Until You

Chapter 2

King James looked closely at his old friend the Earl of Glenkirk. “By the rood, Patrick, if I did not know better I would say you were in love!” he exclaimed.

Patrick smiled. “Why do you think it impossible for me to be in love, Jamie?” he inquired of the king. “Am I not a man like any other?”

“A man, aye, but like any other? Nay, Patrick, you are not. You were my ambassador to San Lorenzo. It was an important assignment for an unimportant Highland laird. I created you an earl to honor San Lorenzo’s duke. And you served me well until the tragedy of your daughter, Janet. Then, without even waiting for my permission, you packed up your family and returned home. You stopped at court only long enough to give me your report, and then you disappeared into your Highland eyrie for the next eighteen years. You would still be there had I not called you back to me. I do not know of any other man so loyal to my crown who would do that, Patrick. You were ever my friend, even from the very beginning, unlike some whom I must smile at, praise, and bestow honors upon. You do not dissemble. Your word is your bond. I can trust you.”

“So you said when you asked me to go to San Lorenzo,” the earl replied dryly. “And suddenly you have called me back to your side, Jamie. Why?”

“First you must tell me who the lady is, Patrick,” the king teased his old friend.

The earl smiled. “A gentleman does not gossip like a cotter’s wife,” he said. “I know you possess a good soul of patience, Jamie. I will tell you in time, but not now.”

The king grinned. “Ahh, then it is love,” he chortled. “I shall be watching you, my lord of Glenkirk.” Then he grew serious again. “Patrick, I need you to return to San Lorenzo for me.”

“You have a competent ambassador there,” the earl responded.

“Aye, Ian McDuff is indeed competent, but he is not the diplomat that you were, Patrick. And I very much need a diplomat. You know that the pope is forming what he refers to as the Holy League. He wishes the French out of the northern Italian states, and he cannot do it himself. So he is declaring a righteous war against them, inviting others to join in his cause with promise of eternal salvation, among other rewards. My bombastic young brother-in-law, Henry of England, is his loudest supporter. I am invited to join them, but I cannot. Will not. This aggression is wrong, Patrick!”

“And the French are our auld alliance. You are an honorable man, Jamie, and I know that you would not turn upon a friend without good reason. And there is no good reason, is there?”

“Only Henry Tudor’s intense desire to please the pope in order to gain more power than England now has,” James Stewart replied. “Spain, of course, joins the pope and England. Venice and the Holy Roman Empire have joined, as well, but before it goes any farther, I would make an attempt to stop them. I must do it in secret and in a place no one would suspect if they knew of my plans. I do not want the most powerful of the Christian states fighting with one another when we should be mounting a crusade against the Turks in Constantinople. And, too, my brother-in-law knows that, unlike him, I am an honorable man. I will not betray an ally even for my own advantage, as he would. He knows I cannot join this league against the French. He seeks to turn the Holy Father against me-against Scotland. You must meet with Venice’s and the emperor’s representatives in San Lorenzo, Patrick. You must convince them that this league is but England’s plan to achieve a dominant hold over us all. There are parties within each of these countries who understand this. I am in contact with them, and they will arrange for delegates from their governments to be in San Lorenzo to hear you out. Instinct tells me it is unlikely we can succeed, but we must try, Patrick.”

“There will be war with England sooner than later,” the earl sighed.

“I know,” the king replied. “My lang eey tells me so, yet I must do what I know is right in this matter. I do it for Scotland, Patrick.”

“Aye, and we have never had a better king then you, Jamie, the fourth of the Stewarts. But you should not have wed with England. You should have married Margaret Drummond. The Drummonds had given Scotland two queens, and good queens they were.” He sighed. “I mean no disrespect to your wee wife, Jamie.”

“I know,” the king answered, “and you are right. I knew I should not wed with England, and I avoided it as long as I could. But when my beloved Margaret and her sisters were poisoned, I had no more excuses. Many desired the match with the Tudor princess, and they believed that it would bring peace between our two nations. The peace has been a fragile one at best. But since my father-in-law’s death and the ascension of his son, I fear for us all. My wife’s brother is a determined man, and the wealth built up so carefully by his father makes him a powerful one, as well.”

“But Scotland is more prosperous and peaceful under your rule, Jamie, than it has been in centuries,” the earl noted. “It is obvious that we desire nothing more than peace in order to continue on as we have.”

“Aye, but Henry Tudor is an ambitious man, I fear,” the king replied. “He is jealous of the fact that I have been on good terms with the Holy See. He attempts to destroy that trust by his enthusiasm for the pope’s war, and he will succeed, I fear. You have heard about the matter of my wife’s jewels, have you not?”

The earl shook his head, puzzled. “Nay, I have not.”

“Of course,” the king said. “You are only just back at court. My wife’s grandmother, the Venerable Margaret, and her mother, the late Elizabeth of York, left their jewelry in three equal parts: to my Meg, to her sister, Mary, and to her brother’s good Queen Katherine. But the King of England refuses to send his elder sister her portion, making all sorts of excuses as to why he will not. Finally my wife wrote to her brother that she didn’t need the jewelry as much as she desired these mementos of her mother and grandmother, for I, her husband, would gift her with double their value. I can but imagine the sting that gave arrogant King Hal. Meg tells me he used to cheat at their nursery games, and whined and raged if he did not win. These are traits he has obviously carried with him into his manhood.”

