Until You

Chapter 6

Sebastian, Duke of San Lorenzo, was a man now closer to sixty than he was to fifty. He was still what would be considered a fine figure of a man, if perhaps a bit portly. His once black hair was now steely gray, but his black eyes were as sharp as they had ever been. He pinned his gaze upon the man he had never again thought to see. They had not parted amicably. How could they have? The Earl of Glenkirk’s daughter was to have married his heir, Rudolpho. But then the girl was stolen by slavers. Even if they had gotten her back, and the Blessed Mother knew he had attempted to retrieve Janet Leslie, there could no longer have been a question of her marriage to his son. She would certainly have been despoiled. His negotiations with Toulouse for one of their princesses had been, he thought, secret. But Patrick had known immediately, even before it was confirmed his daughter was lost forever, that her match with Rudolpho di San Lorenzo was no longer a possibility and that the formal betrothal celebrated just a brief few weeks before was annulled and San Lorenzo’s duke was seeking another bride for his son. The duke and the Scots ambassador’s previously cordial relationship had soured badly. They had parted formally, neither expecting to ever see the other again.

“While I am certainly astounded to see you, Patrick,” the duke said, “I welcome you back to San Lorenzo. I can see the years have not been unkind to you.”

“I thank you, my lord duke,” the earl replied.

“Patrick, my old friend,” the duke said jovially. “Surely we may still be friends? Has time not softened the memories?”

“Perhaps yours, Sebastian, but not mine,” Patrick responded, but his tone was mild. “Still, here I am in San Lorenzo again.”

“And returned with a beautiful lady, I am informed,” the duke chuckled. “You were ever a man for the fairer sex, my friend. But why are you here?”

“The lady and I wished to escape the harsh northern winter and the curiosity of King James’ court,” the earl said.

“Nay, I do not believe that. I have a letter from your king asking me to extend to you every courtesy,” the duke answered. “If you were just an ordinary man with his lover, I might accept your explanation, but you are not, Patrick Leslie,” the duke said.

“The less you know of the purpose of my visit, Sebastian, the better for you and for San Lorenzo,” the earl answered him. “I am here to meet with some people, but it is better that our concourse remain most private.”

“So your king has suggested, but he has also said that if I am not content with that explanation you will give me a better one.”

Patrick sighed. He did not trust Sebastian di San Lorenzo. Not after what had happened. Still, he had no choice in the matter. To gain the duke’s cooperation and goodwill he must tell him the truth. “You know of the Holy League?” he asked.

The duke nodded. “Papal politics in God’s name once more,” he said dryly.

The Earl of Glenkirk found himself smiling. He might not trust the Duke of San Lorenzo, but Sebastian had never been a stupid man. “Aye, but it has put my king in a very difficult position.”

“Why? James Stewart has always been a favorite of this pope. I believe that Julius even presented him with the Golden Rose for his devotion and piety to Holy Mother Church,” the duke countered.

“All that is true,” Patrick agreed. “But Scotland is married to England’s sister. This match was conceived by King Henry the seventh in order to foster peace between Scotland and England. It has done just that, with only minor border skirmishes over the years. Queen Margaret is devoted to her husband and loyal to Scotland. Now, however, her brother sits on England’s throne. He is young, ambitious, envious, and filled with a great sense of his own importance and destiny.

“King James is a man of peace. He has brought much prosperity to Scotland. Prosperity that comes through an absence of war or strife. It has made him a distinguished figure among the other rulers of Europe. And Henry Tudor is very jealous of him. He seeks to destroy what he perceives as Scotland’s influence, for England, he believes, is more important. It is not meet in his eyes that Scotland take precedence over him. And he is ruthlessly clever, Sebastian. Make no mistake about it. He will have his way in this. The first step in his plan was to encourage the pope, who has previously had good relations with King Louis, to demand that the French give up their possessions north of the Italian states. You will recall that previously the pope was allied with the French in a campaign against the Venetians in the north of Italy.”

“The same Venetians who are now members of the Holy League,” the duke murmured. “Ah, the vagaries of mankind.”

“And, of course, pious Spain is a part of the league, along with Maximilian and his Holy Roman Empire,” the earl said.

“But conspicuously absent is Scotland,” the duke noted.

“Aye. Scotland has an alliance with France. It is an auld alliance going back many years. My king is a man of honor, and he can find no reason to break that alliance. So he will not. Henry Tudor is not a man of honor. He has engineered this situation in order to harm my king’s good relations with Pope Julius and the Holy See.”

“Would your king send troops to France’s aid?” the duke asked Patrick.

“Only if absolutely forced into it, if there were no way in which he could eschew it. You know how well a ruler may avoid a situation like this when acting in the best interests of his country, Sebastian.”

“So in actuality Scotland would remain neutral,” the duke noted.

“Aye, which under any other circumstance would suit the pope,” the earl said.

“Except that the English king is pressing the point and making an issue of it. Us or them. Aye, Patrick. This Henry Tudor is indeed ruthless and clever. Now, tell me why you have come.”

“King James hopes that perhaps he might weaken the alliance and in doing so take the attention away from what our nation will or won’t do. If the pope must struggle to maintain the allies that he already has, he is unlikely to be overly concerned with Scotland’s position as long as it is not overtly hostile towards his league. I am here to meet with two gentlemen. One from Venice and the other from Germany. My king considers them the weaker links. Spain will not be moved because England’s queen is Ferdinand’s daughter.”

