Until You (52 page)

“Thank you, madame,” Logan said.

She nodded in reply, and for a moment she grew breathless. She had forgotten that his eyes were so blue-blue.

“Am I to understand that your lasses will come to me?” he said carefully, not wanting to press her in any manner. Tom had warned him to go gently.

“Did I not make myself clear in the matter, my lord?” she asked him, a trifle irritated.

“I would not presume, madame, which is why I query you,” he told her, and his eyes were dancing.

Rosamund felt her cheeks growing warm with a memory. Once she had indeed accused him of presuming when he had said he but assumed. She looked directly at him, and to her surprise, her heart began to hammer again. What the hell was the matter with her? “Yes,” she said, “I should like you to keep Banon and Bessie at Claven’s Carn while I am away, my lord. And I thank you for your kindness in offering my daughters your protection.”

Still seated, he bowed from the waist. “I am glad to be of some service to you, madame,” he told her, his face impassive, his tone mild. “I think it might be best if I took them back with me tomorrow. It is not likely your unpleasant cousin has gotten his thoughts or his men together yet. I realize it is short notice, but your daughters’ safety must be our first consideration. And in addition to the men-at-arms I shall loan you, I shall also send my men to escort you south. With Henry the younger skulking about, you cannot be certain any men-at-arms you hire will not be subverted by false promises. They will not wear their plaids, and to an untrained ear, a Scots borderer and an English borderer sound much alike. They will claim to be your own Friarsgate folk.”

“That is very generous of you, Logan Hepburn,” Rosamund exclaimed.

“It is brilliant!” Thomas enthused.

“Indeed it is,” Edmund agreed.

“With your permission, madame, I can make it so,” he said.

Rosamund looked closely at Logan. There was absolutely no mockery in his tone or his attitude. She nodded. “Aye, I would be glad to have your men protecting me. I will pay them the usual rate for hired men-at-arms, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied. “They will all be grateful for the coin, madame, for it is not often they can come by a bit of silver.”

The meal over, Rosamund arose from the table. “I must go and see that Banon and Bessie’s belongings are packed for the morrow.” She hurried from the hall.

When she had gone, Philippa said, “You like my mother, don’t you, Logan Hepburn?”

He turned his blue eyes to meet her gaze. “Aye, I have always liked your mother, lass.”

Philippa was very curious. “When did you first meet her?”

“I first saw your mother when she was Bessie’s age,” he answered her.

“She was married to Hugh Cabot, then, was she not?”

“Not the summer I first saw her, but soon afterwards,” he told the girl, looking to Edmund and Tom for guidance, but they said nothing, nor gave any indication that he should cease his tale. “Then, when your mother was widowed, I came courting, but she had gone to court. And when she returned she was betrothed and about to wed with your good sire, Owein Meredith. And sadly, she was widowed again.”

“Why didn’t you come courting then, my lord?” Philippa pressed him.

“I did, but I did not approach your mother properly. She turned me away and went up to Edinburgh,” he explained.

“And she fell in love with Uncle Patrick. But he has forgotten her now. She is always very sad, my lord. Do you wish to court her again?”

Logan heard his two male companions chuckle softly. He swallowed hard, not quite certain what he should say, but Philippa was not going to be denied an answer. She stared directly at him, her head cocked to one side questioningly. “Aye,” he told the little girl. “I should very much like to court your mother and marry her, lass, but she is a prickly creature, and I must move carefully this time, for I do not want to lose her again. You must not tell her this, Philippa. Do you understand why?”

Philippa nodded. “I will try to see she contracts no involvements while we are visiting King Henry, my lord. My sisters and I are in agreement that mama is happier with a good husband than without one. We think that you should do very well as our stepfather, if, of course, you are in agreement.”

Astounded, he nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said.

“Then, it is settled,” Philippa told him, and she arose from the high board. “Mama will need my help. I shall leave you gentlemen now.” And she glided from the hall with far more elegance than most girls her age had.

Tom and Edmund burst out laughing, and the two men laughed until their eyes watered, and their sides ached.

