Until You

Chapter 18

“I wonder how long it will take the laird to know that you are home.” Tom teased Rosamund as they rode down the road to Friarsgate.

“Did you not see the clansmen on the hilltop?” she asked him, laughing.

He grinned at her. “You can’t blame the man for being eager. How long has he been waiting for you?”

“Tom, I have not said I would marry him. He has not even asked me,” she protested.

“Do you doubt for a moment that isn’t his intent, dear girl?” he replied.

“Perhaps I just want him for a lover,” Rosamund answered him. “What is the purpose in my marrying again, Tom? I have three heiresses. He has an heir for Claven’s Carn. I am English. He is Scots. I will not give up Friarsgate until I die. He will not give up Claven’s Carn. We are, I am coming to realize, very much alike.”

“Two like beings-a perfect partnership, dear girl!” Tom insisted.

“We shall see,” Rosamund said again, as she had been saying all the way home.

Lord Cambridge clamped his lips together. If he heard her utter those three words again he was simply going to scream. Or shake her until she got some common sense. He would remain overnight, and then he had to get home to Otterly. This whole situation was beginning to wear on his nerves. He did not wish to be around while his cousin and Logan Hepburn sparred with each other. He did not envy the laird of Claven’s Carn, and as much as Tom loved his cousin, she could sometimes be very difficult.

Reaching the house, Philippa was off her horse before her elders, throwing herself into Maybel’s arms and chattering a mile a minute about all her adventures and her best friend, Cecily FitzHugh. Maybel hugged and kissed the girl, then set her aside firmly, looking to Rosamund. Rosamund dismounted and went wordlessly into Maybel’s outstretched arms.

“God’s blood, old woman, it is good to be home again!” she said, hugging Maybel. “Has all been well while I have been away? The sheep are looking fat enough.”

“Edmund will tell you everything you need to know and some things that you don’t, but I can’t stop him,” Maybel replied. “You look better than I have ever seen you returning from court, lass.”

“That is because I stayed but a brief time, and having made my peace with the king and his queen, took little part in the activities of the court. I was able to eat and sleep enough, which my daughter was not, for she loves the court, I fear.” She linked her arm with Maybel’s, and the two women strolled into the house, seating themselves in the hall together on a settle by the fireplace. “Philippa’s good manners, more your doing surely than mine, have won her the queen’s favor. She is to return in two years to take her place among Kate’s maids of honor,” Rosamund told Maybel.

“What an honor!” Maybel said, but then she fretted, “She will yet be a child, Rosamund. How can we let her go?”

“There is no choice in the matter, Maybel. But I would trust my daughter with the queen, for her household is orderly and chaste. Her maids are the most virtuous girls in the kingdom, I am certain. And Philippa has made a good friend in Cecily FitzHugh, who will serve the queen with her. She is the daughter of the Earl of Renfrew. The younger of her two brothers may be a possible match for Philippa. He is fourteen, and having served in the queen’s household is now being sent to France and Italy for more studious pursuits.”

Maybel listened, nodding as Rosamund spoke. “Does Philippa know of this lad?” she finally asked. “What does she say?”

“I have not spoken to her about it, for it is too soon, but you can be certain that she knows. These little girls at court know more gossip than even the servants do,” Rosamund laughed. “Besides, they may grow acquainted and decide they do not like each other. Nothing has been formally discussed or settled. There may be another boy better suited to Philippa. I have time, but Tom frets like an old lady.”

“And with good cause, dear girl,” he said, joining them. “She does not understand the necessity of looking about now and winnowing the possible from the impossible.”

“That’s all right, Tom,” Maybel said calmly. “As long as our Rosamund has you to rely upon, she’ll not go wrong. Of course, she may take another husband one day, and then your influence would certainly wane.”

“His influence will never ebb with me, Maybel,” Rosamund said. “And as for marriage, we shall see.”

Lord Cambridge gritted his teeth so hard they hurt.

Edmund and Father Mata joined them at the high board late in the day as the meal was served.

“Has all been well, uncle, in my absence?” Rosamund asked him.

He nodded slowly. “But I have been grateful for the laird’s clansmen, lass, for there have been strangers on the heights, of late, observing Friarsgate.”

“Who are they?” she wanted to know. “I saw one as I rode in and assumed it was a Hepburn.”

“I cannot be certain, for each time we have attempted to approach them, they run,” he said. “I suspect they may be of your cousin’s ilk.”

“Damn him!” Rosamund swore softly. “He is after Philippa, the devil! I will catch him and hang him myself!”

