Until You

Chapter 4

There was a storm on Twelfth Night Day. Outside Stirling Castle the snow swirled in twisted whorls that were blown about by winds that howled mournfully through the narrow streets of the town and about the castle’s stone towers. In the Earl of Bothwell’s apartments the laird of Claven’s Carn adjusted his garments as he prepared to depart for the royal chapel.

“You can have your privacy here tonight,” Patrick Hepburn said. “I’ll find another place to sleep. You won’t be able to leave Stirling until this storm has blown itself out and down into England.”

“Thank you,” Logan replied glumly.

His cousin laughed. “All men feel this way on their wedding day. A thousand questions run through your head. Did I do the right thing? Will I love her? Will she give me sons and not daughters? Will she object if I take a mistress? Will I have to beat her?” He chuckled. “But we marry nonetheless, Logan, and young Jeannie will make you a fine wife. She’s already half in love with you and eager to please. Keep her that way, laddie, and your life will be a happy one.”

“Rosamund is coming to the wedding,” Logan answered. “What the hell is she coming to my wedding for, Patrick? I didn’t ask her to come. Is it possible she regrets her hasty decision?”

“Put the idea from your thoughts, laddie,” the earl advised. “She is coming to your wedding because the queen insisted she come. And she will be on Lord Leslie’s arm. She has no regrets at all. Why would she trade a simple border lord for her earl? The lass is no fool, Logan, but you stand in danger of being one if you allow your bruised heart to overrule your common sense this day. Let her go, and concentrate on the lovely lassie who will be your wife shortly.” He adjusted the fur collar of his cousin’s mid-calf-length burgundy velvet coat. The garment was lined in the same fur, as were its sleeves, which were flared. Beneath the gown he wore haut-de-chausses and silk hose striped in burgundy, black, and gold. A linen shirt with a ruffle was visible beneath his fur collar. “You look quite handsome, cousin, if I may say so.”

“I feel like a damned prized goose all done up for roasting,” Logan grumbled. “I think you had these wedding clothes waiting for me, Patrick.”

“I did,” the earl admitted with a broad grin.

“You had this whole damned affair planned, too, I’ll vow,” the laird continued.

“I did,” Patrick Hepburn said.

“What if Rosamund had agreed to marry me? What then, cousin?” Logan demanded.

“Come now, cousin. It is time for us to depart for the chapel,” the earl replied, ignoring the question. He took the younger man by the arm, and together they walked from the earl’s apartments.

The queen and her women had kindly seen to the young bride, Margaret Tudor giving the girl one of her own gowns, which had been quickly altered to fit the reed-slim girl. It was peach-colored velvet with an underskirt embroidered and quilted with large gold flowers. The neckline was low and square and fitted tightly. The long, tight sleeves had fur cuffs. An embroidered hanging girdle was wrapped about the bride’s waist.

“Gracious,” Rosamund murmured so that only the queen might hear her. “There is enough material here for another gown, I’ll vow. I do not remember you this plump, Meg.” She smiled sweetly.

“Jamie likes a woman with meat on her bones,” the queen murmured back. “Besides, this girl is very slim. Still, her husband will put a bairn in her belly no matter. Do you think Logan Hepburn is a good lover?”

“I wouldn’t know, Meg,” Rosamund said softly. “Do watch your tongue, else poor Jeannie will hear you.”

“Then take back what you said about my being plump,” the queen muttered.

“My memory of our youth grows faulty, madame,” Rosamund said.

The queen giggled. “I accept your apology,” she whispered. “Now, what shall our bride wear on her head, ladies?”

“Oh, madame,” said Tillie, the queen’s chief tiring woman, “do you not remember? A virgin going to her wedding wears her hair loose to indicate her virtue. You did on your wedding day, and I will wager that Mistress Rosamund did, too.”

“I did indeed, Tillie,” Rosamund replied.

“Where is your jewelry?” the queen asked Jeannie Logan.

“I have none, madame,” the bride answered.

“Here, take these pearls,” Rosamund said generously, removing a strand from about her neck. “They are a wedding present, Jeannie Logan, from your neighbor, the lady of Friarsgate.” She slipped the long strand about the girl’s neck. “There! They make the gown even lovelier.”

“Oh, Lady Rosamund, I could not!” the girl cried, but she was already fingering the pearls longingly.

“Of course you can,” Rosamund replied. “They are perfect, as are you. Logan Hepburn is a fortunate man. Make certain he knows it, Jeannie.”

“Thank you, my lady! I shall tell him how kind you have been to me,” the girl said ingenuously.

“Yes,” Rosamund agreed, “do tell him, and say I wish you both much happiness, Jeannie. Perhaps you will allow me to entertain you when I return to Friarsgate.” She smiled at the girl.

As they escorted the bride to the royal chapel, Margaret Tudor leaned over and whispered to her old friend, “You do have a bit of the bitch in you, Rosamund. This is another revelation.”

“I have naught against the lass, Meg. It is her arrogant mate my words were for, and I know she will repeat them as I have said them, and they will sting him. This is repayment for what he did on my wedding day to Owein.”

At the chapel door, the Earl of Bothwell was waiting to escort the bride. They left her with him and entered. The queen moved swiftly to the front of the room where her husband awaited her. They would formally witness the vows. Rosamund slipped into her seat next to Patrick. He took her hand immediately in his.

“No regrets, my darling?” he asked softly.

“None,” she told him, smiling.

