour ago. I have it here, my lord.” He handed Lord Cambridge a parchment.

“The men-at-arms are ours and must be housed and fed. Please see to it. And show Lucy where her mistress and her mistress’ daughter are to reside. The child is next to her mother?”

“Yes, my lord,” the majordomo said. “Everything is as you would wish it.” He bowed neatly.

“Come, dear girl, and let us show Philippa the hall,” Tom said.

“If it is the same as Otterly’s hall, uncle, I know where it is,” Philippa said excitedly, running ahead of them.

“You may know where it is, my adorable one, but the view! The London view is magnificent. Tell me if you do not agree,” he said with a chuckle as they entered the room.

The chamber ran the length of the house. It was paneled, and at one end there was a large fireplace with iron mastiffs for firedogs. The lead-paned windows running across one wall of the hall overlooked the Thames River. The ceiling was coffered, and multicolored carpets covered the wide floorboards. Enthralled, Philippa ran to the windows, staring openmouthed at the river with its busy traffic below. Rosamund found a chair and sat down, looking to her cousin who was even now opening the message from the palace.

“What does it say?” she asked him.

He scanned the parchment rapidly, then looking up, said, “Her majesty welcomes you back to London. You are called to court tomorrow before the noonday meal. It is not particularly informative, dear girl.”

“At least it doesn’t tell me to report to the Tower, Tom,” she teased him.

He laughed. “A bath! That is what I need. A bath. An excellent meal prepared by my own chef, and blessedly, my own bed tonight.”

“Mama, there are two boats at a dockage at the water’s edge,” Philippa said.

“They are barges, my daughter. The one with the blue velvet trappings is mine. They are made fast at a quay, which is pronounced key. London’s streets are narrow, and the traffic can sometimes be difficult. We find traveling by river to the palace far easier, quicker, and much more preferable.”

“Oh, mama, there is so much I don’t know,” Philippa said nervously. “Do you really think I am ready to go to court?”

“You are,” Rosamund assured her child, “but perhaps not tomorrow. Tomorrow mama must go and see what it is the queen wants of her. After I have done my duty, Philippa, then I shall bring you to see what court life is all about.”

“And once I have had a day there myself,” Tom chimed in, “I shall have all the latest gossip for you, my little one.”

Rosamund shook her head, grinning. Then she said, “Very well, cousin. Let us get down to business. Will you bathe before or after the meal? The poor servingmen will be run ragged bringing us both hot water.”

“Before!” he said. “I do not want the stink of the road interfering with my palate, dear girl. You, on the other hand, eat like the countrywoman you are.”

“I do not consider food a holy experience, cousin,” Rosamund told him.

They separated, Rosamund taking Philippa upstairs to her apartment. Lucy was awaiting them, and her enthusiasm at their quarters reminded Rosamund of Annie’s very reaction when she had come to court after Owein’s death.

“The majordomo said this little room is for me,” Lucy told them.

“Where am I to lay my head?” Philippa asked.

“Why, Mistress Philippa, you have your very own room. Come, and I’ll show you. It’s right next to your mama’s.” She led them into Rosamund’s bedchamber, and after going to a paneled wall, pressed a hidden lock allowing a door to spring open. “See! It’s your very own bedchamber, and you can see the river from the windows. And,” she continued, looking at Rosamund, “there is no other entrance into this room but through your mother’s chamber. You will be as snug as a birdling in its nest.”

Rosamund realized she had not seen this door before or even known it was there. There had been a tapestry covering the door. She wondered if there was such a room at the Greenwich house or at Otterly. Still, it was the perfect chamber for her young daughter to sleep in, and its decor matched the rose velvet of her bedchamber.

Several hours later, as the twilight deepened, they sat down to dinner in Lord Cambridge’s hall overlooking the river. The cook had outdone himself. There were large prawns in a mustard sauce and pickled eel. There was a capon stuffed with apples, raisins, bread, and sage; a leg of lamb; a game pie made with venison and another filled with pieces of duck in a red wine gravy. There was a small country ham and a platter of asparagus in white wine, along with bowls of peas and small whole beets. There was fresh bread, sweet butter in a stone crock, and several cheeses. And when the remains of the meal had been cleared from the table, a basket of fresh strawberries and a large bowl of thick Devonshire clotted cream was placed upon the board. Philippa was permitted just a small goblet of wine, not watered. She nursed it carefully.

Sated, Tom pushed himself back from his table. “An excellent meal,” he told his majordomo. “Tell Cook I said so.”

“Indeed, my lord, I will.” The majordomo looked to Rosamund. “Your bath will be ready in half an hour, my lady,” he told her.

“Thank the men,” Rosamund answered him. “I know the work involved in bringing the water upstairs, and I appreciate their effort.”

“Yes, my lady,” the majordomo said. From the beginning, the lady of Friarsgate had always been thoughtful of her cousin’s servants. She was a most unusual woman.