Father Mata crossed himself at her words, saying, “Lady, there must be another way to solve this matter.”

“Tell me, then, good priest,” she answered him. “I have said plainly that my daughter will not marry Henry Bolton the younger. I have said it more than once. What else can I do if he will not listen?”

“Young Philippa must be guarded closely at all times,” the priest agreed. “You must be frank with her and explain the dangers involved.”

“It is time,” Edmund agreed, and the others about the high board nodded.

“What must I be told?” Philippa asked them. She had been bored the entire ride home from Windsor. Her mother and her uncle had paid little attention to her.

“My cousin Henry wants to steal you away and force you to marriage so he may get his hands on Friarsgate, Philippa,” Rosamund told the girl. “So you must be protected.”

“But I am to marry Giles FitzHugh someday,” Philippa said.

“That is not so!” her mother said quickly. “Who told you such a thing?”

“Cecily did. She said she overheard her father and mother discussing it when they did not realize she was nearby. Giles is very handsome, mama.”

Rosamund shook her head wearily. “There has been no discussion between the Earl of Renfrew and me, Philippa. Giles FitzHugh might make you a good husband one day, or he might not. And there are other possibilities to consider before any decision regarding your future is decided.”

“But I like Giles FitzHugh,” Philippa said stubbornly. “He is so handsome.”

“So you have said, Philippa,” her mother remarked dryly, “but there are other requirements in a husband that are more important than just his features. And besides, you are much too young to be thinking of marriage. I will not even consider a match for you until you are fourteen.”

“Oh, mama! You were wed three times by the time you were fourteen,” Philippa countered.

“We are not discussing me, Philippa. We are speaking of your future,” Rosamund said in a steely voice. “Now, if you have finished your meal, you may be excused.”

Philippa slipped from her place, and as she did so, one of the laird’s clansmen arose to follow her. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Rosamund wondered. She looked to the priest.

“Mata, send to the laird on the morrow,” was all she said.

“Very good, my lady,” the priest answered her, but they both knew he had already done so.

“Now,” Rosamund said, turning back to her uncle, “other than strangers looking down on us, all was well?”

He nodded. “We’re beginning the harvest now, niece. It will prove to be a good one, as the fields are lush with their crops. The orchards, too, will give us a bounty, but the fruits will be a bit smaller this year, for we have not had quite the rains we have in most summers. Still, the apples and pears will be the sweeter for it.”

“The wool?” she asked him.

“Of excellent quality,” he said. “The sheep are fat and content this year. The cloth woven will be the best we have had yet. We’ll be ready for next year. We’ve withheld enough this year that the merchants in Carlisle are complaining already,” he chuckled. “I’ve noised about what we intend to do, and they are not happy.”

Lord Cambridge smiled and nodded. “Have you begun the dyeing yet?”

“We will once the harvest is in,” Edmund replied. “The dyeing and the weaving make for good winter work for the Friarsgate folk, Tom. But by springtime, I promise you, we will fill your ship’s hole with fine cargo.”

“We shall be very rich by this time next year,” Tom said with a grin. “The Friarsgate Blue cloth will bring us a premium, especially as we shall not offer much of it. You must hold back at least half of every year’s stockpile in the warehouse, Edmund. We alone will regulate the sale of the Friarsgate Blue woolen cloth.”

“Should we not be more generous the first year and then hold back later in order to drive up the price of the cloth?” Rosamund asked him.

“Nay,” he said. “There may be among our mercers some more clever than others, who will hold back from their own meager supply in order to enrich themselves. We cannot take that chance, for that would then cut into our profits. Nor will we permit it,” Tom said. “Any mercer who does not sell his entire supply will receive none the following year. We will know how much they sell by how much we sell them, and we will demand proof of the sale of their entire stock.”

“I think,” Rosamund told him, “I shall leave the stratagem to you, cousin. I shall simply watch over Friarsgate and all that entails.”

Logan Hepburn came late the following day. Rosamund looked at him as a man for the first time in a long while. He was still handsome in his rough-hewn way. His eyes remained that blue-blue color that had once had the effect of making her weak in the knees when she looked into them. She wondered if they could do that again. But was there the faintest touch of silver at his temples amid the ebony of his thick hair? He slid easily from his mount, and coming to greet her, he smiled.

“Welcome home, lady,” he said.

“You did not bring my daughters back?” she asked him.

“Nay. I think it best they remain hidden at Claven’s Carn with me until we have solved the difficulty of your cousin,” he told her.