“It is a bold idea, but you are not likely to succeed,” the duke said.

“King James knows that. But he also knows he will not break the auld alliance, and if he does not, England will use it as an excuse to invade Scotland. This means we must invade them first, a faux invasion, mind you, for we have no interest in conquering England. But we must direct Henry Tudor’s attention away from this mischief he is causing between the pope and James Stewart,” Patrick replied.

The Duke of San Lorenzo nodded thoughtfully. Then he asked, “Why have they sent you, Patrick?”

“For two reasons. Once I was Scotland’s ambassador to San Lorenzo. Its first ambassador. And second, since I returned from here eighteen years ago, I have not left my Highland home at Glenkirk. I am barely known by the court, and it is unlikely that I would be considered a candidate for such a mission as this one. If indeed anyone knew of why I have been sent here. And no one does.”

“Not even the lovely lady who accompanies you, my friend?” the duke pried.

“Not even Rosamund,” the earl lied facilely. “She is English, and the queen’s friend. I didn’t want her put between her love for me and her loyalty to Margaret Tudor and England. She departed the court under the excuse of an ill child. It is assumed I have gone with her, for our passion was hardly secret.”

“Rosamund,” the duke said. “It is a charming name. When am I to meet her?”

“Because we traveled secretly, we came quickly with but one servant apiece, a-horse. We carried only the bare essentials. A wardrobe is now being fashioned for us both, Sebastian. I come before you today in altered secondhand garments. They are neat and serviceable, but hardly what I would normally wear, remembering your most elegant court.”

“I should be less splendid in my later years but that my daughter-in-law insists that we keep up appearances,” the duke remarked.

“How is Rudolpho?” the earl asked.

“Fat. Content. And the father of ten daughters and two sons. The eldest of my grandsons, Henrico, the firstborn actually, is my heir after his father. The second son, who is only a little lad of five, will go to the church, of course, unless something happens to his brother. It is good they are so far apart in age. Roberto is the youngest. But ten granddaughters! Marone! I do not know if I can find husbands for them all. Some will have to go into the nunnery. And you, Patrick? Has your son wed and given you grandchildren?”

“Aye. Two lads and a lassie,” the earl said. “He did not choose a warm wife.”

The duke nodded. “Neither did I,” he remarked. “But my wife was young and fair, and I was filled with lust for her.” He chuckled. “It was the same with your son, I assume.”

Patrick nodded. “Aye,” was all he said.

“Do you want it known you are in San Lorenzo?” the duke asked his companion. “We have an English ambassador now.”

“I know. Richard Howard, I believe,” the earl answered.

“Your ambassador told you, of course,” the duke said.

“Rosamund saw him in the street as we entered San Lorenzo and recognized him, although she could not remember his name,” Patrick replied.

“Your lady is a member of the English court?” The duke was interested now.

“Rosamund spent part of her youth as a ward to King Henry the seventh. That is how she became friends with our queen. They were girls together. But since she was wed, in the same year in which our queen married our king, she has remained home on her estates, which are in the north of England.”

“And her husband?” The duke was even more curious.

“She is a widow,” the Earl of Glenkirk replied.

“Ahhh,” the duke sighed. “A woman of experience as well as beauty. You are indeed a fortunate man, Patrick.”

“Our demeanor here will be discreet, Sebastian, as is fitting for a man who has run away with his lover. Let the English ambassador learn of our presence when he learns of it and report it to his master if he thinks it would be of interest to King Henry, but I doubt he will. As I have told you, I am not known to the English or the Scots courts. I am unimportant, as is Rosamund. Hence my value to King James.”

“You are remembered here, Patrick,” the duke noted.

“If the English ambassador should learn of my former position for Scotland, I will explain it by saying we are here because I thought this a romantic place to bring my lover. Does Lord Howard prefer the English winters? And Scots winters are far worse.” He grinned. It suddenly had occurred to Patrick that he was enjoying this adventure, and he had certainly not thought he would.

The duke laughed, seeing his companion’s grin. “I believe you like this game that you find yourself playing, Patrick,” he chuckled.

The Earl of Glenkirk nodded. “I think I do, Sebastian,” he agreed. “It has been a long time since I have enjoyed myself. I am always filled with a sense of my duty, but now I feel like a lad released from his studies. I remember I like the feel of the winter sun on my back and the fragrance of mimosas in February. I have not smelled mimosas since the day I departed San Lorenzo last.”

“Were you always this romantic, Patrick, or is it just that you are in love?” the duke teased him.

“I could not tell you, Sebastian,” the earl replied. “But, aye, I am in love.”

“I look forward to meeting her.” Sebastian di San Lorenzo smiled toothily. “Will you marry her?”

“If she will have me,” Patrick said, feeling that the wily duke need not be privy to the truth of his relationship with Rosamund. Perhaps the white lie he told would protect her from an attempted seduction. But he would warn her nonetheless of the duke’s easily aroused nature.

“Who is doing your wardrobes? Celestina, I assume,” the duke queried.

“Aye.”

“I well remember how you stole her from me,” the duke said. “Her first daughter is mine, you know. We gave her to the church to expiate our sin,” he said with a grin.

“Celestina had a generous nature,” Patrick remembered with a smile.

