Until You

by Bertrice Small

  “I have just received word, highness, that Philippa, my eldest daughter, is dangerously ill. How the messenger got through in this storm is a miracle, but I must depart for Friarsgate as soon as the storm clears,” Rosamund said.

  “One of your own people came?” the queen said. “I would see him and commend him for his diligence.”

  “Nay, madame, not one of my people. They are simple folk and would not know how to travel to Edinburgh and then on to Stirling. It was a messenger hired by my uncle Edmund. I didn’t even see him. He asked for me and was directed to Annie. She took the message and came to find me immediately after the mass,” Rosamund said.

  “Ah,” the queen said, disappointed. “Must you leave me, Rosamund? I did so want you here for this birth. I have missed you, and we have had such fun these last few weeks.”

  “You have had fun teasing me,” Rosamund said with a smile. “I will try to return in time for the prince’s birth, Meg.” She felt guilty lying to her old friend, especially in light of how good Margaret Tudor had always been to her. But the queen could not know the truth about the Earl of Glenkirk’s mission to San Lorenzo, and Rosamund knew she could not allow her lover to leave her at this point.

  The queen nodded. “You are a good mother, Rosamund. Go home and tend to your daughter, but please come back when you can.”

  “We will speak again before I leave you,” Rosamund responded. Then she curtsied and moved off.

  The festivities went on the day long and into the evening. There was food and drink in abundance. There was music and dancing. A troupe of entertainers was allowed into the hall. They had a bear with a polished brass collar on a chain that danced to flute and drum. There were several men who juggled shiny balls and pastries from the tables. There was a blind girl who sang like an angel while accompanying herself on a small harp. And finally there were acrobats who tumbled and leapt across the hall, causing the spectators to ooh and ahh with delight. When the entertainers had departed the hall, it was time to put the bride and groom to bed in the Earl of Bothwell’s comfortable apartments. Rosamund did not join in this rough rite.

  “It is as good a time as any for us to make our escape,” Patrick whispered to her with a smile.

  Rosamund nodded. “I cannot imagine what poor Logan would think if he found me among the women who prepared his wife for the bridal bed,” she chuckled. “I gave the lass my pearls as a wedding gift, which should prick him enough.”

  “Revenge for your own wedding day, my sweet?” Lord Cambridge said as he came to her side. “You are learning how to fight back, my pet. I am proud of you.”

  “I have nothing against the lass, Tom,” Rosamund said. “Actually, she is perfect for him. She will obey his every wish and whim. She will dutifully produce children and keep his house in perfect order. And she’ll get little thanks for it, for Logan will believe it is his due. If the pearls pleased her, good! If it distresses him each time she wears them, good!”

  “Would you believe that she was once as meek and mild as one of her lambs?” Tom said with a grin to the Earl of Glenkirk.

  “I like a woman with a wee bit of spice,” the Earl of Glenkirk responded with a smile.

  “Then you have surely found her in Rosamund,” Lord Cambridge chortled.

  “I have told the queen I must return to Friarsgate because Philippa is ill,” Rosamund said quietly to her cousin.

  “Ah, so our time at this delightful court is finished,” he noted. “It was too short, my pet. We must come back one day. Promise me we shall. If I am to spend my winter watching over your lasses I must have my reward.”

  “You shall have it, Tom,” she promised. “If it were not for my girls, I should leave you here to pursue all manner of naughtiness.”

  “And there are so many delights for a discreet gentleman to enjoy,” he sighed. “Of course, one must really be quite discreet. There are still those who remember this king’s father and his favorites. The Stewarts do seem to blow this way and that.” Tom Bolton grinned.

  Glenkirk laughed. “And you have indeed been discreet, Tom. I have heard no rumors of bad behavior at all. In fact, several of the ladies have remarked that it is a pity a gentleman of your breeding has no wife.”

  “What they mean, the wicked creatures,” he laughed, “is a gentleman with my purse, Patrick. But I prefer an unencumbered life, my dears, and Rosamund and her daughters are my heirs. She is my nearest kin. We are like brother and sister.”