The bridegroom came forth, and the bride was led to him by the Earl of Bothwell. The priest shook his censer of incense over them while the candles on the altar flickered and the storm outside moaned mournfully. The mass began. Logan’s eye went just once to Rosamund. She was standing next to the Earl of Glenkirk, gazing up at him adoringly. It was as if a hand had reached out and squeezed his heart to half its size. Then he felt the small hand slipping into his, and he looked down into the sweet face of his bride. She gave him a tremulous smile, and unable to help himself, he smiled back at her. Poor lassie. She wasn’t responsible for his heartbreak. Nay! ’Twas that brazen, false bitch boldly standing with her lover! He would put her from his heart and give what was left of it to this sweet lass who was about to become his wife.

The bride spoke her vows in a soft but clear voice. The bridegroom spoke his in a loud, almost defiant voice. The ceremony over, the wedding party adjourned to the Great Hall of Stirling Castle to join the rest of the court in the Twelfth Night celebration. The long holiday was about to come to an end, and the winter was setting in with a vengeance. The entire court drank to the health and long life of the newly wed couple. There was much jesting, and the bride was soon rosy with her blushes.

Patrick took Rosamund aside. “We must depart in two days,” he said in a low voice. “Remember, you can take but a few necessaries, my love.”

“I know. But Annie must pack for me as if I am leaving court for home,” she answered. “I can but hope the weather clears.”

“It may be better if it doesn’t,” Glenkirk told her. “We’re less apt to encounter the English at sea if the weather remains foul. They have no real navy, although the king’s brother-in-law, seeing our Jamie’s success in building ships, is embarking on the same course. You’re sure you would come?”

“Absolutely,” Rosamund told him. “Are you having second thoughts, my lord?”

“Nay! I cannot imagine my life without you now, Rosamund,” he told her.

“One day…” she began.

He stopped her lips with his fingers. “But not now.”

She nodded. “I hope the queen believes me,” she said. “I had best speak with her now, while I can.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss upon the lips, then rose from the board where she had been seated with him and other guests. Finding her way to the High Board, Rosamund caught the queen’s eye. Margaret Tudor beckoned her forward, and Rosamund hurried to her side.

“I have just received word, highness, that Philippa, my eldest daughter, is dangerously ill. How the messenger got through in this storm is a miracle, but I must depart for Friarsgate as soon as the storm clears,” Rosamund said.

“One of your own people came?” the queen said. “I would see him and commend him for his diligence.”

“Nay, madame, not one of my people. They are simple folk and would not know how to travel to Edinburgh and then on to Stirling. It was a messenger hired by my uncle Edmund. I didn’t even see him. He asked for me and was directed to Annie. She took the message and came to find me immediately after the mass,” Rosamund said.

“Ah,” the queen said, disappointed. “Must you leave me, Rosamund? I did so want you here for this birth. I have missed you, and we have had such fun these last few weeks.”

“You have had fun teasing me,” Rosamund said with a smile. “I will try to return in time for the prince’s birth, Meg.” She felt guilty lying to her old friend, especially in light of how good Margaret Tudor had always been to her. But the queen could not know the truth about the Earl of Glenkirk’s mission to San Lorenzo, and Rosamund knew she could not allow her lover to leave her at this point.

The queen nodded. “You are a good mother, Rosamund. Go home and tend to your daughter, but please come back when you can.”

“We will speak again before I leave you,” Rosamund responded. Then she curtsied and moved off.

The festivities went on the day long and into the evening. There was food and drink in abundance. There was music and dancing. A troupe of entertainers was allowed into the hall. They had a bear with a polished brass collar on a chain that danced to flute and drum. There were several men who juggled shiny balls and pastries from the tables. There was a blind girl who sang like an angel while accompanying herself on a small harp. And finally there were acrobats who tumbled and leapt across the hall, causing the spectators to ooh and ahh with delight. When the entertainers had departed the hall, it was time to put the bride and groom to bed in the Earl of Bothwell’s comfortable apartments. Rosamund did not join in this rough rite.

“It is as good a time as any for us to make our escape,” Patrick whispered to her with a smile.

Rosamund nodded. “I cannot imagine what poor Logan would think if he found me among the women who prepared his wife for the bridal bed,” she chuckled. “I gave the lass my pearls as a wedding gift, which should prick him enough.”

“Revenge for your own wedding day, my sweet?” Lord Cambridge said as he came to her side. “You are learning how to fight back, my pet. I am proud of you.”

“I have nothing against the lass, Tom,” Rosamund said. “Actually, she is perfect for him. She will obey his every wish and whim. She will dutifully produce children and keep his house in perfect order. And she’ll get little thanks for it, for Logan will believe it is his due. If the pearls pleased her, good! If it distresses him each time she wears them, good!”

“Would you believe that she was once as meek and mild as one of her lambs?” Tom said with a grin to the Earl of Glenkirk.

“I like a woman with a wee bit of spice,” the Earl of Glenkirk responded with a smile.

“Then you have surely found her in Rosamund,” Lord Cambridge chortled.

“I have told the queen I must return to Friarsgate because Philippa is ill,” Rosamund said quietly to her cousin.

“Ah, so our time at this delightful court is finished,” he noted. “It was too short, my pet. We must come back one day. Promise me we shall. If I am to spend my winter watching over your lasses I must have my reward.”

“You shall have it, Tom,” she promised. “If it were not for my girls, I should leave you here to pursue all manner of naughtiness.”

