Until You (20 page)

“It is a bold idea, but you are not likely to succeed,” the duke said.

“King James knows that. But he also knows he will not break the auld alliance, and if he does not, England will use it as an excuse to invade Scotland. This means we must invade them first, a faux invasion, mind you, for we have no interest in conquering England. But we must direct Henry Tudor’s attention away from this mischief he is causing between the pope and James Stewart,” Patrick replied.

The Duke of San Lorenzo nodded thoughtfully. Then he asked, “Why have they sent you, Patrick?”

“For two reasons. Once I was Scotland’s ambassador to San Lorenzo. Its first ambassador. And second, since I returned from here eighteen years ago, I have not left my Highland home at Glenkirk. I am barely known by the court, and it is unlikely that I would be considered a candidate for such a mission as this one. If indeed anyone knew of why I have been sent here. And no one does.”

“Not even the lovely lady who accompanies you, my friend?” the duke pried.

“Not even Rosamund,” the earl lied facilely. “She is English, and the queen’s friend. I didn’t want her put between her love for me and her loyalty to Margaret Tudor and England. She departed the court under the excuse of an ill child. It is assumed I have gone with her, for our passion was hardly secret.”

“Rosamund,” the duke said. “It is a charming name. When am I to meet her?”

“Because we traveled secretly, we came quickly with but one servant apiece, a-horse. We carried only the bare essentials. A wardrobe is now being fashioned for us both, Sebastian. I come before you today in altered secondhand garments. They are neat and serviceable, but hardly what I would normally wear, remembering your most elegant court.”

“I should be less splendid in my later years but that my daughter-in-law insists that we keep up appearances,” the duke remarked.

“How is Rudolpho?” the earl asked.

“Fat. Content. And the father of ten daughters and two sons. The eldest of my grandsons, Henrico, the firstborn actually, is my heir after his father. The second son, who is only a little lad of five, will go to the church, of course, unless something happens to his brother. It is good they are so far apart in age. Roberto is the youngest. But ten granddaughters! Marone! I do not know if I can find husbands for them all. Some will have to go into the nunnery. And you, Patrick? Has your son wed and given you grandchildren?”

“Aye. Two lads and a lassie,” the earl said. “He did not choose a warm wife.”

The duke nodded. “Neither did I,” he remarked. “But my wife was young and fair, and I was filled with lust for her.” He chuckled. “It was the same with your son, I assume.”

Patrick nodded. “Aye,” was all he said.

“Do you want it known you are in San Lorenzo?” the duke asked his companion. “We have an English ambassador now.”

“I know. Richard Howard, I believe,” the earl answered.

“Your ambassador told you, of course,” the duke said.

“Rosamund saw him in the street as we entered San Lorenzo and recognized him, although she could not remember his name,” Patrick replied.

“Your lady is a member of the English court?” The duke was interested now.

“Rosamund spent part of her youth as a ward to King Henry the seventh. That is how she became friends with our queen. They were girls together. But since she was wed, in the same year in which our queen married our king, she has remained home on her estates, which are in the north of England.”

“And her husband?” The duke was even more curious.

“She is a widow,” the Earl of Glenkirk replied.

“Ahhh,” the duke sighed. “A woman of experience as well as beauty. You are indeed a fortunate man, Patrick.”

“Our demeanor here will be discreet, Sebastian, as is fitting for a man who has run away with his lover. Let the English ambassador learn of our presence when he learns of it and report it to his master if he thinks it would be of interest to King Henry, but I doubt he will. As I have told you, I am not known to the English or the Scots courts. I am unimportant, as is Rosamund. Hence my value to King James.”

“You are remembered here, Patrick,” the duke noted.

“If the English ambassador should learn of my former position for Scotland, I will explain it by saying we are here because I thought this a romantic place to bring my lover. Does Lord Howard prefer the English winters? And Scots winters are far worse.” He grinned. It suddenly had occurred to Patrick that he was enjoying this adventure, and he had certainly not thought he would.

The duke laughed, seeing his companion’s grin. “I believe you like this game that you find yourself playing, Patrick,” he chuckled.

