Until You

Chapter 1

“Who is she?” Patrick Leslie, the first Earl of Glenkirk asked his friend Lord Grey.

“Who is who?”

“The woman who sits on the footstool at the queen’s right side,” the earl answered his friend.

“Ahh,” Lord Grey said, understanding at last. “The lady with the auburn hair in the green gown. She is the queen’s childhood friend, the lady of Friarsgate, come from England at the queen’s invitation. She is lovely, isn’t she? She spent a night at my home on her way to court, but I was not there, of course.”

“I would meet her,” the earl said.

“What?” Lord Grey chuckled. “You have shown no interest in a respectable woman in over twenty years, Patrick. And you could be her father,” he teased.

“Fortunately I am not her father,” the earl replied, a faint smile touching his lips. “Can you introduce us, Andrew?”

“I have not yet myself been introduced,” Lord Grey said.

It was the Christmas season. The two men stood among the crush of King James IV’s court in the Great Hall of Stirling Castle. The hall had been built by the king’s late father, James III. It had a hammer-beamed roof, large heraldic stained-glass windows, and five great fireplaces. Above the fireplace that was behind the high board where the king sat, hung his embroidered Cloth of Estate. The interior of the Great Hall was painted a rich lime yellow called King’s Gold.

The court of King James IV of Scotland was a very cosmopolitan one. At least six different languages could be heard spoken among the guests. The king was an educated man with eclectic tastes. He could speak on the most modern sciences and theories, architecture, poetry, and history. He was urbane and had great charm. And as well liked as he was by those who peopled his court, he was beloved of the common man as well.

The Earl of Glenkirk stared again at the auburn-haired young woman. Andrew Grey was correct. It had been years since he was last attracted to a woman like the lady of Friarsgate. He had been widowed for twenty-eight years, and when he had lost his wife, Agnes, he had vowed never again to kill a woman with the bearing of his children. Oh, he had enjoyed his share of mistresses, but they had been mostly for the release of his lust-though some of his mistresses had been his friends as well. They had all been women considered of low estate, not women from respectable families, who a man paid court to or married. His boyhood mistress, Meg MacKay, had borne his daughter, Janet; and his wife, Agnes Cummings, had given him his only son. The Earl of Glenkirk sighed, remembering these two women. Never since their untimely deaths had he looked at another woman as he was now looking at the lady of Friarsgate. The very sight of her stirred something in his heart he had long thought immune to such tender emotions. Was he being a fool?

“You really want to meet her?” Andrew Grey’s soft voice pierced the earl’s thoughts. “I know one of the queen’s ladies, Elsbeth Hume. I could speak to her.”

“Do it,” the Earl of Glenkirk said. “Now, if you can.”

“God’s foot, Patrick!” Lord Grey said. “I cannot remember the last time you were so eager over a wench.” He chuckled. “Very well. Come along, and let us find Elsbeth.”

They moved through the crowded hall until finally the lady they sought was found. She was a pretty girl with black hair and dancing blue eyes.

Lord Grey moved next to her and slid an arm about the lady’s waist. “Elsbeth, you adorable and fascinating lass, I have a favor to ask of you, my pet.”

Mistress Hume turned to look up at Lord Grey, her blue eyes twinkling. “And just what is it you seek of me, my lord, and what will you give me in return for this favor?” she purred. Her cherry-red lips pursed questioningly.

Lord Grey quickly kissed the offered lips and replied, “My friend the Earl of Glenkirk wishes a proper introduction to the queen’s English friend, the lady of Friarsgate. Can you aid him?”

Elsbeth Hume turned and smiled up at Patrick Leslie. “I can, my lord. Rosamund Bolton is a most delightful lady. There is naught high-flown about her, as there is with most of these English who come to our court. From the look in your eyes, I expect you would meet the lady sooner than later, eh?” She smiled mischievously at him.

“I would, Mistress Hume,” the Earl of Glenkirk replied with an answering smile.

“Come then, and I will present you. Your intentions will be as honorable as any man at this court, I expect. The lady, however, is no fool, and she can defend herself,” Mistress Hume said. “Be warned, my lord. More than one gentleman has felt the sting of her outrage when he exhibited bad behavior before her.”

She moved across the hall with Lord Grey and the Earl of Glenkirk following behind her. Reaching the throne where the queen sat, Elsbeth Hume curtsied low and said, “Your majesty, the Earl of Glenkirk would pay his respects to the lady of Friarsgate. May I have your permission to introduce them?”

Margaret Tudor, Queen of Scotland, smiled at Patrick Leslie and Andrew Grey. “You have our permission,” she said, wondering what it was the earl could possibly want. “We have not met, my lord earl. You have not been at court in my time here, have you?”

Patrick bowed with an elegant flourish. He might have been a Highlander, but he remembered his manners. “I have not, your highness,” he replied.

“What has brought you back to the court, then?” she queried.

“His majesty’s personal request, madame, although he has not yet seen fit to share his wishes with me,” the earl said. But whatever it was, Patrick considered, it was important to James Stewart or he would not have sent for the Earl of Glenkirk. The king knew how this earl felt about his court, or any other court for that matter. He did not share these thoughts with the queen, however.