“When do you want me to leave?” the earl asked.

“Not until after the Twelve Days of Christmas are over and done with,” the king answered. “I want it to appear as if I have just lured you back to court for the Christmas season for old time’s sake. And you came because it had been many years since you had paid your respects to me. The fact that you have involved yourself with a lady is all to the good. After the holidays have ended, you will disappear, and all will assume you have returned to Glenkirk. You know that there are spies here at my court, Patrick, and should they know my plans they would report back to England or Spain or even the pope himself. Your mission must be secret. I realize there is little chance of its success, but I do not want the waters muddied before I have at least attempted to stop this madness. Three years ago the Holy See formed an alliance with France to humble Venice. Now France is the enemy. I despair, Patrick, of this chess game my fellow monarchs play. And no one ever really wins! These politicians will be the ruin of the world.”

“So, what you actually desire of me is to convince some of the players of the foolishness of this matter,” the earl said. “Which ones, Jamie? Which are the weak links?”

“Venice, who is suspicious of everyone, and possibly the Holy Roman Empire, who never quite trusts Spain. Spain will side with the pope no matter, especially as the English queen is Spanish born and bred. If I can but weaken the league, the pressure will be off of me to join it and betray the auld alliance we honor with France. And learning of this new coalition, the Turks are bound to make some hostile move that should turn the pope’s attention in other directions. After all, he is the father of the Christian church.” The king chuckled wickedly.

“So, Venice’s and the emperor’s representatives will be in San Lorenzo?” the earl said.

The king nodded.

“Well,” Patrick said, “my son, Adam, is a grown man and can manage our lands without me for a short time. And while I do not imagine my trip across a winter’s sea will be a pleasant one, January and February in San Lorenzo, as I recall it, are most benign. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a mild winter.”

“And you will not regret leaving your lady?” the king queried.

“Leave her? Nay, Jamie, I shall not leave her. I intend to take her with me to San Lorenzo. You are correct when you say I am a man in love. I am. I adored my daughter’s mother. I married my son’s mother, a sweet and gentle girl whom I came to care for most deeply, because I needed a legitimate son and heir. Her sudden death broke my heart. It was not fair that Agnes die as Janet’s mother had. She was so damned good, even making me promise to legitimatize Janet when our son was born. But I have never, never until this moment in time, been truly and deeply in love. I am a man long grown. I have grandchildren. But nonetheless I am in love. I feel like a young man again, Jamie.”

“Will her absence from this court be noted?” the king asked his friend.

The Earl of Glenkirk considered a long moment, and then he said, “Mayhap. She is the queen’s friend.”

“Does she have a husband we should be concerned about?” the king wondered aloud. “Is her family an important one?”

“She is widowed and of unimportant lineage,” the earl said. “It will be said that she has returned to her own home.”

“Unless,” the king responded, suddenly knowing of whom the Earl of Glenkirk spoke, “my wife wants her here for the birth of our child in the spring.”

“You know? That damned lang eey of yours, Jamie,” the earl said with a small smile. “Or are you merely guessing?”

“You have fallen in love with the little lady of Friarsgate, Patrick, haven’t you?” was the king’s answer.

The earl nodded. “We met two nights ago,” he began.

“But two nights ago?” the king exclaimed, surprised.

“Hear me out, Jamie. It was the oddest experience I have ever had. I saw her across the chamber. Suddenly I had the most overwhelming urge to meet her. Lord Grey managed the introductions through his friend Elsbeth Hume. Our eyes met, and we both knew in that instant that we had known each other in some other time and place and that we were meant to be together for the here and now. I cannot explain it any more plainly than that. There are many who would think me mad, but I know you do not, Jamie Stewart.”

“Nay,” the king agreed, “for it was the same with Margaret Drummond and me. Rosamund Bolton is lovely, I will concur. But she is English, Patrick. And she was, according to my information, briefly mistress to my brother-in-law.”

“Was she?” The earl was intrigued. Rosamund had not told him that, but why would she? “Nonetheless, Jamie, I do not believe the lady is politically involved, whatever her past,” he said. “You cannot believe she seeks to curry favor with her king. I do not believe that of her. She need not know why I go to San Lorenzo, just that I would take her there that we might be lovers in peace, far from the prying eyes of your court and our friends. Arcobaleno, the capital, is a most romantic place. I am certain that Rosamund, having never until she entered Scotland been out of England, will find it delightful.”

“The affair was most discreet. Neither my wife nor Queen Katherine knew of it,” the king said. “Brother Henry had attempted to seduce the lady when she was a young girl at court. He was prevented from doing so, and she was wed to her husband on the king’s orders. He obviously sought her out when she returned to court a grieving widow, to correct his previous failure. He does not like losing at games, I am told.”

“You are extremely well informed, Jamie,” the earl noted admiringly.

“Almost nothing a king does is truly secret,” James Stewart replied. “There is always someone, in this case a servant of her cousin Lord Cambridge, with information to sell to the appropriate buyer. I think this fellow thought I might be interested in bedding the lady myself. I have at the moment, however, a perfectly satisfactory mistress in Isabel Stewart, the daughter of my cousin, the Earl of Buchan. And my wife is again with child. I would not distress Meg, as I know that this child she delivers in the spring will be a son, and he will survive-unlike the other wee, frail bairns she has borne me.”