“You know?” But she wasn’t surprised. The priest was his kin and would have told him, of course.

He nodded. “His men have been watching Friarsgate, and we have watched them, though they know it not,” Logan said with an engaging grin.

“I don’t know what to do,” Rosamund said honestly. “I cannot keep looking over my shoulder forever. And I cannot have Philippa frightened over this.”

“Then we must find a way to defeat Henry Bolton the younger, for good and for all,” the laird told her frankly.

“How?” Rosamund asked.

“Perhaps we may even use your Lord Dacre against him if we are clever. Henry is raiding on both sides of the border right now, lady. Lord Dacre is raiding on the Scots side, though he has been told to cease by his king. Still, Henry Tudor makes no effort to enforce his edict with Lord Dacre, which leads me to believe he raises havoc in the borders with private royal sanction though your king cries otherwise.”

“What do you propose, then, my lord?” Rosamund asked him.

“Your cousin raids out of his lust for riches. He has no loyalties to anyone but himself, having never been taught otherwise. Lord Dacre raids not simply for what he may carry away, but out of a sense of loyalty to his king and to England. Lord Dacre hates the ancient enemy. He fights to the death. What if he believed that your cousin and his band of ruffians were renegade Scots? What if he and his men met up with your cousin and his men?” The laird of Claven’s Carn smiled wolfishly.

“You hope that they will kill each other,” Rosamund said, “thus relieving us both of an enemy. You do not do this just for me.”

“I did not say I did,” he replied. “We are far enough to the west in the borders to have been safe so far. But what if Lord Dacre comes to Claven’s Carn unexpectedly? He will not ask if any of the inhabitants are English. He will simply slaughter everyone he can find, lady.”

“Then bring my daughters home,” she replied nervously.

“Dacre has not cast his eye in our direction. Your lasses are safer with me,” he reassured her.

“This is how you would court me?” she demanded of him suddenly.

“I have not come to court you, Rosamund Bolton,” he told her. “I have come to strategize with you to our mutual benefit. Perhaps one day, if I think you are ready, I will indeed come to court you. I am not of a mind to marry again quite yet.” He smiled.

“Good!” she said. “Neither am I, Logan Hepburn.” But she was thinking, He was a devil if she ever had met one. All that soft talk he had used before she had gone down to court, implying that he loved her yet and wanted her for his wife. He hadn’t changed at all. It had been nothing more than a deception. He was probably revenging himself on her for refusing him once. Well, she didn’t need him, but she did need his clansmen. “May I retain the use of your men?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, smiling again. The look of surprise on her face when he had said he hadn’t come courting her had almost caused him to laugh aloud. The clansman who had ridden through the night to fetch him had brought a message from Tom Bolton. Rosamund’s cousin had advised the laird of Claven’s Carn to pretend he might not be as interested in remarrying as he had previously indicated. Rosamund far preferred a challenge and would respect him more if she believed she must work to regain his love. Follow your instincts with her, Lord Cambridge had advised the lord of Claven’s Carn. And so he had. The results had been far better than he had hoped for.

Rosamund, he knew, had believed that she would control their courtship. She thought that he wanted her enough to dance to her tune. And he did. But he realized now that Tom knew exactly what he was saying when he suggested play difficult to obtain. It had been just the right thing to do. Now the next move in this game they were playing would be up to her. He wondered what she would do.

“You will remain the night,” she said. It was not a question on her part.

“Nay,” he said. “I think it better I return to Claven’s Carn, lady. I must think on how we may bring your cousin and Lord Dacre into serious conflict with each other. I will return when I have the answer to my questions.”

“Very well, my lord,” Rosamund answered him. He was not staying. Why would he not remain? Could they not have spoken together and made a plan? “Perhaps if we dealt with the matter together, Logan Hepburn, the solution might come easier and sooner,” she heard herself suggesting.

“Do you think so?” he said. She was asking him to stay.

Rosamund nodded. “Certainly Claven’s Carn is well protected in your absence, as your son resides there,” she reasoned. “And it would indeed be a quicker ride home for you in the daylight.”

“You may be right,” he said casually. “Very well, lady. I will stay.”

“Come into the hall, then,” she invited him, and turning, she led the way.

Logan winked at Lord Cambridge, and then he followed her.

“What was that all about, I should like to know.” Maybel demanded. “What mischief are you up to, Tom Bolton?”

Tom grinned at the old woman. “I have simply advised him how to win her. He must pretend his interest in her is beginning to wane so it is Rosamund who will have to convince him that they should be man and wife,” he told Maybel.

