This Heart of Mine (26 page)

“We have several more days ahead of us, Velvet, before we even reach Scotland. I have told you that winter comes early in the Highlands.”

She sighed deeply. “Would just one day matter?”

He thought a moment. One day could matter very much, and yet she looked so disappointed. He wanted to please her. He wanted them to have that same relaxed and pleasant relationship they had once had. Perhaps humoring her would help. “Very well,” he said, “but just one day.”

Early the following morning, Pansy was up and out to an open-air market where she managed to purchase secondhand a respectable dark green velvet skirt that her mistress could wear and that would cover Velvet’s riding boots as she walked about York. It was a plain garment but her mistress certainly could not wear her riding skirt in town.

After a breakfast of steaming oat porridge that had been served with heavy cream and honey, a hot cottage loaf that was offered with a crock of sweet butter, peach jam, or cheese, brown ale for Alex, and watered wine for Velvet, they left the inn to visit the cathedral. Despite her anger at being dragged from London, and
her fear of marriage to this strong, fierce man, Velvet was as excited as any sightseer. Educated in the history of her country, she knew that next to Canterbury, York Minster, originally called St. Peter’s, was the most famous cathedral in all of England. It was built between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, but its soaring towers only dated from the previous century. It was one of the loveliest examples of Gothic architecture in all of Christendom.

Velvet, who, unlike most of York’s pilgrims who came simply to pray to the saints, had a rare appreciation of beauty in art, found the north transept of the cathedral with its magnificent stained-glass windows beautiful beyond all. She was in transports over the wood vaulting in the nave of the cathedral and simply fell in love with the exquisite Lady Chapel. Alex, who had seen York Minster before, now saw it through her eyes with a new enthusiasm, and was enchanted at this different aspect he had found in this child bride of his.

Leaving the cathedral, they walked through the old part of the city with its narrow and winding medieval streets. This ancient part of York was surrounded by the original wall of the city with its four gates. It was a lovely, cool autumn day, and Alex found that he was glad he had stopped their journey in midflight. Velvet was more relaxed and chatty than he had seen her in weeks. Rather than return to the inn at midday, they bought sausage, bread, and cider from street vendors and sat by the banks of the river. Each carefully avoided the subject of their marriage: Alex, not wanting to fight with Velvet again, and Velvet, not wanting to spoil the day lest he insist they go on their way once more. Every hour they remained in York was an hour closer to her rescue by her brother. Surely Robin would come tomorrow or the next day.

Velvet’s heart sank when Alex announced that they would retire early that night because he wished to ride out before sunrise.

“We can’t make up for this lost day, but we’ll be a bit farther on than if we started later,” he said.

“How far will we ride tomorrow, my lord?” she asked him, afraid of the answer.

“I should like to make Hexham. If we do, then we shall be able to cross the border into Scotland the day after tomorrow.”

Alone with Pansy, Velvet fretted, “Where is Robin? It is a week since we left London. He should be here now!”

Pansy looked unhappy, and then she said, “Perhaps he is not coming, mistress.”

“Not coming!
Why wouldn’t he come to my rescue?” She stamped her foot to emphasize her point.

“Mistress Velvet, you are betrothed to Lord Gordon, and your
mama and papa did approve the match. Perhaps Lord Southwood feels that now that the earl has taken things into his own hands, it is better to have you marry and be done with it.”

Velvet’s face crumbled.
“No!”
she whispered. “I don’t want to be married now! I don’t want to be a mother yet! I am just barely past my own childhood, dammit! It isn’t fair! It just isn’t fair!”

Pansy sighed deeply. Life wasn’t always fair, she thought, but there it was. You took what was handed you and made the best of it. At least that’s what her mother had always said, and her mother knew. Pansy’s charming Irish father, one of Lady de Marisco’s captains, on the other hand, was more like Mistress Velvet. Always seeking the impossible, always anxious to see what was over the rainbow. He was a dreamer and a romantic, just like the young girl she served. Pansy couldn’t understand why Mistress Velvet was making such a fuss. If she had been given a handsome, wealthy, and kind man for a husband,
she
would be on her knees thanking the blessed Mother!

“We will run away!” Velvet said dramatically.

“What?”
Pansy was startled from her reverie.