“She still does, but alas I am much too old to please her now. But, still, we remain friends,” the duke said. “I will see her girls work quickly so you may attend a small party I am giving in three days. It is to welcome the artist Paolo Loredano, who is coming from Venice. He has decided to spend the winter painting in San Lorenzo. It is a great honor to have him here. I hope to commission him to do our portraits. He is a member of the doge’s family, and has studied not only with Gentile Bellini, but his brother, Giovanni, as well. It will be a festive evening, Patrick.”

“Will the English ambassador be at your gathering?” the earl wondered aloud.

“Of course,” the duke said. “But you must come. If you do not, it will seem odd. Little is secret in San Lorenzo, as you well know. Lord Howard has probably already been informed of your presence. He will be curious, of course. You can allay his fears by coming with the Lady Rosamund and being lovers for all to see.”

“You have not lost your knack for intrigue, Sebastian, but you will keep the real purpose of my visit secret, of course,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly. “Sandwiched as you are between France and the Italian states, you would not want to be considered disloyal by either side, I know.”

The duke chuckled. “And eighteen years in your Highland eyrie has not lessened your acute abilities to conspire successfully, Patrick. As far as I am concerned, your visit is just what it appears to be. An older gentleman running away with his young lover.”

The earl winced. “Am I so old, then, Sebastian?” he asked.

“A bit younger than I am, I will admit,” the duke said. “You cannot be so old, however, for you have attracted a young lover. Or is she after your wealth?”

“She has wealth of her own,” the earl said. “Nay. We have, for whatever reason, fallen in love with each other, Sebastian.”

“Does your son know? What was his name? Adam!” the duke remarked.

“He knows nothing but that I am on a mission, sub rosa, in the king’s service,” the earl answered. “But I do not believe he would be distressed by my love for Rosamund. His wife, however, is a different matter. But he thought he loved her and the family was acceptable, so I had no cause for complaint,” the earl concluded with a small grin.

“How many marriages are made for love, my friend?” the duke said sanguinely. “Marriages are made for wealth and land and power. If there is more, one is fortunate. My late wife, God assoil her good soul,” the duke remarked, crossing himself piously, “was not a woman to inspire passion. She understood it and accepted her lot. She was loyal and devoted. She did her duty. I could ask no more of her, and I gave her my respect and loyalty in return. I found love in other places, although I wonder if there was not more lust than love.”

“It is usually more lust,” the earl said quietly. “But not this time. I am old enough, and hopefully wise enough, to know the difference.”

“Then I envy you, Patrick Leslie,” the Duke of San Lorenzo said. “Now, let us have some of our good wine and toast the memories we have made and the memories we will make.” He clapped his hands, and his servitors were immediately by his side.

Afterwards, the Earl of Glenkirk returned to the ambassador’s residence, walking in a leisurely fashion through the city. He stopped in the main market square to purchase a large and colorful bouquet of mimosas from a flower vendor. Walking on, he entered a narrow street, going into a jeweler’s shop, where he bought a delicately wrought filigreed golden collar dotted with pale green peridots. It would adorn the green silk dress very nicely. It was the first piece of jewelry he had ever obtained for Rosamund. He hoped that she would like it. The late afternoon was warm, and he was damp about his collar when he finally reached the top of the hill where the Scots embassy was located.

Lord MacDuff greeted him as he entered the building. “You have been to the palace? Come and tell me what has transpired between you and the wily fox, yon duke.”

The earl signaled to a servant. “Take these to Lady Rosamund,” he said, handing the woman the bouquet of mimosas. “Tell her I will see her shortly.”

Smiling, the servingwoman curtsied, then took the floral tribute and hurried up the stairs.

Patrick joined his host. “He hasn’t changed,” he began, accepting a small silver goblet of wine as he sat down.

“What did you tell him?” Lord MacDuff wanted to know.

“What he needed to know. We have put him in a delicate position, situated as San Lorenzo is between France and Italy,” the earl chuckled. “If the truth should ever come out, Sebastian di San Lorenzo will profess ignorance, outrage, whatever the situation calls for, my lord. He will protect San Lorenzo at all costs, which he should and which is his right. And if Lord Howard is curious as to my presence, you will adhere to the story that I am here with my lover. You will profess ignorance of all else.”

“Do you believe we can weaken the alliance, Patrick?” the ambassador asked.

“Nay, and neither does the king, but he felt that we must make an attempt at it. Even if Venice and the Holy Roman Empire insist on adhering to their agreement with the Holy League, they will have certain doubts, which I shall plant in the minds of those who come to treat with me. They will be less enthusiastic and more cautious than they have been. That is the best that we shall do, Ian. But we shall do it! Henry Tudor has not won yet.”

“Do you know who it is you will meet with yet?” Lord MacDuff asked.

“Nay. But I have a suspicion that the artist from Venice who is arriving in another day or two, and who the duke is feting, may be one of the gentlemen I am to deal with. He is a member of the Loredano family, and he has made a name for himself as a former student of both the Bellini brothers. No one would suspect a Venetian artist of political intrigue,” the earl chuckled. “But I do not know. I shall have to wait and see. Sebastian insisted that Rosamund and I attend this fete. He is curious, of course, to meet her, and still, I suspect, fancies himself a great lover.”

“His adventures have not been quite so public in recent years,” Lord MacDuff said with a smile. “As he has grown more portly and less fleet of foot, he is not so apt to want to find himself facing an angry husband or father.”

“His son, I imagine, has taken over for him,” the earl said dryly.

“Nay! Lord Rudolpho keeps a mistress, but he is discreet,” the ambassador noted.

“I thought he would be like his father,” Patrick said. “I remember saying so to my daughter once. He has fathered enough children.”