“How intriguing,” the queen said. “I shall have to ask Jamie about this mystery you have provided me with, my lord.” Then she smiled at the earl. “You have our permission to make the acquaintance of our dearest friend, the lady of Friarsgate. Beth, you will make the introductions.” Then the queen turned away, her curiosity satisfied for the moment and her attention engaged elsewhere now.

“Lady Rosamund Bolton, Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk, and my friend Lord Andrew Grey,” Elsbeth Hume said, making the introductions.

Rosamund held out her hand to be kissed, and her gaze met those of the two gentlemen. Lord Grey took her hand, saluted it, and murmured, “Lady Bolton.” But when Rosamund’s amber eyes met those of the Earl of Glenkirk, she was overcome with shock. The green eyes locked on to hers, and he was not a stranger! She had known him forever, and yet she had never before this day seen the man. She struggled to maintain control over herself while the most disturbing images bloomed in her head, and when his lips touched the back of her hand Rosamund felt as if she had been scorched by a bolt of lightning.

“Madame,” he said, his big hand yet holding hers. His voice was deep.

“My lord,” she managed to say. She felt as if they were a single entity. Her voice was soft.

It was patently obvious to their two companions that something extraordinary had just happened. And though neither Lord Grey nor Elsbeth Hume understood, they moved away discreetly, leaving Rosamund and the Earl of Glenkirk alone.

Patrick tucked the small hand still in his possession into the crook of his arm, saying as he did so, “Let us stroll, madame, and we will tell each other of ourselves.”

“There is naught to tell,” Rosamund began. She felt better now that they were speaking than she had in the odd silence that had enwrapped them previously.

“You are English,” he said, “but not from the south, for I understand you too well.”

She smiled now. “My home is in Cumbria, my lord.”

“And how did a lass from Cumbria come to be Margaret Tudor’s friend? A good enough friend to be invited to King James’ court?” he asked. He shortened his steps to match hers, for he was very tall, and she, while not as small as the queen, was petite.

“When my second husband died, he put me into the care of King Henry. Not he now upon England’s throne, but his father,” Rosamund explained. “I was just thirteen.”

“At thirteen you had outlived two husbands, madame? Are you so dangerous, then?” he asked, and she heard the humor in his voice.

“I am twenty-two now, my lord, and have buried three husbands,” she teased him.

He laughed aloud. “You have children, then.” It was a statement.

“Three daughters. Philippa, Banon, and Elizabeth,” Rosamund answered. “They were born to me and my third husband, Sir Owein Meredith. I was wed first at the age of three to a cousin who perished when I was five. I was married again at the age of six to Sir Hugh Cabot, an elderly knight chosen by my uncle, who wished to retain control over Friarsgate. Hugh, however, taught me how to be independent and cleverly thwarted my uncle Henry by placing me into the custody of the king when he died. My uncle was furious, for he sought to wed me to his second son, who was but five. It was the king’s mother, the Venerable Margaret, and your queen, Margaret Tudor, who chose my third husband for me. Owein was a good man, and we were content together.”

“How did he die?” the Earl of Glenkirk asked her.

“Owein loved Friarsgate every bit as much as if he had been born and bred there. He had a peculiar habit of climbing to the top of each tree in the orchards come harvest, so that no fruit was wasted. No one else had ever done it. Usually that fruit was left to rot, or to fall and be scavenged by the deer. But he would not have it. He thought it wasteful. He fell from the top of one of those trees and broke his neck. A branch gave way.” She sighed. “I had lost our only son several months before.”

“I lost my wife in childbed, but my son survived,” he told her. “He is now a grown man with a wife of his own.”

“He was your only child?” she asked.

“I had a daughter,” he replied shortly, and his tone indicated he did not at this time choose to discuss it further. They had reached the end of the Great Hall. “Let us go out and view the night sky,” he suggested. “It is very clear, and the stars are always their brightest over Stirling on a winter’s night.”

“We have no capes,” she answered, but she very much wanted to go.

The Earl of Glenkirk snapped his fingers at a passing servant.

The man stopped. “Yes, my lord?”

“Two warm cloaks for the lady and for me,” the earl ordered.

“At once, my lord, if you will wait here,” the servant responded, and he hurried off. They stood silently until he returned a few moments later with the required garments.

The Earl of Glenkirk took a long nut-brown wool cape lined in warm marten and draped it over Rosamund’s shoulders. He moved around before her and carefully fastened each of the polished brass frogs that closed the garb tightly. Then he gently drew up the fur-lined hood. Each time their eyes met, Rosamund had this incredible sense of dйjа vu. “There,” he said and then, turning, took the other cloak from the servant. When he had dressed himself, he thanked the servant and took Rosamund’s hand to lead her outside into the winter gardens.

It was very cold, but the air was still. Above them the night sky was ebony in color and dotted with stars that twinkled crystal, blue, and red. They walked in silence until the lights of the castle were but glittering gold points and they could no longer hear the murmur of the many voices within the hall. Then suddenly he stopped. He turned her so that she was facing him, pushing back the hood of her garment, taking her small face within the enclosure of his two big hands.

