Until You

Chapter 5

The capital city of the duchy of San Lorenzo lay be fore them as they looked down from the mountain road on which they had been traveling.

“I have never seen houses in so many colors!” Rosamund exclaimed. “Our houses are either natural stone or whitewashed.”

“The town’s name is Arcobaleno. It means rainbow in the tongue of the Italians,” he explained to her. “The people of San Lorenzo, their duchy set between France and the Italian states, speak both tongues equally.”

“I speak some French,” Rosamund told him. “I understand better than I speak, however. That can prove to be to my advantage. I shall learn a great deal more in my ignorance,” she told him with a smile.

He laughed. “You are too clever by far, sweetheart,” he responded.

They moved down now into Arcobaleno. About them, the hills were turning emerald green in the mid-February sunshine. They had come up the hills from a valley newly plowed and planted. Grain, Patrick had told her. On the heights about the town he pointed out the vineyards to the south. San Lorenzan wine was excellent, he assured her, as she would shortly learn. The town itself was perched on the hillsides above the blue sea. Not one house set along the neatly cobbled streets was of the same color, and Rosamund was amazed to find so many hues in the spectrum of the rainbow.

“What is that building?” Rosamund asked the earl, pointing to a complex set just above the town itself.

“The palace of the duke,” he responded. “And see the pink marble villa facing the sea? That is the Scottish ambassador’s residence. We are going there first. Soon enough it will be known that I am here, for like everywhere else, this is a hotbed of spies. For now I’d like to keep it secret. The duke will not be officially involved in this matter for his own safety and the safety of San Lorenzo.”

“Will the ambassador be expecting us?” Rosamund asked.

“Nay,” the earl chuckled. “We shall be quite a surprise to him. But I am carrying a letter from the king, and so it will be all right.”

They rode past the duke’s palace. At the open gates were guardsmen in sea-blue and gold uniforms. Peering into the courtyard beyond, Rosamund saw, to her surprise, a gentleman she recognized. She stared hard at the man dismounting his horse. “Do the English have an ambassador here, my lord?” she asked Patrick.

“Aye, but only recently. Why?”

“As we passed the palace courtyard I saw a gentleman I recognized from the English court,” she explained.

“Would he recognize you, sweetheart?” the earl asked her, concerned.

“I do not know, Patrick. We were never introduced, nor did we ever speak, but I know who he is. He is one of the Howards. Not an important one, just a distant cousin.”

“But he has obviously been given this posting to please his more powerful relations,” Glenkirk noted. “We will have to see he does not become involved in our little business. It would not do for Henry Tudor to learn we are attempting to weaken the alliance the pope seeks to build.”

They rode farther down towards the town, coming to the pink villa that was the residence of Scotland’s ambassador. Patrick felt the years sliding away as he remembered his own tenure here. Like San Lorenzo itself, he had never thought to see it again. They rode through the open gates into the courtyard, and immediately there were servants to take their horses. The majordomo came out to greet the visitors.

He was an elderly man, but his eyes widened with recognition as he approached them. “My lord Leslie!” he said. “Welcome! Welcome back to San Lorenzo!”

“Pietro! How wonderful to find you still here!” Glenkirk said, wringing the old man’s hand. “Is your master inside? I have brought a message from our king.”

“Come in, my lord! Come in!” He led them out of the sun, which was surprisingly hot.

“I will tell my master that you are here. We were not expecting visitors,” Pietro said. He led them into a beautiful light-filled chamber overlooking gardens. “If you will wait here, my lord. There is wine for refreshment.” He hurried out as fast as his old legs could carry him.

“He was my majordomo when I served the king here,” Patrick noted.

“He obviously likes you,” Rosamund said.

“His daughter liked me, too,” came the mischievous reply. “She had dark hair and eyes and golden skin.”

“From what I have seen along the road, my lord, I imagine she is now a plump and well-settled matron. A grandmother, perhaps?” Rosamund murmured sweetly.

“You are jealous, sweetheart,” he said, and his tone was exceedingly pleased.

“Why are men so vain?” Rosamund wondered aloud.

“Ouch!” he cried, falling back, clutching his chest in mock distress. “Your claws are all the sharper for these weeks on the road, my sweet Rosamund.” Then he chuckled.

“My lady!” Annie said excitedly. “Look out in the gardens. There are flowers blooming, and ’tis but February. And didn’t the sun feel good, and it still winter?”

“Winter does not visit San Lorenzo, Annie,” the earl explained, “except on very rare and quick occasions.”

“You mean it’s like this all the time?” Annie was astounded. “Surely you’ve brought us to paradise, my lord.”

“I once thought it so,” he replied.

The door to the salon opened, and a tall, grizzled gentleman walked through. “My lord earl!” he said, and he bowed.

“Lord MacDuff,” Patrick said. “Is there someplace we may speak privily? And if my lady and her servant might be taken to comfortable quarters… We will be staying with you. Dermid, go with Annie and Lady Rosamund.” The Earl of Glenkirk’s voice rang with authority.

