Heart of Gold

by May McGoldrick

  Once, after riding between two high rocky outcroppings as they continued to follow the river, Elizabeth spotted a large group of buildings as she gazed south into the distance. That was Jedburgh Abbey, she was told, one of four powerful abbeys in the Borders. It was the good monks there, Ambrose told her, who centuries ago had begun to develop the land for agricultural use, raising their sheep and their crops, educating the local farmers, and bringing civilization to a vagrant people long beleaguered by marauders from the north as well as the south.

  It had always been a hard place to live and prosper, and Ambrose had been sent there to bring about justice for the industrious and protection for the oppressed. And he had done just that. That was four years earlier, not long after his successes at the Field of Cloth of Gold. It was then that the queen and the Regency council had given the Highlander the title Baron of Roxburgh, Lord Protector of the Borders.

  Finally, with the summer sun setting behind them and their own shadows stretching out before them, Ambrose leaned over and pointed at the four square towers rising on a tall hill above the river valley. Roxburgh Castle.

  They were to be married in Benmore Castle, the Macpherson clan’s stronghold in the Highlands. That was the tradition. Benmore was the place where Ambrose’s parents had wed. It was the place where his brothers and he had been born. Where his older brother Alec and his wife Fiona wed and now lived with their children...when they were not in the Western Isles or at Fiona’s own ancestral home, Drummond Castle.

  Ambrose had sent a messenger to his family from Paris with the news.

  Elizabeth had never been to the Highlands. She’d never been surrounded with a lot of family members, but the thought of it all appealed to the young woman. It appealed to her, and it made her a bit nervous. But if that was what Ambrose wanted, then she decided that she wanted it, as well.

  However, Ambrose insisted that they stop in the Borders before going anywhere. They had business to attend to first.

  So as the travelers neared Roxburgh Castle, the warrior baron thought over their plans and the best course of action. They had so much to do, and Ambrose wanted Elizabeth and Jaime safe while he took care of the immediate problems that only he could look after.

  First, he thought with a wry smile, he needed to send a message to Giovanni de’ Medici about the artist he would never get back. But he knew he couldn’t tell the truth, not yet. Perhaps sometime, years from now, Elizabeth and he would make a visit to the Florentine duke. He would truly enjoy seeing the look on his friend’s face.

  And then, Ambrose needed to consider the Queen Mother. She represented the most pressing of concerns. Though the Highlander had deliberately overstated to his beloved what Queen Margaret’s response might be upon learning about Elizabeth’s sex, he honestly had no real assurance that the queen might not turn Elizabeth—and Jaime—over to her brother’s ever faithful counselor, Thomas Boleyn.

  Margaret Tudor could be quite spiteful and completely capricious, especially if she felt she had been slighted in the least, or in any way duped. She was a woman who Ambrose knew it was a mistake to cross. When she decided she wanted something, she would stop at nothing to get it. And she wanted a painter. A Florentine painter.

  The Highlander knew he would need to see her in person. He knew it was the only way.

  ***

  “You don’t know how sorry I am to have to leave you alone here, my love.” He caressed the short waves of her satin-soft hair as they coiled around his fingers. Her hair was getting longer.

  “I won’t be alone,” she whispered, smiling as she lay on her stomach beside him. “Aside from the five hundred and twelve sheep I’ve counted from our little window, you are leaving me with several hundred soldiers. I’m certain at least of dozen of them talk, and—”

  “The last time I counted, there were only five hundred sheep!”

  “Ah, well. You know how it is. Springtime in Scotland, love and...bairns is the word, isn’t it? Well, there isn’t much else to do, is there, my sweet?”

  “Hmmm. Aye, lass. I like the sound of that.” Ambrose drew the covers off her back, exposing her smooth ivory skin. He smiled as she moved right into his arms. “But this doesn’t make it any easier for me to be going.”

  “It isn’t supposed to,” she whispered, snuggling closer.