Rosamund’s heart began to hammer with her excitement. Each time their eyes met it was as if this very moment had happened before. She could not for the life of her look away from him, and when his dark head slowly descended, his lips brushing gently over hers several times as if tasting her, it was she who cupped his head in her palms, and drew him down to kiss him hungrily. She shuddered as their mouths met that first time. Or was it for the first time?

Finally he drew away, saying as he did, “I am hardly a young man, madame.”

“I know,” she replied.

“I have seen a half century,” he answered. “I could be your father.”

“But you are not my father, my lord,” Rosamund told him. “You are older than Owein Meredith, but younger than Hugh Cabot. We are drawn to each other, although I do not know why or how this is. I know that you feel it, too, for I have seen it in your eyes.” She reached out and gently caressed his cheek. “So here we are, my lord earl, and what are we to do?”

“Will you believe me when I tell you that I have never before felt with a woman as I do with you, madame?”

“My name is Rosamund,” she told him, nodding. “And like you, I have never felt quite this way before, my lord.”

“My name is Patrick,” he answered.

“Are we bewitched, Patrick?” she asked him.

“By whom or what?” he wondered aloud.

She shook her head. “I do not know. I am new here and know few.”

“As am I,” he replied. “I have not been to court since I returned to Scotland from San Lorenzo many years ago.”

“San Lorenzo?” She looked puzzled.

“It is a small duchy on the Mediterranean Sea. I was sent as the king’s first ambassador to set up a friendly port where our trading vessels might find safety, water, and supplies,” the earl explained.

“Then you have traveled, Patrick. I have never wanted to travel, for I love my home. I always hated going to court. But now, suddenly, I am ripe for adventure.” She smiled mischievously, and his heart contracted almost painfully.

He reached out again and enfolded her in his embrace. “I want to make love to you,” he said softly. He kissed her slowly, his mouth demanding yet gentle. “I cannot believe I would be so damned bold with someone I have only just met, and yet I feel as if we have known each other forever. And you feel it, too, Rosamund. I saw the surprise of recognition in your eyes earlier. I do not understand it, and yet it is happening.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I do not know what to do. Do you? Should we follow our instincts? Or should we decide this is some madness, and part from each other? You must decide for us, Patrick, for I am much too afraid to do so, and I have never before been a coward when facing life.”

“Neither have I,” he said. “So despite what common sense would tell us, my fair Rosamund, let us follow our instincts and see where they will lead us.” He kissed her again. “Are you ready for the journey?”

“My family’s motto is Tracez Votre Chemin-Make Your Own Path. If we are to follow our instincts, my lord, then that is exactly what I shall do,” she told him, looking up into his handsome face. He did not look to her as if he had lived a half century, even if there were small lines about his eyes. And looking into those eyes she once again felt an overwhelming sensation of giddy excitement.

“So, dear cousin, this is where you have gotten to,” a familiar voice broke into her thoughts, into the privacy of their new world. “And who, dear Rosamund, is this gentleman who would drag you out into the cold night? God’s foot! I am frozen just seeking you, dear girl.”

She laughed as his voice brought her back to reality. “This, my lord of Glenkirk, is my cousin Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge. He escorted me from Friarsgate, and is, he assures me, enjoying himself immensely, having never believed the Scots could be so civilized, he says.”

Patrick knew immediately what Thomas Bolton was, and the irritating jealously he had felt at the arrival of the other man drained away. He smiled and held out his big hand to shake that of Rosamund’s cousin. “I saw her well protected before I brought her out, my lord. The sky above, however, is well worth it.” The earl drew up Rosamund’s hood again in a tender gesture. “We should nonetheless return to the hall. So you find us civilized, do you?” He chuckled.

“Aye,” Tom agreed. “Your court is much more open and less pretentious than our good King Henry’s court. Perhaps it is his Spanish queen who requires such formality. Your king, however, keeps a merry company about him, and habits here are far more relaxed. I am quite enjoying myself, and I am tempted to purchase a house in Edinburgh and here in Stirling.”

“Would not your king object?” the earl queried.

“Nay. I am not important to Henry Tudor. I am simply a rich man whose wealth comes from trade and whose title comes from the guilty conscience of a long-dead king,” Tom said with a chortle. “I am not considered important enough to be bothered with but for my connection with Rosamund.”

“Tom!” her voice held a warning note. “I have no importance in the English court but that I helped our good queen in her time of need once.”

“Poor Spanish Kate,” he responded, and then he turned to the Earl of Glenkirk. “There she was, dear creature, widowed by one Tudor and considered for another but that her father would not pay all her dowry. The old king was hardly noted for his generosity and would scarce support her. Her attendants were shipped home but for a few who would not leave her, wise creatures they were. They suffered for it though. They were all in rags and half-starved with the old king blowing hot and cold on the marriage. And then Rosamund learned of it. Spanish Kate had been her companion along with Princess Margaret when Rosamund lived at court. My good-hearted cousin sent little purses to she who is now England’s queen. They were much for her, but barely enough for the poor princess to keep herself and her few ladies for several weeks. It was gallant of her to do such a thing, and in the end she was rewarded when Spanish Kate finally became England’s queen. My cousin stands in the queen’s favor, my lord.”