“Of course, my lord,” the ambassador replied. “Pietro!” The majordomo was immediately in the room. “My lord?”

“Show the lady to our guest quarters, and see that everything is done to make her and the earl comfortable. My lord, come with me.” And Lord MacDuff led Patrick from the salon.

Pietro bowed. “I speak English, a little bit, my lady,” he said.

“And I speak French a little bit,” Rosamund told him with a smile.

The majordomo smiled back. “Then if my lady will follow me,” he responded.

They followed him from the lovely salon out into the round marble foyer and up two levels of a wide marble flight of stairs. On the third landing he opened the gilded walnut doors and ushered them into a spacious apartment.

“Is there anything you need at the moment, my lady?” he asked her.

“We have been on the road for many days, Pietro. I should love a bath,” she told him.

“At once, my lady,” he told her, and he hurried off.

“And what will you be wearing after I take these stinking clothes and have ’em burned?” Annie demanded to know.

“Do I not have at least one clean shirt or chemise?” Rosamund asked.

“Well, you can hardly meet anyone in just your chemise,” Annie replied pithily.

“Well, then, I suppose after my bath I shall need to see a seamstress,” Rosamund told her servant. “The earl has promised me that he would have a suitable wardrobe made for me. And you will need new garments as well, Annie.”

“I’d actually like to have a bath myself, and some clean clothing,” Annie admitted. “Don’t think I’ll ever get the stink of horse out of me hair.”

“Let’s explore this apartment and see what we have while we are waiting for my bath,” Rosamund suggested.

Together the two young women began walking about and opening doors. The apartment had its dayroom in which they now stood, but it also had two bedchambers adjoining each other and two small chambers each containing a single bed, a chest, and a little table.

“You have your own room,” Rosamund told Annie, “and there is one for Dermid. Choose now, you two, and set your possessions inside. Dermid, I did not ask you before, but were you with the earl when he was last here in San Lorenzo?”

“Nay, ’twas my uncle,” Dermid said. “I was just newly breeked when the lord came home. My uncle chose me to go with the earl when the king sent for him. He has no lads of his own, just daughters,” Dermid explained. “He said he was too old to go traipsing about any longer, and so was the master. But when the king called, a loyal man answered, and that man would need his servant. He’d been training me to take his place these last few years anyway. He’ll be surprised when he learns where I’ve been.”

“If you can tell him,” Rosamund said quietly.

“Aye, lady. I may not be able to say,” Dermid answered her.

“Oh, my lady, look!” Annie had opened the windowlike doors across the dayroom. Beyond was a balcony that stretched across the villa, and beyond it was the blue sea. “Ain’t it beautiful!” Annie said.

“Yes, it is,” Rosamund replied, joining her servant. “I don’t think I have ever seen anything as beautiful outside of Friarsgate.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you mention home in weeks,” Annie noted. “I wondered if you had forgotten it.”

“Nay. Friarsgate is my first love, and it will always be my love, Annie. We will go home eventually, but this is so exciting. I never thought to see a place like San Lorenzo, or live through a winter without chilblains on my hands. Once I should have been content to never leave Friarsgate, and one day I will feel the same way again. But not now. Not today.”

The door to the apartment opened, and a line of footmen, led by Pietro, began to enter. He signaled with his hand to Dermid. “Here, man, help me,” he said. Then he entered the more feminine bedchamber, pressed a hidden lock on one of the walnut-paneled walls, which sprang open to reveal a huge bathing tub, and with Dermid’s aid wrestled the tub from its place out into the room. “Where will you have it, my lady?” he asked her.

Rosamund looked about the room, and then seeing that the windowed doors opened onto the terrace, said, “Put it out there, Pietro.”

The majordomo smiled broadly. “Ah,” he said as he and Dermid wrestled the tub to its desired location, “Madame is a romantic.”

Rosamund smiled back at him. “It seems a perfect place,” she murmured.

The tub was set out upon the marble terrace, and the footmen began to fill it with their buckets, slowly climbing the twin sets of steps placed on either side of the tub and dumping the water into the large vessel, which was made of hard oak and bound in polished brass bands. It was a labor-intensive effort, but finally the tub was filled.

“I shall need a seamstress, Pietro,” Rosamund said. “The earl and I traveled swiftly and upon horseback all the way from the French coast. None of our party has suitable clothing for the duke’s court. That must be remedied as quickly as possible.”

“At once, madame,” Pietro answered her with a bow. “My daughter is the finest seamstress in all of Arcobaleno. I shall send her to you.”

“Is she the one who was once Lord Leslie’s mistress?” Rosamund inquired.

“The very same, madame,” he answered her with a twinkle. “His lordship will not recognize her, for she has grown well rounded with her marriage, her children, and her enterprise.” He bowed again, and then turned and left her.

“Send her to us late this afternoon,” Rosamund called after him.

“After siesta, of course, madame,” the majordomo replied. “And she will bring a fine selection of fabrics, too.” Then he was gone.

“Maybel wouldn’t approve of your being so bold, my lady, and you can smack me for it if you will, but ’tis so,” Annie said.

