Until You

by Bertrice Small

  The Earl of Glenkirk bowed politely. “I shall take your good wishes to my king, my lord, and I thank you for seeing me.” Then Patrick backed from the French king’s presence. He returned to the little house outside of Paris on the Seine.

  Rosamund was awaiting him. “I began to fear for you when it grew dark,” she told him. “You will not have eaten, I expect. Come. Dermid brought us a good supper from the nearby inn.” He looked tired, she thought, leading him to the table and seating him. “Annie is not feeling particularly well, and so I insisted she rest. It is often this way with a first bairn.” She lifted the cover from a tureen and ladled a good-smelling stew onto his plate. “These French know how to cook,” she told him, setting the plate before him and tearing a hunk of bread off the loaf for him. “Eat, Patrick, and then tell me what transpired this day.” She poured a dark red wine into his goblet and then waited while he ate. He was obviously hungry, she noted, as he quickly cleared his plate of food, mopping every bit of the gravy up with his bread. “More?” she asked, and he nodded. “You did not eat all day, did you, my lord? That is not good for a man of your years.”

  Patrick swallowed down a portion of his wine. “I had to wait for King Louis to see me,” he said. “Or at least for one of his pompous secretaries to make an appointment for me. I was so persistent, they let me in at the last moment.” He spooned the stew on his plate into his mouth, eating vigorously until he finally seemed satisfied. His wine cup was refilled twice. Now the Earl of Glenkirk sat back and took Rosamund’s hand up to kiss it. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, sweetheart.”

  “We cannot always be roiling with passion, Patrick.” She smiled back at him. “Now, tell me what King Louis said.”

  “He said he expected no less of Jamie Stewart than he had gotten in the past. That he knew Scotland would adhere to our auld alliance. He sends King James his good wishes. ’Twas a courtesy the king sought of me, and King Louis knows it. There is little need now for us to remain here.”

  “But I have never been to Paris,” Rosamund said. “And when shall this country girl have the opportunity to come again, my lord? Can we not spend just a few days here? I should very much like to see the cathedral, and besides, Annie really could use a respite before we begin the last of our journey. A sea voyage is apt to play havoc with her belly.”

  “Two days,” he said, “and we depart on the third. Will that satisfy you, madame?”

  “It is more than generous, my lord,” she assured him.

  “I’ll send one of the duke’s men to Calais to see if our ship is awaiting us. He’ll not have time to return to Paris, but he can meet us on the road. The English will be on the lookout for vessels sailing beneath the French or Scots flags.”

  The following day Patrick and Rosamund visited the great Cathedral of Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cité. Paris itself was a bustling and noisy city, and to Rosamund’s surprise it was quite different from London, despite the similarity of having a river running through it. The French were colorful and vibrant. They saw gypsy performers in the streets. The taverns overflowed with revelers. No matter the war, Paris was always vibrant and alive.

  “It is exhausting,” Rosamund laughed as they returned home the evening before they were to finally depart. “I do not think I could live here. Did you see the fabrics in some of the shops? They are marvelous, but they do not have a wool as fine as we raise at Friarsgate. The wools I saw were heavy and coarse. They were Scots, or Irish, or mayhap even English, some of them. But they were not of the quality of Friarsgate wool. I must speak with my agent in Carlisle and see what can be done about that. The French appreciate quality, and I can offer them that.”

  “I have never before seen this side of you,” he marveled. “You are suddenly a woman of commerce.”

  “I have not the advantage of your birth, my lord. Friarsgate folk have always been simple people, but we are industrious. I see profit here, and to overlook it would be foolish,” Rosamund told him.

  “You are growing restless with this life you have been leading, aren’t you?” he said, reaching out to tip her face up to him.

  “Aye,” she admitted, “I am. You have been busy, Patrick, on your mission of diplomacy for your king. I have been an ornament for your pleasure. And mine,” she amended with a small smile. “But I am not used to being so idle.”