“The queen believed she owed me a debt, which she did not, but has now been more than repaid,” Rosamund said quietly. “You are most voluble tonight, cousin.”

“I was concerned when I could not find you anywhere in the hall, dear girl,” he answered her smoothly.

“And what brought you out into the cold night?” the earl inquired, amused.

“I overheard one of the queen’s ladies saying she had introduced the lady of Friarsgate to the Earl of Glenkirk and they had left the hall together,” he replied. “You cannot deny me my curiosity. And there are others in the king’s hall equally as fascinated. I understand, my lord, that you have not been to court in many years.”

“I do not enjoy the court with its gossip and intrigue,” the Earl of Glenkirk said pointedly, “but I am a loyal servant to Jamie Stewart, and when he calls, I come.”

“Not another word, Tom!” Rosamund scolded her cousin. “And before you even ask, he does not know yet why he was summoned.”

“Rosamund, I am crushed, dear girl, that you would think me a common gossip,” Lord Cambridge said dramatically, his hand going to his heart.

“You could certainly never be called a common gossip, Tom,” she replied wickedly.

Patrick laughed. “My lord, when I learn of why I have been sent for, I assure you it will not be long before the entire court learns of it. I admit to being curious myself, for the king knows I am not a man of the court and that I am content to remain on my lands at Glenkirk. But he also knows my son is there to oversee our estates in my absence.”

“You have a wife, then, my lord?” Tom asked.

“I am a widower, my lord,” the earl replied, “or I should not have approached your cousin Rosamund. I am pleased to see what a gallant protector she has in you.”

Lord Cambridge nodded slowly. “Rosamund is dear to my heart, my lord. She and her daughters are my only living family. I should not like to see her hurt, you understand.”

“Of course,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly.

“Dearest Tom, I cannot explain to you what has happened,” Rosamund began, “for I do not even comprehend it myself, but we have always trusted each other. You must believe me when I tell you that whatever is to be between myself and Patrick, it will be all right.” She turned to the earl. “Will it not, my lord?”

“Aye,” he said, amazed to realize that he actually believed it. She did not know what was happening between them? Well, neither did he! He had walked into the Great Hall of Stirling Castle this evening and seen this young woman for the first time. And yet something within him had refused to believe it was the first time. And speaking with her he felt that he had known her forever. And he instinctively knew that she felt exactly the same way.

Tom could feel the magic that surrounded the pair, and it startled him. What sorcery was this? he wondered, and yet there was nothing dark in it at all. But at the same time he could feel himself almost fading into the background as the intensity between them began to grow once more. “I will bid you both good night, then,” he said as they reentered the castle. Then he hurried back to the Great Hall to consider just what was happening. He needed to get away from his cousin and the Earl of Glenkirk if he were to think clearly, for the atmosphere surrounding them was simply too deep and too ardent. And it was most disquieting, as well!

“Do you reside within the castle?” Rosamund asked Patrick as they watched Tom disappear.

He nodded. “I have been given a chamber for myself, as I am a guest of his majesty,” he told her. “And you?”

“As the queen’s invited guest I have been given a chamber, as well, for myself and my servant Annie,” she told him.

“We will go to my hidey-hole, then, madame, as I have no servant to dispossess,” he told her. “If your Annie is seen spending the night in another place, there will be gossip. I am not of a mind to share what is between us at the moment. Are you?”

“Nay,” she agreed. “Whatever this magic is, I want to keep it for ourselves, Patrick. For the first time in my life I am being selfish, but I don’t care!” Then she slipped her hand back into his and followed him as he led her down several corridors and finally up a flight of stairs.

He opened an oak door, ushering her into a simple room with but two pieces of furniture: a bed and a stool. There was no fireplace, and the room was cold. There were wood shutters drawn across the single window, but no curtains. It was spare, but they were unlikely to be disturbed. He laid his cloak upon the stool, then gently unbuttoned the frogs fastening her outdoor garment, and, removing it, put it with his own. Taking her face in his hands he smiled down into her eyes. “This is not fine enough for you,” he told her. Then he found the candle and lit it, before closing the door behind them and turning the key in the lock.

“Kiss me,” she responded softly.

With a sigh he complied, his chill lips warming atop hers. Rosamund slid her arms about his neck, drawing him closer. Her full breasts pressed against the velvet that covered his chest. Their kisses blended one into another until her mouth ached. Finally she drew her head away from his, saying as she did, “I can but hope you are a good lady’s maid, my lord.”

He laughed softly. “It has been many years since I have undone such finery, Rosamund, but I hope I may remember,” Patrick told her. Then he turned her about and began to unlace her bodice while placing small kisses upon the back of her neck. She smelled fresh, and of a scent he recognized as white heather. He put the elegant little bodice atop the pile of cloaks. Next he unknotted the drawstring holding her skirt up and let the heavy material drop to the wood floor. Then he lifted her from the velvet heap, setting her back upon the floor. “Now, what is that thing you have fastened about you?” he demanded, puzzled. Rosamund giggled. “ ’Tis called a shakefold, and it is used to plump my skirts out in a fashionable manner,” she explained.