“The queen does not really need Rosamund, but I do,” the earl said. “I am your most loyal servant, Jamie, and well you know it, but I will not go to San Lorenzo without my lass. I will speak with Rosamund when the time is right, and she will convince the queen that she must return home to her beloved Friarsgate, but that she will return in the spring when the queen has her bairn. A lad, you say? The lang eey again, eh, Jamie?”

“Aye, a lad!” He sighed. “I can but hope I live to see him grown, but I will not.”

The earl did not argue, for he did not want to know what the king knew. James Stewart was known for having incredible intuition and sensitivity to supernatural forces. Patrick knew if the king was concerned, then this mission was of great importance. “I’ll be an old man, Jamie, before I serve your son,” he said comfortingly.

The king laughed, his mood now suddenly lightened. “You’ve already bedded her!” It was a statement, not a question.

“Within hours of our meeting. Jesu, Jamie! I feel like a man of thirty again when I am with her. God knows I have had mistresses aplenty in my lifetime, but none of them ever captured my heart as this girl has.”

“They say she has a suitor,” the king replied.

“Aye, the Earl of Bothwell’s cousin, the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn. She told me,” he chuckled. “He told her he would come on St. Stephen’s Day to wed her. I think he will be most surprised not to find her waiting meekly and eagerly for his arrival.”

“St. Stephen’s? That’s today,” the king exclaimed, laughing. “What a wench she is, Patrick. Are you certain you would have her?”

“As long as it is meant to be, Jamie,” the earl said.

“Ah, then,” the king remarked, “you do not believe it is forever. You will not wed her.”

“I would wed her if she would have me. But though she will have me as a lover, she will not have me as a husband,” the earl explained. “She has no wish to remarry, and I know she would not leave her beloved Friarsgate any more than I would depart Glenkirk forever. But one day I will ask her,” he finished with a small smile. “So we may both be satisfied that I truly love her. That is why she has rejected the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn. She believes his only interest in her is getting a son. I pity the lad. For what can he possibly do to convince her otherwise that he loves her? If he does.”

The king nodded. “You may expect him here at court, Patrick, when he finds the lass gone, I have not a doubt. Hepburns are not noted for giving up easily. And he will have his cousin Bothwell plead his case for him, as well.”

“Rosamund is English, and you cannot order her to wed with this man,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly. “Can you?”

“Such will be my defense, but Meg will undoubtedly become involved in the matter. My wee English wife is a romantic, a discovery I find astounding in a Tudor. Rosamund will have to confide in my queen or Meg will not be silent or rest in her quest to gain her dear friend another husband. The queen believes that no woman can be truly happy, or even content, without a lawful mate. In that mood she becomes dangerous, Patrick. Your affair may become public knowledge.”

“Perhaps it will be better if it does,” the earl said thoughtfully. “The better to deter the queen, the Earl of Bothwell, and this Hepburn of Claven’s Carn. But I must consult with Rosamund first. She is not a woman to be surprised in matters that are important to her.”

“Ah, to be in love once again,” the king chuckled. “You are a fortunate man! I have not felt that way since Margaret Drummond.”

“I am,” the Earl of Glenkirk agreed with a smile.

The two men were seated companionably in the king’s privy chamber at Stirling Castle. Settled before a roaring fire, handleless silver drinking vessels containing peat whiskey cupped between their hands, they talked on into the night, while the king was thought to be with his mistress.

“A French vessel will ferry you across the sea to France,” the king said. “From there you will travel by land to San Lorenzo. I would not risk your life at this time of year crossing the Bay of Biscay. With a woman, however, it may take you longer than I had anticipated,” James Stewart considered.

“Rosamund is a country girl, as is her servant. A coach with all its accoutrements would but attract someone’s attention. We will ride. My lass has said she wanted adventure in her life after all those years of doing her duty.” Patrick chuckled. “This will surely be an adventure for her.”

“And her clothing and all the gewgaws so dear to a woman’s heart?” the king wondered aloud.

“We will carry what we need, and I shall have an entire new wardrobe made for her when we arrive,” the earl said.

“I will be interested to see if your lady is so eager for adventure when you tell her that,” the king remarked with a broad grin.

“She will come,” the earl said quietly. “We cannot be parted yet.”

“We will talk again before you leave, Patrick,” the king told Glenkirk. “Go and find your bed, as I am going to find mine.”

The two men arose from their places by the fire, shook hands, and went their separate ways. James Stewart to visit his current mistress, Isabel, and the Earl of Glenkirk to find his Rosamund.

Rosamund had decided that her chamber with its small fireplace was a better space for she and the earl to inhabit. Annie had been banished to the dormitory shared by many of the young servant women. When a tiring woman who usually shared her mistress’ bed appeared in those quarters it was always assumed her mistress had taken a lover. Annie had been warned by her mistress to be discreet, but she kept her ears open for any tidbit of gossip that might be of interest or use to Rosamund.

