“This is not a social call, nephew,” he said bluntly.

Henry felt at somewhat of a disadvantage standing by his uncle’s mount. “Get down, Edmund Bolton, so we may speak eye to eye,” he said. “Come in and have some wine. I have an excellent keg I relieved a traveling merchant of recently.” And he chuckled as if it were all a jest.

But Edmund remained atop his mount. “Nay. There is something I have come to say, Henry,” he told his nephew. “I want you to cease harassing Friarsgate. I want you to put all thoughts of marrying Philippa Meredith from your head. A match is being arranged for her with the second son of an earl. It is what the family wants. However, in return for your cooperation, we are willing to direct you to a rather large cache of gold, yours for the taking, nephew. Easy pickings, unless, of course, you are afraid of a band of Scottish monks,” he said scornfully. “You have no real love for Friarsgate. Would you not be content instead with gold?”

“Perhaps,” Henry said softly. “Tell me more, uncle.”

“Your word first that you will cease seeking to kidnap little Philippa. She is yet a child, Henry, and would be more troublesome than useful to you. And you could not keep her from her mother for long. Rosamund is a strong-willed woman, as your father learned.”

“Rosamund should have been my wife,” Henry the younger said. “It could be my son who inherited Friarsgate, and not another girl, uncle.”

Edmund’s laughter was brittle. “What are you now, nephew? Seventeen? Rosamund is twenty-five, and she would kill you before she would marry you. You do not want Friarsgate, lad. That was your father’s dream, and where did it get him but a narrow plot in the family’s burial ground? His lust for what was not his drove your mother away. It turned her from a vapid but decent girl into… well, lad, you know what Mavis became. And you? You are hunted and will be one day caught and hung.” He paused for a long moment. “Unless you decide to change your fate, Henry. Give me your word that you will leave the Boltons of Friarsgate alone, and I will make you rich, so rich you may leave here and begin your life anew. You were not meant to be a bandit in the borders, nephew. Do you really want your mother to come upon you one day, hanging at the side of the road? Would you break her heart that way? With the gold I offer you, you can rescue her from her shame and let her live out her life peaceably.”

For a brief moment Henry the younger’s face softened. Then his eyes narrowed, and he said, “Tell me!”

“Your promise first,” Edmund replied.

“You would accept my word?” Henry the younger sounded surprised, but he was also flattered. No one had ever agreed to accept his word before. “You have my hand on it, uncle. If you will tell me where this gold is, and if I can obtain it, I will leave Friarsgate and its inhabitants in peace. I will go south, as Thomas Bolton’s antecedent did. Perhaps I will have the same good fortune as he did.” That is not to say I will not return one day, Henry the younger thought silently. But Friarsgate was not for him, and he knew it. Besides, he hated the stink of sheep.

Edmund took his nephew’s hand and shook it. “The gold is at an abbey in the borders near Lochmaben. I learned of its existence from a Hepburn clansman. The laird’s cousin, the now-deceased Earl of Bothwell, had stored it there for King James before the war. Now it is needed to support the little king, and the queen regent has sent for it to be brought to Stirling. There is but one place where it may be safely taken, nephew. The vehicle bearing the gold will travel from the abbey down to the Edinburgh road. It is a distance of but a few miles. Midway between the abbey and that junction in the road is the ideal place to snatch it. The wagon will be driven by two monks. It is hoped such an equipage will not attract any attention,” Edmund said.

“You have remarkably good information, uncle,” Henry the younger said suspiciously.

“Of course I do,” Edmund agreed. “We hired out Hepburn clansmen to watch over Friarsgate. We pay them, and house and feed them. We are borderers no matter which allegiance we espouse when our kings go to war, nephew. The Scots have become comfortable with us, and they talk a great deal, for they are lonely for their families. They are also proud of their family connections, and the Earl of Bothwell, Patrick Hepburn, was responsible for hiding this gold at Lochmaben. I am sure that if Lord Dacre learns of this transport of gold he will want it, too. But that is unlikely, nephew. So there it is for the taking, if you are not afraid.”

“I am not afraid!” Henry the younger said quickly. “Do you know when this gold will be moved, uncle?”

“They say in three days’ time, nephew, but if I were you, I should go to Lochmaben as soon as possible and wait in hiding so you do not miss its departure.” Edmund turned his horse’s head as he prepared to leave his nephew’s encampment.

“Uncle,” Henry the younger called after him.

Edmund twisted in his saddle. “Yes, nephew?” he asked.

“If you have lied to me, I will come back and kill you,” Henry the younger said.

Edmund laughed harshly. “You are surely your father’s son,” he said, and then he rode off with his escort of clansmen to return to Friarsgate, where he found Tom just returned from his visit to Lord Dacre.

The two men entered the hall of the house, where Rosamund awaited them anxiously. “Well?” she said.

“Your cousin said as I was departing his camp that he would kill me if I lied to him,” Edmund chuckled. “He has taken the bait, niece.”

Rosamund turned to her cousin. “Tom?”

