Page 17 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

“It is all my fault,”

Velvet said, distraught. “I came upon the earl and Lady de Boult this afternoon. He was caressing the creature most ardently. It was infuriating. I could not help myself, Pansy. I created a terrible fuss. When my temper had cooled, the earl’s temper had heated considerably. He dragged me back here, and insists that we leave for Scotland today to be married. I had hoped that Robin and Angel would intercede for me, but they have gone to Devon. What am I to do?”

“It appears, mistress, that there is nothing to do but go with the earl,”

replied Pansy. “He is your rightful betrothed. Don’t be afraid, for I shall come with you.”

“Nay, Pansy! You must ride for Devon and send my brother after us! ’Tis my only hope!”

“I’ll do no such thing, Mistress Velvet! Why, me ma would have the hide off me if I left you now. She would, and that’s a fact! Always stay with your mistress, she’s told me. Why, she would be with m’ lady Skye this very minute had not her ladyship forbidden her the voyage. If, however, you’ll write a note for Lord Southwood, I’ll see that it gets delivered. Me cousin, Elvy, is a footman here in the house.”

“I’ll write it immediately!”

Velvet hurried to the desk.

“And I’ll pack for us, for we’re off to Scotland whether we will or no,”

replied Pansy, beginning to gather up the necessities.

While Velvet frantically scribbled a plea for help to her brother, Pansy got together a small parcel containing some changes of linen, several silk shifts, a warm nightshift, a comb, and a brush for her mistress. For herself, she put together a similar packet. Then she went to the door of the apartment and, opening it, told the waiting Dugald, “Fetch the housekeeper, so I may explain what things of me mistress’s are to be shipped north.”

“I canna leave her ladyship,”

Dugald replied. “Ye know the earl’s orders.”

“Then you’ll not mind if I speak to the housekeeper meself,”

said Pansy.

“I dinna see any harm in it, lassie. Run along, but dinna dawdle, fer his lordship’s anxious to be off.”

“I’ll run like there’s wings on me feet,”

replied Pansy pertly. “Let me tell me mistress first though.”

She popped back into Velvet’s rooms, closing the door once more behind her. “Give me the note, mistress. I’ll get it to Elvy now, and when I get back, I’ll help you change into your riding clothes.”

Silently Velvet handed Pansy her missive, which the tiring woman slipped into her bodice, and then Pansy was quickly out the door, hurrying down the hall.

Dugald grinned after her and licked his lips. There was something English he’d like to get familiar with, and just mayhap on the trip north he’d have the opportunity. She was a fine-looking little lass. He liked them small and buxom, and he’d never seen such blue eyes, like bluebells they were. He even liked her rich chestnut-colored hair and her freckled face. Aye, she looked like a lass who could warm a man’s bed very well of a winter’s night.

Pansy, unaware of his thoughts, hurried to seek the housekeeper. Finding her, she explained that Mistress Velvet would be leaving shortly for the north, and that it was imperative that her clothing followed her within a day or two. Since she herself must accompany her mistress, she did not have time to pack it.

The housekeeper nodded with an understanding smile. Young lovers were always so impatient, though my lord Southwood would certainly be disappointed that his sister had not waited until the spring to get married, when her parents returned home.

Pansy dared say nothing. Instead she thanked the housekeeper for her kindness, and then asked if the good woman knew where her cousin, Elvy, was so that she might bid him farewell.

Elvy was in the pantry cleaning the silver and looked very surprised when Pansy told him that she and Mistress Velvet were leaving that very afternoon for Scotland. “ ’Tis a quick decision, it is,”

he said. “Is she then with child that a wedding must be celebrated so soon?”

“Nay, dunce!”

snapped Pansy, outraged. “He’s forcing her to come with him.”

She reached into her bodice and drew out Velvet’s note. “Take this to me lord Southwood in Devon, as quickly as you can, Elvy. Wait until after we’ve gone and then ride like the wind. With luck, Lord Southwood will catch us before we reach the border. Me mistress and the earl had the most terrible argument, Elvy, and now in a temper Lord Gordon insists the marriage be celebrated without further delay. Me lady would wait until her parents return home in the spring. What is the harm in that, I ask you?”