The Earl of Glenkirk nodded. “I think I do, Sebastian,” he agreed. “It has been a long time since I have enjoyed myself. I am always filled with a sense of my duty, but now I feel like a lad released from his studies. I remember I like the feel of the winter sun on my back and the fragrance of mimosas in February. I have not smelled mimosas since the day I departed San Lorenzo last.”

“Were you always this romantic, Patrick, or is it just that you are in love?” the duke teased him.

“I could not tell you, Sebastian,” the earl replied. “But, aye, I am in love.”

“I look forward to meeting her.” Sebastian di San Lorenzo smiled toothily. “Will you marry her?”

“If she will have me,” Patrick said, feeling that the wily duke need not be privy to the truth of his relationship with Rosamund. Perhaps the white lie he told would protect her from an attempted seduction. But he would warn her nonetheless of the duke’s easily aroused nature.

“Who is doing your wardrobes? Celestina, I assume,” the duke queried.

“Aye.”

“I well remember how you stole her from me,” the duke said. “Her first daughter is mine, you know. We gave her to the church to expiate our sin,” he said with a grin.

“Celestina had a generous nature,” Patrick remembered with a smile.

“She still does, but alas I am much too old to please her now. But, still, we remain friends,” the duke said. “I will see her girls work quickly so you may attend a small party I am giving in three days. It is to welcome the artist Paolo Loredano, who is coming from Venice. He has decided to spend the winter painting in San Lorenzo. It is a great honor to have him here. I hope to commission him to do our portraits. He is a member of the doge’s family, and has studied not only with Gentile Bellini, but his brother, Giovanni, as well. It will be a festive evening, Patrick.”

“Will the English ambassador be at your gathering?” the earl wondered aloud.

“Of course,” the duke said. “But you must come. If you do not, it will seem odd. Little is secret in San Lorenzo, as you well know. Lord Howard has probably already been informed of your presence. He will be curious, of course. You can allay his fears by coming with the Lady Rosamund and being lovers for all to see.”

“You have not lost your knack for intrigue, Sebastian, but you will keep the real purpose of my visit secret, of course,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly. “Sandwiched as you are between France and the Italian states, you would not want to be considered disloyal by either side, I know.”

The duke chuckled. “And eighteen years in your Highland eyrie has not lessened your acute abilities to conspire successfully, Patrick. As far as I am concerned, your visit is just what it appears to be. An older gentleman running away with his young lover.”

The earl winced. “Am I so old, then, Sebastian?” he asked.

“A bit younger than I am, I will admit,” the duke said. “You cannot be so old, however, for you have attracted a young lover. Or is she after your wealth?”

“She has wealth of her own,” the earl said. “Nay. We have, for whatever reason, fallen in love with each other, Sebastian.”

“Does your son know? What was his name? Adam!” the duke remarked.

“He knows nothing but that I am on a mission, sub rosa, in the king’s service,” the earl answered. “But I do not believe he would be distressed by my love for Rosamund. His wife, however, is a different matter. But he thought he loved her and the family was acceptable, so I had no cause for complaint,” the earl concluded with a small grin.

“How many marriages are made for love, my friend?” the duke said sanguinely. “Marriages are made for wealth and land and power. If there is more, one is fortunate. My late wife, God assoil her good soul,” the duke remarked, crossing himself piously, “was not a woman to inspire passion. She understood it and accepted her lot. She was loyal and devoted. She did her duty. I could ask no more of her, and I gave her my respect and loyalty in return. I found love in other places, although I wonder if there was not more lust than love.”

“It is usually more lust,” the earl said quietly. “But not this time. I am old enough, and hopefully wise enough, to know the difference.”

“Then I envy you, Patrick Leslie,” the Duke of San Lorenzo said. “Now, let us have some of our good wine and toast the memories we have made and the memories we will make.” He clapped his hands, and his servitors were immediately by his side.

Afterwards, the Earl of Glenkirk returned to the ambassador’s residence, walking in a leisurely fashion through the city. He stopped in the main market square to purchase a large and colorful bouquet of mimosas from a flower vendor. Walking on, he entered a narrow street, going into a jeweler’s shop, where he bought a delicately wrought filigreed golden collar dotted with pale green peridots. It would adorn the green silk dress very nicely. It was the first piece of jewelry he had ever obtained for Rosamund. He hoped that she would like it. The late afternoon was warm, and he was damp about his collar when he finally reached the top of the hill where the Scots embassy was located.