“Aye, and all those lasses, to boot,” Lord MacDuff chortled.

The earl stood up, draining his goblet. “I want to thank you for your hospitality, Ian MacDuff. Rosamund has never been out of England until now, except for her brief visit to our court. She has been made to feel most welcome.”

“She is a fair lass, Patrick,” Lord MacDuff said, “and has beautiful manners, according to Pietro, who, as you will remember, values such things. The servants are happy to have a woman in the house being that I am a crusty old bachelor.”

“I would like to remain until spring,” the earl said.

“You are more than welcome,” came the smiling reply. “I think if I had such a lovely woman to love, I would want to remain here until spring, too.”

Patrick left the ambassador and hurried upstairs to his apartments, where he found Rosamund being fitted for her gowns. He sat down to watch, giving Celestina a friendly nod.

“I hear,” the seamstress said, “that you are going to the fete for the Venetian, Patrizio. It will be a grand event, for the duke will be anxious to impress the artist Loredano. The festivals and fetes they have in Venice are said to be spectacular. Our duke will have to go to some effort to affect any admiration from his visitor.” And she chuckled.

He laughed. “How the hell do you know we are going to the duke’s fete? I have only just now come from the palace.”

She rolled her black eyes at him, a gesture he realized he well remembered. “Patrizio, this is San Lorenzo. Here, everyone knows everyone’s business. The English ambassador is curious to meet you, by the way. He wonders why a former Scots ambassador to the duchy has suddenly shown up here. Now.”

“The English are always suspicious of the Scots,” the earl said casually. “Is that not so, my love?” He addressed Rosamund.

“Always,” Rosamund agreed pleasantly. “The Scots, you see, cannot be trusted, Celestina. Should the neckline be that low?”

“It is the fashion here, madame,” Celestina answered her.

“It is higher at the Scots court,” Rosamund noted.

“It is colder at the Scots court,” the seamstress said pithily. “Here in the south we like the breeze to caress our skin on a warm winter’s night. Is that not so, my lord?”

“I think the neckline is most correct,” Patrick agreed with her.

“Will you think it so correct when this duke ogles my breasts?” Rosamund asked innocently.

“He is permitted to ogle, my darling,” the earl told her. “But nothing more.”

The two women laughed.

“I am doing the bodice of the pale green gown more elaborately, madame,” Celestina said. “You will wear it to the duke’s fete along with the gift Patrizio has purchased for you on his way from the palace.”

“You bought me a gift?” Rosamund squealed. “I mean, besides the flowers?-which are lovely, my lord. What are they called? And where is my gift?”

“The blooms are mimosas, and as for your gift, I am not certain I shall give it to you now. You are much too greedy,” he teased her.

“That is your decision, of course, my lord, but I should dislike seeing a lovely piece of jewelry go to waste,” Rosamund murmured.

“How can you be certain it is jewelry?” he asked her, smiling.

“Isn’t it?” she asked mischievously. “Or perhaps you have bought me a villa here and could not carry it with you.”

Celestina chortled. “You have finally met your match, Patrizio, and how glad I am to be here to see it. There! I am done. Maria! Take madame’s gown, and be careful, girl. The fabric is delicate.” She gathered up her tools and put them in her basket. “In just a few more days’ time, madame, you will have a new and beautiful wardrobe to get you through the winter here.” Then, with a curtsy, she departed the earl’s apartments.

“We are remaining the entire winter months?” Rosamund asked Patrick.

He nodded. “It will be easier traveling in late spring or early summer, my love.”

“I had not thought to be away so long,” she replied.

The Earl of Glenkirk put an arm about her. “Your uncle Edmund and your cousin Tom are husbanding Friarsgate for you, Rosamund.”

“ ’Tis my lasses I worry more about, Patrick,” she told him.

“And do you not trust Maybel to watch over them?” he asked.

“Aye, but I do not like it that my daughters are so long without their mother,” she answered him. “Still, Maybel raised me. At least my girls are not being forced into marriages by Uncle Henry, as I was.”

“And have you not said that you never think of yourself, only your duty. I understand because I am the same way; but now, for just this little space of time, you and I are together, away from those responsibilities. I mean for us to enjoy ourselves.”

“But how will you tell the king what he needs to know?” she wondered.

“When the die has been cast, Lord MacDuff will see a message is sent to the king under his diplomatic seal. And you and I will remain here to bask in the sunshine, make love, and drink the wine of San Lorenzo.”

Rosamund sighed. “It sounds wonderful,” she said softly, turning in his arms to face him, raising her head up for a kiss, which he placed upon her ripe lips. “Now,” she said, “where is my present?”

Patrick burst out laughing and reached into his doublet to draw out the flat white leather case. “Here, you vixen,” he said, handing it to her.

Rosamund struggled to maintain restraint. She looked at it, the fingers of one hand running over the soft leather. Finally she snapped the small catch and raised the lid. Her amber eyes grew round. “Oh, Patrick, it is beautiful!” she said, lifting the filigreed gold collar from its velvet nest, setting the box aside. “What are these tiny green gemstones? I have never seen any like them.”

“They are peridots,” he told her. “Their color matches the gown Celestina first showed us. There is a larger stone that can be mounted on a ribbon to be worn in the middle of your forehead. I should like to purchase it, but I wanted to be certain first that you like this.”

“Patrick, you are too good to me,” she told him.