“Oh, traitor!” Maybel said, and then she laughed. “My child would not be happy if she realized how well you have come to know her, Tom Bolton. But you are right. If we are to see her married again, and happy at last, it must be her own wish, not ours.”

“You’ll not tell on me?” he said, his eyes dancing with their conspiracy.

“Nay, I’ll not,” Maybel promised. “You have been her guardian angel since the day in which you came into her life, Tom Bolton, and I thank the Blessed Mother for it.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. “But you well know we have been a blessing to each other, Maybel. Come along, now, and let us see what is transpiring in the hall. Are you not curious? I know that I am.”

That evening, after the meal had been served, Rosamund, Logan, Father Mata, Maybel, Edmund, and Tom sat together in the hall plotting. Philippa had been sent to her bed, her windows barred, Lucy on the trundle by her bedside, and the Hepburn clansman on guard outside the girl’s door.

“The bait must be something tempting to them both,” Rosamund said.

“Then the trap must be baited twice,” Logan told them. “Once for Henry the younger and once for Lord Dacre.”

“If Dacre believes that Henry and his men are Scots,” Rosamund considered, “that should be bait enough for him. But what will bring them together at the same time and in the same place?”

“There is a deserted abbey near Lochmaben,” the priest said. “What if Lord Dacre learned that gold, previously hidden there, was to be transported from that abbey across Scotland to Edinburgh for the little king’s use? He would want to take that gold. And what if Henry the younger learned about the same gold? The abbey is in a desolate area. Both men would consider it an easy haul. Lord Dacre would be warned of this band of renegade Scots in the neighborhood. Henry would not be warned of Lord Dacre. If they came upon each other, certainly a battle would ensue.”

“I remember once,” Edmund remarked, “my brother Richard saying you would go far in the church, Mata. Your talents are indeed wasted in this rural outback.”

The young priest grinned.

“To get them to the same place at approximately the same time,” Logan noted, “that is where our problem will lie.”

“Not if Henry believes the shipment will be unguarded for only the first five miles of its trek. That it will meet up with the king’s men where the abbey road and the Edinburgh road join. That means he must attack before the gold reaches it guardians. If he is clever, he will wait until the shipment is halfway between the junction of the two roads. We will make certain he does this and then we will make certain Lord Dacre knows it,” Logan said. “Your cousin is basically a coward. He is not looking for a fight, but rather easy pickings.”

“How do we do this?” Rosamund asked him.

“I will go to Lord Dacre,” Tom said. “I am English, and he will believe me, particularly as I will bleat about this bandit who threatens my estates at Otterly and those of my cousin the lady of Friarsgate, who is the queen’s dear friend, just back from court, you know, where her daughter was chosen to be a maid of honor in two years’ time and may be matched with the Earl of Renfrew’s son. His lordship is a snob. He will listen carefully to what I have to say and think to gain greater favor with the king by stealing this gold for him and protecting the queen’s friend in the bargain.”

“And who will tell Henry the younger of the gold?” Rosamund asked.

“I will,” Edmund spoke up.

“You, old man? Are you mad?” Maybel demanded. “Am I to be widowed in my old age, then? You will do no such thing, Edmund Bolton!”

They all laughed, but Edmund replied to his wife, “Nay, old woman. I will go to my nephew and tell him this tale of gold. I will say I heard it from our neighbor, the laird of Claven’s Carn. That I have come to him in hopes that by telling him of this bounty that can be his, he will leave Friarsgate and Philippa Meredith in peace. That the gold he may steal will give him the opportunity to begin a new life somewhere else. I am his uncle, his blood kin. He knows how much I love Friarsgate and our family. He will believe me, for he could never conceive that I would be duplicitous with him where the safety of Friarsgate and its inhabitants are concerned.”

“He is right,” Tom said.

“Aye, and brave, too,” the laird remarked. “You’ll take an armed guard with you, Edmund, for without them your nephew might be tempted to do something foolish.”

“And just where is this gold going to come from?” Maybel demanded. “And how will you gain the monks’ cooperation in this charade?”

“Remember, the abbey is deserted, Maybel. But neither Lord Dacre nor Henry the younger will know that,” the priest said. “Monks’ robes are easily available, and some of the laird’s men can don them to make it appear to anyone watching that the abbey is populated. Two monks will drive the cart up the abbey trail towards the road. At the first sign of trouble, the drivers will leap from the cart and flee into the woods. No one will chase after them, for it is the gold they want, not a pair of cowardly monks.”

“You still have not said where the gold will come from,” Maybel insisted.

