Bertrice Small - Until You

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.