“And there are so many delights for a discreet gentleman to enjoy,” he sighed. “Of course, one must really be quite discreet. There are still those who remember this king’s father and his favorites. The Stewarts do seem to blow this way and that.” Tom Bolton grinned.

Glenkirk laughed. “And you have indeed been discreet, Tom. I have heard no rumors of bad behavior at all. In fact, several of the ladies have remarked that it is a pity a gentleman of your breeding has no wife.”

“What they mean, the wicked creatures,” he laughed, “is a gentleman with my purse, Patrick. But I prefer an unencumbered life, my dears, and Rosamund and her daughters are my heirs. She is my nearest kin. We are like brother and sister.”

“And a better friend I never had, dear Tom,” Rosamund told him. “Patrick and I will now retire, but you are free to enjoy as much of this court as you can until we must go in a few days.” She blew him a kiss as she departed the Great Hall.

In the little bedchamber that was their sanctuary, Rosamund and her lover undressed each other slowly as they prepared for bed. He was teaching her the lesson of patience, although it was not easy for her. Again she silently asked herself how it was possible that she had fallen so deeply, so desperately, in love with this man who less than a month ago was totally unknown to her. She had no answers today any more than she had had answers yesterday or would have them tomorrow. She knew only that she must be with Patrick, in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.

“What would your son think of us?” she asked him as she undid the silk ribbons holding her chemise closed.

“He would think me fortunate to have found love again,” Glenkirk said. “My daughter-in-law, however, would think me mad. She would say things like ‘At your age, my lord!’ and she would purse her narrow lips in disapproval. Anne has a hard heart. Would that Adam had known it before he wed with her, but he is content. He seems to know how to manage her, though she be shrewish.” He pushed the chemise from her shoulders and lifted her naked from the silken pile of material now about her ankles.

“I wonder if we shall ever meet,” she said, unlacing his shirt and pulling it off him. “Does he look like you? Or does he favor his mother?”

“He is tall and is said to have my features, but his eyes are his mother’s. Agnes had the bonniest blue eyes I have ever seen on a woman, and Adam has those eyes. I think that is what first attracted his wife to him.” He drew Rosamund’s naked form against his bare chest. “I love the feel of your nipples on my skin,” he told her.

She grew dizzy with the simple pleasure of his body against hers. “You are nothing like Owein, or even Hugh,” she told him.

“I’m glad,” he answered, and his lips brushed lightly over hers.

Rosamund’s breath was coming in small quick bursts. She could feel the hard length of him against her. “Will you get out of those damned haut-de-chausses?” she said through gritted teeth. Her hand smoothed down along the rigid stretch.

“Tch, Tch, lassie,” he scolded her. “Have you no patience?”

“Not where you are involved, Patrick Leslie,” she told him. “I admit that I am a shameless wench where you are concerned.”

“I must teach you better, Rosamund. Passion is best savored and enjoyed slowly. You want to gobble, but I will not allow it.” He loosed his hold on her and pulled off the last of his garments. Then, reaching for her again, he turned her so her back was to him and he might gather her lovely round breasts into his hands to enjoy. He fondled the fleshy globes tenderly all the while rubbing his manhood against her buttocks and between the cleft that separated those twin moons.

Rosamund sighed and relaxed against him. He was right. This was much better than a quick coupling. The teasing anticipation was arousing her to new heights. “Oh, Patrick,” she said softly, “that is so very, very nice, my darling.”

“We have only just begun, my love,” he told her. Then he turned her about to face him and kissed her deeply, his mouth hot and eager.

Their tongues met, caressed, dueled for superiority. They tasted each other, and then he lifted her up and carried her to their bed, laying her gently down and joining her. His big hands brushed over her torso, and she sighed. He turned her over onto her stomach and began massaging her back and her shoulders. His fingers dug into her prettily rounded bottom and then her thighs. He massaged her feet, rubbing any soreness that might have been there from them. “It is better, of course, with lotion or oil,” he explained. “In San Lorenzo they make the most delicious treats for the body, Rosamund, and I intend to introduce you to them all. They are lush and sensuous, and you will love what they do to your body, my love.”

Then he murmured a soft command to her, and when she positioned herself with raised buttocks he entered her womanly passage slowly and then began to pump her vigorously until Rosamund was whimpering with her pleasure. “That’s it, my pet,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “Enjoy the delights I can offer you. It has been a very long time since I wanted a woman as much as I want you. And even having you, it is not enough!” He thrust harder and deeper until she was screaming softly with her lustful satisfaction.

“Oh, God, Patrick! Please don’t stop! I could not bear it if you stopped!” she half-sobbed.

“There is more, my love,” he promised her, and then he continued on until he could no longer hold back his own desires. His love juices flooded her, and she wept.

“I cannot bear to think of the time when we must part,” she told him, her face wet with her tears.

“Do not consider it, my love,” he counseled her. “We have much time ahead of us, I promise you.” And he was kissing her face, her lips, and she was sighing with her happiness in their love while outside the single window in the room the storm raged on, but they neither knew nor cared.

The following afternoon the snow had finally abated, and the late day was clear, as was the night that followed. They would leave on the morrow. To Rosamund’s surprise, the laird of Claven’s Carn and his bride were to travel with them.

“Then he shall know that I have not gone home to Friarsgate!” Rosamund said, distressed.

“I have already spoken to the king, but he says there is no help for it. The queen made the arrangements, for she thought it would be safer for you to travel with the laird’s party. The king can say nothing lest he reveal his plans. He dare not, or England will learn of Scotland’s plans,” Glenkirk said. “I can but appeal to Logan Hepburn’s patriotism when we leave them for the Leith road. He can certainly keep his wife quiet.”