  Ambrose gathered her tightly to his chest. He still could not get used to the thrill he felt holding her close. The way she had taken possession of his heart, as if it had always belonged to her, filling it up until he felt that it might burst. Sometimes, like some wild coltish lad, he wanted to shout out her name across the valley and listen to the word ringing back to him, echoing off the rocky hills.

  It felt so right. He watched her as she moved in, taking possession of his house and all who lived there. Yes, they, too, took her in, accepted her as their own, as if she’d always been there. One of them.

  As Ambrose held her, he thought about the journey ahead. Amid all the uncertainties that lay before them, he knew one thing for sure. He would be the one at a loss when he left her tomorrow to go to Stirling to meet with the queen and the other nobles. He would be the one so utterly heartsick about being away. It was an odd, new knowledge for him, for he had always been one who lived on the road. Smoothing her ebony hair, he hugged her fiercely.

  Five weeks earlier, when they had arrived at the grim and menacing Roxburgh Castle, Ambrose had sensed that Elizabeth was startled by the hulking mass of rough gray stone. The giant military fortification certainly had nothing in common with Florence, that lively city of art and culture where she’d been living the past few years. Indeed, the dark halls, the nearly empty rooms, and the pervading attitude of constant vigilance were a far cry from his own hunting lodge on the edge of the forest to the east of Troyes. This was the place that had never held any future for him. On the frontier border with England, Roxburgh was simply a fortress designed and fortified to keep the border skirmishes to a minimum, and it was a place from which the Scots might offer a first wave of defense should the English decide to invade.

  It was a place of war, a place of men. Aside from the laundresses, no women worked in the castle at all. But Roxburgh offered distance from the court that Ambrose wanted for Elizabeth and Jaime, so here they would stay for a short time. So, rather than departing for the court at once, the baron decided to stay around awhile and help her get acclimated.

  She hadn’t needed much help from him, however.

  Ambrose already knew. His men adored her. His servants respected and obeyed her wishes. Needless to say, he and Jaime loved her, and he couldn’t imagine life without her. Elizabeth Boleyn had a way with everything and everyone.

  “Ambrose.”

  He looked down at her soft and sober face. Her black eyes glistened in an ivory face, glowing in the light of the candles that illuminated the room.

  “Tomorrow, when you leave...” Her fingers drummed lightly on his chest. “Erne and I talked earlier today. She’ll be going on with you and Joseph to Edinburgh.”

  “I thought you enjoyed her company,” he said with surprise. With Ernesta Bardi gone, Elizabeth would be alone here with Jaime. “I thought she was a help to you, lass.”

  “I do, Ambrose! She is! But...well, I can’t have her wasting her life playing nursemaid to us.”

  “Is this Elizabeth Boleyn, the woman who knows what is best for everyone else but herself, speaking now?”

  “Nay! It isn’t!” She slapped him on the chest. “Don’t make fun of me, beast. I am telling you this because I’m certain this is truly the best course for her and for me.”

  “How so?” he pressed.

  She paused to gather her thoughts. “Ernesta Bardi is a merchant’s wife; she is a smart businesswoman in her own right. A person who has played large part in her husband’s successes. And she had a life—a full life—with Joseph, their business, their travels long before Mary and Jaime and I walked into it.”

  “She seems to have enjoyed filling it a b
it more with the three of you.”

  “To some degree that might be the truth. But now, I guess, I want her to feel that she can go back once again to the life she chose for herself, without having to tag along after us. She should feel comfortable walking away from Jaime and me, with no fears or worries over our wellbeing. I’d like to see her traveling with Joseph and enjoying the time they have left together. They’re not getting any younger, Ambrose. And I want her to be able to come back and visit whenever she wishes.”

  “So the two of you talked this out?”

  “Aye.”

  “And she agrees that it is time to move on without you?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “It took some persuasion. But I convinced her.” She placed a kiss on his chest. “Erne is quite happy for us, you know. And she and Joseph will travel to Benmore Castle for our wedding.”