Rosamund laughed. “I am at a disadvantage here, Annie, and I know that Lord Leslie had a mistress when he was last in San Lorenzo. I would prefer no surprises. Now, help me out of these clothes and into that lovely tub.”

“You’re not going naked out on that terrace, my lady?” Annie fretted.

“We are facing the sea,” Rosamund replied. “There is no one to see me.” She sat down and pulled off her boots. “Whew!” she exclaimed, peeling her stockings off her feet. “Dispose of it all, Annie, and I mean it. It’s beyond washing.”

Annie nodded as she helped her mistress to undress. “I’ve saved one clean chemise, my lady,” she told Rosamund. “When you are clean you can put it on. Dermid, go and bring in our packs,” she instructed the earl’s man.

Dermid gave her a wink and left them.

“Cheeky Scots devil,” Annie muttered.

“He likes you,” Rosamund noted.

“Aye, and I like him, but that’s as far as it will ever go,” Annie said.

“Why?” Rosamund wanted to know.

“Because you ain’t never going to leave Friarsgate, and I ain’t never going to leave you,” Annie said.

“Nay, Annie,” her mistress said. “If you love him, and he you, then you are free to wed him and go with him. I will not have you unhappy on my account.”

“Well, as it ain’t got that far yet, my lady, I don’t have to think about it, do I?” Annie remarked with a small smile.

“One day you may, and when you do, I would advise you to follow your heart, Annie. I have, and what is sauce for the goose is surely sauce for the other goose,” she chuckled.

“Oh, my lady, you say such funny things,” Annie giggled. She picked up a coverlet that was lying upon the bed and wrapped it about her mistress. “You ain’t going out to your tub as naked as the day God made you, my lady,” she said firmly.

Wrapped in the fabric, Rosamund walked out onto the terrace. “I’ll have to unwrap it sooner or later,” she said, and after climbing up the steps to her tub she flung off the makeshift gown and stepped carefully into the hot water with a deep sigh. “Ahhh,” she said, seating herself on the little stool within the tub. “This is wonderful!” Reaching up, she unbraided her long hair and began to wash it with the fragrant soap that had been placed upon the tub ledge.

Annie climbed up the steps with a bucket and rinsed her mistress’ soapy hair with water dipped from the tub. Three times Rosamund soaped her auburn hair and scrubbed it and her head free of the dirt of the long road that they had traveled. And each time Annie poured several buckets of water over the young woman’s head until Rosamund bid her to cease.

“Give me a drying cloth to wrap my head in while I wash,” she said, and she took the item from Annie to enfold it about her head in turbanlike fashion. Then she set about washing the rest of her body. When she had finished, she exited the tub and said to Annie, “Get in, girl! ’Tis not likely you will be given another opportunity.”

Annie didn’t argue. Forgetting completely where she was, she stripped her filthy clothes off and climbed into the still-warm water to bathe her hair and her body. Rosamund sat upon a bench on the terrace, wrapped in a large drying cloth and brushing her hair with her pear-wood brush, the one luxury item she had carried with her from Scotland. The warm air and the bright sunlight quickly dried her thick hair. When Annie had finished bathing, her mistress handed her another drying cloth, and the servant came forth from the tub, smiling.

“Ah, my lady, thank you,” she said. “I’m not much for all the washing you do, but after our travels it was good to have a bath.”

“But now, Annie, we have another problem. What are you to wear?” Rosamund laughed.

“I got a chemise like you, my lady, but naught else. I expect that Pietro will be able to find me a skirt and shirt however. When Dermid gets back I’ll send him off to ask.” She wrapped herself in her drying cloth and sat down next to her mistress.

Rosamund handed her the brush. “Dry your hair,” she said.

“Oh, I couldn’t use your brush, my lady,” Annie protested.

“Then your hair will dry a tangle, Annie,” Rosamund said.

“I’ll use my fingers,” Annie told her. “ ’Tis what I do anyhow.”

While Annie was drying her hair Dermid returned with their packs from the horses. He flushed at the sight of the two women wrapped in their drying cloths. “I’ll leave your pack there, my lady,” he addressed Rosamund, his eyes averted from her. “And I’ll distribute the rest as they ought to be.” He tossed one of the saddlebags on Rosamund’s bed and scurried away.

Annie giggled. “He ain’t too brave now, is he?” she said.

“Go and put on your chemise,” Rosamund instructed her. “I can put my own on, and then I’m going to lie down and have a nap on that soft-looking bed. You should do the same, lass. Until the seamstress comes after siesta, whatever that is, there is naught for us to do.” She lay down upon the bed, suddenly tired and unable to even pull out her chemise. “Just for a little bit,” she said to herself softly, and she closed her eyes.

“I’m sending Dermid for that Pietro. I can’t go around without my clothes until something new can be made for me,” Annie said, and after putting on her chemise she went off to seek out her fellow servant

Patrick finally appeared to find Rosamund sleeping. Seeing her upon the bed, wrapped in the drying cloth, so much of her bare to his view was tempting. Then he spied the tub still out on the terrace. He stripped off his travel-worn garments, then walked outside and climbed into the tub. The water was lukewarm and well used, but he was nonetheless able to wash himself thoroughly using the scented soap upon the tub’s shelf. He sniffed and smiled. The fragrance was a familiar one, one he had not smelled in years.