  “And a better friend I never had, dear Tom,” Rosamund told him. “Patrick and I will now retire, but you are free to enjoy as much of this court as you can until we must go in a few days.” She blew him a kiss as she departed the Great Hall.

  In the little bedchamber that was their sanctuary, Rosamund and her lover undressed each other slowly as they prepared for bed. He was teaching her the lesson of patience, although it was not easy for her. Again she silently asked herself how it was possible that she had fallen so deeply, so desperately, in love with this man who less than a month ago was totally unknown to her. She had no answers today any more than she had had answers yesterday or would have them tomorrow. She knew only that she must be with Patrick, in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.

  “What would your son think of us?” she asked him as she undid the silk ribbons holding her chemise closed.

  “He would think me fortunate to have found love again,” Glenkirk said. “My daughter-in-law, however, would think me mad. She would say things like ‘At your age, my lord!’ and she would purse her narrow lips in disapproval. Anne has a hard heart. Would that Adam had known it before he wed with her, but he is content. He seems to know how to manage her, though she be shrewish.” He pushed the chemise from her shoulders and lifted her naked from the silken pile of material now about her ankles.

  “I wonder if we shall ever meet,” she said, unlacing his shirt and pulling it off him. “Does he look like you? Or does he favor his mother?”

  “He is tall and is said to have my features, but his eyes are his mother’s. Agnes had the bonniest blue eyes I have ever seen on a woman, and Adam has those eyes. I think that is what first attracted his wife to him.” He drew Rosamund’s naked form against his bare chest. “I love the feel of your nipples on my skin,” he told her.

  She grew dizzy with the simple pleasure of his body against hers. “You are nothing like Owein, or even Hugh,” she told him.

  “I’m glad,” he answered, and his lips brushed lightly over hers.

  Rosamund’s breath was coming in small quick bursts. She could feel the hard length of him against her. “Will you get out of those damned haut-de-chausses?” she said through gritted teeth. Her hand smoothed down along the rigid stretch.

  “Tch, Tch, lassie,” he scolded her. “Have you no patience?”

  “Not where you are involved, Patrick Leslie,” she told him. “I admit that I am a shameless wench where you are concerned.”

  “I must teach you better, Rosamund. Passion is best savored and enjoyed slowly. You want to gobble, but I will not allow it.” He loosed his hold on her and pulled off the last of his garments. Then, reaching for her again, he turned her so her back was to him and he might gather her lovely round breasts into his hands to enjoy. He fondled the fleshy globes tenderly all the while rubbing his manhood against her buttocks and between the cleft that separated those twin moons.

  Rosamund sighed and relaxed against him. He was right. This was much better than a quick coupling. The teasing anticipation was arousing her to new heights. “Oh, Patrick,” she said softly, “that is so very, very nice, my darling.”

  “We have only just begun, my love,” he told her. Then he turned her about to face him and kissed her deeply, his mouth hot and eager.

  Their tongues met, caressed, dueled for superiority. They tasted each other, and then he lifted her up and carried her to their bed, laying her gently down and joining her. His big hands brushed over her torso, and she sighed. He turned her over onto her stomach and began m
assaging her back and her shoulders. His fingers dug into her prettily rounded bottom and then her thighs. He massaged her feet, rubbing any soreness that might have been there from them. “It is better, of course, with lotion or oil,” he explained. “In San Lorenzo they make the most delicious treats for the body, Rosamund, and I intend to introduce you to them all. They are lush and sensuous, and you will love what they do to your body, my love.”

  Then he murmured a soft command to her, and when she positioned herself with raised buttocks he entered her womanly passage slowly and then began to pump her vigorously until Rosamund was whimpering with her pleasure. “That’s it, my pet,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “Enjoy the delights I can offer you. It has been a very long time since I wanted a woman as much as I want you. And even having you, it is not enough!” He thrust harder and deeper until she was screaming softly with her lustful satisfaction.