“Has any other man ever given you jewelry?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Aye,” she said, and her lashes brushed her creamy cheek.

“Who?” he demanded, his tone jealous.

“My cousin Tom,” Rosamund laughed, unable to taunt him. “Tom, as you know, is an unusual gentleman. He has a passion for beautiful things and possesses a great deal of lovely jewelry. When we were in London, he gifted me with many lovely pieces, but none as beautiful as this collar, my lord.” Standing on tiptoes Rosamund kissed him. “Thank you, my darling!”

“Then I shall get the ribbon jewel?” he asked her.

“Would I be too greedy if I said yes?” she wondered aloud.

“No,” he told her, smiling down into her eyes. “It will suit you, and every minute of the duke’s fete I shall be jealous of all the men admiring you.”

“Oh, Patrick, you never have to be jealous over me,” Rosamund told him. “I love you as I have never loved any man! I knew nothing of love until that night our eyes met across the Great Hall at Stirling.”

“Did Logan Hepburn never attract your notice?” he pressed her.

“Aye, he did attract my notice. He is young and handsome and a very beast of a man. But I never loved him,” Rosamund said.

“I don’t know how it is possible you love me and not him,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly. “Why have we met now, in the autumn of my years? And why are we both so duty bound to our families and lands? Sometimes I think I should like to run away from it all. But, of course, I won’t, and you won’t.”

“Nay, we shall both do our duty in the end, Patrick,” she replied. “But for now we have each other, and we have San Lorenzo. Do not speak on our parting again. It will come in its time, and we will know it. But not yet.”

He drew her back into his embrace, his arms tightening about her. He said nothing further, but his lips touched the top of her auburn head. How could they know each other so well on such brief acquaintance? He didn’t understand, but he also didn’t care. She was here, with him, and he loved her. It was all he needed to know for now. He smoothed her silken hair with his big hand, and she sighed contentedly.

The afternoon of the duke’s fete Celestina and Maria arrived with Rosamund’s gown.

“It cannot be the same garment!” Rosamund cried as she looked at the beautiful gown spread across the bed. There was an underskirt embroidered with gold thread in a design of leaping fish, shells, and sea horses. The bodice was sewn all over with pearls. The full sleeves were slashed to reveal delicate natural-colored lace sleeves beneath. The slashings were tied with gold cord. The pale green watered silk overskirt had been left plain, for in combination with the rest of the gown it needed no further artifice. “It is beautiful!” Rosamund said, looking to Celestina. “I cannot thank you enough!”

Celestina nodded. “You will have all the gentlemen clustering about you tonight, madame. It is a beautiful gown, and Patrizio will pay dearly for it,” she laughed with good humor. “I brought you shoes. Your Annie loaned me one of your boots to match for size. I hope they will not be too big.” She then produced from her voluminous apron pocket a pair of square-toed slippers covered with the same pale green watered silk as the gown and held them out for Rosamund to take.

Rosamund shook her head. “They are lovely, Celestina. And thanks to you, I will be suitably dressed for the fete.”

“I shall go and have something to eat with my father,” Celestina said. “Then, when you are ready to depart, I shall make certain that everything is in order.”

“Does she think I don’t know how to prepare you?” Annie said, just a little irritated by the seamstress’ attitude.

“She is an artist in her own right, Annie, and you will admit that this gown is one of the most beautiful gowns I have ever possessed,” Rosamund said.

Annie nodded her head in agreement. “Even Sir Thomas would approve of it, though the neckline still looks too low to me.”

“Have a bath prepared,” Rosamund instructed the servingwoman. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could fill my tub as easily as we empty it?”

Again Annie nodded. It was necessary to fill the brass-bound oak tub with bucket after bucket of water, but to empty it was a far simpler operation. At the bottom of the tub was a small flexible tube that fit into the side and was unrolled over the terrace’s edge. At the end of its length was a cork, which when removed allowed the tub to drain down onto the rocks below.

While the tub was being filled, Rosamund ate. She was given a dish of fluffy eggs and half of a sweet melon. Until she arrived in San Lorenzo she had never tasted melon. Now she insisted on having it every day. When the tub was filled and Annie had scented it with Rosamund’s favorite white heather fragrance, she arose from her table, carrying her goblet of sweet wine. Annie took the caftan from her mistress, and naked, Rosamund walked out onto the terrace, handing the goblet to her servant and climbing into her tub. Annie handed the goblet back when Rosamund was settled, then pinned her mistress’ hair up.

“Leave me for now, Annie. I will wash eventually, but for now I just want to enjoy sitting here in the sunshine and watching the blue sea.”

“You’ll want to siesta afterwards, my lady,” Annie said. “I’ll move your new gown from the bed and set it safely aside.” She turned and went back into the apartment.

Rosamund sipped her wine and stared down into the harbor of Arcobaleno. There was a most magnificent ship sailing majestically into the port. It had royal-purple-and-gold striped sails, and on its bow was a full-bosomed golden mermaid with scarlet tresses. Rosamund smiled. Obviously, some very important person was aboard such a gorgeous vessel.

“It’s bringing the artist, Paolo Loredano,” Patrick said as he joined her on the terrace.

“Perhaps the ship belongs to the doge himself,” Rosamund remarked.

“Or perhaps it belongs to Maestro Loredano himself,” the earl suggested. “He is famed for his portraits, as was his first master, Gentile Bellini. The duke is anxious to have him do portraits of himself and his family. Loredano, however, is very particular about whom he paints. He will not take just any commission offered, and has offended more than a few.”