“And I shall keep her friendly and amused for the journey,” Tom added. “She will be feeling a bit strange going to her new home for the first time, and I will help to ease her fears. I shall keep Logan Hepburn’s friendship for Friarsgate despite your bad behavior, cousin,” Tom teased, and he grinned at her with a wicked wink.

Glenkirk laughed. “You are a valuable ally, Tom, and I thank you for it.”

“Do not think to wheedle me, my dear lord,” Tom said. “I am still quite put out that I must go back to Friarsgate in the snow while you whisk my fair cousin and best friend off to the balmy shores of San Lorenzo. I shall expect a great favor in return one of these days.”

“And you shall receive whatever it is your good heart desires,” Glenkirk replied. “Within reason, of course.”

“One man’s reason is another’s unreason,” Tom said with a chortle. “You must bring me sweet Mediterranean wines and some of your own whiskey if I am to be recompensed.”

“And I shall bring you jars of olives, stored with lemon and oil in stone crocks for a year. San Lorenzan olives are considered a rare delicacy,” the Earl of Glenkirk told Lord Cambridge. “I wish you could taste their grapes. They are the sweetest I have ever known.”

“Say not another word, dear man, for I am already regretting my decision to remain at Friarsgate!”

“Oh, Tom, you must! My lasses will not be safe without you there,” Rosamund cried.

“Dear cousin, I have given you my word, and I will indeed go to Friarsgate to watch over those three little angels you spawned. But I will nonetheless regret that I am not with you,” Tom said.

“You can teach them court manners,” Rosamund teased him.

“They can certainly use my tutelage,” he sniffed. “Especially Philippa, who should know better than to squat and pee when she is outdoors with the other children and nature calls to her. A proper young lady uses her chamber pot.”

“You will tell her that, of course, dear Tom,” Rosamund said, laughing.

“You are quite enjoying my distress,” he grumbled. “Well, I am not the one whose bottom will be red each day from all the riding you have ahead of you. While you gallop through the worst of the winter weather I shall be snug at Friarsgate with your good Maybel watching over me and cosseting me with her kind heart and good cooking. And what am I to tell her, cousin?”

“I have written a letter to her, Tom. She will ask you all manner of questions despite it, but you may answer her honestly,” Rosamund told him quietly. “She will blame poor Meg for my behavior, of course,” Rosamund concluded with a smile.

“Aye, she will not believe this reckless behavior of you, my dear girl,” he agreed.

“I must go and bid the queen farewell now,” Rosamund said, and she left the two men together by the fire in the Great Hall where they had all been seated.

The queen was feeling quite well when Rosamund arrived to see her.

“I have never felt better in these circumstances,” she declared.

“The king’s prediction will be a true one, then,” Rosamund responded.

“His predictions are always true,” Margaret Tudor replied. “It is sometimes quite eerie. So, you are leaving me, my old friend.”

“My visit has been wonderful!” Rosamund declared. “And I promise I shall come back to see you when I can.”

“You will not let the war separate us?” the queen asked.

“What war?” Rosamund was puzzled.

“The one that my brother, Henry, will certainly force upon my husband and Scotland,” the queen said. “This marriage between us was to settle the matter for good and all, but it has not. And it is all Hal’s fault! He presses Jamie at every turn. My husband, however, is far wiser than my brother; but eventually Hal will make war on Scotland, and you and I will be separated again, Rosamund.”

“If there is indeed a war, I shall not allow it to harm the friendship that we formed back at your father’s court when we were children, Meg. Whatever the men of this world may do, we women shall remain friends. I shall try and be here for your son’s christening,” she promised, “if not sooner.”

“What of Lord Leslie?” the queen asked, unable to help herself.

“He is coming with me,” Rosamund said. “He says he is not needed at Glenkirk now as his son is capable of managing their lands. And besides, it is easier for him to come with me to Friarsgate than to get back into his Highland eyrie with this weather.”

“Then you shall not be separated,” the queen said. “Oh, Rosamund, I am glad! For all I have teased you, I can see that you love him and he you. It is so strange, but there it is. God bless you both!”

“Why, thank you, Meg,” Rosamund said, and then she embraced the queen.

The following day dawned clear and very cold. It would take them two days to ride to Leith, Scotland’s main port on Firth of Forth. Logan assumed that they were riding to Edinburgh. They might have made the journey in a single day but that Lord Leslie did not feel young Mistress Hepburn was up to such a trip.

“She is young, but delicately made,” he noted. “It will be a hard enough venture for her, I fear.”

They overnighted at an inn near Linlithgow. It was a small establishment, and the two women were put into a chamber with another female traveler and Annie, while the men were shown into a dormitory with others of their sex. Rosamund found their situation very amusing until the bride sought to confide in her.

“Madame,” Jeannie began, “you are a lady of some experience, and I mean you no disrespect when I say that, but I need a woman’s advice.”

God’s boots, Rosamund thought to herself, but she drew a deep breath and said, “Are you certain you are not violating a confidence, Mistress Hepburn? Some things are meant to remain between a wife and her husband.”

“Nay, I do not believe I tell a tale I should not. I simply wish to know whether all men are so enthusiastic in their bed sport. And how often is it proper for a husband to couple with his wife?” She blushed as she spoke, the color rising swiftly to stain her pale cheeks.