  “I will have you home by midsummer,” he promised her, and he smiled back. She almost broke his heart with her loveliness, he thought to himself.

  They departed Paris the following morning just before dawn. It was Rosamund’s twenty-third birthday, and quite forgotten even by her. They met the duke’s man along their path. A ship was awaiting them. It was a Scots vessel, but it would fly the flag of a Flemish merchant prince. At Calais they boarded their transport in a falling rain, but the seas were relatively calm. Two days out, as they made their way up the North Sea towards Leith, the weather cleared, giving them a brisk and unusual southeast wind. They saw other sails on the sea, but no one challenged them even as they neared the border between England and Scotland. They sailed closer to land now, and the captain pointed out the opening to the river Tyne.

  “We’re almost home, my lord,” the captain said. “We’ll be entering the Fifth of Forth shortly. We dock at Leith in the early morning.”

  It was early May, and the mists partially obscured the land as they reached their destination. Their luggage was off-loaded and taken to the inn from where they had departed almost six months before. They were settled in a comfortable apartment with several fireplaces all now blazing warmth and taking the chill off the early morning.

  “I will have to arrange for transport to Edinburgh, or wherever the king is now,” Patrick told Rosamund.

  “Inquire if the queen has been safely delivered,” Rosamund said, and he nodded.

  “Aye,” the innkeeper replied to the question asked by the Earl of Glenkirk. “The wee queen did give birth to a fine healthy bairn on the tenth day of April. They say the king does wrap the laddie in a blanket and ride through Edinburgh town wi him so the people may see this next Jamie Stewart.”

  “And the queen is well?” the earl inquired.

  “Och, aye, she is, my lord,” the innkeeper answered with a smile. “She but needed a bit of seasoning to do it well.”

  “The king is in Edinburgh yet?” the earl queried.

  “Aye, he be in the town,” the innkeeper said.

  “I’ll ride in today,” the earl said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Rosamund responded. “I must see Meg, and I did promise to return. The sooner I see her, the sooner I can confess my deception, and then perhaps she will let me go home. It has been nearly five months since I’ve seen my lasses, Patrick.”

  “I’ll send a message to Glenkirk,” he said. “Adam will not be unhappy to remain master there for a while longer. I am anxious to see your Friarsgate, lovey.”

  “Annie and Dermid can follow tomorrow,” she decided. “We can do without our servants for a night, and heaven only knows if there will even be room for us. Court life is not the most gracious for ordinary folk.”

  They rode the few miles between the port of Leith and the capital city of Edinburgh. Once at the castle, the Earl of Glenkirk sought out the king to give him his final report. Rosamund, however, went immediately to the queen’s apartments. Margaret Tudor spied her friend immediately and shrieked a greeting.

  “Rosamund! Oh, come and see my beautiful boy, Rosamund! I am so glad that you are back! How are your girls? Come! Come!”

  Rosamund laughed and crossed the room to peer into the ornate cradle by the queen’s side. The month-old boy stared up at her. He was plump and alert. Waving his little fists at her, he made small noises, and Rosamund laughed again. “Oh, Meg, he is a fine laddie! The king must be so pleased!” She curtsied and blushed slightly, realizing that she had slipped back into a familiarity she should not, but the queen waved her hand, dismissing the breach.

  “Come and sit with
me, and tell me all about Friarsgate,” the queen said.

  “We must speak privily about that,” Rosamund said quietly.

  Immediately the queen’s curiosity was piqued. “Get out! All of you! I would speak confidentially with the lady of Friarsgate. You, also,” she said to the cradle rocker. “My son will survive without being in constant motion.” And when the queen’s chamber had been emptied, she turned again to her childhood friend and said, “Tell me.”

  “I have not been at Friarsgate, Meg. I have been with the Earl of Glenkirk in the duchy of San Lorenzo.” Then she went on to explain the mission the king had sent Patrick on, and of how he would not go without her, and of how she loved him so desperately that she had lied to Margaret Tudor and gone. “Will you forgive me?” she asked the queen as she concluded her tale.