Annie returned to the terrace in her chemise and gave a little squeak to see him so ensconced. “Oh, my lord!” She blushed furiously.

“Give me your drying cloth, lassie, as I can see you are quit of it, and then find your own place,” he ordered the serving girl gently.

“Aye, my lord,” she answered him. “Pietro is sending the seamstress to us after siesta. What is siesta?”

“The time following the midday meal and the late afternoon when the sun is less hot,” he explained. “It is the custom to nap, or otherwise amuse oneself, Annie.”

“Thank you, my lord!” she answered, giving him a bobbing little curtsy. “Shall I wake my lady?”

“Nay, Annie. She is fair worn, I can see. Let her sleep. I will shortly join her. Run along now, lass.” He took the drying cloth from the girl.

“Yes, my lord,” Annie said obediently, and she was quickly gone.

Patrick pulled himself out of the tub and dried himself off before wrapping the cloth about his loins and seating himself on the marble bench. The sun on his shoulders felt wonderful. He had forgotten how good one’s body felt when exposed to the air and the heat of the sun. And he realized now that if Rosamund was tired after their exhausting journey then so was he. He stood and went back inside, lying down next to her. She murmured softly, but made no other indication that she was even aware of him. His eyes closed, and he was swiftly asleep.

When he awoke several hours later, Rosamund was gone from their bed, but he could hear her in the dayroom beyond. He gave himself a few moments for his head to clear, and then he stretched before arising to walk towards the sound of her voice.

“Ah, you are awake,” she said, seeing him. She was seated at a table, eating ravenously. “Come and eat so we may siesta again,” she told him, and she licked her fingers clean of grease from the chicken wing she was devouring. “I am going to enjoy this southern style of living, my darling.”

He sat down opposite her with a grin and helped himself to the full bowl of oysters, which he began cracking open and swallowing whole.

“I left them for you,” she said sweetly. “I thought you might need your strength, my lord.” She picked up her goblet. “You are right. This San Lorenzan wine is delicious.” Then she reached out for the pitcher and poured a generous measure into his goblet. “The seamstress is coming later,” she said.

“So Annie said,” he replied as he picked up the goblet to drink some wine.

“She is Pietro’s daughter, an old friend of yours, I believe,” Rosamund said innocently.

He choked upon his wine. “Celestina? Jesu! Maria!”

Rosamund giggled mischievously. “Pietro says you will not recognize her, for she has grown with age, bairns, and her busy enterprise. I shall be fascinated to meet her.”

“You will behave yourself, madame,” he said sternly.

“Now, Patrick, it is not often that the current mistress is permitted to meet the mistress of one’s youth,” she teased him wickedly.

His green eyes narrowed. “You’re a bad wench,” he said.

“I am,” she agreed, “but I promise to behave. Will you have some of this delicious roast kid?” She carved several slices and put them on his plate together with an artichoke that had been steamed in wine, some fresh bread, and a wedge of soft cheese. “The ambassador has an excellent cook,” she noted, and then she returned to her own meal.

“If you continue to eat like that, you shall end up like Celestina obviously has,” he teased her.

“I have almost starved these past few weeks,” she complained. “You did not tell me that food would be so scarce, or cold, or tasteless along the road, my lord. I shall eat like this every day and bathe daily as well,” she told him.

“Was it you who suggested the tub be put out on the terrace overlooking the sea?” he asked her.

She nodded. “I thought how lovely to bathe while looking out at the hills and the sea and the town below.”

He smiled at her. “Then we shall keep the tub there while we are here, sweetheart.”

“How did your meeting with Lord MacDuff go?” she queried him.

“He was surprised to see us, of course, but once he had read the king’s letter he understood. You were right. The English ambassador is Richard Howard, and he is an unctuous little man, always bowing and scraping to the duke when he isn’t being arrogant and making demands on behalf of his master.”

“And does the duke of this place know you are here and for what purpose?” Rosamund asked her lover.

“I brought a missive for Duke Sebastian, and MacDuff will deliver it tomorrow,” Glenkirk answered her. “I do not believe the representatives from Venice and the emperor have arrived yet.”

“Have you not taken a chance coming without the duke’s knowledge, my lord?” she wondered.

“Duke Sebastian was sent a letter in advance of our arrival saying that I was returning to San Lorenzo sometime this winter, but that my coming must remain secret,” the earl told Rosamund. “He is intelligent enough to know that something is afoot. And he will cooperate until it is convenient for him to do otherwise,” Glenkirk explained. “Sebastian di San Lorenzo is a politic and clever man. He never does anything without reason, or anything that will not benefit him or the duchy. Slow and steady is the path we must take, unlike your king who wants everything immediately if not forthwith.”