“You are fortunate in your husband’s enthusiasm,” Rosamund replied. “It means he enjoys your company. And he may have your favors as often as he desires them, unless, of course, you are well along with child or your monthly courses are upon you. Men enjoy their bed sport differently than women do. It is the way God made them.”

“Aye, you are right,” Jeannie said slowly. “Thank you. My mother died when I was ten, and I was sent to the convent. The nuns do not know about such things; nor would they speak of them if they did. It is too worldly.”

Rosamund asked, “Were you unhappy to leave the convent, Mistress Hepburn?”

“Nay. But I had no sister or friend or other lady with whom to speak about these intimate things and I went to my marriage bed quite ignorant. But my husband was very kind and most patient with me,” Jeannie concluded.

“I am glad,” Rosamund told her. “Men sometimes do not understand innocence. They can be rough creatures. They mean no harm usually. It is just their way.”

“Oh, thank you, madame!” Jeannie said, and the gratitude in her voice was palpable. “I did not know what to think. May I ask one more question of you?”

Oh lord, save me! But Rosamund nodded, smiling. “Of course.”

“Is it proper that I enjoy it when my husband and I couple?” came the naive query.

“Did you enjoy it?” Rosamund was fascinated in spite of herself.

“Oh, very much!” Jeannie admitted, blushing deeply once again.

“It is proper,” Rosamund told her. “Indeed, it is good that you do.”

“I suppose we should get some sleep,” Jeannie said softly. “I expect tomorrow and the days to follow will be long ones. Is it far to Claven’s Carn?”

“If the weather holds it will take you several more days past Edinburgh,” Rosamund told the young girl. “Your home is on the border, and you are nearer to England than anything else Scotch.”

“I have been told the English are very fierce, madame. Is it true?” Jeannie’s blue eyes were wide with her interest.

“I am English, Mistress Hepburn. Do you find me fierce?” Rosamund teased the girl gently.

Jeannie giggled. “Nay, madame.”

“Go to sleep, then, lass, and do not worry yourself so much. You have married a good man, and you will be happy at Claven’s Carn,” Rosamund told her.

In the morning they departed even before the sun was up, riding for several hours until they reached a fork in the road where there were two directional signs. One said “Edinburgh” and the other said “Leith.” The Earl of Glenkirk stopped in the crossroad, and Tom rode up next to him.

“ ’Tis here we part company, Tom,” Patrick said quietly, and he signaled to Logan to join them. “Keep the ladies company, and make your farewells to your cousin while I speak with the laird.”

“Godspeed, Patrick!” Lord Cambridge said. “I hope we will meet again.” He shook the earl’s hand, then moved off to join Rosamund and Mistress Hepburn.

“What is this about, my lord?” Logan demanded. He was not at all happy that he had been traveling with this man and Rosamund for the past two days.

“What I am about to tell you, Logan Hepburn, must go no farther. I tell you this on the king’s order. Do you understand?”

The laird nodded, now intrigued. “I understand, my lord, and you have my word that whatever you tell me I will not repeat.”

“The queen,” the earl began, “enjoys a good jest. She found it amusing, not aware of why we were really departing the court, to put us together in our travels. She believes that Rosamund’s daughter is ill, and Rosamund is going to her. She believes I am accompanying Rosamund. She is fully aware of the relationship you desired to forge with the lady of Friarsgate and thinks it humorous that you and your bride travel with us. But Rosamund’s daughter is not ill, and we are not going to Friarsgate. The king has delegated me to undertake a secret diplomatic mission for him. As you are aware, I have not been to court or out of my Highlands for eighteen years. Consequently, no one would even consider that the king would appoint me to such a duty. Nor is anyone other than the king aware of what I am to do or where I am going. I cannot even tell you, Logan Hepburn. I told the king I would do his bidding if Rosamund could come with me.”

“What if she hadn’t wanted to go?” the laird demanded. He was, in spite of it all, jealous of this man who had somehow stolen Rosamund from him. “Rosamund loves Friarsgate and dislikes being away from it for very long.”

“Nonetheless she agreed to go with me,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly.

“How can you love each other so on such short acquaintance?” Logan burst out, unable to help himself from the question.

“I do not know,” the earl admitted honestly. “All I can tell you is that until Rosamund I had just existed, and I never even knew it. From the moment our eyes met we have desired nothing more than to be together.”

“She will never desert Friarsgate,” Logan said.

“Nor will I desert Glenkirk. But until the time comes when we must return to our duties, however long a time that is, we shall be together.”

“Do you love her?” he asked, his look tortured.

“I have always loved her,” came the strange reply.

“She loves you,” Logan said, almost bitterly.

“Aye, she does,” Patrick said simply.

“That you are leaving us here says you are going to Leith,” the laird of Claven’s Carn said.

“We sail tonight,” was the reply.

“Rosamund was never a girl for adventure,” Logan remarked. “She has changed so suddenly that I cannot believe she is the same girl. Have you bewitched her, my lord?”

The Earl of Glenkirk laughed. “Nay,” he said, “although we both considered such a thing that first night. She has told me she isn’t adventurous, and yet she is willing to come across a sea with me. Such is the power of our love. But it is not witchcraft, Logan Hepburn. Now, Tom Bolton will travel with you as far as Claven’s Carn, and Rosamund would appreciate it if your clansmen would escort him over the border back to Friarsgate. He holds her authority so that her uncle Henry cannot interfere should he learn she isn’t there. She fears for her lasses. Will you do that for her?”