“What is the duke like?” Rosamund asked.

“Older even than I am,” the earl teased her. “Of medium height, a bit corpulent from too-good living. His hair was once dark, but now it is gray. He will appear the good host and will go out of his way to charm you, but never forget that he is clever, he is ruthless, and he is a seducer.”

“Should I fear him, then?” she wondered.

“Nay,” he said. “You have treated with kings, Rosamund. Just use your own charm, and remember he is but a duke,” Patrick said.

“I will remember,” she told him. “Do you want to share my tub, my lord?”

He smiled a slow smile. “I have been waiting for you to ask, my darling,” he said.

After stripping his clothing off where he stood, Patrick climbed into the great tub with her. She offered him a sip of her wine, which he accepted. Then, setting the goblet aside on the tub’s edge, she took up the flannel cloth, rubbed her soap over it, and began to bathe him herself.

“They say in earlier days, the lady of the castle and her serving girls always washed important guests,” Rosamund told him. “They do not say if she got into the tub with her guests, however.” She gently washed his face, saying as she did, “You must have Dermid shave you again before tonight. I can already see the shadow on your jaw, my lord.” She kissed his mouth quickly.

He yanked her hard against him, and she felt his manhood pressing with some urgency against her thigh. His eyes blazed down into hers. His mouth fused itself against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth to play with hers. Her full breasts were flattened against his broad chest. He held her face between his two hands while he continued to kiss her, his passions rising even as he felt her passions rise. “I do not believe,” he said in a hard voice, “that I have ever fucked you in our tub, Rosamund, but I am about to do it now,” he growled, His hands plunged beneath the warm water, and pressing her back against the side of the tub, he lifted her up, impaling her on his hardness. “Ahh, my love,” he groaned. She was tight and hot.

Rosamund’s eyes closed with her pleasure as she slid her arms about his neck. He filled her with his passion, and her head fell onto his shoulder as he loved her until their combined desire burst, leaving them both weak but sated. “I adore you, Patrick Leslie,” she said softly in his ear. “I shall never love another as I love you.”

His tongue licked at her face, her throat, her chest and shoulder as he stood, his manhood still hard and deep within her. “You consume me,” he groaned softly. “I cannot get enough of your sweetness, Rosamund.”

She entwined her legs about him, enabling him to press farther, and he groaned again. “I want to soar,” she whispered in his ear, and she licked at the curled flesh.

Their bodies tightly locked together, he began to thrust and withdraw until they were both dizzy with the rapture their enthusiasm in each other gave them. The intensity of their mutual desire was intoxicating, and as their carnality overcame them, they both cried out, finally satisfied, if only briefly. Her arms still about his neck, her legs fell away from his firm body.

“If I let go of you,” she said, “I shall drown here, for my limbs are as weak as a newborn’s, Patrick.”

He laughed softly. “You are an outrageous woman, Rosamund. I have never known anyone like you, nor do I expect I ever will.”

“We have to get out of this water,” she told him, but she still clung to him.

“Did you enjoy our little water sport?” he teased her.

“Aye,” she murmured, and then, to his delight, she blushed. “I never considered making the beast with two backs in water, Patrick.”

“But you liked it?” His gaze caressed her face.

“I did! It was most stimulating. I do not believe I have ever been made love to other than in a bed,” she admitted.

“One day I shall take you in a stable on a pile of sweet-smelling hay,” he promised her, and he laughed. “Or perhaps I shall catch you in a linen cupboard, my love.”

“I think I am feeling stronger now,” Rosamund answered him. It was said that the older men grew the less well they performed in bed. But, Rosamund thought, she had had a husband considered an older man and a young lover in King Henry, but neither of these men had made love to her with such unflagging enthusiasm or suggested such a variety of passion as did Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. She let go of him now and climbed from the tub. The water sluiced down her lush form as she reached for the drying cloth.

He watched her appreciatively until, finally satisfied, she invited him from their bath, and standing naked in the sunshine, began to dry him off.

“Be careful, madame, lest you arouse my baser nature again,” he warned her.

“Oh, no!” she scolded him, laughing. “I do not intend to go to the duke’s fete tonight, meeting the man for the first time, with the scent of lust hanging about me, Patrick. You will behave yourself, for you shall not have me again until after the fete. Your head must be clear, my lord, for it is likely you will meet one or both of your contacts tonight.”

“And it does not disturb you that Scotland will attempt to undo Henry Tudor’s ambitions?” he asked her, as he had on several occasions.

“I have told you, Patrick, that I do not consider trying to stop a war treasonous to England. Hal might, for anything interfering with his plans is anathema to him, but no reasonable man or woman would. Do what you must. If you Scots come over the border, it is my home that will be in danger first, not Henry Tudor’s,” Rosamund said.

He laughed. “Ever the practical lady of Friarsgate,” he teased her. Then he looked about him. “Do you think we can be seen?” he asked.

“I doubt it,” Rosamund said. “There is but one villa just above us to the east, but no one seems to be inhabiting it.” She took his hand and led him back into their apartment. “Go to your own bed, and rest,” she instructed.

“I should rather rest in your bed,” he said with a small grin.

“Neither of us would get any rest if we shared my bed, my lord, and well you know it. Celestina brought you a beautiful set of clothing for tonight. Now, go make certain Dermid laid it out so it will not be creased.”

“You are a hard woman,” he grumbled.