“She has far more presence at ten than my own poor Jeannie did at eighteen,” the laird of Claven’s Carn said when his companions finally ceased their laughter. “God’s blood! I hope she will not tell Rosamund of our conversation.”

“She won’t,” Edmund assured him. “She is much like her great-grandmother. My father’s wife was a woman of much good sense who liked to have her life and the lives of those about her well ordered. Philippa is the same. She may look like her mother, but she is nothing like her in character. She will keep this conversation that you have had to herself until she feels the time is right to reveal it. If indeed she ever does.”

“She is an unusual little lass,” Logan said.

Edmund arose from the table. “Come with me, Logan Hepburn, and I will show you where you are to sleep this night. Good night, Tom.”

Lord Cambridge stood up. “Good night, Edmund. Logan,” he said, and he strolled off to find his own bed.

In her rooms, Rosamund had gathered her two younger daughters to her and explained that they would be going to Claven’s Carn for a visit. “The poor laird is very lonely without his wife, and you will have his little lad to play with, my darlings.”

They nodded, not objecting, but they knew the truth, for Philippa had told it to them earlier. She had also told them not to say anything to their mother, for it would but distress her to learn that they knew. “She thinks we are still babies,” Philippa had said.

When she had tucked her daughters into their beds, Rosamund went to help with the packing. Maybel was already gathering what Banon and Bessie would need.

“I am frankly surprised at your good sense in allowing Logan Hepburn to watch over the lasses,” she said bluntly to Rosamund.

“I had to put aside my own feelings and think of what is best for my daughters,” Rosamund answered her.

“So,” Maybel pounced, “you have feelings for the laird!”

“He still irritates me, if that is what you mean,” Rosamund said shortly, “but not so much tonight, perhaps. He was thoughtful and careful in his speech with me. I could not fault him at all.”

“Mayhap he has changed,” Maybel suggested.

“Men rarely change after a certain age,” Rosamund said dryly.

“But that young wife of his, God assoil her soul,” Maybel said, crossing herself, “may have taught him better. He did not love her, but it is said he liked her well enough.”

“You are getting as bad as Tom with all your gossip,” Rosamund laughed, teasing her old companion.

“I cannot believe that you are going away again,” Maybel replied. “You never relished all this traveling about before. Now suddenly you are home but a short time and then you are off again. I like it not!”

“I should have been perfectly content to spend the rest of my life at Friarsgate, Maybel. I have had more than enough of adventuring, but I cannot ignore a royal summons, can I?”

“But why has Queen Katherine summoned you? The friendship between you is nowhere near that of your friendship with Queen Margaret,” Maybel noted. “Queen Katherine does not need you as she once did when you were girls.”

“The summons may have the queen’s signature, but it comes from the king, I am most certain,” Rosamund said. “The English ambassador in San Lorenzo thought he recognized me. We had never met, but he had indeed seen me at court when I last visited. Tom tells me he has returned to England. He probably remembered who I was and told the king. Henry Tudor would have certainly been curious as to what I was doing in San Lorenzo last winter with a Scottish lord. His curiosity is such that he will not be satisfied until he knows the answer to that question.”

“But he is a mighty king,” Maybel said. “All of Europe is at his feet right now. He has won great victories in France and broken Scotland’s spirit at Flodden. Why should he care about the answer to such a question, Rosamund?”

“Because we were once friends, Maybel. He will want to assure himself that I have not betrayed him in any way. Everything like that matters to him. The smallest detail or fact consumes him. It is his way.”

“Will you tell him of the Earl of Glenkirk?” she asked.

“I have no choice, for Lord Howard will have certainly told him,” Rosamund answered her.

“Could you not send him a message explaining?” Maybel queried.

Rosamund laughed. “I wish I could,” she said. “But the king will want to look into my face, into my eyes, as I relate my tale. It is the only way he can be certain that I am still loyal to him. Henry Tudor is a jealous man, Maybel.”

“It seems to me,” Maybel muttered, “that he has changed little from that boy who attempted to seduce you beneath his own grandmother’s nose.”