“It looks dangerous,” he said. “Can you get the damned thing off without me?”

She unfastened the shakefold and stepped from it, kicked it over to the stool, where her other garments were piled. Then she added her flannel petticoats.

“Sit on the edge of the bed, and I will remove your stocking for you,” he said.

Rosamund sat, watching him as he first removed each of her square-toed leather shoes and then set about unrolling her wool stockings. When her feet were finally free, she wiggled her toes in an attempt to get some warmth back into them.

“Get beneath the coverlet,” he said, and then he turned away to undress himself.

She watched him in the pale flickering light of the single candle. He had lived a half century, he had said, yet his body was hard and firm. He was obviously not a man who was idle or lazy. His buttocks were tight, and his hairy legs long. His back was broad, and he was very fair of skin. Entirely naked, he turned about to enter the bed, and she caught a glimpse of his manhood. At rest it was large, and she shivered with anticipation, then blushed with her own lustful thoughts. What was she doing here, in bed with a stranger? And yet it was right.

He drew her into his arms, his fingers undoing the ribbons that held her chemise closed. When the delicate fabric spread itself open, he looked upon Rosamund’s breasts, and then his dark head bent. He rubbed his face against the perfumed skin, gaining the most intense pleasure as he did so. She shivered and held his head against her bosom, enjoying the act every bit as much as he was.

“I have never…” she began.

“I know,” he said, understanding instinctively what she was trying to say. He raised his head to look into her face. “I have conceived little of what has happened between us tonight, Rosamund. All I know is that you and I are meant to be together like this. You are not one of the ladies of the court with their light morals. This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you. There is yet time. If you wish to leave me now, you may go unimpeded.”

“I cannot,” she admitted. “I feel exactly as you do, though it be confusing to me.” Then she removed her chemise and let it fall to the floor. “I am a practical woman, Patrick, and have not garments to waste.”

He drew her back into his embrace so he might caress and fondle her lovely round breasts. He had never before seen such perfectly luscious spheres. Her skin was firm and silken to his touch. She sighed with her pleasure as his hands petted her tenderly. Singling out one breast, his head dropped. He rained kisses across her sentient flesh. His mouth fastened upon a taut nipple, and he began to suckle upon her eagerly.

Rosamund had always loved the touch of a man’s mouth on her breasts. She almost purred her contentment. How long had it been since she had lain in a man’s arms enjoying his attentions? It seemed like forever. Her fingers glanced over the nape of his neck. His hair was dark and just lightly sprinkled with silver. She entwined her hand into his locks, kneading his scalp with what became a growing urgency.

He raised his head, and his green eyes were glazed with his rising passion for her. He began to kiss her hungrily, their bodies twining and untwining with their lust. His mouth touched her throat, her shoulders, her chest. Their lips met and burned as they kissed seemingly without end. He could feel her heart beating wildly. The pulse at the base of her throat leapt like a netted salmon. His lips moved to her breasts again, then down her torso. Rosamund was making little mewling noises that alerted him to her pleasure. The white heather that scented her body warmed, growing stronger with her passion. It intoxicated him, and he could feel himself growing harder with his desire for her. He could not ever remember a time when he wanted a woman so very much.

“God help us!” she half-sobbed, and he understood her concern.

His fingers began to brush the curls on her mons. A single finger explored.

She whimpered softly, her thoughts jumbled. But then, for a moment her practical nature pushed to the fore, and again she questioned what she was doing. Yet when his long fingers began to brush the insides of her thighs with a seductive stroking, she felt herself concentrating only upon her need for him. But why him? Because it is he for whom you have waited, her voice within replied. “Oh, yes,” she said aloud, knowing, but not quite understanding.

The big hands caressed her, pulling her into his arms again, sweeping down her back to cup and fondle her buttocks. “I cannot get enough of you,” he said quietly. “Your skin is like silk. Your body perfection.”

“I need you inside of me, Patrick,” Rosamund heard herself telling him.

“I need to be inside of you,” he replied. Then his big frame covered her, the fingers of their two hands intertwining as he slowly possessed her.

She felt the lengthy hardness tenderly seeking entry into her body. He was bigger than the two men she had previously known, but Rosamund opened like a flower for him, absorbing his length within her love sheath until he filled her. Their eyes met again, as they had earlier when this madness began. She felt as if her soul were flowing into his, and for a moment she was frightened.

He saw the look upon her lovely face and quickly reassured her. “ ’Tis all right, my love,” he told her. “I sense it, too. We are one now in every sense.” Then he began to move upon her, and within moments Rosamund found herself lost in passion as they sought to satisfy each other.

Her eyes now closed, she was enveloped in sensation. The rhythm their bodies created overwhelmed her. She moved from delight, past pleasure, to pure, hot ecstasy. She cried out as stars and moons exploded behind her eyelids, her voice rising to a scream of utter satisfaction as her nails raked down his long back. The thrust and withdraw of his manhood did not cease. He drove her further and further, until her cries of gratification echoed again and again within the stone walls of the small chamber.

