Until You (21 page)

“The English are always suspicious of the Scots,” the earl said casually. “Is that not so, my love?” He addressed Rosamund.

“Always,” Rosamund agreed pleasantly. “The Scots, you see, cannot be trusted, Celestina. Should the neckline be that low?”

“It is the fashion here, madame,” Celestina answered her.

“It is higher at the Scots court,” Rosamund noted.

“It is colder at the Scots court,” the seamstress said pithily. “Here in the south we like the breeze to caress our skin on a warm winter’s night. Is that not so, my lord?”

“I think the neckline is most correct,” Patrick agreed with her.

“Will you think it so correct when this duke ogles my breasts?” Rosamund asked innocently.

“He is permitted to ogle, my darling,” the earl told her. “But nothing more.”

The two women laughed.

“I am doing the bodice of the pale green gown more elaborately, madame,” Celestina said. “You will wear it to the duke’s fete along with the gift Patrizio has purchased for you on his way from the palace.”

“You bought me a gift?” Rosamund squealed. “I mean, besides the flowers?—which are lovely, my lord. What are they called? And where is my gift?”

“The blooms are mimosas, and as for your gift, I am not certain I shall give it to you now. You are much too greedy,” he teased her.

“That is your decision, of course, my lord, but I should dislike seeing a lovely piece of jewelry go to waste,” Rosamund murmured.

“How can you be certain it is jewelry?” he asked her, smiling.

“Isn’t it?” she asked mischievously. “Or perhaps you have bought me a villa here and could not carry it with you.”

Celestina chortled. “You have finally met your match, Patrizio, and how glad I am to be here to see it. There! I am done. Maria! Take madame’s gown, and be careful, girl. The fabric is delicate.” She gathered up her tools and put them in her basket. “In just a few more days’ time, madame, you will have a new and beautiful wardrobe to get you through the winter here.” Then, with a curtsy, she departed the earl’s apartments.

“We are remaining the entire winter months?” Rosamund asked Patrick.

He nodded. “It will be easier traveling in late spring or early summer, my love.”

“I had not thought to be away so long,” she replied.

The Earl of Glenkirk put an arm about her. “Your uncle Edmund and your cousin Tom are husbanding Friarsgate for you, Rosamund.”

“ ’Tis my lasses I worry more about, Patrick,” she told him.

“And do you not trust Maybel to watch over them?” he asked.

“Aye, but I do not like it that my daughters are so long without their mother,” she answered him. “Still, Maybel raised me. At least my girls are not being forced into marriages by Uncle Henry, as I was.”

“And have you not said that you never think of yourself, only your duty. I understand because I am the same way; but now, for just this little space of time, you and I are together, away from those responsibilities. I mean for us to enjoy ourselves.”

“But how will you tell the king what he needs to know?” she wondered.

“When the die has been cast, Lord MacDuff will see a message is sent to the king under his diplomatic seal. And you and I will remain here to bask in the sunshine, make love, and drink the wine of San Lorenzo.”

Rosamund sighed. “It sounds wonderful,” she said softly, turning in his arms to face him, raising her head up for a kiss, which he placed upon her ripe lips. “Now,” she said, “where is my present?”

Patrick burst out laughing and reached into his doublet to draw out the flat white leather case. “Here, you vixen,” he said, handing it to her.

Rosamund struggled to maintain restraint. She looked at it, the fingers of one hand running over the soft leather. Finally she snapped the small catch and raised the lid. Her amber eyes grew round. “Oh, Patrick, it is beautiful!” she said, lifting the filigreed gold collar from its velvet nest, setting the box aside. “What are these tiny green gemstones? I have never seen any like them.”

“They are peridots,” he told her. “Their color matches the gown Celestina first showed us. There is a larger stone that can be mounted on a ribbon to be worn in the middle of your forehead. I should like to purchase it, but I wanted to be certain first that you like this.”

“Patrick, you are too good to me,” she told him.