Rosamund was sleeping when the earl entered her room. He quietly divested himself of his garments, and after climbing into bed, drew her into his arms, kissing the nape of her neck as he did so. She murmured a sound of distinct contentment, and he whispered in her ear, “Are you awake, lovey? I have news.” One hand moved to cup a breast, and he caressed it tenderly.

“What news?” she asked him softly, and she ground her hips into his body suggestively.

“You’re a bad lass,” he teased her, his lust being aroused at a fierce pace. What was this sorcery she possessed to do that to him, and at his age?

“Because I want to fuck?” she queried, turning about to face him, pulling off her chemise as she did. Her arms slipped about his neck, and her round, full breasts pressed against his broad chest.

He yanked her against him by her buttocks. “Because your delicious little body and your eagerness set me aflame as no other woman ever has, my Rosamund,” he told her. “Because now that you have caught my fancy in this manner, I shall have to satisfy us both before I share my news with you, you wicked wench!” His mouth found hers in a hot kiss, demanding, insisting, and she returned his ardor. “You know I love you, sweetheart, don’t you?” he said breaking off their kiss.

“Aye, my lord, I do. And you will not be surprised to learn that I return your lordship’s passion. I am mad for you, Patrick! I feel as if my whole life has been leading up to this moment in time. How in the name of God is that possible? I loved Hugh, for he was a father to me. I loved Owein, for he loved me and Friarsgate. But this is different. This lunacy has naught to do with Friarsgate. It is only us! I could stay in this chamber with you forever!”

He lay her back against their pillows and covered her small body with his big one, the fingers of their hands intertwined as had become their custom. Their eyes met as he entered her, and she sighed deeply. He stopped all motion for a brief time, enjoying her as she absorbed his size with such pleasure it almost brought him to tears. Then he began to move upon her again, and finally her eyes closed and she sighed once more as he brought them to passionate perfection.

“Oh, Patrick, I love you so very much! Perhaps too much,” she admitted when she once again came to herself, her head upon his chest.

“I wonder,” he replied, “if we can ever love enough, let alone too much.” His big hand stroked her auburn tresses. “Your hair is so soft.”

“Annie thinks me mad, for I insist it be washed weekly.

She says it is a wonder I have not caught my death of cold, putting my head in water so much,” Rosamund said.

“Is she very angry at being banished?” Patrick asked.

“I think she actually likes the company of the other servingwomen,” Rosamund replied.

“Do you think she would like to travel, my love?” he queried casually.

“I don’t know,” Rosamund responded. “Why?”

“I am of a mind to spend the winter in a warmer climate. I want you to go with me, Rosamund,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly.

“Which means crossing the sea in the worst weather,” she noted. Then she said, “Do not treat me as you would some foolish lass, Patrick.”

He understood at once and told her, “It is for the king, lovey. I can say no more now, which I know you will comprehend. Even saying that much, I put my fate in your two little hands, Rosamund.”

“Why would you say that?” she wondered.

“Because you were once King Henry’s mistress,” he answered bluntly.

“How on earth did you learn that? Only Tom and Annie know. It had to be a servant. Not mine I hope! Nay. It is not Annie, or you would not have asked me if she liked to travel, since you expect her to come with me. And having learned this fact, your king fears that I will betray you. Please tell me that Meg does not know.”

“Nay. Nor Queen Katherine, either,” he reassured her.

“I did not seek to attract Hal,” Rosamund began. “But he would have me, willing or nay. For my family’s sake I acquiesced as graciously as I could, Patrick. There was no real love between us, and while I am loyal to England, I do not believe whatever you do in your king’s service will harm my country. King James appears to be a man of great intellect and peace. I know Henry Tudor well enough to know he is ambitious and vain. He has a bad habit of always making it appear that God is on his side alone. It would be amusing if it were not so dangerous. I would not under any circumstances betray you, my lord,” she concluded.

“I know that,” he told her, and then he kissed her mouth again. “You will come with me, my Rosamund?”

“I will come with you, Patrick Leslie, for where you are, my heart is, I fear,” she responded.

“And what of Logan Hepburn?” he queried her.

“Logan needs a son and an heir. He should have married long ago but that he has this fancy for a child he saw at a cattle fair when he was sixteen. I was the child he saw, but I am no longer a child. Nor do I wish to be married because I am considered good breeding stock,” Rosamund told the earl.

“A man expects-is entitled to-children on his wife’s body,” the earl said quietly.

“I will not disagree,” she answered him, “but that and his silly story seem to be his whole rationale for wanting to marry me. He says he loves me, but does he really? I don’t know, but I will not take the chance of marrying him to discover that it is only my fecundity that attracts him. I have never known love, Patrick, until you. I will not give that up for what is considered a respectable marriage. I won’t!”

“We might marry, you and I,” he said softly.

“Only when you are ready to give up your Glenkirk, and I, Friarsgate,” she replied with a small smile.

“How can you know me so well on such short acquaintance?” he chuckled.

“And you me,” she responded. “Ohh, Patrick! I do not care what anyone else may think. I love you! I do not need to be your wife; nor do you need to offer me the honor of your name for me to know that you love me. From the moment our eyes met, we knew it was so.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “It was, sweetheart.”

“When are we to depart court?” she asked him.

“After Twelfth Night,” he said. “It will be thought that I have returned home to Glenkirk, as I am not a man of the court. Your departure must be considered a return home, as well, Rosamund. Will it be difficult for you to take your leave of the queen?”