“There is nothing she could ask me that I would not do,” Logan said.

“Laddie, laddie,” the earl replied, shaking his head at the younger man, “Bothwell gave you a sweet wife. Be true to her, and put my fair Rosamund from your thoughts. She would not have wed you even if we had not met. She is not ready to remarry, and I know she tried to explain that to you, but you would not hear what she had to say. You wanted a wife upon whom to get your heirs. You have one. Take her back to Claven’s Carn and put a bairn in her belly. Rosamund and I will be far away from Scotland.”

“And when you return, my lord?” the laird asked.

“I do not know. But when we do return I hope we shall hear that you have a healthy son, Logan Hepburn.” He held out his hand. “Now, shake my hand, for I already have your word that you will not divulge what we have discussed. Then bid us Godspeed. If I can accomplish what the king desires, we may prevent a war.”

The laird of Claven’s Carn took the Earl of Glenkirk’s big, gloved hand and shook it. “Then I do bid you Godspeed, my lord, and reassure you again that my lips are sealed in your secret matter. Tell Rosamund that I will see Tom Bolton is brought safe and sound back to Friarsgate.” Then he turned his mount and rejoined his wife and the clansmen who were accompanying them.

Rosamund and Tom moved forward. The Englishman took his cousin’s hand in his. “Be careful, dearest girl, and come home safe to us when you can,” he said.

“You have the letter for Maybel and Edmund?” she asked him for the third time.

“I do,” he said, and he kissed her hand. “Godspeed, cousin,” Tom told her, and then he rejoined the laird’s party as they moved off down the road to Edinburgh.

“You are certain?” Patrick asked Rosamund.

She nodded. “I am.” Then she turned to Annie. “ ’Tis now or never, lassie.”

“I’m coming!” Annie said firmly. “ ’Twill be something to tell my grandchildren one day,” she finished with a grin.

“Then, let us go,” the earl said, and he signaled to his manservant, Dermid More.

The little party of four, each mounted, turned onto the Leith road and headed for the port. The day remained very cold, but bright. They reached Leith in the late afternoon as the sun was setting behind them, making their way to the Mermaid Inn on the waterfront.

It was a large and prosperous establishment, and its courtyard was bustling busily. Dermid dismounted first and went into the inn. He returned a few moments later.

“Captain Daumier is awaiting us in a private room, my lord,” he reported.

“We’ll go in, then. You know the way, Dermid?” the earl asked, sliding off his horse and then helping Rosamund from hers.

Dermid nodded, then aided Annie to dismount.

“My bottom is fair sore,” Annie said with a sigh. She followed her mistress and the earl into the inn as Dermid led the way. It was a back route, and they neatly avoided the public rooms by taking it. At the end of a narrow hallway was a door, and Dermid knocked upon it, then opened the portal to usher his master and their party inside.

A portly gentleman arose from a chair by the fire and came forward. “Lord Leslie?” he asked.

“I am Patrick Leslie,” the earl replied.

The gentleman nodded. “Jean-Paul Daumier, captain of La Petite Reine,” he said.

“I was told we are to sail tonight, captain. Is everything on schedule?” Patrick Leslie queried.

“But, of course, my lord!” came the firm answer. “The weather is fair, and will remain that way for a few more days, thanks to le bon Dieu. We have good northwest winds, and your passage should be a swift one. Be advised that I will be hugging the English coast for several days so that if the weather turns we can make port safely. We’ll cross the Strait of Dover to Calais, then sail on to Boulogne, and if the weather is still good I can get you as far as Le Havre, but no farther. The weather will turn sooner than later, and I’ll not cross the Bay of Biscay at this time of year. I’m just a coastal freighter.”

“I understand,” the earl said. “And having made that passage several times, I will certainly agree with you, Captain Daumier. Will we be safe, however, within sight of the English coast?”

“Oui! The English, for all they proclaim the French their enemies, are always happy to see me, my lord. Especially the wine merchants and their rich customers!” Captain Daumier said with a broad smile. “If we should be boarded, I have enough empty barrels aboard to confirm my story, and you are just a gentleman running away from his wife with his amour, eh?” He chuckled.

The Earl of Glenkirk laughed. “Nonetheless, I hope we are not stopped.”

“It is unlikely,” the captain told him. “These English are not good sailors. But their king, I am told, seeks to build a great navy, so maybe one day they will be. For now they fish near the shore and run for land at the slightest blow. We will be safe.”

The earl nodded. “When do we sail?” he asked.

“You have time for a good supper, my lord, but then you should come aboard. I will send my cabin boy for you and your party,” the captain responded. Then he bowed, and taking up his cloak, departed.

“I am ravenous!” Rosamund announced. “It has been a long, cold ride.”

“Dermid, find the landlord and order us supper. Do it discreetly, and try not to be seen by any who might recognize you. Leave your plaid and badge here, man,” the earl instructed his servant.

“Aye, my lord,” Dermid said, and hurried out.

“Why did you instruct Dermid as you did?” Rosamund asked Patrick.

“Because Leith is a port, and it is full of spies seeking whatever bits of information they can find to sell. A Leslie tartan would give rise to questions in certain quarters, and so I prefer that we not be seen or identified,” he explained to her.

“But the landlord? How did we get this private accommodation, and how will we pay for it?” she questioned him.

“The landlord of the Mermaid is in the king’s pay. He collects bits of information for Jamie Stewart. He was instructed to have this room available for Captain Daumier and his friends. And he was paid well to be silent about it,” the earl explained to her.