“There is a supply of bricks stored away from when we made the new bake ovens,” Edmund said. “They can be wrapped in cloth and tied with yarn. Piled in the cart, they will appear to be just what Lord Dacre and my nephew have been told. Gold.”

“It must all be done with perfect precision if we are to succeed,” the laird said. “Tomorrow we will set up the steps to follow.”

“What will Lord Dacre think when he discovers the bricks?” Rosamund wondered.

“He will undoubtedly head for the abbey, and discovering it empty, realize he has been duped. I suspect he will believe there was indeed gold but that it was transported earlier in some secret manner to foil the English,” Tom said. He stood up, stretching and yawning broadly. “Oh, I believe I am ready for my bed,” he said. “All this plotting is absolutely exhausting, dear girl.” He bent, and kissed Rosamund upon her forehead. “Good night, and sweet dreams, cousin. Logan. Maybel. Edmund.” And then he was gone from the hall.

Edmund arose quickly, and taking his wife’s hand, bid Rosamund and Logan good night as he hurried his wife from the hall. Maybel, who had opened her mouth to protest their swift departure, suddenly realized what her husband was all about, and her jaw snapped shut as their eyes met in understanding.

“Where am I to sleep, lady?” the laird asked his hostess.

Why was he in such a hurry? she wondered. Had he met another woman while she was down in England? “Bide with me a while, my lord,” Rosamund said, and she arose to pour him a goblet of her best wine. After all these years of his alleged devotion, he was going to desert her for some other woman? Most certainly not until she decided if he was worth marrying! She swallowed her temper, and smiling, handed him the wine. “This is my favorite time of day, or rather, evening,” she told him as she brought her own goblet back to her seat by the fire. “Everything is quiet, and there seems to be a peace on the land as at no other time.” She sipped her wine.

He couldn’t resist. He enjoyed it better when she fought him openly. “Are you attempting to ply me with good wine and then seduce me, madame?” He cocked a black eyebrow questioningly at her.

“Have you always had such a fine opinion of yourself, Logan?” she demanded with a show of her old spirit. The beast! Could he read her mind?

“Always, my darling,” he told her with a brash grin. He saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her goblet. “You are contemplating hurling the contents of your vessel at me, aren’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted through clenched teeth. “Oh, yes!”

“I have a better idea, and it will save my doublet and not waste your good wine,” he told her with a grin. Then, setting his own goblet aside, he stood up. “Get up, Rosamund, and I will help you calm your temper,” Logan said. “But let us put your wine aside first,” and he took the goblet from her hand and set it upon a table. He drew her to a standing position. “From now on,” he said, “when you wish to do violence to me, you will instead kiss me.”

“What?” Surely she had not heard him aright, but then he was folding her arms behind her as he pulled her into his arms. His head was descending to meet hers. His lips were pressing themselves to her lips. With the touch of his flesh on hers, Rosamund’s knees gave way, but he was holding her so firmly that she did not fall. Her eyes had closed of their own volition, and her head began to spin.

Then he raised his mouth from hers and said, “Kissing is much nicer, Rosamund, than quarreling. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

“I have never quarreled with anyone the way I do with you,” she said as her head cleared. “You are the most annoying man.”

“You are no longer angry at me,” he teased her.

“Nay,” she said. “I do not think I am.”

“You see?” he said as he released her from his embrace.

“Will I have to fight with you in order for you to kiss me?” Rosamund asked him provocatively.

“For now, aye,” he told her. “You are not an easy woman, and I must bring you to reason if we are ever to marry, my darling.”

“Bring me to reason?” Her outrage was more than evident. Her little balled fist hit him a blow on his arm. “Not an easy woman? Who the hell are you to criticize me, Logan Hepburn? Do you think you are some paragon of perfection? Even Jeannie, God assoil her sweet soul, knew better than that!”

He wanted to laugh, but he did not. Instead, he yanked her back into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless and half-swooning. “I will master you, you impossible wench, if I must spend the rest of my life doing it,” he said to her. Then he kissed her again and again and again until she was whimpering with pleasure. Finally he set her back on her feet, holding her arm lightly as she swayed for a moment. “There,” he said. “You should be calm again. Now, show me where I am to sleep this night, Rosamund Bolton.”

She shook her head to clear it, saying nothing. He was irritating! He was impossible! He was overbearing! But God’s wounds! His kisses were divine. She was surprised to discover that she could move her legs now, and so she led him upstairs to the guest chamber. Opening the door, she stepped back to allow him through. “Good night, my lord,” she said softly. More softly than she had intended, but at least she could speak, Rosamund thought.

