“That fat face he once had is now as narrow as a hermit monk’s,” Maybel chimed in. “But the eyes staring out at you would give you a fright. They are both hopeless and empty of emotion at the same time. I think him no less dangerous for all his bad luck.”
“Wife, have mercy,” Edmund said.
“Fat or thin, he’s a bad one,” Maybel responded firmly. “I’ll not be unhappy to see Lord Tom back and in charge of Otterly. He says it is for Banon.”
“I know,” Rosamund said.
“Lord Leslie’s mission, then, did fail,” Father Mata said quietly.
“Aye,” Patrick answered him. “We remained in San Lorenzo the rest of the winter, for we were thought to be lovers briefly escaping from the obligations of our lives. Finally, on April first we began our return home, stopping first in Paris to reassure King Louis of King James’ fidelity.”
“It is unfortunate you were not successful, for peace is better than what will now come,” the priest said.
“Are you aware,” Maybel asked, “that Logan Hepburn has a wife?”
“I am,” Rosamund replied. “I was at his wedding to Mistress Jean, and we stopped last night at Claven’s Carn.”
“I wonder that you would not have him,” Edmund said slowly, and then seeing the look in his niece’s eye, he stopped.
“Where is Glenkirk?” Father Mata inquired politely of the earl.
“In the northeast Highlands. I am long a widower with a grown son and grandchildren,” Patrick answered him, offering the information he knew all of those who loved Rosamund sought from him.
“Patrick will remain with us as my guest for a time,” Rosamund told them.
“They’re lovers,” Maybel said afterwards to her husband, Edmund. “I never thought that my lass would be such a woman.”
“Leave her be, Maybel,” Edmund said quietly. “She is really in love for the first time in her life, and she is content. Can you not see it? Does she not deserve some happiness? We have been with her since her birth. We know what she has suffered and what she has endured. Rosamund has always done her duty by Friarsgate. She is entitled to some personal happiness. She is no longer a child.”
“She should marry again,” Maybel said stubbornly.
“Mayhap she will one day,” her spouse replied. “And mayhap not.”
“You thought Logan Hepburn would be a suitable mate for her,” Maybel persisted.
“I did, but Rosamund did not,” came the answer.
“But he loved her!” Maybel said.
“But he made the mistake of not telling her that the depth of his passion was for her and her alone. He could not keep silent about his need for a son. Rosamund did not like the idea she was being pursued because she was proved fecund, Maybel. I like this Earl of Glenkirk she has brought home.”
“He could be her father,” Maybel said, outraged.
“I doubt the depth of his feelings are particularly parental where my niece is concerned,” Edmund chuckled.
His wife swatted irritably at him. “He’ll not wed her. He has no need for a wife.”
“And Rosamund has no need for a husband,” Edmund reminded his mate.
“But to flaunt her lover before her daughters,” Maybel fussed.
“I am certain they will be discreet,” Edmund assured her.
“Banon and Bessie are not apt to see or understand it, but Philippa is eight now, and she has a sharp eye,” Maybel said.
“Remind her of that,” Edmund suggested gently.
“I most certainly will!” Maybel replied indignantly. “She has had him put in the chamber next to hers, and there is a connecting door. What would the children think if they entered her room and found that earl in her bed?”
Edmund chuckled, but Maybel looked outraged. “You will not be content, old woman, until you have had your say. So go and have it now.”
Throwing him an angry look, Maybel hurried off to find Rosamund. Her step was determined as she climbed the stairs. Reaching her mistress’ chamber, she opened the door without knocking. Surprised, Rosamund, who was alone, turned.
“Ah, Maybel, it is so good to be back,” she said, smiling, and then, seeing the look on the older woman’s face, she asked, “What is it? What is troubling you?”
“That man should not be here,” Maybel answered bluntly. “To display your lover to your innocent daughters! To expose them to your lechery is unforgivable. What are you thinking, child? Have you considered your lasses at all?”