“Henry Tudor is an ambitious man,” Rosamund responded. “They say he looks like his grandfather, King Edward the fourth, and some say he is like him in character, with lofty, grandiose plans and ideas for England. I repeat what I have heard, for I cannot vouch for his character. He was determined to bed me although I was not pleased by his attentions. He is a man who thinks only of himself and what he wants. Perhaps that is a good thing in a king. I cannot say.”

“It is a good thing in a king when that king is thoughtful of his rule,” Patrick replied. “How long were you his mistress?”

“A very brief few months,” she answered. “I lived in terror that the queen would learn of my betrayal, for she was my friend when I was a girl at court. Owein and I aided her in the years in which King Henry the seventh could not make up his mind if he still wanted her for a daughter-in-law or not. She was treated very shabbily. It was she who invited me back to court after Owein died. I did not want to go, but one does not refuse a queen.”

“Or a king,” he noted bitterly.

“You are jealous,” she said, surprised. “You need not be jealous, my love.”

“I am jealous of all the men who have been in your life before me, Rosamund,” he told her. “I am jealous of the men who will know you after I have passed from your life. I have never loved a woman as I love you. When you are gone from me, whatever is left of my life will be cold and bleak.” Reaching out, he took her hand and kissed it tenderly.

“Do not speak of our parting yet, my darling,” Rosamund answered him. “We have much time before us. I know it!” She caressed his cheek with the hand he had kissed. “Are you going to shave that dreadful beard away, my lord? Certainly there is a barber in Arcobaleno who could service you.”

“You do not like my beard?” he teased her.

“Nay! I know you could not shave it on the road, but we are no longer on the road,” she said.

“I do not need a barber. Dermid will do the deed. Dermid!” he called to his manservant, and the young man was immediately at his master’s side. “My lady will have my beard off, laddie. Let us do it, for I am now clean and well fed and ready for my siesta.”

“At once, my lord! I’ll get a bowl and the razor,” came the answer.

“I’ll await you, my darling,” Rosamund told him, and she got up from the table, wiping her mouth and hands with the linen napkin that had been in her lap. With a seductive smile, she walked slowly to her bedchamber and shut the door behind her.

Dermid grinned. “I’ve been told that Englishwomen are cold, my lord, but it certainly don’t seem so, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“You’ve had your eye on my lady’s Annie,” Glenkirk said. “She’s a respectable lass, Dermid, and her mistress would be most distressed if you treated her badly.”

“Oh, nay, my lord! No man will ever treat Annie badly. She’d lay them out, she would, if they tried. I’m thinking of courting her, for there is none at home who pleases me as well. She’s got a good temper on her, does Annie. She’ll make fine bairns for a man. I’d even be willing to stay in England for her.”

“If she loves you as well, Dermid, she will come home to Glenkirk with you,” the earl said. “But there is time before either of you must make such a decision.”

Dermid nodded. Then he went to fetch what he would need to shave his master, and after returning quickly, he set to work removing the growth of dark beard, streaked here and there with silver, that the earl had grown in the last few weeks. When he had finished, he said frankly, “Well, you look better without a beard than with one, my lord. Younger by far, I’d say.”

Patrick winced at the remark. Dermid had meant nothing by it, but it was a reminder of the years that separated him and Rosamund. He arose from the table, and thanking his servant, went into his bedchamber. Stripping off the drying cloth, he looked at himself in the full-length mirror by the wardrobe. He was still lean and hard of body despite his years. He knew men far younger grew flabby, but he had not. His hair was yet dark, though here and there he saw silver. He had all his teeth, and none were rotting. His gaze was still sharp, and his appetite for Rosamund’s fair body grew with each passing day. He was, he knew, still a very vigorous lover. Turning, he looked for the hidden door that would connect their chambers, and finding it, pressed the lock, and when the door opened, he stepped through into the next room.

She lay dozing again, the graceful curve of her back to him. He realized how difficult a journey it had been for her, though she had never once complained. She had removed her cloth and was as naked as he was. He lay down next to her, and she murmured softly as she felt the bed sag.

“Patrick?” she said.

“Nay, ’tis the king of your heart,” he told her, and she rolled over into his arms to face him. He gave her a slow, sweet kiss.

“That is nice,” she whispered against his mouth when he had broken off their embrace. “I have missed the leisure of laying in bed with you, my lord.”

“Is that all you have missed?” he teased her. The touch of her, the fragrance that emanated from her lovely body, excited him. He was shocked by his body’s swift reaction to the mere touch and smell of her. “My God!” he said quietly.

Rosamund laughed softly. “I am as bad as you are, my darling.” Reaching out, she caressed his love rod. “I am more than ready, Patrick. I shall surely die if you do not put yourself into me now!”

He complied, finding her hot, wet, and indeed very ready to receive him. He had barely begun the rhythm when he felt the head of his manhood drenched by her love juices. Now it was he who laughed. “Rosamund! Rosamund!” he groaned against her ear, and his own juices burst forth to flood her womb. “I need make no apologies, sweetheart,” he told her. “And now that we have satisfied our lust, we shall begin anew, slowly, slowly until you are weeping with your satisfaction.” He withdrew from her.