Elvy shook his head. “None that I can see, Pansy. She’s a good girl, Mistress Velvet is, and has ever been loving of her parents. He’s unreasonable, this Scotsman is. I’ll never understand why Lord de Marisco betrothed her to a foreigner anyhow.”

“The whys and wherefores of the gentry aren’t for us to wonder about, Elvy. Just get the note to me lord Southwood. Now I’d best get back lest they leave without me. I don’t want me lady to ride alone.”

She left him and flew back upstairs.

“That didn’t take long,”

Dugald remarked as Pansy hurried back to the apartment door.

“I’m a swift worker,”

Pansy replied.

“Aye, and I’ll just wager ye are.”

He chuckled.

“Mind your manners, you grinning baboon,”

she snapped at him, then pushed past him into Velvet’s rooms. As soon as the door had shut behind her, she said to her waiting mistress, “ ’Tis done now, and you need have no further worry. Lord Southwood will catch up with us before we are too far from London, I’ll vow!”

Velvet nodded. “We had best hurry, Pansy. I don’t want to be dragged off before I can change into comfortable clothing.”

The two women quickly donned their travel garments. They knew they would be expected to ride astride, for Lord Gordon would be in a hurry, so they both put on split-legged skirts like the ones that Velvet’s mother had designed for herself years before. With them they wore shirts, Velvet’s of silk, Pansy’s a more sturdy linen, and over this warm cloaks. Both had boots, Velvet’s of fine leather that came to her knee, Pansy’s made of a less elegant leather that only came to her ankles.

With a sigh Velvet looked about her bedchamber and wondered if she would ever see it again. Oh, why was Robin away when she needed him? And why couldn’t Alexander Gordon accept the fact that she didn’t want to be married to him—at least not yet. With another little sigh she picked up her cloak. “Come along, Pansy. I imagine his lordship is very impatient by now.”

“Aye,”

replied the girl, “but me mother says ’tis a good thing to keep a man waiting lest he become too sure of you.”

She gave Velvet a cheery smile. “It’s a lovely time of year to go north, Mistress Velvet, and I’ve not a doubt Lord Southwood will have caught up with us before we even get to Worcester. Take your gloves now, else you ruin your beautiful hands.”

She handed her mistress a pair of soft beige kid gloves.

Together they left the apartment, Pansy picking up the two packets that would be stuffed into their saddlebags. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving London, and if the truth were known she wasn’t sorry that her mistress was finally going to settle down. Pansy had grown up with her mother’s stories of Mistress Skye, and she decided that she would far prefer being settled in one place, even if that place was Scotland. I’m not a lass for adventuring, she thought to herself.

There were four horses waiting outside of Lynmouth House in the drive. Lord BrocCairn’s mount was a large gray stallion at least eighteen hands tall, with a black mane and tail. Dugald and Pansy had smaller, sturdier brown geldings while Velvet’s mount was a fine-boned elegant black mare who danced nervously awaiting her mistress.

“Where is my chestnut stallion?”

Velvet demanded.

“There can be only one stallion in my stables,”

Lord Gordon replied, “and Ulaidh is that stallion. I have arranged to have your horse returned to Queen’s Malvern as he is a valuable breeding animal. I knew you would not want him sold.”

“You are too kind, my lord,”

she said dryly. “Have you named my mare?”

“Her name is Sable,”

he replied. “She is a daughter of Ulaidh.”

Without warning, he boosted her into the saddle. “If you wish to discuss my stables, Velvet, we can do so as we ride. The day wanes already.”

They rode out from Lynmouth House and took the road north toward St. Albans, where Alex said they would stop for the night. “I do not wish to hire post horses at inns along the way, and so we must rest our own animals daily and see that they are well fed and watered,”

he stated.

Velvet might find many things to disagree with when dealing with Alex Gordon, but his care of their horses was not going to be one of them. She had been raised to have a great respect for horses by her parents who, once they had been removed from their seafaring activities by Elizabeth Tudor when they were forced to make Queen’s Malvern their home, had raised horses during most of the years of her youth.

