Bertrice Small - Until You

The queen was gracious in her small victory over her friend. She released Rosamund from her company. “Go home, and be with your lasses,” Margaret Tudor said. “Your earl has done us good service, and you should be together. I will ask you to come to me again one day. Godspeed, dear Rosamund.”

Rosamund kissed the queen’s hand, and after curtsying, immediately left her. Together she and Patrick took their leave of the king.

James Stewart’s warm amber eyes surveyed the pair. “Twice you have come to my aid, Patrick. If I call you again, will you come?”

The Earl of Glenkirk nodded. “You are my king, Jamie Stewart, and though I lost my beloved daughter, Janet, in your service, I will answer your call. I think that you royal Stewarts are not fortunate for the Leslies of Glenkirk, but I will come should you need me.”

“Had you not come this time, Patrick, you should not have met Rosamund Bolton,” the king reminded the earl.

“Aye, that is to your credit,” the earl agreed affably.

“Are you bound for Glenkirk, then?” the king asked.

“Nay. I have sent a messenger to my son asking him to maintain his position as sole keeper of our lands for a time longer. I am of a mind to see England. I shall go with Rosamund to Friarsgate.”

“Claven’s Carn is on your route,” the king said mischievously.

“We will not be stopping,” Rosamund replied tartly.

The two gentlemen laughed. Then the king and the Earl of Glenkirk embraced. James kissed Rosamund’s hand, and she curtsied prettily.

“Go with God,” the king told them as they left him.

Lord Cambridge was waiting for them, and together they walked down the castle hill to the house in the Highgate that he had leased. “I have come all the way to Edinburgh and am not to go to court,” he grumbled. “It does not seem fair.”

“You are welcome to remain,” Rosamund told him sweetly.

“Without you? After all these months? I think not, cousin!” Lord Cambridge said firmly. “Ah, here we are.” Drawing a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door of the gray stone house and led them inside. “Mistress MacGregor!” he shouted. “We are here!”

A small, thin woman came from the dark recesses of the long hall. “I am nae deef, yer lordship,” she said, and seeing the earl and Rosamund, she curtsied.

“My cousin wants a bath,” Lord Cambridge announced to the housekeeper.

“You’ll have to take it in the kitchen, m’lady,” Mistress MacGregor said. “The tub is there wi the hot water. There is nae one to lug it all upstairs.”

“I shall be happy to bathe before a hot fire in your kitchen,” Rosamund said. “My servants will be here shortly. Dermid will do any heavy work you require, and Annie, while expecting a child, is quite strong.”

The housekeeper smiled broadly. “I’ll be pleased for a wee bit of help, m’lady,” she said.

“Annie is expecting a child?” Tom looked at her askance.

“She and Dermid wed in March,” Rosamund quickly explained. “After Patrick and I have washed, are in warm, clean clothing, and are fed, I shall tell you all of our adventures in San Lorenzo, Tom. Oh, I wish you had been there! You would have simply adored it. The weather was warm. There were flowers everywhere in February. It was really a little bit of heaven on earth.”

“I am so pleased to learn that,” he replied dryly.

Annie and Dermid arrived with a cart carrying the luggage. They had been directed from the castle where they had first gone, having just come this day from Leith. Rosamund, with Annie’s help, bathed in a sturdy oak tub before the kitchen fire. Afterwards, the earl, with Dermid’s aid, bathed in the same water before it grew cold. Wrapped in chamber robes, they sat before the fire in the room that served as a hall, their feet turned to the fire taking the chill from the June night. Mrs. MacGregor served them a fine dinner of broiled salmon, duck with plum sauce, fresh green peas, bread, and cheese. There was good brown ale to drink. Finally sated and relaxed, they shared with Tom their adventures of the past few months. He laughed to learn of the nudes the artist, Loredano, had done of them unawares. He was interested to learn that a Howard was an ambassador from King Henry.

“I remember that particular Howard. A sly fellow with ambition not suited to his few talents. He recognized you?”

“Aye, but as I was never formally introduced to him, I claimed I knew him not,” Rosamund said. “He looked like the sort of fellow who sees plots where there are none.”

Tom nodded. Then he said, “I cannot wait to see the portrait he did of you, my dear girl. Is it marvelous? Is it too wonderful?”

“It is magnificent!” the Earl of Glenkirk enthused. “He pictured her among her hills, a flaming sunset behind her, defending Friarsgate. There are really no words to describe how wonderful this painting is, Tom. You will have to judge for yourself.”

And afterwards, as Patrick and Rosamund lay together in the first bed they had shared in weeks, he held her close, stroking her long auburn hair. They had made long and sweet love earlier. Now they were both allowing the exhaustion of the past few weeks to claim them.

“Are you asleep yet?” he asked her.

“Almost,” she murmured.

“Let us leave for your Friarsgate soon, Rosamund. I am weary of travel,” he told her.

“Aye, in a day or two, after I have caught up with my sleep. It will give Tom a few days to play at court before we go,” she said, and she yawned. “I am so tired, Patrick.”

“A few days to sleep, aye, my love,” he agreed, and then he began to snore softly, and curling up next to him, Rosamund joined him in his slumber.

Three days later they departed Edinburgh for Fri arsgate. Lord Cambridge promised to follow them in a few days’ time, for the queen had asked him to remain at court for a short time.

“I have told her I have absolutely no news of her brother’s court, but she insists I stay for a few weeks. I may go directly south to save time. I want this business with your uncle Henry settled as quickly as possible.”

“You will make a far more congenial neighbor than he,” Rosamund said.