  “Of course I forgive you!” the queen said sincerely. “So, you love him. But does he love you? And if he does, why does he not offer marriage?”

  “He does love me, but I choose not to marry again, Meg. At least not now. I have a duty to Friarsgate, and Patrick has his duty to Glenkirk, although his son is able to carry on in his absence. With your permission I am now going to go home to Friarsgate, and Patrick will come with me for a time.”

  “You must bide with me for a brief while,” the queen pleaded prettily.

  “Agreed,” Rosamund said, laughing once more, “though you really do not need me. You have all your women to keep you company.”

  “They are not my friends,” the queen replied. “You know that queens have few friends, Rosamund.” Then a sly smile touched her lips, and she asked, “Is he a very good lover? My Jamie certainly is, despite the years that separate us, but the Earl of Glenkirk is really old. Can he still make love? Or is this the kind of love you bore for your second husband, Hugh Cabot?”

  “He is a magnificent lover and frequently exhausts me, Meg,” Rosamund replied candidly. “I love him, you know, and my passion for him is not in the least as it was for Hugh, who was more father to me than any.”

  “How strange that this love should come to you at this time and in this place,” the queen noted. “I love the king, you know. And he is very good to me, although I suspect he believes I am not the cleverest of women. He often treats me as he would a favored animal. So he sent your earl to try to weaken this alliance the pope has now formed. He knew it would not work, of course.” The queen’s foot was absently rocking her son’s cradle as she spoke, and the baby was now falling asleep.

  “King James is an honorable man. He will not betray this old alliance that Scotland has with France. There is no need for him to do so,” Rosamund said. “I think we both know that your brother, King Henry, seeks an excuse to make war on Scotland. He cannot be pleased that you have given your husband a son when poor Kate cannot give him one. It must frustrate him that Scotland holds the balance of power here. England cannot invade France with France’s ally on his northern border. So he seeks to isolate Scotland from the rest of Europe. Your husband, Meg, is a man of peace. He sees what peace has brought Scotland. This country is prosperous and content, no matter your easily insulted earls and lairds.” She smiled. “Now Scotland has an heir. There is even more at stake.”

  “Yet Jamie builds a navy,” the queen noted.

  “To protect Scotland, Meg. He seeks to defend his sea borders. His navy is a bulwark against foreigners,” Rosamund explained. It had always been difficult for Meg to see the large picture.

  “Henry is jealous of Jamie’s ships. He is now building a navy, too, Kate writes me,” the queen responded.

  “Kate is well?” It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her of Katherine of Aragon, now England’s queen.

  “But that she cannot seem to give my brother a living heir,” Meg said. “Henry will be patient just so long, and then who knows what he will do. The fault lies with Kate, I fear, for my brother has his share of bastards, and he has impregnated her several times. But her children die. I wonder if it is not God’s judgment. Perhaps my father should have sent her back to Spain. Perhaps she should not have wed Arthur’s younger brother. But, then, what is done is done. Have they found you a place to rest your head?”

  “We arrived early this morning, and after settling at an inn in Leith we came directly here. Annie and Dermid will follow tomorrow. They are wed, and Annie is already expecting a bairn,” Rosamund replied.

  “It is always inconvenient when one’s tiring woman finds herself with child. At least they are wed.”

  “They might not have been but for Paolo Loredano,” and Rosamund went on to tell the story of how the artist had sketched Annie with Dermid in a most compromising position.

  The queen laughed. “I’ll wager the naughty girl was surprised when you faced her with your knowledge.”

  “I said nothing. I just left the sketch for them to see. They came then and asked our permission to wed,” Rosamund chuckled.

  “Oh, I have gossip about your old suitor, Logan Hepburn,” the queen said. “His little wife is big with child. It will be born sometime in October. They say he mounted her again and again until she proved fecund. Since then he has not been near her, although he treats her with kindness. They say he has a mistress somewhere in the borders. You are well rid of the fellow.”