“This is certainly a world of which I had no idea,” Rosamund said to him.

“Why would you, my love?” he said in answer. “You are the lady of Friarsgate, a prosperous estate in the borders of England. Intrigue is not something with which you would be familiar, but you will soon learn much of it, for you are with me. This is more than likely a useless business I undertake, but the king will attempt every means he can to avoid a war with England. Would that your king were as careful.”

“Henry Tudor has a great sense of his own importance,” Rosamund began. “When he decides that he is right, he will follow a course to its end. And God is always on his side,” she finished with a smile.

The Earl of Glenkirk laughed aloud at this. “I think, my darling,” he said, “that you have a very sharp eye and will be very useful to me in this matter.”

“I will not act against England, Patrick,” she told him. “I am no traitor.”

“Nay, lovey,” he responded. “We do not act against England, but Scotland’s king is older, more experienced, and has more wisdom than your Henry Tudor. And do not forget that Scotland’s queen is England’s sister. But we would prevent a war, and our king will not betray his alliances to serve his own ends, as your king attempts to make him do. It is most dishonorable, Rosamund.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Meg always said her younger brother was a bit of a bully. And now he is England’s king.”

“And jealous of King James’ good relations with His Holiness. He attempts to destroy that relationship for his own ends,” the earl noted.

“He is not a man who likes to lose, or even take second place,” Rosamund admitted. “Patrick, tell me exactly what it is you go to do.”

“When we are aboard La Petite Reine,” the earl said.

“You do not trust me?” She was astounded and hurt.

He took her in his arms. “Aye, I trust you, but I cannot know who is listening at the door, my love. Do you understand me?”

Her amber eyes grew wide with surprise, and then she silently nodded.

A moment later the door opened to admit Dermid and a servingman bearing a tray. The tray was set upon a table, and the servant left after a swift glance about the room. There was nothing of note, and it was just as his master had told him. Lovers escaping to another land. No one would pay good coin for that unless they were people of importance, and while their clothing was fine, it was not extravagant, and the gentleman wore neither a plaid, nor a badge that would identify him. Disappointed, the servingman was swiftly gone.

“He’s got a sharp eye in his head,” Annie noted pithily.

“Nothing to see here.” Dermid grinned at her.

The two young servants served their master and mistress the meal that had been brought, and then, invited, sat down to eat with them. There was a joint of beef, a fat capon with apple, and bread stuffing. There was a bowl of mussels steamed in white wine and bread that was freshly baked and still warm from the oven, with softened butter melted on it. A wedge of cheese had been supplied along with a pitcher of October ale. They ate in silence, and they had barely finished when there was a soft knock upon the door. It opened to reveal a young boy.

“Madame and monseigner will follow me,” he said, turning to go.

Annie set her mistress’ fur-lined cloak around her shoulders and then stuffed the pockets of her own cloak with the apples and pears that had come with their meal. Then she and Dermid followed after the ship’s boy. They exited the inn through the same back entrance through which they had entered, and followed their guide away from the courtyard and down a narrow alley, out onto a long, wide dock. At the end of the wharf was their vessel, a fair-sized boat that appeared to be in good condition. They boarded, and the boy led them through a door at the ship’s stern.

“This will be your cabin,” he said, and then he left them.

Rosamund looked about the room. It wasn’t very big, she thought nervously.

“There is still time,” he said to her.

“Nay,” she responded.

A large wide bunk was built into the wall, and above it was a single bunk.

“You and Annie will sleep here,” the earl said. “Dermid and I will take turns sleeping and watching.”

“ ’Tis cold,” Rosamund said.

He nodded. “We won’t be warm again for several weeks,” he told her. “Traveling in winter is never very pleasant, but we will manage. You and Annie get into bed now, for that is how you will stay warmest. Remove only your shoes, lovey.”

The two young women climbed into the larger of the two bunks after taking their shoes off. They burrowed beneath a surprisingly warm down coverlet.

“It’s better here,” Rosamund agreed.

“You can sleep safely. Dermid and I will not leave you,” he told her.

“I think I am too excited to sleep,” Rosamund told him, but both she and Annie were soon snoring lightly.

“Get your rest. I’ll take the first watch,” the earl told Dermid, and the servant climbed into the top bunk without another word. Patrick settled himself in the small window seat of the stern window. He listened while the ship was freed from its moorings. He felt the shift of the vessel as it began to get under way, slipping out into Firth of Forth, riding on the outgoing tide. He could see the royal shipyard with the black masts of Great Michael, the king’s pride and joy. The night was fair, and as they moved farther down Firth of Forth and away from the port the stars began to appear in the dark skies above them.

Patrick thought back to the last time he embarked for San Lorenzo. His daughter, Janet, was no more than ten, and Adam, six. He traveled as King James’ first royal ambassador to San Lorenzo. He hadn’t wanted to go, to leave Glenkirk, but duty had called him; the king had said it would not be for more than a few years. When he had returned again to Scotland his daughter was lost to him forever. He and his son and Mary MacKay, who had been his daughter’s maternal grandmother, had gone back into their Highlands. Mary had died several years later, in her cottage, where his daughter had been born. Jan. Janet Mary Leslie. What had become of her? Was she even alive today?