  “Oh, they will?”

  “Aye, in spite of all the stories we’ve been hearing about those Highland rogues.”

  “So you’ve been hearing stories?” he responded, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Aye, we have. So we’ll all be seeing one another again in no time.”

  He combed his fingers through her hair. The silky black tresses tumbled over the back of his hand.

  “Why are you doing this, lass? Why so soon? You hardly know anyone in this pile of rock. Why send her off now?”

  She gazed steadily into his eyes. “Because I need to toughen up. And I need to prove something to myself. That can’t be done with Erne here.”

  “Tell me, love. What do you need to prove?”

  Elizabeth glanced away for a moment before turning her eyes back to his face. “I need to know if I can adjust to this new life. Operate on my own. Without anyone pampering me or taking care of me. Since we arrived here, Erne has done everything for me. In a way, she is treating me the way Mary liked to be treated. It doesn’t matter what it is—small or large, minor or significant. She is always there for me, helping me. Running my bath, helping me dress, seeing to my meals.”

  “Perhaps this is the first chance she’s had an opportunity to show you how much she loves you.”

  “That’s what we talked about today.” Elizabeth felt tears welling up in her eyes. “You are right. That was exactly what she was trying to do, and more. She’s always thought I’ve been somehow deprived of even little luxuries, of simple comforts that I should have been enjoying for the last few years. So now she wants to make up for those times.”

  Ambrose gently wiped away a tear from her cheek. “Well, she’s too late. It’s my job to give you things, my love. Only mine.”

  “I don’t need to be spoiled, Ambrose.” Elizabeth smiled. “Ernesta loves me, and I love her. That came across today stronger than ever before. We were like a mother and daughter, sitting next to each other, holding hands, pouring out our insides, and retelling stories from the past. Sharing hopes for the future. After we were done, she was certain of my happiness. To her, that seemed to be all that mattered. So she agreed to go.”

  He watched as her face clouded with a frown. “You are unhappy, though.”

  “Not true.” She took hold of his fingers and brought them to her lips. “I have never been happier than now—with you. But something is gnawing away at me.”

  “What is it?”

  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the dark, rough-hewn timbers of the ceiling.

  “I don’t know if I still can function in the role of a woman.”

  The Highlander started to laugh.

  She turned onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “I’m serious.”

  “Nay, lass. You can’t be.” He smiled and reached out, his finger tracing her full lips. “Elizabeth, you are a woman. All woman.”

  His fingers brushed over her cheek and caressed her ivory throat.

  “I was a man. All man. For four years.”

  “Nay. You weren’t.”

  Running along the smooth lines of her shoulders, his fingers grazed the skin of her upper arms and lightly moved onto the soft orb of her breast.

  “I was, too,” she whispered, her eyes clouding over at his touch.

  “You are obstinate, Elizabeth Boleyn.”

  Her voice was low and husky. “You’ve known about this quality for quite a while, Lord Macpherson.”

  “Aye, I have.” His mouth descended on her lips and he kissed her hard. “I am not complaining. I love your flaws, my sweet. You can keep every one.”

  She tried to steady her voice after the shock of his kiss.

  “I have no flaws, only an abundance of talent.” She watched the smile that pulled at his perfect mouth. “But if you laugh at me one more time, I’ll...”

  “Aye, lass. You’ll what?” he teased.

  “I don’t know.” She sighed happily, snuggling back against his side. “But give me forty years or so. I’ll think of something.”

  Elizabeth considered for a moment how much she loved the way it was between them. They teased, they argued, they laughed for hours on end. Together, they rode out into the neighboring valleys, enjoying the late summer weather—more often than not, taking Jaime with them. Ambrose showed her the countryside, told her about the people of the Scottish Lowlands. About their history. About their heroes.