“Pity him, cousin,” came the reply. “His fall is quite sad, and he is a broken man. His wife destroyed him. He can be certain only that young Henry is his get, yet all Mavis’ bastards bear the name of Bolton. Though her adultery was an open secret, your uncle was too proud to publicly expose her. Still”-and this was said cheerfully-“as I have previously said, those lads will all end their days on the hang-man’s rope.”

“You find gossip where there should be none,” Rosamund laughed. “Write to me, and let me know when you intend to return to us. You will have to stay at Friarsgate while Otterly is made fit for human habitation again.”

“I intend to tear the place down and build a new house,” Tom said.

“And will its interior match your houses in London and Greenwich, cousin?” Rosamund asked him, knowing as she spoke what he would say.

“Of course,” Lord Cambridge answered her predictably. “You know, dear girl, how I despise change. And this way the servants can come north with me, as they come to Greenwich, and not be idle. I have been keeping them in London all these months while they do naught. Shocking!”

“Tom, I adore you!” Rosamund said, and she kissed him on both cheeks.

“I am relieved to know I have not been replaced entirely in your heart, dear girl,” he said, returning her kiss. “Travel safely, and I will indeed write to you.”

“I want to know all your adventures,” she said, laughing.

“My adventures pale in comparison to yours, dear girl. And to think when I first met you, you were such a quiet little country mouse,” he replied. Then, with a wave of his hand, he left her.

“He loves you very much,” the earl noted.

“I love him back,” Rosamund said. “He is like a big brother, and he has been wonderful to me from the moment we met.”

Edinburgh behind them, they moved south and west through the borders, traveling only in the daylight hours, for even in the best of times the borderland between England and Scotland could be a rough place. They forded the Yarrow River at Yarrow and the Teviot at Hawick below Jedburgh. They followed the path along Liddel Water through the Cheviots. Rosamund was anxious to get past Claven’s Carn, but as luck would have it, the summer twilight found them right where she did not want to be.

“I’d rather camp in a field with the cattle,” she said to Glenkirk.

“I would not,” he told her. “He’s a married man now.”

“You will see, Patrick. And I would not harm that sweet wife of his for the world, but you will see. He will glower at me and make cruel remarks. She is not stupid, and she will wonder what it is all about. And his roughneck brothers and their wives will tell her I am flirting with him to take the onus off of him.”

“Is there anywhere else we might stop?” he asked her.

“No,” she admitted glumly.

“Then we have no choice but to stop at Claven’s Carn.”

“I shall say I am weary and must go to my bed immediately,” Rosamund decided.

“Aye,” Glenkirk agreed, “that would be best. Slump in your saddle and feign great exhaustion, sweetheart. I will speak for our party. And we have Annie and her belly, too.” He chuckled. “ ’Tis a sad group we are.”

The earl had hired a group of men-at-arms in Edinburgh to accompany them to Friarsgate. Now, Rosamund, Annie, and the others behind him, he hailed the closed gates at Claven’s Carn. “Ho, the castle!” he shouted.

“Who goes there?” a voice from the heights demanded.

“Patrick Leslie, Earl of Glenkirk, the lady of Friarsgate, two servants, and twenty men-at-arms. We request shelter for the night. The lady and the servant girl who is with child are wearied and can travel no farther. We ask the hospitality of Logan Hepburn and his wife.”

“Remain there while I seek my master,” the voice from the darkened heights said.

They waited and they waited. The minutes passed while the wind began to come up, and there was the smell of rain in the air.

“He would refuse,” Rosamund said, “but his wife prevails upon him to remember that courtesy must be rendered to a traveler who asks it.”

“You seem to know him well,” Glenkirk said dryly.

“He is not a complex man,” Rosamund replied sharply. Then she laughed softly. “He will have to give in to Jeannie’s pleas or seem quite mean-spirited. If he had not this young wife, he would refuse us. As it is, he will make us wait outside his gates like beggars, wondering. He knows we would not ask shelter of him had we any other choice.”

“Tomorrow you shall be home,” Glenkirk soothed her.

A light rain began to fall, yet they still waited. Finally, they heard the creak of the portcullis as it was slowly raised, and the double wooden entrance doors began to slowly open, but just enough to allow them entry, one by one, into the courtyard. There they found the master of the house awaiting them with his pretty wife, who was very great with child. Patrick dismounted and then lifted Rosamund down from her horse. She slumped against him as if she were barely able to stand.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Logan Hepburn, and yours also, my lady Jean,” the earl said in gracious tones. “Is there somewhere my lady might lay her head, for she is spent with all our travels? We were too eager, I fear, to reach Friarsgate today, and the darkness caught us.” He smiled.

“Oh, the poor lady!” Jeannie said sympathetically. Her blue eyes went past Rosamund to Annie. “Come lass, you and your mistress,” she said. “I will see you are bedded down. Have you eaten?” She bustled about them clucking.

“I fear I must carry the lady,” the earl said, as Rosamund began to crumble to the ground by his side. He caught her up, murmuring as he did so, “Vixen! If there are stairs, you will have to carry me.”

Rosamund swallowed back her laughter, pushing her face into his big shoulder to muffle the sound of it. But her amusement was cut short when Logan spoke.

“Give her to me, my lord, for there are stairs, and the lady has not a child’s weight.” He took Rosamund from the earl and strode purposefully into his house with Annie and the others following in his wake.

“He is so thoughtful,” Jeannie said, taking the earl’s arm to bring him inside. “He will put her in the guest chamber. Follow after him, lassie,” she told Annie.

Logan took the stairs to the second floor of his house two at a time. He stamped down a dim hallway, kicked open a door, and entered a chamber. Dumping her on the bed, he snarled, “Did you have to come here, lady? Did you have to torture me once more with your perfidy?”