Rosamund drew in a long breath and then exhaled. “Sit down,” she invited Maybel, motioning her to the bed. She, however, remained standing. “Do you recall my age now?” she asked the older woman, who shook her head. “I am twenty-three, Maybel. I have outlived three husbands, and I have three daughters. For twenty years I have done what was best for Friarsgate and its people. I will continue to do so. What I will not do, however, is be criticized for taking a bit of happiness for myself. I love you dearly, for you are the mother who raised me after my own perished. But that does not allow you the right to censure me. No one is more aware of my daughters than I am. Neither Patrick nor I will expose them to what you term ‘our lechery.’ We are lovers, yes. We have been since the first night we met and our eyes found each other across the Great Hall at Stirling Castle. I cannot explain it, and neither can he. It is simply the way it is. But to put your mind at ease, he would wed me if I would have him. He knows I prefer not to remarry, and so he does not press me. There can be no bairns of our coupling, for his seed was rendered lifeless years ago by an illness. Now, that should satisfy your curiosity, and I will not discuss it further.”
“Why won’t you wed him?” Maybel demanded, satisfied, but still inquisitive.
“Because I will not leave Friarsgate, and his allegiance is to Glenkirk,” Rosamund explained. “He will return to Scotland this autumn. Perhaps he will come back to Friarsgate again, and perhaps I shall never see him again. Neither of us knows what will happen, but we know we are not meant by the fates to be together always. Now, Maybel, that is an end to it. I shall say no more, and you will be your dear self to Patrick.”
“A woman who doesn’t want to be a wife,” Maybel opined. “I do not understand it at all!”
Rosamund laughed. “I know,” she said. “It will ever be a puzzle to you, dear Maybel. I do apologize for flummoxing you so.”
Maybel stood up. “Well, at least it is settled between us, child. Your earl seems a nice enough fellow. I can see you love him as you have never loved another. I’ll go back to the hall now and see that the supper is ready. Where is that lazy Annie?”
“I have seen she and her husband have a comfortable room. I want her to rest for a few days. She has traveled all the way from San Lorenzo with a bairn in her belly. She is very tired.”
“You spoil the wench,” Maybel grumbled. “After dinner I’ll have your bathwater brought so you may bathe.” Then she departed Rosamund’s chamber, closing the door firmly behind her.
“She loves you very much,” Patrick said, stepping through the door connecting their two chambers.
“You heard it all?” Reaching up, she stroked his handsome face with her fingers.
“I was about to come through when she burst in,” he replied. “She is right, you know. We must not set a bad example before your daughters. They are charming, by the way. I am particularly enamored of your youngest.”
“When we retire to our chambers we will lock both doors to the hallway,” Rosamund said. “There will be no interruptions, my lord. And you will share my bath tonight. I have a delightfully commodious tub for two. Owein always liked bathing with me,” she told him with a mischievous smile.
“He was obviously a man of good taste and discernment,” the earl said.
“Come and lie with me,” Rosamund begged.
“It is almost the supper hour, and it would not do if we did not appear, or worse, appeared flushed and rumpled,” he advised.
“We will just lie together and talk,�
� she promised him.
They stretched out upon her bed together.
“Your lands are fair,” he told her, “and very different from mine. Glenkirk stands amid the hills, though I have a loch, too. We can grow only what we need to sustain ourselves. Your fields, however, are bounteous enough to feed your vast flocks as well as your people. I look forward to riding out with you tomorrow.”
“We are indeed blessed,” Rosamund agreed. “Why must you leave me, Patrick? Can your son not manage your lands? Are you really needed at Glenkirk?”
“Until King James made me the Earl of Glenkirk, Rosamund, I was the laird of Glenkirk. I still am to my folk. I am their lord and the source of all that is good for them. I will be as long as I live,” Patrick said quietly. “My son will not be accepted until I am dead. He will be respected as my authority in my absence, but he will not be accepted as their master, Rosamund. I know why you do not leave Friarsgate. It is for the same reason. And your girls are too young to manage on their own.”
“I was managing at their age, but it was difficult, and I very much resented my uncle Henry, who coveted Friarsgate for himself. I will not put my daughters in that position. Maybel, Edmund, and my uncle Richard, who is the prior of St. Cuthbert’s, protected me from harm, but it was hard on them, and they are older now.”