  But as he talked, his stories always returned to the Highlands. When he spoke of home—of the wild, craggy peaks, of the rushing mountain streams and the storms so fierce and sudden, of the people so free and so alive—Elizabeth could see the faraway look come into his eyes. And she loved it.

  In the daylight hours, before the other inhabitants of the castle, they acted so properly. Intelligent, reserved—two refined people who would soon marry.

  But at night, their lives took on a different dimension. Enamored, reckless—two lovers who desperately, physically needed one another.

  “Do you think I am making a mistake? In sending Erne away?” she whispered. “Do you think once she goes, your people will catch on to my façade and dislike me?”

  “Hardly!” Ambrose hugged her hard against his chest. “Do you really think anyone could dislike you, Elizabeth? Don’t you see how they all love you? How could anyone not?”

  Elizabeth rubbed her cheek against the warm skin of his chest. “Aye. It’s true that your men treat me well. But when I think about the future...I want to say the right things, Ambrose. Do the right things. Be proper. I don’t want to be a disappointment to you in front of your family, in front of your friends.”

  “You’ll never be anything less than my greatest treasure, my love. Trust me.”

  “There is so much I don’t know, so much I need to learn.” She looked up and gazed in his eyes. “I want to fit. So desperately, I want to belong. I’ve never truly had a home. Not one that mattered, before this. But it matters now, Ambrose.”

  “You belong, Elizabeth. You belong to me, and I to you. And you’ve always had a home. You made that out of yourself...for your sister, for Jaime. Stone walls do not make a home. The warmth, the love you carry in your heart, that’s what it makes it.” He kissed the bridge of her nose; his lips brushed across her damp cheek. “I, on the other hand, have always had houses. Too many of them. Scattered across the continent. My friends laugh at me because of them. But I never felt tied to any of them. I could not make any of them a home.” He kissed her lips. “Because I hadn’t found my home. But now I have. I’ve found you, Elizabeth.”

  She missed him desperately, and for two weeks her mind and her blood had been racing. Almost frantic, at times she felt as if she only had moments left to get her life, and everything around her, in order.

  Ambrose had gone two weeks ago. The Bardis had gone with him.

  From the moment they’d left, Elizabeth had felt the rush of emotions surge through her. Things had to get done. Inside. Outside.

  Robert, the tall, young warrior who commanded the battalion while Ambrose traveled, stood behind her, nodding his approval while she ordered servants here,
soldiers there. He and Jaime followed her everywhere she went. She sent for masons, for carpenters. Roxburgh Castle would be a changed place by the time Ambrose returned. Elizabeth hadn’t worked out all the details, but the creativity in her soul took flight. Her imagination soared.

  And she moved as if there were no tomorrow. Frequently, thoughts of her sister Mary pushed into her consciousness, and she would think, wondering if her actions now were the result of some lingering guilt she carried concerning Mary’s death. The true murderer who sent the assassins, the real reason behind the attack, these things were still unknown. But the truth at the bottom of it all still haunted her—the dagger had been meant for Elizabeth’s heart, not her sister’s.

  Garnesche remained in her memory as much as her father. Even simple things like the training of the men in the courtyard or the movements of torch-carrying soldiers along the paths in the evening would bring back memories of the crime she’d seen committed on a dark night in the north of France. And she wondered what tomorrow would bring. She wondered if there would be a tomorrow.

  Mary was never given the chance to experience what the future would bring. But as violent as her sister’s death was—Elizabeth knew—Mary Boleyn had died at peace with the world. She had been given a chance, perhaps a second chance, to bring a sense of harmony, of goodness back into her life. And she had taken hold of that chance with both hands.

  As Elizabeth stood in the center of the chaos of renovation going on around her, she wondered if perhaps that same goodness was what she, too, sought after. For Jaime, for herself, and for Ambrose. Perhaps she, too, was looking for that sense of peace, of serenity.

  “M’lady!” The warrior’s voice was commanding and sharp. “You simply cannot go up there.”