Rosamund was thoughtful for a few moments, and then she said, “Aye, but I will tell her one of my daughters has taken ill and Maybel has sent for me. She will accept that, although I know she will be disappointed. She wanted me to remain with her until her child was born. She fears so that she cannot give her husband a son.”

“The king’s lang eey tells him the child will be a healthy lad. He frets that he will not live to see the boy grown,” the earl noted.

“Then I need not feel so guilty about my wee lie,” Rosamund said.

“And your cousin Lord Cambridge? A most amusing fellow, but very astute beneath his droll wit, I think,” Patrick said.

“Tom is clever, but I will have to tell him the entire truth of the matter. He is the best friend I have ever had, and no one, not even my husbands, have been as good to me as Thomas Bolton has. Frankly, he will be very disappointed not to be invited along with us,” Rosamund chuckled. “However, I will need him to return to Friarsgate to explain to my uncles and to Maybel where I have gone and why. I will need him there to watch over my lasses and wield my authority in my absence. My uncle Henry may still have hopes of gaining Friarsgate through one of his sons. Edmund could not prevent his mischief, but my darling Lord Cambridge certainly can. I need not fear to return home eventually to discover my Philippa wed to one of my wretched cousins, as long as Tom is there to watch over her.” She leaned forward and gave her lover a quick kiss. “I shall feel very guilty about leaving Tom behind. He is a most amusing traveling companion.”

“Yet I prefer that our idyll be more private than familial,” the earl said.

“Will Glenkirk be all right while you are gone so far? Will you tell your son?”

“Adam is a man grown. He is a little bit older than you are, my darling love. He has a sound head on his shoulders, and as Glenkirk will one day be his, it is past time he handled its responsibilities on his own.” He drew her closer into his embrace, his lips brushing the top of her head.

“Is he a married man?” Rosamund asked.

“Aye, though why he wed with Anne MacDonald I will never know. They met at the Highland games one summer. She was young and pretty. She knew he was an earl’s heir, and he was vulnerable to her flattery. Adam is much like his mother, though he never knew my sweet Agnes. He is kind and gentle. His saving grace is that he has a Leslie’s head for common sense. Nonetheless, he is not at all like me. He had no lasses mooning after him, and so Anne easily captured his innocent heart. The family was a good one. I had no cause to deny the match. So they wed. Only afterwards he discovered he had married a shrew. She fears me, however, and so my son’s life has not been intolerable. Oddly, I sometimes feel sorry for Anne, and God knows she has done her duty. I have two fine grandsons and a wee granddaughter born just last year and named after Adam’s mam, the sweet Agnes. She’s a bonnie little lass, not in the least like her mother. Anne is content letting her daughter be looked after by her nursemaid. I expect my daughter-in-law will very much enjoy being in charge while I am away,” the earl finished with a small grin.

“Then neither of us need fear for our lands and our families while we are in San Lorenzo,” Rosamund said.

“We have earned this time together, sweetheart,” he answered her, and he enfolded her closely in his arms. “Let us sleep now. Tomorrow we must begin planning. We can take little with us, as once we reach France we must ride the rest of the way. A coach and all that goes with it would attract the interest of those who earn their livings selling information. A small party of horsemen will not. Do you mind riding so great a distance?”

“Nay,” she answered. “I think perhaps it would be best if I dressed in boy’s clothing, and Annie, too. It would be easier, and it would attract even less attention.”

He nodded. “Aye, lass, it would. Can you ride astride?”

“I certainly can!” she laughed. “Even in skirts, my lord. Do you think I shall make a pretty boy in trunk hose and doublet?”

He chuckled. “Aye. Perhaps too pretty. Now, go to sleep, Rosamund. The morning will come quickly enough, and you are expected at mass with the queen.”

She lay against his chest, the beat of his heart beneath her ear, the comforting rhythm of his breathing lulling her to slumber. When she finally awoke he was gone, and Annie was bustling about their chamber. It was still dark outside Rosamund saw, so she was not late. She yawned and stretched. “Good morrow, Annie,” she said.

“Good morning, my lady,” Annie replied. “The earl has gone already, and he says he will see you later. He also says you are to speak to me. Oh, my lady, I hope I have not displeased him, or you, again!” Annie’s face bore all the hall-marks of her distress.

“Nay, you have displeased neither of us.” Rosamund sat up in her bed. “Put a bit more wood on the fire, Annie, and bring me a basin to wash myself.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, shivering as she came from beneath the shelter of the coverlets and her feet touched the cold stone floor.

Annie handed her mistress the chamber pot, and Rosamund peed. Then she washed herself as thoroughly as she might using a flannel and the little basin. She longed for her daily bath, but the servants at Stirling grudged her even her weekly ablutions, grumbling as they brought up the water to fill her little oak tub. But they dared not deny her, for they knew the Englishwoman was the queen’s dear childhood friend.

“What will you wear today, my lady?” Annie asked.

“Give me the tawny orange velvet,” Rosamund said. “Tom always likes me in that gown, although I wonder if the gold embroidery isn’t perhaps too showy.”

“ ’Tis beautiful, my lady. I’ll fetch it from the trunk and see the wrinkles smoothed out.” She bustled about the room as Rosamund climbed back into the warm bed.