“So we are at the same impasse as we have ever been,” he said softly.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I know,” she admitted, “and I hate it!”
He kissed the tears from her face. “We must be grateful for what we have,” he told her quietly.
She nodded, but beneath her acquiescence anger was beginning to burn. She loved this man, and she always would. She didn’t want to be separated from him. Ever.
At the evening meal the Earl of Glenkirk was seated on the lady of Friarsgate’s right hand. And on his right hand was Philippa Meredith, the heiress to Friarsgate. Banon and Bessie had been fed earlier and were abed now, but at eight Philippa came to table with the adults.
“You are very handsome for an old man,” Philippa observed.
“And you, I think, look like your mother,” he replied, restraining his laughter.
“Maybel says I am my mother, too,” Philippa responded. “Are you going to live here forever, my lord?”
“Nay,” he told the child. “I have come to visit, as your mama and I became friends at King James’ court. I shall depart for Glenkirk in the autumn.”
“Will you ever come back?” Philippa asked. “I think my mother would be very sad if you did not come back.”
“I will try to come back, Philippa,” the Earl of Glenkirk said. “I know I will want to come back, but sometimes what you want and what must be are not the same.”
“I thought grown-ups always got what they wanted,” was the reply.
Patrick laughed softly. “Would that it were so, my pretty maid, but it is not. Grown-ups must do their duty, and more often than not that duty conflicts with what they want. Still, a duty should always come first. You must remember that, for one day you will be the Lady of Friarsgate.”
The child nodded. “I think you have given me good advice, my lord. I will remember it.”
She was a serious little girl, he thought. His own lost daughter, Janet, was so different at that age. Janet, the half-wild Highland child who rode her pony at breakneck speed and protected her little brother from any who would tease him or otherwise seek to do him mischief. His Janet was as proud of her heritage as was this solemn little girl who was already gaining a sense of duty to Friarsgate. He had hated losing her to the heir of San Lorenzo, but better Rudolpho di San Lorenzo than the fate that had claimed her. Adam said that one day he would find his big sister, but Patrick doubted it.
The Earl of Glenkirk found that Friarsgate possessed the same isolation that his own Highland home did. The only news was brought by travelers, mostly peddlers coming over the border from Scotland. They learned that King James’ shipbuilding was progressing apace and that the heir to Scotland’s throne remained healthy and strong. Both the English and the Scots were strengthening their border garrisons. King James had signed a renewal of the alliance with France. In Europe war raged. Spain marched into Navarre, and Henry Tudor into Bayonne, awaiting their aid to win his French crown back. Disappointed, his fleet pounded the Breton coast as they made their way home to England once again.
The spring melded into a summer that seemed to move slowly one day and quickly the next. Now that Rosamund could swim, she insisted that Patrick teach her girls as he had taught her. Together they splashed about in her lake as Philippa, Banon, and Bessie giggled and sloshed each other with water in their efforts to learn.
“The water is certainly a lot colder than the sea in San Lorenzo,” Rosamund remarked the first time they swam.
“ ’Tis not as cold as Glenkirk’s loch,” he swore.
“Do you break the ice before you enter it, then?” she teased him back.
“Only in May,” he assured her. “You’ll see one day.”
“Aye, I’ll come to Glenkirk if you do not come back to me,” she threatened with a grin. “Not this year, but next, I shall take my girls and we will winter in your Highlands as long as you will come back to Friarsgate with us the rest of the year.”
“ ’Tis fair, and a good idea, sweetheart,” he agreed.
“That way neither of us shirks our responsibilities to our holdings,” he said.
They sat upon the lakeshore, watching the children.
“Oh, Patrick!” Rosamund said, and her voice was filled with hope. “Could we? It would be a perfect solution to the problem that besets us.”
“Aye,” he agreed slowly, “and then perhaps you would agree to marry me, Rosamund, and we shall never be parted again.”