“We’ll run away,” Velvet repeated. “Tonight, when Lord Gordon is snoring snugly in his bed, we will escape him and make our own way back to London. When I tell the queen that he kidnapped me, she’ll have his arrogant head!”

“Mistress Velvet! That’s the silliest idea I ever heard,” Pansy declared bravely, for she had no right to speak to her mistress in such a fashion. “Frankly, we have been lucky to get this far without being assaulted by robbers, traveling without an armed escort as we have been doing. Only the fact that Lord Gordon and Dugald are well armed, and look like the type of men that will not be trifled with, has saved us, I’ve not a doubt. Two women, however, are a totally different matter! We’ll not get five miles from York before we are set upon, murdered, robbed, and heaven only knows what!”

“There is no other way, Pansy. Perhaps we could dress as boys?”

Pansy looked down at her full bosom and shook her head ruefully. “I could never disguise these,” she said. “Mistress, listen to me. Let the earl bring you to Scotland. ’Tis true you’re his betrothed wife, but only a priest can unite you in the holy bonds of matrimony. If you refuse the marriage, there can be no marriage, can there? Lord Gordon will have to send you back to England and wait until your parents return next spring, won’t he?”

The smile that suddenly lit Velvet’s face was like the sun returning after a gray day. “Oh, Pansy! You’re right! You’re absolutely
right! Why didn’t I think of it in the first place? The worst that can happen is that we’ll be stuck in Scotland for the winter. What matter as long as we return to England in the spring?” Impulsively Velvet hugged her tiring woman. “Oh, what would I do without you?”

Pansy sighed with relief. Her mother had always said she had a quick mind. If her mistress had persisted in attempting an escape from Lord Gordon, Pansy would have had to side with the earl for Velvet’s sake, but she knew that her mistress would never have forgiven her, and she would have been sent home in disgrace. What would she have said to her mother then? Pansy was certain that Lady de Marisco couldn’t have been like Velvet or else Daisy would not have been able to cope so well.

Two days later, the Earl of BrocCairn’s party crossed over the invisible line that separated England and Scotland and rode into the Cheviot Hills. It was a clear mid-October day, and the air was sharp and crisp. Alex had put aside the elegant garb of the gentleman that morning, and he now rode dressed as the Highlander he was in a belted plaid consisting of a piece of Gordon tartan, plaited in the middle and wrapped around his back, leaving as much at each end as would cover the front of the body, the ends overlapping each other. The plaid was held in place with a wide leather belt that had a silver buckle jeweled with a reddish agate. The lower part of the tartan fell to the middle of his knee joints while the upper part was fastened to his shoulder with a large silver brooch engraved with a badger and the BrocCairn motto,
“Defend or Die.”

With the tartan he wore a white silk shirt, knitted green hose, a doeskin vest with horn buttons, and black leather brogues. On his head was a blue bonnet with a pheasant’s feather set at a jaunty angle. He was armed with his broadsword, a dirk, and a sgian-dubh in his right stocking.

Dugald was dressed similarly, and Pansy openly eyed him with approval, for he was a fine figure of a man in his plaid, she suddenly decided.

Velvet was now more uncomfortably aware of Alex than she had ever been. He was, she noted, extremely handsome in his tartan, and seeing his bare knees gave her a shiver. There was something almost savage about him that had not been there before. She began to wonder if perhaps she shouldn’t have fled him in York when she had the opportunity. Any softness he had shown was gone with his English clothes.

They stopped during the noon hour to rest the horses and to eat the lunch that the innkeeper’s wife had packed for them that
morning. There were slabs of fresh bread with sharp cheese and sweet pink ham, a cold chicken, a skin of cider, and some pears. The day was quiet, the air warm and still. Velvet was taken by the beauty of the Border country. The hills stretched into the purple distance, seeming almost softly smudged in the clear autumn light.

“Where are we to stay tonight, my lord?” Velvet asked as they mounted up to ride again.

“I am heading toward
Hermitage
, the Border home of my cousin, Francis Stewart-Hepburn. He is the Earl of Bothwell, and even if he is not in residence, they will offer us hospitality. I am hoping to stay a few days while I send Dugald on to
Dun Broc
to bring back an escort. We have been lucky so far, but I will bring ye no farther without my men at my back.”

“Is it so dangerous then? We have had no difficulties, and we are closer to
Dun Broc
now than we are to London.”