  “Oh, God, Patrick! Please don’t stop! I could not bear it if you stopped!” she half-sobbed.

  “There is more, my love,” he promised her, and then he continued on until he could no longer hold back his own desires. His love juices flooded her, and she wept.

  “I cannot bear to think of the time when we must part,” she told him, her face wet with her tears.

  “Do not consider it, my love,” he counseled her. “We have much time ahead of us, I promise you.” And he was kissing her face, her lips, and she was sighing with her happiness in their love while outside the single window in the room the storm raged on, but they neither knew nor cared.

  The following afternoon the snow had finally abated, and the late day was clear, as was the night that followed. They would leave on the morrow. To Rosamund’s surprise, the laird of Claven’s Carn and his bride were to travel with them.

  “Then he shall know that I have not gone home to Friarsgate!” Rosamund said, distressed.

  “I have already spoken to the king, but he says there is no help for it. The queen made the arrangements, for she thought it would be safer for you to travel with the laird’s party. The king can say nothing lest he reveal his plans. He dare not, or England will learn of Scotland’s plans,” Glenkirk said. “I can but appeal to Logan Hepburn’s patriotism when we leave them for the Leith road. He can certainly keep his wife quiet.”

  “And I shall keep her friendly and amused for the journey,” Tom added. “She will be feeling a bit strange going to her new home for the first time, and I will help to ease her fears. I shall keep Logan Hepburn’s friendship for Friarsgate despite your bad behavior, cousin,” Tom teased, and he grinned at her with a wicked wink.

  Glenkirk laughed. “You are a valuable ally, Tom, and I thank you for it.”

  “Do not think to wheedle me, my dear lord,” Tom said. “I am still quite put out that I must go back to Friarsgate in the snow while you whisk my fair cousin and best friend off to the balmy shores of San Lorenzo. I shall expect a great favor in return one of these days.”

  “And you shall receive whatever it is your good heart desires,” Glenkirk replied. “Within reason, of course.”

  “One man’s reason is another’s unreason,” Tom said with a chortle. “You must bring me sweet Mediterranean wines and some of your own whiskey if I am to be recompensed.”

  “And I shall bring you jars of olives, stored with lemon and oil in stone crocks for a year. San Lorenzan olives are considered a rare delicacy,” the Earl of Glenkirk told Lord Cambridge. “I wish you could taste their grapes. They are the sweetest I have ever known.”

  “Say not another word, dear man, for I am already regretting my decision to remain at Friarsgate!”

  “Oh, Tom, you must! My lasses will not be safe without you there,” Rosamund cried.

  “Dear cousin, I have given you my word, and I will indeed go to Friarsgate to watch over those three little angels you spawned. But I will nonetheless regret that I am not with you,” Tom said.

  “You can teach them court manners,” Rosamund teased him.

  “They can certainly use my tutelage,” he sniffed. “Especially Philippa, who should know better than to squat and pee when she is outdoors with the other children and nature calls to her. A proper young lady uses her chamber pot.”

  “You will tell her that, of course, dear Tom,” Rosamund said, laughing.

  “You are quite enjoying my distress,” he grumbled. “Well, I am not the one whose bottom will be red each day from all the riding you have ahead of you. While you gallop through the worst of the winter weather I shall be snug at Friarsgate with your good Maybel watching over me and cosseting me with her kind heart and good cooking. And what am I to tell her, cousin?”

  “I have written a letter to her, Tom. She will ask you all manner of questions despite it, but you may answer her honestly,” Rosamund told him quietly. “She will blame poor Meg for my behavior, of course,” Rosamund concluded with a smile.

  “Aye, she will not believe this reckless behavior of you, my dear girl,” he agreed.

  “I must go and bid the queen farewell now,” Rosamund said, and she left the two men together by the fire in the Great Hall where they had all been seated.

  The queen was feeling quite well when Rosamund arrived to see her.

  “I have never felt better in these circumstances,” she declared.

  “The king’s prediction will be a true one, then,” Rosamund responded.