And his own shouts of enjoyment mingled with hers until, with an intense howl of triumph, his love juices gushed forth in a tremendous rush, flooding her body with their heat. With a groan of repletion he rolled off of her, pulling her into his arms as he did so. “I have no words,” he finally gasped.

“Nor I,” Rosamund sighed deeply. She had never, never, never, ever been made love to with such tender, such passionate, such fierce intensity. Owein had never taken her like Patrick Leslie. And as for Henry Tudor, his only desires were for himself. What just happened between herself and the Earl of Glenkirk had been achieved by the two of them together. There was almost something mystical to it. It was as if they had been together like this before. From that first sensation of sudden recognition until now, it was as if they were old and dear friends. Lovers.

“I cannot be parted from you,” he said quietly. His hand smoothed down her auburn hair.

“Nor I you, my lord. But shall I shock you if I tell you I do not wish another husband now?” She almost held her breath waiting to learn what he thought.

“I can understand your feelings, Rosamund, but someday you may change your mind. I, however, will not. Like you, I do not choose to wed again. I have a son, older than you, I suspect. He is wed and has sons. And there is the matter of why the king has asked me to leave my Highland home and come to Stirling.”

“I shall be your mistress, then, and gladly,” Rosamund told the Earl of Glenkirk. “Something happened tonight, my lord. You know it, and I know it. I suspect you do not understand what it is any more than I do. But there it is. Something deep within me knew you at first sight. That same something bids me stay with you for now. There will come a time when I will seek to return to Friarsgate. Or perhaps you will need to return to Glenkirk. And when that time comes, we will know it, and we will part again as we obviously did at some other time and in some other place. My poor cousin Tom will be most shocked, for this behavior is very unlike me. And there is something you should know. I have a suitor-Logan Hepburn, the laird of Claven’s Carn. He expected to wed with me on St. Stephen’s Day, though I told him nay. He will come to court seeking me and attempting to foist his will upon me. But I do not wish to remarry.”

“Do you become my mistress to thwart him, Rosamund?” he wondered aloud.

She propped herself upon an elbow and looked down into his face. “I become your mistress because I choose to be and because there is something obviously unfinished between us from that other time and place. You know it, Patrick!”

“Aye, lass, I know it,” he said. “I am a Scot, and I understand these things.” He reached up and pulled her down into his embrace once more, kissing her. “I loved you once, Rosamund.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “And I loved you.”

“I will love you again,” he told her.

“I know,” she said with a little smile. “I already love you, though it be madness to say it, Patrick.”

He laughed softly. “The king has the lang eey, or long eye as you English would say. I shall ask him about this wonderful insanity that has afflicted us, my love.” He drew her even closer and pulled the coverlet about them. “Will you remain with me?”

“For a little while, my love,” she responded. “My poor Annie will wonder where I have gotten to, and fret. She is one of my own Friarsgate folk. And I would prefer that what we have be between us alone for now. Soon enough there will be talk and speculation about the Earl of Glenkirk and the queen’s English friend.”

“You are very discreet,” he teased.

“I don’t want to be discreet,” Rosamund told him. “I want to shout from all the rooftops of Stirling that I am in love and am loved in return.” She chuckled. “People would think me mad, especially if they knew the circumstances of our love, my lord.”

He nodded. “I can hear the gossips now. There is old Glenkirk, come down from his Highland eyrie, and carrying on wi a lass young enough to be his daughter.”

“But there will be others who say old Glenkirk is a lucky devil to have such a lusty young mistress and keep her satisfied, too,” Rosamund teased him back.

He laughed. “I suspect you care no more than I do what people say, Rosamund.”

“I don’t care,” she admitted. “Once I might have cared, but no more. I have outlived three husbands. I have spent my entire life doing what was expected of me, doing what I was told, for I am naught but a mere woman. But I have given Friarsgate three little heiresses, and I have kept the land well and will continue to do so with the help of my uncle Edmund. Now I wish to live for myself, if only for a little while.”

“Tell me about Friarsgate,” he said.

“It is beautiful and fertile. The house sits above a lake. I raise sheep. We prepare our own wool and weave our own cloth, which is highly sought after by the mercers in Carlisle and the low countries. I have cattle and horses, as well. We are safe from our border neighbors because the land about my valley is ringed with steep hills. No one can steal our livestock because they cannot escape with it without being caught. I love it there! It is the best place in all the world, Patrick. Now, you tell me of Glenkirk.”

“It sits in the eastern Highlands between two rivers. My castle is small. Until I was sent to San Lorenzo by our Jamie, I was naught but the laird of Glenkirk. The king wished to honor the Duke of San Lorenzo by sending a nobleman, and so I was created the Earl of Glenkirk. We raise sheep and Highland cattle. I have two children: a daughter, Janet, and a son, Adam.”

“Yet you speak only of your son,” Rosamund noted.

“My lass was stolen away by slavers when we were in San Lorenzo. She was to wed with the duke’s heir. We had just celebrated the betrothal when she was taken. We tried to regain her custody, but could not.” His face wore an expression of intense pain. “I cannot speak of it, Rosamund. Please understand and ask me no more.”