“I am so tired, mama,” Philippa said, yawning.

“Then you shall bathe first, my poppet,” her mother replied, “but bathe you will, for you have not had a bath since we departed Friarsgate. While many in the court do not bathe regularly, you will find the king has a most sensitive nose and is most put out when a courtier stinks.”

“What shall I do tomorrow when you go to see the queen?” Philippa asked.

“You shall stay in your bed, resting from our journey, and then you may walk in your uncle’s gardens. The river is a most fascinating sight, and you will enjoy it. Especially as it is summertime,” Rosamund told her daughter.

Finally the majordomo came to tell the lady of Friarsgate and her daughter that the tub was now filled and awaiting them.

“Good night, dear Tom,” Rosamund said to her cousin as she excused herself.

“Good night,” he called as they departed the hall. “Sleep well, cousin, for tomorrow you must be at your best.”

Upstairs, Lucy had scented the bath with her mistress’ white heather, and the room was perfumed with the smell.

“Help Philippa first,” Rosamund instructed her young tiring woman. Then she went into her bedchamber and sat in the window seat looking out over her cousin’s gardens and the river. Night had fallen, and she could but see the lanterns in the boat traffic on the water. She remembered the rather suggestive statues in the garden and smiled to herself. It was unlikely that Philippa would understand the nature of them, and she would be able to observe well the male anatomy, which would serve her in good stead one day.

Tomorrow, she thought. Would she see the king tomorrow? They had parted on good terms. She must assume that while he would be curious, and perhaps even angry about her involvement with the Earl of Glenkirk, he would forgive her if she asked him nicely. Nicely. Would it involve surrendering herself to him again, to prove not just her loyalty to him, but her devotion? It was disquieting to even consider such a thing, but she must look at her situation from all sides in order to be prepared for whatever was to come.

Finally Lucy came to her saying, “Mistress Philippa is tucked snugly into her bed, my lady. Will you bathe now?”

Rosamund arose from her place by the windows. “Aye, but first let me bid my daughter sweet dreams,” she said. She had not heard Lucy and Philippa come into her bedchamber to enter the child’s room. Now she clicked the small latch and went into the little bedchamber herself. The lock was most silent. “Good night, my darling,” she said to Philippa. “Dream only of good things, and may the angels guard you.”

“I will, mama. This is the most wonderful bed. Uncle Tom always has the nicest things about him.”

“Aye, he does,” Rosamund agreed. She bent and kissed her daughter.

“Mama? The king will be kind to you, won’t he? He won’t put you in the Tower?” Philippa’s little face looked anxious.

“No, poppet,” Rosamund assured her. “The king has always been most kind to your mama. I’m sure he will be again.” Then, blowing out the candle on the little night-stand by her daughter’s bed, she exited the room, leaving the door ajar in case Philippa would need her in the night.

Lucy helped her to disrobe, gathering her mistress’ traveling garments up carefully. “Some will need washing, others a good brushing, my lady. What will you wear tomorrow?”

“I cannot think,” Rosamund said. “Just hang my gowns in the garderobe. You pick for me, Lucy, and have the gown ready when I awake.”

“Yes, my lady,” the young tiring woman said. Then she helped her mistress into her tub. “We’ll have to do your hair tonight, my lady. It’s full of dust, and won’t show to its best advantage unless it is clean. You’ll want to make a good impression when you return to court. ’Tis said the king likes a pretty woman.”

“It is the truth, Lucy,” Rosamund told the girl. “But remember that such thoughts are not voiced for fear of offending the queen. Queen Katherine is a most genteel lady who expects decorum from the women around her. Long ago the king became involved with one of her ladies, but which of a pair of sisters no one was certain. Both were wed, and their husbands were important men with family connections. Both ladies were exiled from the court in disgrace, and the queen was most distressed. But worse, their husbands were embarrassed before their king. Pretty women must be most circumspect around his majesty.” Then Rosamund settled back to let Lucy wash her long auburn hair.

And when it was done and pinned atop her head, Rosamund washed herself quickly, for the water was beginning to cool. Finished, she stepped from her tub, and Lucy wrapped a warmed bathing sheet about her and then dried her with another towel. Still wrapped in the sheet, Rosamund sat down by the fire, unpinned her hair, and brushed it until it was dry. Then, after slipping on a clean lace-trimmed chemise, she left her dayroom where the tub had been set up and climbed into her own bed.

“Will that be all tonight, my lady?” Lucy inquired politely.

“Aye. Find your own bed, Lucy. You are no less tired than the rest of us. Good night,” Rosamund said. And then she closed her eyes. She was in London again. Something she had never considered. Tomorrow she would go to court and face the king.

Tomorrow. What would tomorrow bring? And why was Rosamund Bolton of such interest to Henry Tudor? Well, perhaps tomorrow would bring her the answers she needed. Despite her exhaustion she was restless for some time before she finally fell asleep.