“I would speak with you privily, Annie,” Rosamund began. “I have never enjoyed having my life decided for me by others, and so I will share a confidence with you that you may choose what it is you will do. I am going away with Lord Leslie, Annie. I would like you to come with us. No one is to know. They are to believe that each of us has returned to our own homes. If you choose not to accompany me, I shall see you safely returned to Friarsgate with Lord Cambridge, and I shall not hold it against you. But however you decide, you can say nothing to anyone of what I have just told you. Do you understand, Annie? No one must know.”

Annie was more than surprised by her mistress’ speech. She drew a deep breath and asked, “Will we be going back to Friarsgate ever, my lady?” The velvet gown in her hands felt very heavy.

Rosamund laughed softly. “Annie,” she chided the servant, “you know I should not leave my girls. And Uncle Henry so close by?” She laughed again. “Why, all three should find themselves wed to my uncle’s odious sons if I were to desert them. And there is Friarsgate itself. I love it so! I gain my strength from Friarsgate. I must always eventually go home, Annie.”

Annie nodded slowly. “When would we come back?” she queried.

“I don’t know, but I suspect in a few months’ time. No more,” Rosamund responded. “We just want a little time together before we must part again.”

“Why don’t you just wed the earl?” Annie questioned her lady. “Begging your pardon, mistress. I do not mean to be forward, but I do not understand.”

“The Earl of Glenkirk can no more abandon his home than I could forsake Friarsgate, Annie. Were my lasses not so young I might consider a union with him, but they are too young for me to leave.”

Annie nodded again, understanding, but not quite understanding. She lay the orange tawny gown out on the chamber’s single chair. “Where would we go?”

“Across the sea,” Rosamund replied simply.

“Across the sea? I ain’t ever been on any boat, my lady!” Annie exclaimed.

“Neither have I,” Rosamund chuckled. “It will be quite an adventure for us.”

“And how long would we be at sea?” Annie asked nervously.

“A few days at the most,” Rosamund promised her.

“And we’ll come home after you have all this adventure out of yourself?” Annie pressed her mistress. “You swear on the Blessed Mother’s name?”

“I swear,” Rosamund said with utmost seriousness. “I expect we will be back by autumn at the latest, Annie. Probably sooner.”

Annie drew a long, deep breath. Then she said, “I’ll come, my lady. But what will Mistress Maybel and Master Edmund say? And who is to tell them?”

“Lord Cambridge will tell them, Annie,” Rosamund answered the girl.

“Have you told him?” Annie persisted as she unrolled two pairs of stockings.

“I shall tell him today, Annie. Now, remember, this is a great secret. I shall have to lie to the queen, I fear, for she would not understand my leaving her now. And it is not yet time for all the dissembling to begin. Put it from your mind now, and I shall tell you when you may recall it again,” Rosamund said. “Now, I would get dressed before I am late for the mass.”

Margaret of Scotland signaled to her friend to come and be by her side just as the mass was beginning. This was an honor, and Rosamund well knew it. For a moment she felt almost guilty at the deception she would play on her old friend. But then her eyes met those of the Earl of Glenkirk across the royal chapel, and her guilt vanished. When the morning services were over, the queen linked her arm in Rosamund’s, and they walked together towards the Great Hall where the morning meal would be laid out.

“What is this gossip I hear about you and Lord Leslie?” the queen asked bluntly.

“I do not know the gossip to which you refer, madame,” Rosamund answered formally, for they were in public.

“It is said that you have become lovers,” the queen replied. Then she lowered her voice. “Is it true, Rosamund? Have you? He is very handsome, even if he is old.”

“He is not that old, Meg,” Rosamund whispered, a twinkle in her amber eyes.

“Ohhh, then it is so!” the queen chortled. “What a naughty girl you have suddenly become, Rosamund.”

“I would not offend your highness,” Rosamund quickly said.

“Offend me? Nay, I envy you!” the queen answered. “Do you remember how my grandmother always said a woman married first, perhaps a second time for her family, but after that she should find her own happiness? Does Lord Leslie make you happy, Rosamund? I hope so! Have you ever had a lover before?”

The first lie, Rosamund thought to herself. “Nay, Meg,” she murmured softly. “Never before.” And in a sense it was the truth, for she had not really loved Margaret Tudor’s brother, England’s king. But she was surely in love with Patrick Leslie.

“ ’Tis rather sudden, isn’t it?” the queen pressed her friend further.

“I cannot explain it,” Rosamund said. “Our eyes met, and we both knew.”

The queen laughed softly. “You sound like my husband with his lang eey,” she said. Her hand went protectively to her belly. “I don’t want to be an empty vessel like my brother’s wife. Pray God and his Blessed Mother that this child is a strong son, Rosamund. Pray hard for me!”

“I do,” Rosamund said. “Every day, Meg.”

“Your highness.” The king’s page was before them. “His majesty would break his fast with you this morning,” the lad said. “I am here to escort you.”

The queen nodded, and Rosamund gracefully slid into the background, seeking either Glenkirk or her cousin Lord Cambridge. It was Lord Cambridge who found her first.