She kissed him tenderly. “I understand,” she said.

For a moment all was silent in the chamber, and then the earl said, “Tell me of this Logan Hepburn who pursues you.”

“A most irritating man,” Rosamund replied. “He claims to have been in love with me since I was six years of age. He says he saw me at a cattle market at Drumfie with my uncle. He appeared at Friarsgate just before I wed with my Owein. He had, he said, come courting. I told him I was to marry, and then the bold creature showed up at my wedding with his brothers and their pipes! They brought whiskey and salmon. I should have sent him packing then and there, but Owein found it amusing. After Owein’s death, Queen Katherine asked me back to court. She thought to cheer me, though if the truth be known I hated to leave my home and could scarcely wait to return. And when I did, there was Logan Hepburn! He announced we were to wed on St. Stephen’s day, and he would come for me then.”

“He’s a bold fellow,” the earl said thoughtfully.

“He is irritating and brash,” Rosamund said heatedly. “Thank God your queen sent me an invitation to come to this court. I should have had to fortify my house to keep that damned borderer out. He wants a son and an heir of me. Well, he had best find someone more willing, for I will not be broodmare to his stallion!” Then her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Patrick! What if…”

“There is no possibility, lass,” he told her. “Before I returned home from San Lorenzo, I contracted an illness. My face blew up like a sheep’s bladder, and my manhood ached and burned by turns. The old woman who nursed me told me that my seed would be barren from that point on. I have had several mistresses in the intervening years, and none has claimed a bairn by me. I have never cared until now, though I swear I do not consider you a broodmare to my stallion,” he finished with a small smile.

She giggled, and reaching down, stroked his now-flaccid rod. “You do, however, my lord, have some most impressive stallionlike qualities.” Her fingers teased his length and found their way beneath to fondle his twin pouches.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensations she was engendering with her daring play. “I had been told you English were cold creatures,” he bedeviled her wickedly.

“Whoever gave you such an idea, my lord?” she murmured, and then she squeezed him, causing him to groan with his budding arousal.

“I cannot remember, madame, but I am relieved to learn it a lie,” the earl said.

“I suspect his majesty could tell you that. It is said King Jamie is hot-blooded by nature. So, too, is his queen. Considering the bairns born to them, it would seem truth.”

“Aye, but among those bairns not a living heir,” the earl noted.

“This time will be different,” Rosamund said. “Come the spring the queen will deliver a healthy son, my lord. We all pray for it.”

“Do you have the lang eey like our Jamie, then?” he asked. His hand cupped a breast, and he tenderly fondled it. The little nipple instantly thrust itself forth to salute him. He bent his dark head and kissed it. His tongue licked at it in a leisurely fashion.

Rosamund sighed deeply. Every touch of his hand, his mouth, offered her the most incredible pleasure. While she had loved Owein, it had never been that way with him. Not like this. Nor her own king, who had taken her briefly for his mistress on her last visit to court. Nay. Henry Tudor was always interested in only one thing: his own gratification. This man, however, Patrick Leslie, Earl of Glenkirk, a man she knew hardly at all, this man opened her eyes in a single night of passion to the reality of what love truly was. “I think I will die if you leave me now,” she said, voicing her thoughts to him with daring audacity.

He kissed her sweetly, his lips brushing hers tenderly. “We are not meant to part for now, my love, but one day we will, for your heart is at Friarsgate and mine at Glenkirk. This is how it should be, for we are both loyal to our lands and our people. Once, I think, we may have neglected our responsibilities in favor of our love. We are being given the chance now to right that wrong. Do you understand me, Rosamund?”

“Nay,” she replied. “I do not.”

“What I believe, my love, is considered a heresy, but nonetheless I believe it. I think that we live other lives, in other times and places. I recall that when I arrived in San Lorenzo I had the most incredible sense that I had been there before. I would find my way to certain locations without the benefit of direction. Throughout my life it has been that way. An old clanswoman on my lands has the lang eey, and she told me I have lived before, as have most souls. I believe her. Tonight, when we first met in this time and this place, we both experienced a sense of familiarity, a strong feeling that we knew each other well. You are not a woman with loose morals, yet here we lie together in our bed, and I am about to make love to you for a second time this night. Do you understand now, Rosamund?”

She nodded. “Aye and yet nay,” she told him.

“Can you accept this magic between us, or shall we part and pretend that it never happened?” he asked her.

“How could I possibly deny the wonder of what is between us?” she cried softly. “I cannot! I hear what you tell me, but it seems so impossible. Still, I do lie here in your arms, and I feel as if I never want to leave you, that I shall die if you send me away!”

“I will not send you away, Rosamund. Yet there will come a time, as I have said, when we will both know we must part for the sake of others. But that time is not now. For a while the fates will allow us this idyll, and we will be grateful,” he told her.

“Could you not have found me sooner, my lord?” she said with utmost seriousness.

He smiled down on her, his green eyes filled with pure love. Then he kissed her mouth and said, “Be silent, my love, and let me join with you once more.”

“Yes!” She said the single word, her own love shining forth from her amber eyes. Then she opened her arms to him and took him into her embrace.