“Are ye anxious then, Velvet, to see yer new home?”

She flushed at his reference to
Dun Broc
as her home. “My lord, you have kidnapped me from the queen’s court, and though it is true that we are betrothed, you cannot compel me to marry you. I have told you that I will not marry you until my parents return home.”

He smiled. “I thought ye weren’t going to marry me at all,” he gently teased her.

She would not look at him, instead staring straight ahead, her hands clenching her reins. “It is not that you are not suitable, my lord, it is just that I am not yet ready to wed. Why can you not understand that? I am being neither coy nor coquettish.”

“Ye were correct when ye said that we are alike, Velvet, for if I do not understand yer attitude, ye do not understand mine. I have courted ye and tried to be patient.”

She snorted derisively, and he was forced to laugh in spite of himself.

“There is no way you can force me to the altar without my family about me,” she said firmly.

Before he could answer her, Dugald said urgently, “Riders, my lord! Up ahead, and they’ve already seen us.” His hand reached for his broadsword.

“Rein in!” Alex commanded sharply, and then he directed his words to the two women. “Even at this distance I can tell Borderers. Pray God they are Bothwell’s men, but, in any event, keep yer mouths shut! Velvet, I am deadly serious when I tell ye that this is a matter of life and death.”

“I understand, Alex,” she replied softly, and he looked sharply
at her. It was the first time since they had left London that she had called him by name.

He smiled a quick, encouraging smile back at her. “Good girl!”

They moved forward at a slower pace, allowing the large party of riders ahead of them to come toward them. As the troop came nearer, Alex’s tense face relaxed as he realized that they indeed wore the plaid and the badge of the Earl of Bothwell. As the two parties came abreast of each other, the Earl of BrocCairn saw Francis Stewart-Hepburn’s bastard half brother, Hercules Stewart, riding in the forefront. Hercules, like the hero he was named for, was a huge man with a shock of black hair. He also had a handsome Stewart face.

“Hercules, my friend,” called Alex.

Hercules Stewart’s face broke into a friendly smile. “My lord Gordon! What brings ye into the Cheviots?”

Alex reined his horse in, facing Hercules. “I’m just over the border after several months spent in England. Is Francis at
Hermitage?
I would ask his hospitality for several nights. We have ridden hard from London these last ten days and my lady is weary.”

Hercules let his gaze roam to Velvet, and his eyes widened with approval at what he saw. “Aye, my lord Bothwell is in residence and will welcome ye. We’ll escort ye there now. Have ye come all this way without any escort? Christ, man! Ye’re braver than I!”

Alex laughed, saying, “When did any Scotsman need an armed escort among the English? However, I dinna think it safe to continue north without my own men. Dugald will leave tomorrow for
Dun Broc.”

Hercules nodded. “Aye, ’tis best. The northern clans have been roused to a fever pitch pillaging the Spanish ships driven ashore in the late-summer storms. Travel is even worse than usual.”

“ ’Twas a great victory for the English,” Alex remarked.

“ ’Twas God’s own luck,” rejoined Hercules. “They were badly outnumbered, though I’ll grant they’re better sailors than King Philip’s men.” At this point his band had moved around and behind Alex’s party. “Come along now, my lord, and I’ll take ye to
Hermitage.
Yon bonny lass looks as if she’d welcome a bath and a soft bed.”

“She’s my betrothed wife, Hercules,” Alex said quietly.

“I congratulate ye, my lord,” was Hercules’ reply, then he raised his hand as a signal, and they moved forward.

Within the hour they had reached
Hermitage
, the favorite residence of the Earl of Bothwell. A thirteenth-century castle, it was the strongest of the Border strongholds and sat atop a hill, allowing
its inhabitants a view of the land below and for miles around. Above its main entry were the Hepburn lions, and Velvet noticed as they rode in that
Hermitage’s
heights were well patroled.

Dismounting within the castle courtyard, they followed Hercules into the building. It was late in the day now, near to sunset, and the Great Hall of the castle was alive with activity as the dinner hour approached. The four fireplaces were already blazing with hearty fires that took the chill from the large room. There wasn’t a woman in sight except for a few serving wenches, but the hall was filled with Lord Bothwell’s male retainers who lounged about chatting, drinking, and dicing while they awaited the arrival of their master for the meal.