And now here he was once again on his way to that exquisite Mediterranean duchy, traveling this time with a girl younger than his daughter would be now. What madness, he thought, with a small smile. And what incredible happiness he was experiencing, such as he had never known in all of his life. Silently he thanked the fates for giving him Rosamund. That she was as passionate about him was astounding. The mode of their travel was hardly romantic. It would take them several days to reach France traveling as they were, and then a long and weary ride stretched before them. He had been mad to ask her to go. He had been mad to consider going himself. It was a fool’s errand the king was sending him upon, but James Stewart would do whatever he had to do to keep the peace with England.

Amazingly, the weather held as they sailed south down the coastline, never letting the land disappear from their sight. It was cold, but the brisk winds sent their vessel speeding along. And then, one morning as Annie and Rosamund stepped from the cabin for a walk about the deck, Captain Daumier approached and pointing, said, “France, madame. We crossed the Strait of Dover in the early hours of the morning. As the weather is holding, we shall make for Le Havre. With luck we will be there by the morrow.”

“That is very good news, captain. Does Lord Leslie know?” Rosamund asked him.

“Aye, madame. ’Twas he who told me to come and tell you. He is at the wheel even now. Look up,” the captain replied.

Rosamund did, and to her surprise saw her lover piloting their vessel. Laughing, she waved at him and called, “Be sure, my lord, that you do not bring us back to England!”

The next morning La Petite Reine sailed into Le Havre and was made fast to a sturdy stone wharf. To Rosamund’s great surprise, their horses were brought forth from the belly of their ship and led out onto the pier.

“I never thought about the beasts from the moment we dismounted at the Mermaid,” she said.

“It’s less noticeable if we retain our own animals and do not seek to purchase new ones. The fewer people we deal with, the fewer remember us. These ports, and many of the inns, are nests of intrigue. The buying and selling of information is a brisk trade,” the Earl of Glenkirk said. Then he turned and thanked Captain Daumier for their safe passage.

“It was le bon Dieu’s own good fortune, my lord,” the seaman said. “You know this is not a good time to cross from Scotland. We were very lucky. Certainly le bon Dieu is smiling on your endeavor, whatever it may be.” Then he shook the earl’s hand and turned away.

Rosamund, Annie, and Dermid were already mounted. The earl joined them.

“We have the day before us, and we have eaten aboard ship. Let us get away from the port and be on our way as quickly as possible,” Glenkirk said.

They rode each day that followed from sunup to sunset, bypassing Paris, moving cross-country, usually staying off the main roads. Both Rosamund and Annie were garbed as young men, and anyone who noticed the riders saw four gentlemen. Rosamund remembered her trips to the English court from her northern home. They had been far more civilized than this travel was. There had been monasteries and nunneries in which to stay the night. In France they sought their shelter where they might find it, but mindful of the two women, the earl did seek out farms with good barns in which they might overnight, offering the farmer a coin in exchange for his hospitality. More often than not, the farmer’s wife would offer new bread, which they gratefully accepted. They purchased food occasionally in the market towns along their route.

The weather, which was at first cold and some days wet with rain or snow, began to grow milder as they traveled south and east. Suddenly it was spring, and the sun shone more often as they rode along. Finally, after many days on the road, the earl said, “We will reach San Lorenzo tomorrow.”

“The first thing I want is a bath!” Rosamund said fervently. They had settled into a comfortable barn for the night, having been invited to the farmer’s table for a hot supper.

“We shall not meet the duke until we have bathed and are properly clothed,” he promised her, putting an arm about her shoulders.

“I am to meet the Duke of San Lorenzo?” Rosamund was surprised by this revelation. She sat up. Then she said, “But, of course. It will complete the illusion of two lovers running away together.”

“You are my beloved companion, sweetheart,” he said. “The duke is a most urbane gentleman. I look forward to seeing him again, although I admit I wish I did not have to see his son and daughter-in-law.”

“The boy who was to wed your daughter?” Rosamund asked.

“Aye,” the earl said softly. “I always thought he wed that princess from Toulouse too quickly. I wonder if he ever really loved my Jan.”

“Let the past be done with, my lord,” Rosamund said softly. “Nothing will change by allowing bitterness to take hold of you. You are here on a specific mission for your king. Do your duty, and let what happened all those years ago remain but a dim memory. You are not here to treat with San Lorenzo, but rather with Venice and the Holy Roman Empire.”

He nodded at her. “You speak wisdom, sweetheart,” he responded. “How is it a little girl from Cumbria should be so clever?”

“I think it is due to Hugh Cabot, my second husband, who taught me to have a care for myself and Friarsgate; and I think it is due to my youth at King Henry the seventh’s court. Most of my care was in the household of the old king’s mother, called the Venerable Margaret. She was very wise.”

“You obviously learned your lesson well, Rosamund,” he complimented her.

“Go to sleep, my lord,” she advised. “Tomorrow will be a busy day for us. I will be glad to sleep in a bed once again, bathe, and wear beautiful garments. I am weary of being a lad.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Good night, my dearest love,” she told him.

“And I am eager to have you in my bed again the way you should be,” he murmured in her ear, and then he nibbled teasingly upon it. “I very much need you, Rosamund.”

“And I you,” she whispered back. “If the duke can supply us with a large tub, we shall bathe together,” Rosamund murmured meaningfully.

“If we do, you know what will happen,” he told her, and he nuzzled her neck.

“I certainly hope so!” Rosamund replied. “Now, go to sleep, Patrick. You will not get much rest tomorrow,” she promised him.

And the Earl of Glenkirk laughed, drawing her into his embrace, one hand cupping a breast. “Nor will you, sweetheart,” he agreed. “Nor will you!”