“Oh, he has indeed changed, Maybel. Power and wealth have brought about that change. He wields both mightily, even if beneath the surface he is still that bad boy,” Rosamund said quietly.

Maybel sighed. “I don’t like your going,” she said.

“Nor do I, but to disobey a royal summons would bring dire consequences upon Friarsgate, and I have spent my entire life watching over my lands. I do not want to be forced into another arranged marriage with one of the king’s men; nor do I want Philippa endangered. I will go. Besides, Tom will be with me, and you know how much he can amuse the king and queen. I will be all right.”

 

In the morning the laird of Claven’s Carn prepared to take Rosamund’s daughters with him over the border into Scotland. They met unexpectedly in the Great Hall before the others had assembled. She had just come from the mass.

“I am glad we are alone,” he said. “I wanted to assure you that I will guard the lasses as if they were my own, Rosamund.”

“I know you will,” she said. Her insides were melting at the sight of those blue-blue eyes as he looked at her.

“When will you return?” he asked softly.

“I do not know,” she responded honestly. “I do not really enjoy King Henry’s court, but I cannot refuse my own queen’s call. I suspect the king has learned of my sojourn in San Lorenzo and wants an explanation. Henry Tudor is a suspicious man, always seeing demons where there are none to be found.”

Logan nodded, understanding. Then he said, “Rosamund, I do not always speak with delicacy, but might I humbly request that you contract no alliances while you are away. I should like, nay, I should enjoy, the opportunity to become your friend when you return.”

“My friend?” She looked at him askance.

He flushed, realizing what he had said might easily be misconstrued. “Your friend,” he repeated. “And perhaps a friendship between us could lead to a . . .” he hesitated, afraid to say the word lest he frighten her off for good.

“You wish to court me with an eye towards marriage?” she asked frankly.

“Aye!” And his look was one of such relief that she laughed.

“Then I will contract no unions while I am away, Logan, but other than that I make you no promises. Do you understand me? I am still not certain that I will marry again.” The smile she gave him was tremulous and brief.

He wanted to say that she had shown no hesitation with Lord Leslie, but he did not. He remembered seeing them together at Stirling. He had never in his life beheld such raw and unbounded love as they had exhibited for each other. He had never imagined love like that existed. But even if she never loved him like that, he knew he wanted her as he had always wanted her. He would accept what she had to give, if indeed there was anything left in her heart. “I understand,” he told her. “I ask nothing, and you render me no promise. We shall begin anew, and perhaps something good may come of it, Rosamund.”

The hall began to be peopled now with servants, and the children came, eager and excited, running to Logan and bidding him a good morning. Rosamund was touched by the sight of it. Her daughters obviously liked the Scotsman, and that was to the good.

“My lord! My lord!” Bessie was tugging at his sleeve. She was the daughter most like Owein Meredith with her soft blond hair and gray-blue eyes.

“Yes, Bessie,” he asked her, “what is it, lass?”

“May I take my puppy with me, my lord? The terrier that Uncle Tom gave me for my natal day celebration?” She was holding a small black and tan pup in her arms.

Logan leaned down, saying as he did, “He doesn’t look very big, Bessie. I suspect he won’t take up a great deal of room, and he would be very lonely without you. Aye, we must take him. Does he have a name yet?” His big hand stroked the pup’s head, and the puppy’s tongue licked at his fingers.

“He is Tam for my Uncle Tom,” Bessie answered.

“We’ll put him in a small basket, lass, and you will carry him yourself on your pony,” the laird told her with a smile.

“He is a very kind man, mama,” Philippa murmured, coming to her mother’s side. “I do believe Banon and Bessie will have a fine time with him.”

“Yes,” her mother said. Nothing more. She was suddenly seeing Logan in a new light. Perhaps Jeannie, God assoil her soul, had indeed civilized him.

 

After the morning meal they prepared for the laird’s departure. In the courtyard, the girls already mounted upon their ponies, Logan said to Rosamund, “I will return tomorrow with the men I intend to watch over Friarsgate, as well as those I choose to escort you south.”