For a second time they met passion. For a second time they cried aloud as it swept over them, rendering them both weak with satisfaction. The length and breadth of him filled her love sheath. The rhythm they created was overpowering in the pleasure it offered. Her body arced against him in her great desire. He forced her down, thrusting and parrying with his lance as he brought them to a perfect heaven once again.

“I die!” she sobbed as her desire grew and grew until it burst in a frenetic rush of his love juices that left them both half-conscious and gasping for breath.

“You are the most incredible woman,” he finally managed to say, his dark head resting upon her white bosom.

“And you astonishing, my dear lord of Glenkirk. You tell me you are past fifty, and yet you make love like a younger man,” she said with admiration.

He chuckled. “It is only young men who claim excess virility and work to make the myth a truth. A man of my years knows his limits, although tonight I have surpassed even myself, my love, but that is due to you, I suspect. You inspire me.”

“Take your ease, then, my lord, for soon you must help me find my way back to my own chamber. I have absolutely no idea where I am right now,” she told him laughing.

“You are in my arms, where you should be,” he said. “I will help you find your way back,” he promised, “but first let us regain our strength, Rosamund.”

She nodded in agreement and closed her eyes, feeling safer and more content than she had felt in many months. This was what it was like to be really loved, she thought happily. If only the whole world could feel just like this.

They dozed for a short time, wrapped in each other’s arms, savoring the warmth of their love. But finally the Earl of Glenkirk rose reluctantly and dressed himself. When he was clothed, he handed her the garments he had discarded upon the stool earlier, ordering her to dress within the comfort of their bed, for the air was bitterly cold. Finally he led her from his little chamber through the darkened corridors of the castle, asking her as they went exactly where her own chamber was. She told him, and to her surprise, they were quickly there. They kissed hungrily, desperately, as if they would never again be together. Then he turned swiftly and hurried off, back into the darkness of the hallway.

Rosamund slipped quietly into her little chamber. Annie was dozing in a chair by the embers of the fire. She started awake as her mistress entered. “I am glad you were not worried,” Rosamund said to her.

“Lord Cambridge come to me, my lady. He said you might be very late.” She rose from her place, yawning and stretching. Then, peeping through the heavy velvet curtain covering the single window, she said, “ ’Tis already false dawn. You had best get into bed, my lady, if you are to have any rest before the mass.”

“Build up the fire,” Rosamund ordered her, “and heat some water. I stink of passion and cannot enter the queen’s presence until I have washed. Neither will I enter my bed until I am fresh.”

Annie looked shocked with her mistress’ pronouncement.

“I have taken the Earl of Glenkirk as a lover, Annie,” Rosamund said bluntly. “You will not gossip about it with the other servants even if they ask you. Do you understand me, girl?”

“Aye, my lady,” Annie said. “But it ain’t right, a respectable lady such as yourself!” she burst out.

“I am widowed, Annie, and were you not my confidante when I was with the king?” Rosamund asked her servingwoman.

“That was different,” Annie said. “You was just obeying our king. There was no harm in it as long as good Queen Katherine didn’t know or be shamed by it.”

“Nay, Annie, ’twas no different than all of my life before it,” Rosamund said. “I have always done what I was asked. What was expected of me. Now, however, I shall do what I want. I shall live my life to please myself and no one else! Do you understand?”

“What of the laird of Claven’s Carn?” Annie asked. “He ain’t going to marry with a lady who lifts her skirts so easily, my lady.”

Rosamund slapped her servant. “You presume upon our friendship, Annie,” she said. “Do you wish me to send you home to Friarsgate? I shall do it, for there are plenty who would be willing to serve me-and keep their tongues silent. I will tell you what I told Logan Hepburn. I do not wish to marry again! And I will not be forced to it. Friarsgate has an heiress, and two more besides. I will unite my daughters one day in marriages that will bring honor and wealth to our family. Logan Hepburn wants a son. He needs an heir for Claven’s Carn. Let him get it upon some sweet young virgin who will adore him and be a good wife to him. I am not that woman. King Henry’s mother, she who was my guardian, once told me that a woman must marry first for her family. Twice at the most. But after that, the Venerable Margaret said, a woman should marry where it suited her. Twice my uncle Henry Bolton has made marriages for me. My third husband was the king’s choice. Now it is my choice, and I choose no husband! Do you understand me, Annie? I will do as I please now.”

Annie rubbed her cheek and sniffled softly. “Yes, my lady,” she said.

“Good. Then we are agreed, and you will serve me without question, eh?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Go about your duties, then,” Rosamund instructed her servant, and she sat down upon the bed while Annie built the fire back up and began to heat the water for her ablutions.

What a night it had been! She had been at court only a short time, yet now, as the day of Christ’s Eve dawned, she was filled with a joy such as she had never known. She knew not where this was all leading, but she realized, to her surprise, that she had no fears in the matter. She was truly, deeply in love for the first time in all of her twenty-two years. She would follow where the road led, and when it ended… well, she would worry about that when it happened. For now she meant to live for the moment, and the moment was Patrick Leslie, Earl of Glenkirk.