“Has any other man ever given you jewelry?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Aye,” she said, and her lashes brushed her creamy cheek.

“Who?” he demanded, his tone jealous.

“My cousin Tom,” Rosamund laughed, unable to taunt him. “Tom, as you know, is an unusual gentleman. He has a passion for beautiful things and possesses a great deal of lovely jewelry. When we were in London, he gifted me with many lovely pieces, but none as beautiful as this collar, my lord.” Standing on tiptoes Rosamund kissed him. “Thank you, my darling!”

“Then I shall get the ribbon jewel?” he asked her.

“Would I be too greedy if I said yes?” she wondered aloud.

“No,” he told her, smiling down into her eyes. “It will suit you, and every minute of the duke’s fete I shall be jealous of all the men admiring you.”

“Oh, Patrick, you never have to be jealous over me,” Rosamund told him. “I love you as I have never loved any man! I knew nothing of love until that night our eyes met across the Great Hall at Stirling.”

“Did Logan Hepburn never attract your notice?” he pressed her.

“Aye, he did attract my notice. He is young and handsome and a very beast of a man. But I never loved him,” Rosamund said.

“I don’t know how it is possible you love me and not him,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly. “Why have we met now, in the autumn of my years? And why are we both so duty bound to our families and lands? Sometimes I think I should like to run away from it all. But, of course, I won’t, and you won’t.”

“Nay, we shall both do our duty in the end, Patrick,” she replied. “But for now we have each other, and we have San Lorenzo. Do not speak on our parting again. It will come in its time, and we will know it. But not yet.”

He drew her back into his embrace, his arms tightening about her. He said nothing further, but his lips touched the top of her auburn head. How could they know each other so well on such brief acquaintance? He didn’t understand, but he also didn’t care. She was here, with him, and he loved her. It was all he needed to know for now. He smoothed her silken hair with his big hand, and she sighed contentedly.

The afternoon of the duke’s fete Celestina and Maria arrived with Rosamund’s gown.

“It cannot be the same garment!” Rosamund cried as she looked at the beautiful gown spread across the bed. There was an underskirt embroidered with gold thread in a design of leaping fish, shells, and sea horses. The bodice was sewn all over with pearls. The full sleeves were slashed to reveal delicate natural-colored lace sleeves beneath. The slashings were tied with gold cord. The pale green watered silk overskirt had been left plain, for in combination with the rest of the gown it needed no further artifice. “It is beautiful!” Rosamund said, looking to Celestina. “I cannot thank you enough!”

Celestina nodded. “You will have all the gentlemen clustering about you tonight, madame. It is a beautiful gown, and Patrizio will pay dearly for it,” she laughed with good humor. “I brought you shoes. Your Annie loaned me one of your boots to match for size. I hope they will not be too big.” She then produced from her voluminous apron pocket a pair of square-toed slippers covered with the same pale green watered silk as the gown and held them out for Rosamund to take.

Rosamund shook her head. “They are lovely, Celestina. And thanks to you, I will be suitably dressed for the fete.”

“I shall go and have something to eat with my father,” Celestina said. “Then, when you are ready to depart, I shall make certain that everything is in order.”

“Does she think I don’t know how to prepare you?” Annie said, just a little irritated by the seamstress’ attitude.

“She is an artist in her own right, Annie, and you will admit that this gown is one of the most beautiful gowns I have ever possessed,” Rosamund said.

Annie nodded her head in agreement. “Even Sir Thomas would approve of it, though the neckline still looks too low to me.”

“Have a bath prepared,” Rosamund instructed the servingwoman. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could fill my tub as easily as we empty it?”

Again Annie nodded. It was necessary to fill the brass-bound oak tub with bucket after bucket of water, but to empty it was a far simpler operation. At the bottom of the tub was a small flexible tube that fit into the side and was unrolled over the terrace’s edge. At the end of its length was a cork, which when removed allowed the tub to drain down onto the rocks below.