  “Logan is not a bad man, Meg. I was simply not ready to marry again, and he needed a legitimate heir. I am relieved his family prevailed. Besides, Friarsgate is my home, and I could live nowhere else,” Rosamund told the queen.

  “So your earl will go with you over the border?”

  “Aye. For a while,” Rosamund answered.

  “The castle is full, I fear,” the queen announced. “You may sleep in my apartments, Rosamund, and Lord Leslie in the hall. He has done it before, I am certain.”

  “The distance between here and Leith is little. We can remain at the inn.” The idea of being separated from Patrick for even a few nights made her unhappy.

  “Nay, you will remain with me,” the queen murmured sweetly. “We shall send for your cousin Lord Cambridge to come back to Scotland. He must be bored to death at Friarsgate by now.”

  “He will not come unless he has a place to lay his head in privacy,” Rosamund said.

  “I understand he leased a house in the Highgate in anticipation of your return. When he arrives I shall give you permission to live there,” the queen said.

  “I do not know how to thank you, Meg,” Rosamund told Scotland’s queen sharply.

  The queen giggled. “You will find a way to be with your earl, Rosamund. Sometimes the king and I have made love in the oddest places just for the fun and excitement of it. You could not expect to lie to me and disappear for several months, and I would not punish you. Even if you were helping Lord Leslie complete his mission for my husband. Nay. This will be your chastisement.”

  When the Earl of Glenkirk learned of the queen’s decree, he said, “I will speak with Jamie.”

  “Do not, lest you endanger my friendship with the queen, Patrick,” Rosamund warned him. “Meg cannot remonstrate with her husband for the deception I played on her, and so she punishes me. I will accept it with good grace. We are both exhausted with our travels, and a few nights apart cannot harm us. She is sending to Friarsgate for my cousin, and tells me he has leased a house here in the town. Believe me that Tom will return with the messenger, for he will not wait a moment to rejoin this court given the opportunity. And I am anxious for news of home. He will invite us to join him, and we will be together once more.”

  “ ’Tis you who should be the diplomat, sweetheart,” he told her with a smile.

  Rosamund was correct when she said that her cousin, once summoned, would come posthaste from Friarsgate. He did, and no sooner had he arrived than he sought her out, knowing he would find her in the queen’s apartments. He had gained a bit of weight, enough to show, and she teased him.

  “I see Maybel has taken good care of you, cousin,” she greeted him, and patted the small silk-covered belly
he attempted to hide beneath his ornate doublet.

  “My dear Rosamund,” he murmured, kissing both of her cheeks. “You are looking lean, yet strangely content, cousin.” He glanced about the queen’s antechamber. “Am I permitted to see the princely heir?”

  “My lady, here is my cousin Lord Cambridge, who you will remember. He has returned at your invitation and is anxious to see the prince.”

  “You will go back to England this summer, my lord,” the queen greeted Tom, “and you will tell my brother, Henry, what a fine laddie I have birthed the King of Scotland.” She smiled and held out her hand to be kissed.

  Lord Cambridge took the plump little hand and saluted it. Then he said, “Madame, it would be worth my life, and you surely must know I am not a brave man, for me to bring your kingly brother such a bold message. If I should see King Henry, I will say that you are looking well and that your son appears healthy for the moment.”

  The queen laughed. “My husband says this wee laddie of ours will reign as king one day, for his lang eey tells him that. You are welcome back to our court, my lord.”

  “I could not refuse so gracious an invitation, madame, but I regret that I cannot remain long. My cousin must return home, and I must go south to see to my own holding. I have been gone far too long.”

  “Aye, and Rosamund does long for her Friarsgate after her adventures abroad,” the queen said mischievously. “Go along now and tell your cousin of what has transpired while she has been gone. I know she is anxious to speak with you.”

  The two Boltons bowed themselves from Queen Margaret’s presence and found a secluded place in the castle’s Great Hall where they might sit and speak.