Until You (16 page)

“Aye,” the earl said softly. “I always thought he wed that princess from Toulouse too quickly. I wonder if he ever really loved my Jan.”

“Let the past be done with, my lord,” Rosamund said softly. “Nothing will change by allowing bitterness to take hold of you. You are here on a specific mission for your king. Do your duty, and let what happened all those years ago remain but a dim memory. You are not here to treat with San Lorenzo, but rather with Venice and the Holy Roman Empire.”

He nodded at her. “You speak wisdom, sweetheart,” he responded. “How is it a little girl from Cumbria should be so clever?”

“I think it is due to Hugh Cabot, my second husband, who taught me to have a care for myself and Friarsgate; and I think it is due to my youth at King Henry the seventh’s court. Most of my care was in the household of the old king’s mother, called the Venerable Margaret. She was very wise.”

“You obviously learned your lesson well, Rosamund,” he complimented her.

“Go to sleep, my lord,” she advised. “Tomorrow will be a busy day for us. I will be glad to sleep in a bed once again, bathe, and wear beautiful garments. I am weary of being a lad.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Good night, my dearest love,” she told him.

“And I am eager to have you in my bed again the way you should be,” he murmured in her ear, and then he nibbled teasingly upon it. “I very much need you, Rosamund.”

“And I you,” she whispered back. “If the duke can supply us with a large tub, we shall bathe together,” Rosamund murmured meaningfully.

“If we do, you know what will happen,” he told her, and he nuzzled her neck.

“I certainly hope so!” Rosamund replied. “Now, go to sleep, Patrick. You will not get much rest tomorrow,” she promised him.

And the Earl of Glenkirk laughed, drawing her into his embrace, one hand cupping a breast. “Nor will you, sweetheart,” he agreed. “Nor will you!”

T
he capital city of the duchy of San Lorenzo lay be fore them as they looked down from the mountain road on which they had been traveling.

“I have never seen houses in so many colors!” Rosamund exclaimed. “Our houses are either natural stone or whitewashed.”

“The town’s name is Arcobaleno. It means rainbow in the tongue of the Italians,” he explained to her. “The people of San Lorenzo, their duchy set between France and the Italian states, speak both tongues equally.”

“I speak some French,” Rosamund told him. “I understand better than I speak, however. That can prove to be to my advantage. I shall learn a great deal more in my ignorance,” she told him with a smile.

He laughed. “You are too clever by far, sweetheart,” he responded.

They moved down now into Arcobaleno. About them, the hills were turning emerald green in the mid-February sunshine. They had come up the hills from a valley newly plowed and planted. Grain, Patrick had told her. On the heights about the town he pointed out the vineyards to the south. San Lorenzan wine was excellent, he assured her, as she would shortly learn. The town itself was perched on the hillsides above the blue sea. Not one house set along the neatly cobbled streets was of the same color, and Rosamund was amazed to find so many hues in the spectrum of the rainbow.

“What is that building?” Rosamund asked the earl, pointing to a complex set just above the town itself.

“The palace of the duke,” he responded. “And see the pink marble villa facing the sea? That is the Scottish ambassador’s residence. We are going there first. Soon enough it will be known that I am here, for like everywhere else, this is a hotbed of spies. For now I’d like to keep it secret. The duke will not be officially involved in this matter for his own safety and the safety of San Lorenzo.”

“Will the ambassador be expecting us?” Rosamund asked.

“Nay,” the earl chuckled. “We shall be quite a surprise to him. But I am carrying a letter from the king, and so it will be all right.”

They rode past the duke’s palace. At the open gates were guardsmen in sea-blue and gold uniforms. Peering into the courtyard beyond, Rosamund saw, to her surprise, a gentleman she recognized. She stared hard at the man dismounting his horse. “Do the English have an ambassador here, my lord?” she asked Patrick.

“Aye, but only recently. Why?”

“As we passed the palace courtyard I saw a gentleman I recognized from the English court,” she explained.

“Would he recognize you, sweetheart?” the earl asked her, concerned.

“I do not know, Patrick. We were never introduced, nor did we ever speak, but I know who he is. He is one of the Howards. Not an important one, just a distant cousin.”

“But he has obviously been given this posting to please his more powerful relations,” Glenkirk noted. “We will have to see he does not become involved in our little business. It would not do for Henry Tudor to learn we are attempting to weaken the alliance the pope seeks to build.”

They rode farther down towards the town, coming to the pink villa that was the residence of Scotland’s ambassador. Patrick felt the years sliding away as he remembered his own tenure here. Like San Lorenzo itself, he had never thought to see it again. They rode through the open gates into the courtyard, and immediately there were servants to take their horses. The majordomo came out to greet the visitors.

He was an elderly man, but his eyes widened with recognition as he approached them. “My lord Leslie!” he said. “Welcome! Welcome back to San Lorenzo!”

“Pietro! How wonderful to find you still here!” Glenkirk said, wringing the old man’s hand. “Is your master inside? I have brought a message from our king.”

“Come in, my lord! Come in!” He led them out of the sun, which was surprisingly hot.

“I will tell my master that you are here. We were not expecting visitors,” Pietro said. He led them into a beautiful light-filled chamber overlooking gardens. “If you will wait here, my lord. There is wine for refreshment.” He hurried out as fast as his old legs could carry him.

“He was my majordomo when I served the king here,” Patrick noted.

“He obviously likes you,” Rosamund said.

“His daughter liked me, too,” came the mischievous reply. “She had dark hair and eyes and golden skin.”

“From what I have seen along the road, my lord, I imagine she is now a plump and well-settled matron. A grandmother, perhaps?” Rosamund murmured sweetly.

“You are jealous, sweetheart,” he said, and his tone was exceedingly pleased.