“Let us see how your son likes me first, darling,” she advised. “I will drive no wedge between you two. Return to me in the springtime, Patrick, and if we are both of the same mind then, I shall come back with you to Glenkirk next winter with my girls.”
“And we can be wed then,” he told her.
She nodded. “But we must say naught to any right now, my lord. It will be our secret. There can be no marriage between us unless your son approves. Let Adam know me before you speak with him. Please.”
“Very well, my darling. It shall be as you desire, for I cannot refuse you anything, it would seem.”
In early September a carter arrived requesting payment for the great crate that he had transported from the port of Newcastle-on-Tyne to Friarsgate. Going into her strong-box, Rosamund counted out the coins, but she said, “Open the crate for me first that I may make certain your cargo is not damaged. Be careful!” she warned as the carter and his helper began to pull the crate apart.
Shortly, the painting as done by Maestro Loredano was revealed. The two carters lifted it from its packaging and held it up for all to see. There were great oohs from those gathered in the hall.
“ ’Tis beautiful, lass,” Edmund said. “I have never seen the like before.”
“It would have traveled easier had he just sent the canvas,” Rosamund noted dryly, “but I suspect that the maestro would trust no one but himself to see to the framing.” Her eyes met the earl’s. “I wonder what happened to the other painting.”
Patrick laughed. “I suspect we shall never know, Madonna.” Then he explained to Edmund and Maybel about the two paintings.
“He don’t sound very respectable to me, this painter fellow,” Maybel said.
“He was not respectable as we would have it,” the earl answered her, “but you will agree that the fellow is talented. His rendition of Rosamund is masterful.”
“Aye,” Edmund agreed. “He has her so lifelike that I would expect her to step from the painting, my lord.”
The harvest was now gathered in, and Friarsgate began to prepare for the winter to come. The anniversary of Sir Owein Meredith’s death was celebrated in the little estate church. It was now three years since he had fallen fro
m a tree in the orchard and broken his neck. The days were growing noticeably shorter, and the nights were now cold. Both Rosamund and Patrick were avoiding the inevitable.
“I can remain no longer or I shall have to spend the winter here,” he told her one evening as they lay abed.
“Do not leave me,” she begged him. “I am so fearful that if we break the spell that has surrounded us these past months I shall never see you again.”
“Then come with me,” he said, and he caressed her beautiful auburn hair.
She shook her head. “You know I cannot, Patrick. I am amazed at all I have done in this past year and the places I have been in that time, thanks to you. Promise me that you will return in the spring when the snows have left your Highlands. Oh, I wish you could at least remain until your birthday!”
“December is too late a time for me to travel. It is already October, and I should have gone two weeks ago,” he said. “Rosamund, I am leaving tomorrow.”
She cried out as if he had struck her, but then, turning a brave face to him, she said, “Then you must love me tonight, Patrick, as if you will not love me ever again!” She pulled his head to hers, and their lips met in a fierce kiss, each of them drawing from the other. She ran her tongue over his mouth, tasting him hungrily. His hands cupped her bottom, drawing her closer. “I love you!” she sobbed.
“And I love you as I have never loved another, Rosamund Bolton!” he declared. He caressed her, meaning it to be tender, but instead his touch aroused her passions. His mouth closed over a nipple, and he drew upon it even as he fondled the round soft flesh of her breasts. His fingers played between her thighs, and then she surprised him by turning herself about so she might take his manhood between her hands and suckle upon it. Her facile little tongue ran up and down the length of him. It encircled the ruby knob, and he moaned with pleasure as he experienced a delight he had not imagined her capable of giving. But before she unmanned him, he forced her away and onto her back once more. He mounted her and pushed into her welcoming heat, taking her face between his two big hands as he did, watching the subtle play of passion upon her lovely face as he thrust slowly back and forth until she was half-sobbing with her own pleasure. He bent his body now and gave her a long, slow kiss. “How is it that you make me young again, my sweet border lover? In what time and what place have we been before? I have never understood, Rosamund, but I do not care any longer, as long as I have your love for now and always!” His movements on her became more demanding.
Until You Page 27