Lord MacDuff greeted him as he entered the building. “You have been to the palace? Come and tell me what has transpired between you and the wily fox, yon duke.”

The earl signaled to a servant. “Take these to Lady Rosamund,” he said, handing the woman the bouquet of mimosas. “Tell her I will see her shortly.”

Smiling, the servingwoman curtsied, then took the floral tribute and hurried up the stairs.

Patrick joined his host. “He hasn’t changed,” he began, accepting a small silver goblet of wine as he sat down.

“What did you tell him?” Lord MacDuff wanted to know.

“What he needed to know. We have put him in a delicate position, situated as San Lorenzo is between France and Italy,” the earl chuckled. “If the truth should ever come out, Sebastian di San Lorenzo will profess ignorance, outrage, whatever the situation calls for, my lord. He will protect San Lorenzo at all costs, which he should and which is his right. And if Lord Howard is curious as to my presence, you will adhere to the story that I am here with my lover. You will profess ignorance of all else.”

“Do you believe we can weaken the alliance, Patrick?” the ambassador asked.

“Nay, and neither does the king, but he felt that we must make an attempt at it. Even if Venice and the Holy Roman Empire insist on adhering to their agreement with the Holy League, they will have certain doubts, which I shall plant in the minds of those who come to treat with me. They will be less enthusiastic and more cautious than they have been. That is the best that we shall do, Ian. But we shall do it! Henry Tudor has not won yet.”

“Do you know who it is you will meet with yet?” Lord MacDuff asked.

“Nay. But I have a suspicion that the artist from Venice who is arriving in another day or two, and who the duke is feting, may be one of the gentlemen I am to deal with. He is a member of the Loredano family, and he has made a name for himself as a former student of both the Bellini brothers. No one would suspect a Venetian artist of political intrigue,” the earl chuckled. “But I do not know. I shall have to wait and see. Sebastian insisted that Rosamund and I attend this fete. He is curious, of course, to meet her, and still, I suspect, fancies himself a great lover.”

“His adventures have not been quite so public in recent years,” Lord MacDuff said with a smile. “As he has grown more portly and less fleet of foot, he is not so apt to want to find himself facing an angry husband or father.”

“His son, I imagine, has taken over for him,” the earl said dryly.

“Nay! Lord Rudolpho keeps a mistress, but he is discreet,” the ambassador noted.

“I thought he would be like his father,” Patrick said. “I remember saying so to my daughter once. He has fathered enough children.”

“Aye, and all those lasses, to boot,” Lord MacDuff chortled.

The earl stood up, draining his goblet. “I want to thank you for your hospitality, Ian MacDuff. Rosamund has never been out of England until now, except for her brief visit to our court. She has been made to feel most welcome.”

“She is a fair lass, Patrick,” Lord MacDuff said, “and has beautiful manners, according to Pietro, who, as you will remember, values such things. The servants are happy to have a woman in the house being that I am a crusty old bachelor.”

“I would like to remain until spring,” the earl said.

“You are more than welcome,” came the smiling reply. “I think if I had such a lovely woman to love, I would want to remain here until spring, too.”

Patrick left the ambassador and hurried upstairs to his apartments, where he found Rosamund being fitted for her gowns. He sat down to watch, giving Celestina a friendly nod.

“I hear,” the seamstress said, “that you are going to the fete for the Venetian, Patrizio. It will be a grand event, for the duke will be anxious to impress the artist Loredano. The festivals and fetes they have in Venice are said to be spectacular. Our duke will have to go to some effort to affect any admiration from his visitor.” And she chuckled.

He laughed. “How the hell do you know we are going to the duke’s fete? I have only just now come from the palace.”

She rolled her black eyes at him, a gesture he realized he well remembered. “Patrizio, this is San Lorenzo. Here, everyone knows everyone’s business. The English ambassador is curious to meet you, by the way. He wonders why a former Scots ambassador to the duchy has suddenly shown up here. Now.”