Lord Cambridge nodded. “At first Dacre was not certain that I knew what I was talking about. ‘Dear boy,’ I told him, ‘I have not ridden across half of England for my own amusement. The information I have practically comes from the source.’ Then I went on to tell him he had really been quite naughty continuing his raids in the borders. I happen to know, I said, for haven’t I just returned from court, that the king has told you it must stop! You are endangering all of us who live here. My cousin, Lady Rosamund Bolton, Queen Katherine’s dear, dear friend from their shared childhoods at court, has a large estate, Friarsgate, nearby. Then I lowered my voice and became quite chummy with Dacre. ‘Her daughter has just been chosen to be a maid of honor in two years’ time. If you do not stop, dear boy, you endanger Friarsgate, for the Scots will surely retaliate and come marauding. Now,’ I continued, ‘one of the men who guards Friarsgate has a sister married to a Scot over the border. And he has told her that a large shipment of gold that has been hidden at Lochmaben in an abbey is to be transported across the country to the queen regent for the support of her son, the little king. Now, if you seized that shipment of gold, our king would be very pleased. His sister, the Queen of Scotland, is being most difficult with him right now. If our dear King Henry had her gold, then she would have to be more amenable, wouldn’t she? Of course, if you are fearful of that band of renegades that have been about of late, well, I might understand, dear boy, but would King Henry?’ ”

They laughed, and Rosamund said, “You really are quite wicked, Tom. He listened to you, then?”

“I told him exactly where and when, dear girl, and suggested he would not be amiss leaving sooner than later. Like Edmund, I left behind a man to observe, who will return to us when both of our unsuspecting victims reach Lochmaben, when the battle is over and done with. Lord Dacre and his men are really quite well armed.”

“Henry the younger will fight harder,” Edmund said.

“Perhaps, but he will be overcome,” Tom told them.

“Then we have but to wait for news,” Rosamund responded.

“Where is your brazen Scot, dear girl?” Tom asked her.

“He is not mine, Tom!” Rosamund exclaimed.

“Of course he is,” Lord Cambridge replied with a grin. “Now, where is he?”

“He has gone to Lochmaben,” Rosamund said. “I will not believe that Henry the younger is dead unless I see his body and bury it.”

“God’s wounds, dear girl!” Tom exclaimed. “I am quite relieved not to be your enemy.”

“I do not do it out of vindictiveness, Tom, but I must be certain that Philippa is safe,” Rosamund told him. “And he is my cousin. Our blood. He should be interred here. Like his father, it is all he will ever have of Friarsgate.”

So they waited, and ten days later Logan came riding over the border and down the hill to Friarsgate with his men. Among their number was a riderless horse that carried a body. The body had already begun to stink, but in anticipation that he would not fail her, Rosamund had seen the grave already dug and the shroud ready. The body was put into its burial cloth. Rosamund looked upon Henry the younger’s face. In death he was a pleasant-looking young man who did not seem in the least dangerous. She nodded silently, and then she sewed the top of the shroud closed herself before they buried her young cousin.

“It is over at last,” she said as they all sat together in the hall that evening. “For my whole life I have battled Henry the elder and Henry the younger. Thank God it is finished.” She looked at the three men with her. “Thank you.” she said simply.

“Was it as you planned it?” Maybel demanded, wanting to know all the details.

“Exactly,” Logan said. “I have never in my life known any plan to be so flawless in its execution. Both parties of men arrived unknown to the other. They secreted themselves on opposite sides of the path. They were silent and determined. Your cousin struck first. At his attack the drivers leaped from the wagon and fled into the woods. And then Lord Dacre swooped down on Henry the younger and his men. He thought them Scots, and he was savage in battle. There were no survivors among your cousin’s men.

“Dacre then undid the covering on the wagon and pulled forth one of the bricks. He felt its weight and grinned, delighted. He unwrapped the brick, and seeing what was inside, he swore an oath. Then he began, with all his men, unwrapping the bricks until there wasn’t a one left. He spoke some of the most colorful language that I have ever heard,” Logan said, smiling.

“What happened then?” Maybel asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“He and his men galloped down the path to the abbey. They found it deserted, of course. They came back up the path, and dismounting, examined the wagon most carefully. I was near enough to hear the English milord. He decided that the monks had run away to hide in the woods knowing the wagon was empty of gold, but that the gold must assuredly have been there at one time because of the renegades who attempted to steal it before he attempted to steal it. He came to the conclusion that somewhere between there and Stirling there was a wagonload of gold, and he would attempt to find it before it became too dangerous for him and his men. He had his men unhitch the horses and then rode off with his troop.”

“So you lost two horses. I am sorry,” Rosamund said. “I will replace them.”

“There is no need,” Logan said. “We stole them back that night.”

They all laughed, and then the servants began bringing in the meal. It has been agreed that the laird would spend the night at Friarsgate.

“And you will return my daughters tomorrow?” Rosamund said.

“If you want Banon and Bessie back,” he told her wickedly, “you must come to Claven’s Carn and fetch them, Rosamund Bolton.” The blue-blue eyes were dancing.

Rosamund felt her temper rising. But when she glared down the high board at him, he pursed his lips in a kiss to her. For a moment her head spun at the memory of the last time he had cooled her tantrum. She was, to her family’s surprise, silent, and she could see he knew exactly what she was thinking and was restraining his laughter. I will not let him make me angry, she decided, and then she lifted her goblet to him in a taunting gesture and drank deeply. She heard his chuckle as she set the goblet back down on the high board.

Edmund and Tom played a game of chess before the fire afterwards. Maybel dozed, her feet turned towards the warmth of the hearth. Several dogs sprawled about them, and a single cat lay dozing in Philippa’s lap.

“Am I really safe now, mama?” Philippa asked. “And Friarsgate, too?”

“We are all safe now, poppet,” Rosamund told her daughter. “One day you will inherit Friarsgate, and your descendants after you. With me, the Boltons die. There will be none afterwards to harm you or yours.” She put an arm about her child, and Philippa dropped her head for a moment upon her mother’s shoulder as she had done when she was younger, seeking security and solace.