“I will see you later, my lord,” she told him firmly, but she smiled when she spoke.

He left her, and Rosamund put on a clean chemise and laid down. She could hardly believe the incredible turn her life had taken over the last few months. She had found true love. And she was hundreds of miles from Friarsgate, yet she was happy. She missed her daughters, but there was something both thrilling and wonderful about being loved by a man like Patrick Leslie. They would love each other forever, even if they would part eventually to return to their own lives. This was but a fantasy, a beautiful day-dream. She wished it might be otherwise, but she knew it could not. Neither of them could eschew their responsibilities, and neither of them would give up what was theirs.

But they had today, and they would not think about tomorrow until it was done and past.

Annie came and brought her a light supper as the sun was setting. Rosamund was well rested, for she had actually slept for several hours. Her mind was clear, and while she intended being nothing more this evening than Lord Leslie’s beautiful mistress, she would keep her ears open for whatever tidbits she might gather. Her French had improved considerably since their arrival a few days ago. She had just needed to use it again. She remembered how patient Owein had been as he had taught her French so she would not appear ignorant when she first came to court. It all seemed like a hundred years ago.

Annie helped her dress. Another chemise, one that would fit perfectly beneath the gown, was substituted for the one Rosamund had been wearing. Cream-colored silk stockings embraced her legs. The neckline of the gown was even lower than it had appeared when the bodice had been lying innocently on the chair. Rosamund’s round breasts swelled dangerously over the lace edging of the gown’s pearl-strewn top. Her shoulders and part of her upper arms were bare. The slashed sleeves were almost gauzy. Annie fitted her mistress with several silk petticoats and then brought the underskirt.

“Is there no shakefold?” Rosamund asked, looking for the stiffened hooplike garment usually worn beneath her gowns at home.

“Celestina says just a couple of petticoats, my lady. She says it permits the fabric to drape gracefully, showing the gown and its wearer to better advantage,” Annie parroted. She tied the laces of the undergown tightly, then fitted the overgown atop it, fastening it neatly. Then the servant stepped back. “Oh, my lady, it is so beautiful, so elegant, and I think a bit naughty. But Celestina assures me that it is the fashion here.”

Rosamund nodded. “She would not lie. She is long past her passion for the earl, and her father’s position would be endangered if she did me a disservice.” She twirled, seeing how the gown moved, and was pleased. “Let us finish my hair,” she said.

“Celestina’s daughter Martina has been sent to do it, my lady,” Annie said. “I am to learn from her.”

“Have her come in, then,” Rosamund replied, sitting down at a little table.

Martina looked nothing at all like her mother. She was tall and lanky, but she did have Celestina’s direct manner. “Ah, madame is ready,” she began. She moved quickly behind Rosamund. “First,” she said, “I must see what kind of hair madame has.” She began brushing the thick auburn locks. “Ah, excellent!” The brush worked vigorously.

“You will wear no cap,” she said. “I am told that you have a jeweled ribbon to be worn.” She found the part in the center of Rosamund’s head. “Now, here is a style I particularly like and that will suit madame. It is simple. It will not detract from her beauty. I fold the hair thusly, fastening it with pins. Girl! Hold up a mirror for your mistress to see. I call it a chignon.” And as Rosamund viewed herself in the mirror, Martina attached a half-moon of delicate silk flowers in cream, gold, and pale green across the top of the chignon. Lastly, she fastened the pale green silk ribbon with the oval green peridot set in its center about Rosamund’s forehead. Then she held up a second mirror behind her client that Rosamund might see the full effect.

Rosamund stared. “I do not believe I have ever seen such a beautiful hairstyle,” she said honestly. “In England we keep our hair beneath caps and hoods mostly. Thank you, Martina. Please teach Annie how you do this.”

“It is simple, madame, and your servant does not seem stupid,” Martina answered.

“What did she say?” Annie asked.

“That she will be delighted to teach you how to do this style, Annie. Really, you must try to learn the language better,” Rosamund scolded gently.

There was a knock on the door, and Dermid stuck his head through. “His lordship wants to know if her ladyship is ready to leave yet. The ambassador’s carriage is already waiting outside.”

“Give me my shoes,” Rosamund said; then she slipped her feet into the slippers that were placed before her and arose, turning as she did to say, “I thank you both.” Then she hurried from the bedchamber out into the dayroom where the Earl of Glenkirk awaited her. “Oh my!” she said as she caught her first glimpse of him.

His dark green velvet breeches were striped in deep forest green and cloth of gold. His fine silken hose were deep green with a tied gold cord garter on one shapely leg. His short coat was silk brocade, the sleeves padded and puffed. It was trimmed in dark brown marten fur. The doublet beneath, which was embroidered in gold thread with a floral design, was also slashed to show the cream-colored silk shirt beneath. His matching hat had a soft crown but a hard turned-up brim and a white ostrich plume. His shoes were fine brown leather. He had a large heavy gold chain about his neck, and both his hands were beringed. There was a bejeweled dagger at his waist.

“May I return the compliment?” the earl said, admiring Rosamund.

“You may,” she replied.

“Then let us go, madame. Lord MacDuff awaits us below. I think it is time you met your host.” The earl took Rosamund’s arm and led her from the apartment and downstairs, where Ian MacDuff stood along with Celestina who nodded her approval at the couple, but said nothing.

The Scots ambassador’s gray eyes widened as he saw them descend. He came immediately forward, taking Rosamund’s hand up and kissing it. “Madame, I am pleased to have you as my guest. It is an honor to entertain the queen’s good friend.”