“My darling girl, you have set the court upon its ear, I fear. Is it true? Has Lord Leslie become your lover? I have never before heard such delicious tittle-tattle. The Scots court is far more fun than the English court, where poor Spanish Kate and her mate, our stodgy King Henry, hold sway. There everything is proper and ordered while the king casts his eye boldly about and then swives his little conquests in secrecy-no offense, my darling cousin.”

“None taken, dearest Tom,” Rosamund replied dryly.

“But in this delightful court,” Lord Cambridge continued, “people are not so damned au fait about their passions. I quite like it! Now come along, dear girl, and tell me absolutely everything!” He linked his velvet-clad arm in hers.

“I am hungry, Tom,” Rosamund protested. “We have only just celebrated the mass, and I have not eaten since last night.”

“We shall go to my house, and my cook will feed you,” he responded. “And that will allow us our privacy, cousin, for I do indeed mean to hear all.”

“You bought a house in Stirling Village!” Rosamund exclaimed.

“Nay, I have just rented it. It is little more than a cottage, but quite charming, and the old woman who owns it cooks like an angel. I had no intention, dear girl, of sleeping in the king’s hall with those other poor disenfranchised souls who are at court. You were given a little box to nest in, cousin, but I am not the queen’s friend. I only accompanied you. Therefore I was on my own. The royal hospitality does not mean to be niggardly, but you see how many follow this court. There is simply no room to house them all decently, Rosamund. Now, come along, my darling. Shall we invite Lord Leslie?” he teased her wickedly, and he gave her arm a little pinch.

“Do I need my horse?” she asked, ignoring his teasing.

“Nay, darling girl. ’Tis only a short walk down the hill. The house is but a few yards from the castle gates. The old woman used to cook for the royal nursery when it was at Stirling. Your little friend, the queen, however, objected to the king housing his bastards in a castle she had a particular fondness for, and she threw such a tantrum when she first discovered the little by-blows there that the king moved his nursery to a more discreet location out of his queen’s sight. The king wanted to make his eldest son, Alexander, his heir, you know, and the queen still fears he might if she doesn’t give him a nice healthy babe.”

“Alexander Stewart is the bishop of St. Andrew’s,” Rosamund said.

“Aye, he is, and he is amazingly well suited to the task despite his youth. He and the king have a great bond of love between them. The queen is jealous. She knows that even if she gives her husband a healthy son and heir, Alexander will always be his favorite. But then, of course, he is the firstborn.”

“How do you learn all this gossip, and in such detail?” Rosamund demanded of her cousin. “We have been here scarce a week,” she laughed.

They had exited the castle, walked across the great courtyard, and were now passing through Stirling’s open gates into the street beyond. It was a cobbled byway lined in well-kept stone houses with dark slate roofs. Three houses down on the left Lord Cambridge stopped and turned to enter the building, calling as he did, “Mistress MacHugh, I have brought my cousin home, and we are hungry, having just come from the mass.”

A tall, thin woman appeared from the depths of the darkened hallway. “Yer cousin, is it, my lord?”

“Rosamund Bolton, the lady of Friarsgate and the queen’s good friend, Mistress MacHugh. I’ve spoken of her,” Lord Cambridge said. He divested himself of his cloak and took Rosamund’s from her.

“Ye’ve done naught but chatter away since ye rented my dwelling from me,” Mistress MacHugh replied sharply. She looked directly at Rosamund. “Does he ever stop speaking, my lady?” But her gray eyes were twinkling.

“Not often, I fear, Mistress MacHugh,” Rosamund answered with a smile. Then she shivered involuntarily.

The lady saw it and she tched. “Come into the parlor, my lady. I have a good fire going there. It’s the coziest room in the house. I’ll bring yer meal there.” Then she bustled off.

The parlor of the cottage was indeed warm with the blazing fire. Rosamund sat down in a tapestried chair next to the warmth. Tom placed a small goblet of wine in her hand, advising her to drink it to restore the heat to her slender frame.

“I’ll not press you until the meal is served,” he said. “I don’t want to be interrupted, and you, I am certain, don’t wish to share your news with the entire world.”

She nodded and slowly sipped at the sweet wine.

“You are wearing one of my favorite gowns,” he noted. “The fur-trimmed sleeves make it a whole other garment, I vow. It complements your lovely hair, cousin.”

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Rosamund agreed. “And I thank you for the new sleeves. The marten is just wonderful in both texture and color.”

The door to the parlor opened, and Mistress MacHugh came in carrying a large tray. She set it on a sideboard, then said, “My lord, help me with this table.” And together the landlady and Lord Cambridge set a sturdy oak table before the fire. Rosamund immediately drew her chair up. Their hostess filled two pewter plates with small trenchers of oat stirabout, fluffy eggs, ham, and individual cottage loaves that were hot from her ovens. She placed a stone crock of fresh butter, another of cherry preserves, and a generous wedge of cheese between them. Then, with a small curtsy, she departed the chamber.

They ate in silence until both plates were empty and half the cheese was devoured between them. The wine, Rosamund thought, was really quite good. Finally satisfied, they sighed in unison, laughed, and Tom said to his cousin, “Well, now, dear girl, I would know absolutely all! Hold back nothing!”

“We are lovers,” Rosamund began, and he nodded, not in the least surprised. Anyone at court who thought otherwise was a simpleton and a fool. “I am going away with him shortly, Tom. I would have you understand everything, but you must keep what I tell you a secret, for many lives depend upon it. Can you do that, cousin?”