Travel, even in this enlightened day and age, was not easy. Velvet was rather surprised that Alex would undertake such a long journey with two women along without an armed escort. The farther you journeyed from London, the less safe the roads became. Two men, two women, four horses. It seemed dangerous, even foolish. The horses would be their most precious possession. No, Velvet wasn’t going to argue with him this time. Besides, the slower they went, the faster Robin could catch up with them.

Velvet settled herself in her saddle and concentrated on learning the whims and ways of her new mare. She quickly found that Sable was beautifully trained, needing only the lightest touch of the rein to bring her to obedience. “What a lovely little creature Sable is,”

she exclaimed. “Her manners are perfect. Who trained her?”

“I did,”

Alex replied. “She’s very spirited, but then I’ve always had a way with skittish females, I’m told.”

He grinned rather impudently at her.

Velvet tossed her head. “We’ll see, my lord, how good you really are,”

was her sharp retort.

They rode the twenty miles between London and St. Albans, stopping after sunset at the Queen’s Head Inn. St. Albans was a lovely town on a hill overlooking the Ver River. Although there had originally been a Roman settlement on the site, the present town had grown up around the great abbey that had been built by Offa, king of Mercia, after the departure of the Romans. He had used the stones from the Roman town to raise up the religious house, and then he had named it after Britain’s first Christian martyr.

Velvet, however, was in no mood to remember her history. It had been a long time since she had ridden for such a long distance, and she found her legs, and other more delicate parts of her anatomy, quite sore. There were only two things that she wanted: a bath and a soft bed. They were fortunate in that the inn, although a popular one, was not crowded. They were able to obtain two rooms and a private parlor in which to take their meals. While Dugald saw to the horses, Pansy saw that her mistress had a good hot bath. She then wrapped Velvet in the silk nightshift she had packed and tucked her into bed.

“Tell his lordship that I shall not be joining him for supper, Pansy. I shall take a bit of capon and some wine right here.”

Pansy curtsied, then informed the earl that her mistress was extremely fatigued from their ride and would be dining in her bed.

Alex smiled to himself. Obviously being a Maid of Honor, and one of the darlings of Elizabeth’s court, did not prepare a lass for a long ride. She’d be well used to it, he thought, by the time they reached Dun Broc.

The following day dawned wet and dreary, but despite the weather they reached Northampton by nightfall. The rain continued for two more days during which time they passed through Leicester and Derby. The fourth day of their journey dawned bright and sunny, and they rode farther that day than they had in the previous two.

That evening at Sheffield’s Rose and Crown inn Alex told Velvet that this ancient English town, famous for its cutlery, had been the place where Mary, Queen of Scots had been imprisoned for fourteen years. Looking up at Sheffield Castle as they rode away from the town the following morning, Velvet shivered, thinking of that wretched queen.

It was five and a half days since they had left London. They were nearly two hundred miles from the city and Velvet was growing increasingly nervous with each mile that passed. Where was Robin? Then she soothed herself with logic. Traveling at top speeds, it would take at least two days for the footman to reach Lynmouth. It would take two days for Robin to return to London, and two to three days more for him to catch up with them. However, each mile they traveled was another mile for him, too. It would be a losing battle unless she could get Alex to stop somewhere along their route, thus giving her brother time to reach them.

They arrived at York and put up at the Bishop’s Mitre Inn. It was a luxurious place overlooking the junction of the Ouse and the Foss rivers just outside the walls of the medieval part of the town. Velvet, who had taken her supper in bed since they had begun their journey, this night made the effort to dine with Lord Gordon.

“I am embarrassed to come before you dressed in my riding clothes, but I suspect I am a great deal more respectable than if I wore my only other garment, my nightshift.”

She smiled wryly at him.

“You are growing used to our pace now?”

he questioned her. “Aye, my lord. My poor bottom is well used to my saddle by now.”

He chuckled at her small attempt at humor. Perhaps she was becoming more tractable although she had hardly spoken to him at all during their journey.

“It would be nice to have a day out of the saddle, however,”

she continued. “Might we stay in York a short while? I am told the cathedral is magnificent, with more stained glass than any other church in all of England.”

“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.