She sighed happily. “I have missed our passion so very much, Patrick. Forgive me for my eagerness, which was but matched by yours.” She propped herself up on an elbow and stared down into his face. “I love you so much, my lord. I regret we cannot make a child together.”

“So do I,” he told her, and he drew her down so that her auburn head was against his broad chest. “Are your daughters like you, Rosamund?”

“Philippa and Banon are said to favor me, but not Bessie. She is her father’s lass. He was a good father, Owein Meredith. You were a good father too, I think.”

“I tried,” he said. “If loving my son and daughter was being a good father, then aye, for I loved them both well. Janet’s loss broke my heart. Yet now that I am here again with you, it is different, sweetheart. I remember that time, but it somehow does not seem so cruel to me anymore. We tried to get her back, you know, but we could not.”

“You have never told me what happened,” Rosamund said.

“The long and the short of it was she was kidnapped by slavers and sold in the great market of Candia for a large sum of money. She was young, a virgin, and very beautiful. My son, Adam, still seeks for her, despite the years that have passed. He is determined to find her, though she may be long dead. I do not know. She is lost to me.”

“I am sorry,” Rosamund told him. “I think it is better to know that someone is dead than to not know what has happened to them.”

“You know that I love you, don’t you?” he replied, changing the subject adroitly.

“And you know that I love you,” she answered him, understanding that he did not wish to speak on the subject of his daughter any longer.

“I shall have Celestina make you a wardrobe to suit a princess,” he said. “You cannot meet the duke until you are properly garbed. I am so proud of you and of your beauty that I would flaunt you, Rosamund.”

“I am not beautiful,” she protested. “Perhaps very pretty, but surely not beautiful.”

“If another woman demurred so,” he told her, “I should think her being coy, but not you, my darling. However, I find you beautiful, and so will the duke. He has a roving eye, Rosamund, so beware of him. He will charm you as he does all the lovely women who cross his path. He has been widowed for years, but is content to remain so.”

“As you have been,” she teased him. “You widowers do not dupe me. You love being able to flit among the ladies like a bumblebee among the flowers.”

“Buzz! Buzz!” he harried her, nuzzling the soft hollow between her neck and her shoulder. “I am your bumblebee, my darling, and like the bumblebee, I wish to make love to my beautiful English rose.”

Rosamund giggled as his tongue tickled the whorl of her ear and a frisson of a shiver rippled down her spine. “Will you sting me, Master Bumbles?” she asked mischievously.

“Indeed, madame, I will, for I have a rather large stinger just waiting to dip itself deeply into your honey pot,” he growled in her ear. His tongue licked at her shoulder and then slowly climbed the column of her slender throat. “You taste delicious,” he said softly.

She stretched her full length before him, and he lowered his dark head and began to draw his fleshy tongue over her offered body. Rosamund closed her eyes and relaxed in the feel of the warm wetness, which was followed by the warm breath from his nostrils cooling her moist flesh. His head moved slowly, for he did not miss an inch of her skin. He licked at her breasts and suckled upon the pointed nipples, then lower across her torso, sliding across her taut belly, finding the soft insides of her thighs, which he spread without resistance. He opened her secret place to his view, his tongue touching her with the most delicate and exquisite finesse.

“Oh, Patrick!” she half-moaned. “Yes!”

The marauding tongue lapped at the pearlescent juices that dappled the rose flesh. It found the core of her womanhood and began to harass it with just the tip of his tongue. He was becoming dizzy with his burgeoning lust and the hot scent of her.

“Don’t stop!” she begged him. “Oh, God! ’Tis so wonderful, my love!”

“You are a wanton,” he groaned, unable to help himself. She was open to him, and he thrust his tongue into the cave of her sex, pushing it as far as he could, using it as he might his manhood, hearing her whimper with her need for more.

Rosamund was almost mindless with the pleasure he was giving her. She wanted to give him pleasure as well. When he raised his body to cover hers, she pulled him forward so that he was kneeling over her breasts. Reaching out, she drew him closer until she was able to draw his manhood into her mouth. Tugging on it gently with her lips and tongue, she heard him moan. She held him steady so she might lick the length of him, run her tongue about the fleshy tip, lap the pearl of his juices.

“Enough!” he finally groaned, and he loosened her grip so he might enter her body in another way. She wrapped her slim legs about him and helped him to thrust deeply into her eager and waiting body. He almost wept to feel her love sheath tightening about him.

“Yes!” she whispered fiercely. “Yes! Dear heaven, how you fill me, Patrick!” She ached with the sweetness he offered, and her arms drew him as close as they could.

She was tight. She was hot. She was an endless delight of which he could not get enough. He thrust and withdrew. Thrust and withdrew, moving slowly at first, and then as their desires burgeoned, his rhythm increased, as did hers. He heard her low keening and his own groans of satisfaction. His head was spinning. He felt her sharp fingernails raking down his long back and swore softly at her, his fingers closing hard about her wrists and forcing her arms up where she could not damage him again. “Bitch!” he growled against her mouth.

“Devil!” she hissed back, and then she screamed softly as her body was convulsed with a series of shudders. “Ohhh, Patrick,” she sighed.