He stepped past her, and then turning, said low, “Not tonight, Rosamund, but another night, we will share this bed together.”

“I have not said I should marry you, Logan,” she replied quickly.

“I have not said I should ask you, Rosamund,” he told her. “I have simply said that one night soon we will share this bed, you and I. Good night, madame.”

Astounded, she stepped away from the door as he reached to close it. Her heart was beating madly. She began to consider what it might be like in his arms, and then she thought of the last time she had lain in a man’s arms. “Patrick,” she whispered, but even as she said his name she knew that the Earl of Glenkirk would never deny her the happiness with another man that he could no longer give her. And with that thought came the realization that the premonition they had both experienced when they had first met had finally come to pass. She would never see Patrick Leslie again in this life. And with that knowledge Rosamund knew she was suddenly free to love once more. She would always love Patrick. She knew that. He would live hidden in that secret place in her heart known only to her. But her life had to go on, and she knew now that she could not live without love.

Logan stood, his back to the closed door, breathing slowly. Deeply. Her mouth had been far sweeter than he had remembered. The sensation of her full breasts against his chest had made his senses reel and his manhood ache with his need. The boldness of the words he had just spoken to her burned in his throat. Instinct had warned him it was too soon, but how he had wanted her in his bed this night. Tom’s advice had been good, but he could not play this game with her forever. He had not the patience for it, he knew. He loved her too much. Logan wanted Rosamund as his wife. And his wife she was going to be sooner than later. He slept badly. As did Rosamund.

Her dreams were wild, jumbled impressions that left her tossing and restless and more awake than asleep. She awoke bleary-eyed and irritable, but she was ready to begin preparing the trap they had devised the previous evening to rid Friarsgate of her cousin Henry Bolton once and for all. For all of her life she had been troubled, first by her father’s youngest brother and now by his son. Her uncle’s bones rested in the family burial ground. But Rosamund knew she would not feel safe until her cousin lay beside his father.

To her surprise, she found Logan gone when she came down into the hall. He had, a servant informed her, departed at first light with just a few of his clansmen. Then her uncle Edmund entered the hall.

“You are awake at last, niece!” he said jovially. “Logan has left me instructions for our part in this charade. We must begin today, for the sooner this is over and done with, the better for Friarsgate. I do not relish a winter defending ourselves from not just four-legged wolves, but two-legged ones, as well.”

“He might have said good-bye,” Rosamund said, annoyed.

“I thought you might have said farewell to each other last night,” Edmund murmured innocently.

She threw him an evil look. “I showed him to his chamber and went to my own,” she said. “I assumed he would be here when I returned to the hall and would speak with me himself instead of giving instructions to you, uncle.” She felt her anger beginning to rise, and then the oddest thing happened. She remembered her anger of the previous evening and how he had calmed her. She could almost feel his lips on hers now, and as she did, the anger began to drain away. “He was wise to leave early,” she said suddenly, surprising Edmund. “We must be scrupulous in our execution of this plan, or we will fail miserably. What would the laird have us do, uncle?”

“We must prepare the false gold and transport it in secret to the abbey near Lochmaben. And we must do it without your cousin’s men observing us. To that end, the laird’s men are scouring the few caves in our hillsides where an intruder might secrete himself to spy on us. Others of the Hepburns are posted upon our heights. But we must work quickly, Rosamund, for we do not want to arouse Henry the younger’s suspicions.”

“Have the bricks brought into the house through the kitchen garden door,” she said. “Not all at once, but a few at a time over the day. We cannot be certain we are not being watched, and I would not have anyone’s curiosity aroused by a constant stream of men and women going in and out of the house. At twilight and in the darkness of the evening the rest of the bricks may be carried inside.”

“Where do you want them?” he asked.

“In the hall,” Rosamund said. “We will wrap them here.”

The morning meal was brought and eaten. People came and went throughout the day while Rosamund, Philippa, Maybel, and several of the servingwomen carefully wrapped each brick in a natural-colored felt fabric and then tied the wrappings with wool twine so the contents remained well concealed. The pile of wrapped bricks never grew any larger, for as each brick was covered with felt and tied, it was removed from the hall. Finally all the bricks were wrapped and gone from the hall. They had been taken over the long day and early evening to a barn, where they were loaded in a covered wooden wagon that would be transported first over the border to Claven’s Carn and from there to the deserted abbey where the wagon’s cover would then be removed. A tarpaulin would replace it, being tied down for effect. But the transport would remain in Rosamund’s barn until the laird returned and gave the word it was to be moved.