While the tub was being filled, Rosamund ate. She was given a dish of fluffy eggs and half of a sweet melon. Until she arrived in San Lorenzo she had never tasted melon. Now she insisted on having it every day. When the tub was filled and Annie had scented it with Rosamund’s favorite white heather fragrance, she arose from her table, carrying her goblet of sweet wine. Annie took the caftan from her mistress, and naked, Rosamund walked out onto the terrace, handing the goblet to her servant and climbing into her tub. Annie handed the goblet back when Rosamund was settled, then pinned her mistress’ hair up.

“Leave me for now, Annie. I will wash eventually, but for now I just want to enjoy sitting here in the sunshine and watching the blue sea.”

“You’ll want to siesta afterwards, my lady,” Annie said. “I’ll move your new gown from the bed and set it safely aside.” She turned and went back into the apartment.

Rosamund sipped her wine and stared down into the harbor of Arcobaleno. There was a most magnificent ship sailing majestically into the port. It had royal-purple-and-gold striped sails, and on its bow was a full-bosomed golden mermaid with scarlet tresses. Rosamund smiled. Obviously, some very important person was aboard such a gorgeous vessel.

“It’s bringing the artist, Paolo Loredano,” Patrick said as he joined her on the terrace.

“Perhaps the ship belongs to the doge himself,” Rosamund remarked.

“Or perhaps it belongs to Maestro Loredano himself,” the earl suggested. “He is famed for his portraits, as was his first master, Gentile Bellini. The duke is anxious to have him do portraits of himself and his family. Loredano, however, is very particular about whom he paints. He will not take just any commission offered, and has offended more than a few.”

“What is the duke like?” Rosamund asked.

“Older even than I am,” the earl teased her. “Of medium height, a bit corpulent from too-good living. His hair was once dark, but now it is gray. He will appear the good host and will go out of his way to charm you, but never forget that he is clever, he is ruthless, and he is a seducer.”

“Should I fear him, then?” she wondered.

“Nay,” he said. “You have treated with kings, Rosamund. Just use your own charm, and remember he is but a duke,” Patrick said.

“I will remember,” she told him. “Do you want to share my tub, my lord?”

He smiled a slow smile. “I have been waiting for you to ask, my darling,” he said.

After stripping his clothing off where he stood, Patrick climbed into the great tub with her. She offered him a sip of her wine, which he accepted. Then, setting the goblet aside on the tub’s edge, she took up the flannel cloth, rubbed her soap over it, and began to bathe him herself.

“They say in earlier days, the lady of the castle and her serving girls always washed important guests,” Rosamund told him. “They do not say if she got into the tub with her guests, however.” She gently washed his face, saying as she did, “You must have Dermid shave you again before tonight. I can already see the shadow on your jaw, my lord.” She kissed his mouth quickly.

He yanked her hard against him, and she felt his manhood pressing with some urgency against her thigh. His eyes blazed down into hers. His mouth fused itself against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth to play with hers. Her full breasts were flattened against his broad chest. He held her face between his two hands while he continued to kiss her, his passions rising even as he felt her passions rise. “I do not believe,” he said in a hard voice, “that I have ever fucked you in our tub, Rosamund, but I am about to do it now,” he growled, His hands plunged beneath the warm water, and pressing her back against the side of the tub, he lifted her up, impaling her on his hardness. “Ahh, my love,” he groaned. She was tight and hot.

Rosamund’s eyes closed with her pleasure as she slid her arms about his neck. He filled her with his passion, and her head fell onto his shoulder as he loved her until their combined desire burst, leaving them both weak but sated. “I adore you, Patrick Leslie,” she said softly in his ear. “I shall never love another as I love you.”

His tongue licked at her face, her throat, her chest and shoulder as he stood, his manhood still hard and deep within her. “You consume me,” he groaned softly. “I cannot get enough of your sweetness, Rosamund.”