He nodded. “You know, Rosamund, that while I love England, I am not a man to involve myself in politics. Do you swear to me that this will not be treason on your part or mine by hearing you out?”

“There is no treason, Tom,” she assured him.

“Then I will keep secret all you tell me, but haven’t I always, dearest girl?”

“You have, Tom. But this is very different. Hal has entered into an agreement with the Holy Father in Rome to attempt a removal of the French from northern Italy. Venice, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire have joined them. They call themselves the Holy League. Hal has been pressing King James to join them. This Scots king has always been in high favor with the pope. That favor is now endangered by England insisting that Scotland join their cause. Patrick has told me what King James would do.”

“Ahh,” said Lord Cambridge, seeing the problem immediately. “The auld alliance, of course. King James is an honorable man. He has no cause to break his word.”

“Exactly,” Rosamund replied. “So the king is sending Lord Leslie to San Lorenzo, where he once served as Scotland’s ambassador, to meet secretly with Venice and the Empire in hopes that he may convince them to withdraw from this league, and by doing so weaken the alliance. Then Scotland will not seem so out of step. But if there is any chance of this plan succeeding, it must be done clandestinely. When Lord Leslie disappears from court it will be assumed that he has gone home. He hasn’t been to court in eighteen years, after all, and is hardly considered among the powerful or influential. He has asked me to go with him. I have said that I would, but my absence would be questioned, as I was asked to come to court by the queen and am considered her friend. I must lie to Meg. I will tell her that I have been sent a message that one of my daughters is very ill. That I must return to Friarsgate immediately, but that I will return to her as soon as possible-and indeed I will.”

“You want me to go back to Friarsgate and tell Edmund and Richard? Is that it?” he asked her.

“Aye, I do, Tom, but there is more. I would give you authority over my lands and my daughters until I return home again. I will not allow Henry Bolton any opportunity to steal my lasses, and by doing so, steal Friarsgate from me. He would try to bully Edmund and even Prior Richard, but he will not bully you. You are Lord Cambridge, and he just plain, ordinary Henry Bolton. I realize that I am asking a great deal from you, cousin. You thought to spend the winter here with me at the Scots court, escort me home, and then return to your own holding near London.”

“True,” Tom said. “And I am more disappointed that I cannot travel with you to San Lorenzo. I have heard it is a most beautiful little duchy.”

“I told Patrick you would be disappointed not to be accompanying us,” Rosamund responded with a small smile.

Lord Cambridge chortled. “And I am certain he expressed his regrets at losing my company, dear girl.”

She laughed. “Forgive us, dear Tom. Unexpectedly, and quite to our mutual surprise, we have fallen madly in love with each other. We must have this time to be together before it ends.”

“You do not expect to marry him, cousin?” Tom looked troubled.

“I will not leave Friarsgate, and neither can he leave his Glenkirk. We both understand this, Tom, and are content to have what time fate will allow us. That is why when the king asked Patrick to go to San Lorenzo he said he would only obey if I might come with him. Soon enough our duties will call us to our own holdings, Tom. I do not comprehend really what has happened, and I certainly do not understand why it has happened, but for the first time in my life I am in love. And I am loved in return. I have spent my life doing what was required of me. Now I require this little time for myself, and I shall have it.”

“I will keep your secret, cousin. I will help you create this subterfuge, and then I will return to Friarsgate with your authority to watch over your daughters for you. Edmund guards your lands, and he is an amusing companion, although he will persist in beating me at chess. It is not quite the winter I had envisioned, but you are my beloved Rosamund, and I will do it. When must we leave?”

“Not until after Twelfth Night,” she said.

“And Logan Hepburn? What of him? What am I to say when he comes calling? What if he comes here to court before you escape?”

“I shall cross that bridge if we come to it,” she said. “And if he comes to Friarsgate seeking me, you will tell him I went off with a lover, and ’tis all you know,” Rosamund instructed her cousin. “I will not be bullied by that wild borderer!”

“He’s in love with you, cousin,” her companion said.

“He wants a son of me,” she replied. “I will not be his broodmare, Tom. Let him get his son on another!”

“His family may force him to it now, dear girl. What will happen when you and Lord Leslie part and you decide that you want Logan Hepburn after all?” he asked her candidly.

“Then I shall allow him to become my lover,” she answered pertly. “If he indeed does love me for myself and not my fecundity, he will be content with that, Tom.”

“You have changed, my darling, since Owein’s death,” he told her. “Once you were a sweet innocent, but now you have become a willful wildcat. I love you nonetheless, however, and I do understand.”

“Then you are probably the only one who does, Tom, and I am grateful for it,” she responded softly. “Thank you for being the best friend I have ever had or ever will have!”

He shook his head at her. “Lord Leslie will not hurt you, I know. ’Tis you, I fear, who may hurt yourself. Do not lose your common sense, Rosamund. Enjoy this idyll you are about to embark upon, but keep a clear head, I beg you.”

“I will, dear Tom,” she promised. “I am in love, but I am not a fool. And Patrick, I suspect, will protect me from myself.”

“But who, I wonder,” he said quietly, “will protect Glenkirk?”