His own completion met hers, and he flooded her with his juices. “Rosamund! Rosamund!” he half-sobbed.

They lay together until their breathing became slower and softer once again. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, kissing each finger as he did. Rosamund closed her eyes and sighed, well satisfied. She knew, as she had known from the moment their eyes met, that this passion they shared could not be forever, but for now it was wonderful, and she would not think about tomorrow. If she died in her sleep tonight, what they had was more than enough. She reached out lifted the hand holding her, and kissed it. Then she placed it on her heart. Neither of them said a word. Words were not necessary.

They slept, awaking a while later to a tentative knock upon the bedchamber door.

“Yes?” Rosamund called.

“Master Pietro has come to say the seamstress will be here in half an hour, my lady,” Annie called.

“We will be ready for her,” Rosamund called back. She poked her lover gently.

“We have to get up, my lord, and wash the scent of our lust away. The tub will be cool now, but it will suffice.”

They went back out upon the terrace, and to Rosamund’s surprise the water was not at all icy, for the sun had kept it lukewarm. She and Patrick climbed into the oak vessel and quickly bathed again. She had forgotten to pin her hair up, and the tips of it were wet when she exited the water. She dried herself quickly and then dried Patrick as well.

“Well, I have a chemise to wear,” she said, “but what will you wear? Not that Signora Celestina hasn’t already seen what you have to offer, my lord,” she taunted him.

He chuckled. “Dermid has had Pietro find me some haut-de-chausses and hose, and I have a shirt. I shall be more than respectable when I meet with Celestina again.”

“Then go and dress, my lord, so we may at least give the impression of respectability,” she told him.

He nodded and walked back into her bedchamber and through the door into his own quarters.

Rosamund looked for the saddlebag and found it on the floor by the bed. Opening it, she pulled out a lace-trimmed chemise. It was clean and of excellent quality. She put it on and then sat upon the edge of the bed to brush her hair out and braid it up neatly. She was eager to wear a gown again.

She heard voices in the dayroom beyond. Then came a knock upon her bedchamber door, and Rosamund opened the portal and stepped through into the dayroom. At the same time, the Earl of Glenkirk came from his bedchamber. The large woman with the black hair and black eyes ignored Rosamund and shrieked as she saw the earl.

“Patrizio! Santa Maria be blessed, for I never hoped to see you again!” She flung her arms about him, enveloping him in a suffocating hug.

Patrick was hard-pressed not to burst into laughter. This was Celestina after eighteen years. He remembered the seductive, sulky-mouthed girl who had become his mistress all those years ago. He managed to squirm from her embrace, and taking her by her broad shoulders, he kissed her firmly upon her red lips. “Celestina! Santa Maria, there is three times as much of you to love now!” Then he set her back. “You have changed little, cara,” he told her.

“I’ve changed a lot,” she said with a hearty laugh. “For every bit of flesh I have put on my bones I have put as much in my purse, Patrizio! I have six children, as well.”

“And how many husbands have you buried, cara?” he teased her.

“Husbands?” She burst into laughter. “Who has time for husbands, Patrizio?”

Now her gaze swept across the room and lit on Rosamund. “This fair little girl is your latest mistress? We will have to feed her, for she does not look as if she eats. Does she speak some language with which I can communicate with her?” They had been speaking in Italian.

“French, Celestina, but speak slowly, cara. And do not attempt to cheat her. She is the owner of a large estate, which she manages herself, and quite successfully.”

“Scotch?” Celestina inquired.

“English,” the earl replied. “And your father has explained to you that I am here privately to visit my old friend, the duke. You will not gossip, cara, eh?”

“There is an English ambassador here now,” Celestina said, gauging his reaction.

“I know,” the earl replied, “but Rosamund would not be anyone of importance that he should know about. She is not connected with the royal court.”

Celestina nodded. “Madame,” she said, walking across the room to Rosamund, “I have brought a gown that will serve you until I can make you a wardrobe.” She was now speaking French.

“Thank you,” Rosamund replied. “May I see it?”

“Maria! Quickly!” She called to the young girl accompanying her.

The gown was brought, unwrapped from its covering, and displayed. It was pale green watered silk with a very low neckline and full puffed sleeves trimmed lavishly in ecru-colored lace. The seamstress and her helper spread the gown over a chair.

“The color is certainly right,” Celestina said, “considering I did not know what madame looked like.”

“It is plain,” the earl said.

“It is lovely, and Celestina could not waste time or materials decorating a gown without a buyer, Patrick,” Rosamund replied. She smiled at Celestina. “May I try it on?”

The seamstress nodded, and then she smiled at Rosamund. “He says you are a clever woman with a taste for trade, madame. You were right about the gown.”

“My cotters weave wool from the sheep I raise,” Rosamund said. “My wools are noted for their quality.”

“You do not send your raw wool to the low countries to be woven?” Celestina was surprised.