  “His predictions are always true,” Margaret Tudor replied. “It is sometimes quite eerie. So, you are leaving me, my old friend.”

  “My visit has been wonderful!” Rosamund declared. “And I promise I shall come back to see you when I can.”

  “You will not let the war separate us?” the queen asked.

  “What war?” Rosamund was puzzled.

  “The one that my brother, Henry, will certainly force upon my husband and Scotland,” the queen said. “This marriage between us was to settle the matter for good and all, but it has not. And it is all Hal’s fault! He presses Jamie at every turn. My husband, however, is far wiser than my brother; but eventually Hal will make war on Scotland, and you and I will be separated again, Rosamund.”

  “If there is indeed a war, I shall not allow it to harm the friendship that we formed back at your father’s court when we were children, Meg. Whatever the men of this world may do, we women shall remain friends. I shall try and be here for your son’s christening,” she promised, “if not sooner.”

  “What of Lord Leslie?” the queen asked, unable to help herself.

  “He is coming with me,” Rosamund said. “He says he is not needed at Glenkirk now as his son is capable of managing their lands. And besides, it is easier for him to come with me to Friarsgate than to get back into his Highland eyrie with this weather.”

  “Then you shall not be separated,” the queen said. “Oh, Rosamund, I am glad! For all I have teased you, I can see that you love him and he you. It is so strange, but there it is. God bless you both!”

  “Why, thank you, Meg,” Rosamund said, and then she embraced the queen.

  The following day dawned clear and very cold. It would take them two days to ride to Leith, Scotland’s main port on Firth of Forth. Logan assumed that they were riding to Edinburgh. They might have made the journey in a single day but that Lord Leslie did not feel young Mistress Hepburn was up to such a trip.

  “She is young, but delicately made,” he noted. “It will be a hard enough venture for her, I fear.”

  They overnighted at an inn near Linlithgow. It was a small establishment, and the two women were put into a chamber with another female traveler and Annie, while the men were shown into a dormitory with others of their sex. Rosamund found their situation very amusing until the bride sought to confide in her.

  “Madame,” Jeannie began, “you are a lady of some experience, and I mean you no disrespect when I say that, but I need a woman’s advice.”

  God’s boots, Rosamund thought to herself, but she drew a deep breath and said, “Are you certain you are not vio
lating a confidence, Mistress Hepburn? Some things are meant to remain between a wife and her husband.”

  “Nay, I do not believe I tell a tale I should not. I simply wish to know whether all men are so enthusiastic in their bed sport. And how often is it proper for a husband to couple with his wife?” She blushed as she spoke, the color rising swiftly to stain her pale cheeks.

  “You are fortunate in your husband’s enthusiasm,” Rosamund replied. “It means he enjoys your company. And he may have your favors as often as he desires them, unless, of course, you are well along with child or your monthly courses are upon you. Men enjoy their bed sport differently than women do. It is the way God made them.”

  “Aye, you are right,” Jeannie said slowly. “Thank you. My mother died when I was ten, and I was sent to the convent. The nuns do not know about such things; nor would they speak of them if they did. It is too worldly.”

  Rosamund asked, “Were you unhappy to leave the convent, Mistress Hepburn?”

  “Nay. But I had no sister or friend or other lady with whom to speak about these intimate things and I went to my marriage bed quite ignorant. But my husband was very kind and most patient with me,” Jeannie concluded.

  “I am glad,” Rosamund told her. “Men sometimes do not understand innocence. They can be rough creatures. They mean no harm usually. It is just their way.”

  “Oh, thank you, madame!” Jeannie said, and the gratitude in her voice was palpable. “I did not know what to think. May I ask one more question of you?”

  Oh lord, save me! But Rosamund nodded, smiling. “Of course.”

  “Is it proper that I enjoy it when my husband and I couple?” came the naive query.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Rosamund was fascinated in spite of herself.

  “Oh, very much!” Jeannie admitted, blushing deeply once again.

  “It is proper,” Rosamund told her. “Indeed, it is good that you do.”