“Unfortunately, the queen does not know I am here,” Rosamund admitted. “She would be most vexed with me, I fear.”

“Then we shall keep your secret, Lady Rosamund,” the ambassador said with a smile. “But the queen is generous of heart and would certainly want her friend happy,” he finished with another smile. “Shall we go?” He led them outside where the open carriage awaited them.

Lord MacDuff obviously did not know Meg well, Rosamund thought, amused. Margaret Tudor wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. Still, the man was an ambassador, and obviously a good one.

Rosamund allowed a footman to help her into the vehicle. She had never seen an open coach, for in England and Scotland such a thing would be considered ridiculous. Here, with the warm evening and the sun setting as they started off to the palace, it was quite perfect.

They moved down the hill upon which the ambassador’s residence was located and along a narrow street into the cathedral square. The carriage crossed the square traveling into a broader avenue lined with large and elegant houses. It eventually gave way to a thoroughfare lined with tall trees. They began to ascend a hill, coming finally to the duke’s palace at the mount’s summit. They passed through great gates and traveled along a drive of perfectly raked white gravel. As their coach passed, servants came out from the shrubbery to re-rake the drive that it might be perfect for the next vehicle.

The palace itself was built of cream-colored marble. They stopped before its entry porch, which was lined with elegant marble pillars speckled with green. There was a large marble fountain before the palace with a bronze statue of a boy on a dolphin, which sprayed water into the pool. Lanterns were hung everywhere in the trees. Their carriage stopped, and they were helped from it by servants in the duke’s blue and gold livery. The two gentlemen escorted Rosamund into the palace where a majordomo greeted them obsequiously.

“My lord ambassador, Lord Leslie, Lady Rosamund,” he said, and he ushered them towards the exquisite hall where the duke was holding his fete.

Now, how, Rosamund wondered to herself, did this servant, whom she had never before in her life seen, know her name?

They were announced by a second majordomo, the first having left them at the entry to the hall to return to his place in the entry foyer.

“His excellency, the ambassador from his most noble and Catholic majesty, King James of Scotland, Lord Ian MacDuff. Lord Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. Lady Rosamund Bolton,” the majordomo called out in ringing tones.

They moved down several marble steps into the lovely hall, so different from what she was used to, Rosamund noted. For one thing, there were no fireplaces, and one wall of the room opened to a terrace that she could see beyond the pale gold marble pillars. There was a ducal throne at one end of the hall, and they now moved towards it.

Sebastian, Duke of San Lorenzo, watched them come and struggled to maintain his surprise. When he had learned that his old friend Lord Leslie traveled with a lovely female companion, he had not anticipated she would be so… so… so young and so deliciously ripe. He would not have expected such a thing from a man from the north. Lord Leslie, while enjoying San Lorenzo during his tenure as ambassador, had always been most correct. A man his age did not travel with so exquisite and youthful a mistress unless he was very much in love. Sebastian di San Lorenzo had never considered that Patrick Leslie would be in love at any age.

He arose from the ducal throne, and stepping off the dais, offered both his hands in greeting to the Earl of Glenkirk. To any watching it would certainly appear as if they were just meeting. “Patrick!” His voice boomed for all to hear. “Welcome back to San Lorenzo!” He turned his head slightly and gave a sharp look to his heir, Rudolpho, who immediately stood up and came forward, bowing to the earl. “You will remember my son, of course.”

“Of course,” Patrick said. He would never as long as he lived forget Rudolpho di San Lorenzo. Had it not been for this man now before him, his daughter might not have been lost to him. He bowed curtly.

“And this is his wife, Henrietta Maria,” the duke said, drawing his daughter-in-law forward.

“Madame,” the earl said, bowing low over the outstretched hand. She might have once been pretty, he thought, but she was worn and wan with all of her child-bearing.

“You are most welcome to San Lorenzo,” Henrietta Maria said in a soft voice. Her warm brown eyes were sympathetic.

So she knew, the earl thought, and then he smiled at her. “I thank you, madame,” he said quietly.

“MacDuff,” the duke greeted the ambassador.

“My lord duke,” was the equally short reply.

The duke’s gaze now fastened itself on Rosamund. “And who is this?” he almost purred, his black eyes plunging into the valley between her breasts.

“May I present the lady of Friarsgate, Rosamund Bolton,” the ambassador said, and Rosamund curtsied low, allowing the duke an even better view of her ample charms.

“My dear lady,” the duke said, oozing charm, “so fair a flower is most welcome to my duchy.” And he took her hand up to kiss, but he did not release it.

“I am honored, my lord,” Rosamund said quietly in perfect French, withdrawing her hand from his in a smooth motion.

The duke then introduced her to his heir and his heir’s wife before they were able to move off into the crowd of other guests.

“What happened to his wife?” Rosamund asked Patrick.

“She died about five years after my daughter disappeared,” he responded.

“And the duke did not remarry?”

“He had a grown heir, and by then Rudi had one son and three daughters. I imagine he saw no need. Besides, he has always enjoyed the attentions of many women. The duchess Maria-Theresa was a patient woman with a good heart. I suspect he might even have loved her.”

Rosamund nodded. “Where is the guest of honor, I wonder?” she said.

And at that moment the majordomo at the entry to the lovely hall called out, “My lords and my ladies, Maestro Paolo Loredano di Venetzia!”

And all eyes turned to the man atop the steps.