And he did return several days later. “Twenty of my men are now populating the abbey,” he said. “We will transport our gold over the border tomorrow and from there to Lochmaben. When I return again we will be ready to inform Lord Dacre and Henry the younger of the gold they may steal.” He laughed. “You have done your part well, Rosamund. The bricks make quite a convincing shipment of gold.”

“Aye, we worked hard to be certain there is not the faintest sign of what is really between those wrappings,” she told him.

“In two days Tom will seek out Lord Dacre, and Edmund, Henry the younger. I know where both are now located. Leaving at the same time, they should reach their quarry at approximately the same time. The trick will be to return to us at the same time with the news that they have both taken the bait.”

Two days later Edmund, six men-at-arms with him, rode to where his nephew hid himself between his border forays. Henry the younger was surprised to see his uncle, but he greeted him cordially enough. Edmund did not dismount his horse.

“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.

“I do not think I could ever be as brave as you have been, mama,” Philippa said.

“I wanted you and your sisters to have a happier time in your childhoods than I did,” Rosamund told her daughter. “But you have had your share of sadness, too, my child. I know how hard it was for you to lose your father.”

“But if you married again, mama, we could have another father,” Philippa said.

“We will see,” Rosamund murmured, not noticing her cousin Tom wince.

“When will my sisters come home, mama?” Philippa asked.

“Soon,” Rosamund said. “Now find your bed, my daughter.”

Curtsying to her elders, Philippa left the hall. And soon Maybel and Edmund were gone. And Tom, after pouring himself a goblet of wine, swiftly sought his own chamber.

Rosamund arose from her place on the settle where she had sat with Philippa. “Come, my lord. I am certain you remember the way, but I shall lead you.” She glided from the hall, the laird of Claven’s Carn’s footsteps behind her. Reaching the guest chamber, she opened the door for him, gasping as he drew her inside and shut the door behind them firmly. “My lord!”

He stopped her mouth with a hard kiss. “Tonight, madame,” he told her, “we will begin to get to know each other as we should have years ago but that you kept marrying other men. We are getting too old for these games, Rosamund, my darling.” His arms tightened about her.

“I have not said I would marry you,” she whispered breathlessly.

He took an index finger and ran it from the top of her head down her nose and over her lips and chin in a tender gesture. “I have not asked you to marry me, Rosamund,” he told her softly. “I have just said it is past time we got to know each other, my darling.”

“You want to make love to me,” she answered him.

“Aye, I do,” he told her.

“Logan… oh, Logan, I do not know if I can ever love you as you love me,” Rosamund despaired.

“So you finally see that I love you,” he replied. “ ’Tis a start, my darling.” He kissed her face gently, moving his lips from her forehead to her eyelids to her nose and finally to her sweet mouth. Then the blue-blue eyes met her amber ones. His big hand caressed her cheek. “You will never love me as you loved Patrick Leslie, Rosamund, but you will love me. I promise you.”

Tears slipped down her face, and he kissed them away. Then, turning her about, he began to unlace the bodice of her plain brown velvet gown. His lips found the soft nape of her neck and pressed a kiss upon it. Rosamund sighed, wondering as she did why she had this sudden feeling of relief. He removed the bodice, laying it aside on a nearby chair. He undid the tapes of her skirts and lifted her from the puddle of material that slipped to the floor.

“You seem to be quite expert at this, Logan Hepburn,” Rosamund told him, beginning to regain her equilibrium. She was facing him now, and her fingers were undoing his doublet unimpeded.

He smiled a slow smile down at her. “I am,” he admitted modestly. Then he lifted her up and set her down upon the bed. Kneeling, he removed her slippers and stockings.

“I haven’t finished undressing you,” Rosamund said boldly.

“I can do it quicker,” he told her. “And I think it necessary tonight, my darling.” His hands undid his breeks. He removed his sherte and then sat to remove his shoes and his wool stockings from his big feet. He stood again, pulling his breeks off, then got into the bed with her. For modesty’s sake, he had left her in her chemise, but he was as naked as God had made him.

“You are a very big man,” she said, eyeing him.

“I am,” he agreed, untying the ribbons that held her chemise closed. He drew back the folds of fabric and stared. “God’s wounds, madame, you are incredibly beautiful,” he said admiringly. He did not touch her.

“Would you like me to remove my chemise now?” she asked softly. He was such a handsome man with his blue-blue eyes and his unruly black hair. Unable to help herself, she reached up and ran her hand through that hair.