“Why are men so vain?” Rosamund wondered aloud.

“Ouch!” he cried, falling back, clutching his chest in mock distress. “Your claws are all the sharper for these weeks on the road, my sweet Rosamund.” Then he chuckled.

“My lady!” Annie said excitedly. “Look out in the gardens. There are flowers blooming, and ’tis but February. And didn’t the sun feel good, and it still winter?”

“Winter does not visit San Lorenzo, Annie,” the earl explained, “except on very rare and quick occasions.”

“You mean it’s like this all the time?” Annie was astounded. “Surely you’ve brought us to paradise, my lord.”

“I once thought it so,” he replied.

The door to the salon opened, and a tall, grizzled gentleman walked through. “My lord earl!” he said, and he bowed.

“Lord MacDuff,” Patrick said. “Is there someplace we may speak privily? And if my lady and her servant might be taken to comfortable quarters . . . We will be staying with you. Dermid, go with Annie and Lady Rosamund.” The Earl of Glenkirk’s voice rang with authority.

“Of course, my lord,” the ambassador replied. “Pietro!” The majordomo was immediately in the room. “My lord?”

“Show the lady to our guest quarters, and see that everything is done to make her and the earl comfortable. My lord, come with me.” And Lord MacDuff led Patrick from the salon.

Pietro bowed. “I speak English, a little bit, my lady,” he said.

“And I speak French a little bit,” Rosamund told him with a smile.

The majordomo smiled back. “Then if my lady will follow me,” he responded.

They followed him from the lovely salon out into the round marble foyer and up two levels of a wide marble flight of stairs. On the third landing he opened the gilded walnut doors and ushered them into a spacious apartment.

“Is there anything you need at the moment, my lady?” he asked her.

“We have been on the road for many days, Pietro. I should love a bath,” she told him.

“At once, my lady,” he told her, and he hurried off.

“And what will you be wearing after I take these stinking clothes and have ’em burned?” Annie demanded to know.

“Do I not have at least one clean shirt or chemise?” Rosamund asked.

“Well, you can hardly meet anyone in just your chemise,” Annie replied pithily.

“Well, then, I suppose after my bath I shall need to see a seamstress,” Rosamund told her servant. “The earl has promised me that he would have a suitable wardrobe made for me. And you will need new garments as well, Annie.”

“I’d actually like to have a bath myself, and some clean clothing,” Annie admitted. “Don’t think I’ll ever get the stink of horse out of me hair.”

“Let’s explore this apartment and see what we have while we are waiting for my bath,” Rosamund suggested.

Together the two young women began walking about and opening doors. The apartment had its dayroom in which they now stood, but it also had two bedchambers adjoining each other and two small chambers each containing a single bed, a chest, and a little table.

“You have your own room,” Rosamund told Annie, “and there is one for Dermid. Choose now, you two, and set your possessions inside. Dermid, I did not ask you before, but were you with the earl when he was last here in San Lorenzo?”

“Nay, ’twas my uncle,” Dermid said. “I was just newly breeked when the lord came home. My uncle chose me to go with the earl when the king sent for him. He has no lads of his own, just daughters,” Dermid explained. “He said he was too old to go traipsing about any longer, and so was the master. But when the king called, a loyal man answered, and that man would need his servant. He’d been training me to take his place these last few years anyway. He’ll be surprised when he learns where I’ve been.”

“If you can tell him,” Rosamund said quietly.

“Aye, lady. I may not be able to say,” Dermid answered her.

“Oh, my lady, look!” Annie had opened the windowlike doors across the dayroom. Beyond was a balcony that stretched across the villa, and beyond it was the blue sea. “Ain’t it beautiful!” Annie said.

“Yes, it is,” Rosamund replied, joining her servant. “I don’t think I have ever seen anything as beautiful outside of Friarsgate.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you mention home in weeks,” Annie noted. “I wondered if you had forgotten it.”

“Nay. Friarsgate is my first love, and it will always be my love, Annie. We will go home eventually, but this is so exciting. I never thought to see a place like San Lorenzo, or live through a winter without chilblains on my hands. Once I should have been content to never leave Friarsgate, and one day I will feel the same way again. But not now. Not today.”

The door to the apartment opened, and a line of footmen, led by Pietro, began to enter. He signaled with his hand to Dermid. “Here, man, help me,” he said. Then he entered the more feminine bedchamber, pressed a hidden lock on one of the walnut-paneled walls, which sprang open to reveal a huge bathing tub, and with Dermid’s aid wrestled the tub from its place out into the room. “Where will you have it, my lady?” he asked her.

Rosamund looked about the room, and then seeing that the windowed doors opened onto the terrace, said, “Put it out there, Pietro.”

The majordomo smiled broadly. “Ah,” he said as he and Dermid wrestled the tub to its desired location, “Madame is a romantic.”

Rosamund smiled back at him. “It seems a perfect place,” she murmured.

The tub was set out upon the marble terrace, and the footmen began to fill it with their buckets, slowly climbing the twin sets of steps placed on either side of the tub and dumping the water into the large vessel, which was made of hard oak and bound in polished brass bands. It was a labor-intensive effort, but finally the tub was filled.

“I shall need a seamstress, Pietro,” Rosamund said. “The earl and I traveled swiftly and upon horseback all the way from the French coast. None of our party has suitable clothing for the duke’s court. That must be remedied as quickly as possible.”

“At once, madame,” Pietro answered her with a bow. “My daughter is the finest seamstress in all of Arcobaleno. I shall send her to you.”

“Is she the one who was once Lord Leslie’s mistress?” Rosamund inquired.

“The very same, madame,” he answered her with a twinkle. “His lordship will not recognize her, for she has grown well rounded with her marriage, her children, and her enterprise.” He bowed again, and then turned and left her.