“Why should I pay good coin to have done in a foreign clime what my own people can do? Besides, it keeps them occupied in the winter months when the fields cannot be cultivated. And, too, I am able to maintain the highest caliber in my product,” Rosamund said in practical tones. “Can you put some decoration upon the bodice? Just a little gold thread embroidery perhaps?”

“Of course, madame. The gown but waited for an owner,” Celestina said. “I can have it by tomorrow. Try it on now, and we will see what other alterations need to be done to it. And I have brought a variety of materials for madame’s inspection as well.”

“I will choose the materials for both the earl and myself,” Rosamund said. Then she let Celestina and her helper aid her in getting into the gown and bodice.

Celestina spoke in rapid Italian to her companion, who from the look of her was the seamstress’ daughter. “The waist will need to come in, Maria. And she is larger in the bosom than I would have anticipated, given her slender stature. The length seems fine. The sleeves will need alteration. This lady is delicately made.”

“But she is strong,” the earl murmured, and Celestina gave him a broad grin.

“Aye, Patrizio,” Celestina said. “Your heart is engaged, my old friend, and it does me good to see you happy again. When you left us, your poor heart was broken. This lady has obviously mended it.”

“She has,” he admitted.

“What are you speaking about, Patrick?” Rosamund asked. “I do not understand the tongue in which you babble.”

“Celestina is more comfortable in the Italian tongue, lovey. She says you have mended my broken heart, and I agree,” he told her.

“You flatter me, especially under the circumstances,” she told him.

“I should rather have a year with you, Rosamund,” he told her, “than a lifetime with any other woman on the face of this earth. Now, sweetheart, let us decide upon the materials we are going to want.”

The pale green gown had been pinned where it needed alteration, and so Rosamund removed it carefully.

Celestina snapped her fingers at Maria, and the girl brought forth a silk garment in the most incredible shade of blue that Rosamund had ever seen. “Wear this instead of that pretty chemise,” she said, proffering it.

“What is it?” Rosamund asked.

“The people across the sea here, where they are ruled by the Turkish sultan, wear them. They call them caftans. They even go out into the streets there in them, I am told. I thought it might make a better garment for you indoors than your chemise. Do you like the color? It is the color of the Persian turquoise.”

“It’s lovely,” Rosamund said. “Thank you, Celestina! I shall very much enjoy wearing this… caftan.”

“And now,” the seamstress said, “let us look at the materials I have brought for you and Patrizio, madame. Maria! The samples. Vite! Vite!”

The fabrics were brought, and they were indeed a rich assortment in wonderful colors. Silks and brocades and lightweight velvets along with delicate cottons and linens.

“How Tom would love all of this,” Rosamund said to her lover. “He has such exquisite taste. I can but hope I have learned from him.” She fingered a brocade in a rich shade of green. “It would suit me,” she noted.

Celestina nodded. “And this sea-blue silk and the russet velvet that matches your lovely hair. Perhaps this cream and gold brocade?”

“It’s beautiful,” Rosamund agreed, and the seamstress set it aside. “Oh, what a wonderful shade of lavender!”

Patrick watched indulgently as she chose. And then she turned to him and began to seek his advice on the colors he would wear. “I am a gentleman, and so will be less flamboyant,” he told her.

The two women gave each other a look and ignored him after that, picking and choosing what they thought was right for the earl’s garments. When they had finished, Celestina gave orders to her helper to pack everything up again.

“It but remains for me to measure Patrizio,” she said with a wicked smile. “Come, my lord, and let me see how you have grown over the years. You do not look greatly changed, but one can never tell.” She took out her tape and began, muttering to herself beneath her breath, making little scratches with her charcoal stick on the tiny piece of parchment she had brought with her. When she had finished, she arose and tucked the notations she had made into the pocket of her skirts. “You are as fine a figure of a man as you ever were,” she chuckled. “I shall be back for a fitting tomorrow, and I shall bring the pale green gown with me when I come, madame. Its bodice will be nicely, but simply, embroidered,” Celestina promised. Then she turned and was quickly gone from the apartment.

“She moves swiftly for a lady of such girth,” Rosamund noted.

He chuckled. “So you are no longer jealous?” he teased her.

“I did not say that, my lord, for her hands were all over you, especially when she measured the length of your legs. I thought she came a bit too close to your manhood, and I thought that you seemed to enjoy it,” Rosamund said with a small smile.

“Celestina always had the most clever hands,” he remarked, and then, pulling her into his arms, he kissed her soundly. “But you, my darling, seem to be clever all over, and I adore you for it.”

“Is there anything that we need to do now, my lord?” Rosamund asked him.

“See that Dermid and Annie have supper on the sideboard when we want it and then disappear so we may be wanton together without fear of being disturbed?”

“Are you suggesting, my lord, that we go back to bed?” she asked him innocently.

“Aye, lass, I am,” he replied, a slow smile lighting his eyes. “We have several weeks of loving to make up for, Rosamund, and I am ready to begin.”

She smiled back at him. “Then I shall not need this caftan for a while,” she said. “Shall I, my lord?”

“Nay, sweetheart. You will not need it for some time to come,” he agreed, and taking her hand in his, he led her back into her bedchamber.