“Nay,” he told her. “I want to absorb your beauty a little bit at a time, Rosamund. I am not a greedy man.” The dark head bent, and he kissed a single nipple.

She shivered with the pleasure that small touch offered her. It had been almost two years since she had lain in a man’s arms and received the homage of his love for her. “That was nice,” she told him.

“Good,” he said. “I want to know what pleases you, and then you shall learn what pleases me, Rosamund.”

“What if we discover that we do not enjoy each other?” she asked him.

“Why, then we shall go our separate ways, madame,” he replied blandly.

“What?” she cried. “You would seduce me and then desert me, you Scots scoundrel!” She pushed him away.

“Madame, ’twas you who introduced doubt into our passion,” he returned.

Rosamund sat up. What was she doing? She jumped from the bed, looking to gather up her other garments. “You shall not have me, you monster!”

“Oh, but I shall, my darling,” he said, rising and following her, drawing her back into his arms, drawing the chemise off of her. Her breasts were crushed against his lightly furred chest. Her belly pressed against his.

“Dammit, Logan! Would you commit rape?” she demanded of him. God’s blood! She had never felt so very naked before. She hammered against him with her fists. He enclosed her face between his big hands and kissed her, his mouth insistent, demanding, and moist against her lips, her face. He would not be denied, and the truth was, she realized, she didn’t want to be denied, either. She needed him as much as he needed her.

“If you truly want to go,” he said, suddenly releasing her, “then go, damn you! But if you remain, Rosamund, these fevered bodies of ours will shortly be one.” The blue-blue eyes looked straight at her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Yes, you do!” he said fiercely.

“Do you really love me, Logan Hepburn?” she asked him.

“For as long as I can remember, Rosamund Bolton. Forever! And I always will,” he told her in a sure and quiet voice.

“Please God that I am not a fool,” she said.

He smiled at her. “We will talk about that on the morrow, my darling,” he told her, holding out his hand in silent invitation.

She took it, and he brought her back into the comfort of his embrace. Then they walked back to the bed. They lay together, slowly and tenderly exploring each other’s bodies. He caressed her breasts. She pressed kisses on his flat belly. Their mouths met again and again as their limbs intertwined, rolling this way and then that. Finally she lay beneath him, and with the most infinite care, indeed as if she were a virgin, he entered her body, pushing his thick length slowly, slowly and filling her full with his long-pent-up desire for her. Moving with a leisurely rhythm until she was whimpering softly and her head began to thrash with her rising pleasure. And when their need for each other reached its peak, they rose together, their fingers intertwined, until with great joy they fell back together into the abyss of warm and soothing release, fulfilled.

And afterwards he told her that on the morrow she would return with him to Claven’s Carn and they would be married. “If, of course, my darling, that is your wish, too,” he said smiling into her face, devouring her with his love until she could no longer bear it, for it was simply too sweet.

“I cannot live at Claven’s Carn always,” she said. “I am the lady of Friarsgate.”

“I cannot live at Friarsgate always,” he said. “I am the lord of Claven’s Carn.”

“Then we must be like the wealthy nobles who go back and forth between their homes and estates, Logan,” she told him. “Sometimes we will live in your house, and sometimes we will live in mine.”

“And if our countries continue to war?” he asked her.

“Then you must stay on your side of the border, and I will remain on mine,” Rosamund teased him with a smile.

“Of course,” he told her, “if we remain free of political entanglements and know nothing of the world outside of Friarsgate and Claven’s Carn, we shall never be separated.” Then he kissed the tip of her nose.

“What a clever man you are,” Rosamund told him. “I think I will marry you after all, Logan Hepburn.”

“And one day you will come to love me?” he said hopefully.

“I think some small part of me has always loved you, Logan,” she admitted. “And I will be a good wife to you and a good stepmother to your son. I promise.”

“And I will be a good father to your girls,” he vowed. “I remember their father, and he was an honorable man. I can be no less to you, or to them.”

“And if we should have bairns, Logan?” she asked.

“They will belong to Claven’s Carn,” he told her firmly.

She nodded. “Then it is settled, my lord. But if we are indeed to have bairns, you will have to pay more attention to me than you have been,” she teased him.

He grinned down at her. “Madame, I have already put a bairn in your belly, but until he objects, Rosamund, you and I will enjoy our bed sport.”

And Rosamund laughed aloud, her heart soaring with her happiness. Aye! She was indeed happy again, and she knew that with Logan Hepburn by her side she would be happy forever, no matter the world about them.