Page 24 of Until You (Friarsgate Inheritance #2)

“I wonder how long it will take the laird to know that you are home.” Tom teased Rosamund as they rode down the road to Friarsgate.

“Did you not see the clansmen on the hilltop?” she asked him, laughing.

He grinned at her. “You can’t blame the man for being eager. How long has he been waiting for you?”

“Tom, I have not said I would marry him. He has not even asked me,” she protested.

“Do you doubt for a moment that isn’t his intent, dear girl?” he replied.

“Perhaps I just want him for a lover,” Rosamund answered him. “What is the purpose in my marrying again, Tom? I have three heiresses. He has an heir for Claven’s Carn. I am English. He is Scots. I will not give up Friarsgate until I die. He will not give up Claven’s Carn. We are, I am coming to realize, very much alike.”

“Two like beings—a perfect partnership, dear girl!” Tom insisted.

“We shall see,” Rosamund said again, as she had been saying all the way home.

Lord Cambridge clamped his lips together. If he heard her utter those three words again he was simply going to scream. Or shake her until she got some common sense. He would remain overnight, and then he had to get home to Otterly. This whole situation was beginning to wear on his nerves. He did not wish to be around while his cousin and Logan Hepburn sparred with each other. He did not envy the laird of Claven’s Carn, and as much as Tom loved his cousin, she could sometimes be very difficult.

Reaching the house, Philippa was off her horse before her elders, throwing herself into Maybel’s arms and chattering a mile a minute about all her adventures and her best friend, Cecily FitzHugh. Maybel hugged and kissed the girl, then set her aside firmly, looking to Rosamund. Rosamund dismounted and went wordlessly into Maybel’s outstretched arms.

“God’s blood, old woman, it is good to be home again!” she said, hugging Maybel. “Has all been well while I have been away? The sheep are looking fat enough.”

“Edmund will tell you everything you need to know and some things that you don’t, but I can’t stop him,” Maybel replied. “You look better than I have ever seen you returning from court, lass.”

“That is because I stayed but a brief time, and having made my peace with the king and his queen, took little part in the activities of the court. I was able to eat and sleep enough, which my daughter was not, for she loves the court, I fear.” She linked her arm with Maybel’s, and the two women strolled into the house, seating themselves in the hall together on a settle by the fireplace. “Philippa’s good manners, more your doing surely than mine, have won her the queen’s favor. She is to return in two years to take her place among Kate’s maids of honor,” Rosamund told Maybel.

“What an honor!” Maybel said, but then she fretted, “She will yet be a child, Rosamund. How can we let her go?”

“There is no choice in the matter, Maybel. But I would trust my daughter with the queen, for her household is orderly and chaste. Her maids are the most virtuous girls in the kingdom, I am certain. And Philippa has made a good friend in Cecily FitzHugh, who will serve the queen with her. She is the daughter of the Earl of Renfrew. The younger of her two brothers may be a possible match for Philippa. He is fourteen, and having served in the queen’s household is now being sent to France and Italy for more studious pursuits.”

Maybel listened, nodding as Rosamund spoke. “Does Philippa know of this lad?” she finally asked. “What does she say?”

“I have not spoken to her about it, for it is too soon, but you can be certain that she knows. These little girls at court know more gossip than even the servants do,” Rosamund laughed. “Besides, they may grow acquainted and decide they do not like each other. Nothing has been formally discussed or settled. There may be another boy better suited to Philippa. I have time, but Tom frets like an old lady.”

“And with good cause, dear girl,” he said, joining them. “She does not understand the necessity of looking about now and winnowing the possible from the impossible.”

“That’s all right, Tom,” Maybel said calmly. “As long as our Rosamund has you to rely upon, she’ll not go wrong. Of course, she may take another husband one day, and then your influence would certainly wane.”

“His influence will never ebb with me, Maybel,” Rosamund said. “And as for marriage, we shall see.”

Lord Cambridge gritted his teeth so hard they hurt.

Edmund and Father Mata joined them at the high board late in the day as the meal was served.

“Has all been well, uncle, in my absence?” Rosamund asked him.

He nodded slowly. “But I have been grateful for the laird’s clansmen, lass, for there have been strangers on the heights, of late, observing Friarsgate.”

“Who are they?” she wanted to know. “I saw one as I rode in and assumed it was a Hepburn.”

“I cannot be certain, for each time we have attempted to approach them, they run,” he said. “I suspect they may be of your cousin’s ilk.”

“Damn him!” Rosamund swore softly. “He is after Philippa, the devil! I will catch him and hang him myself!”

Father Mata crossed himself at her words, saying, “Lady, there must be another way to solve this matter.”

“Tell me, then, good priest,” she answered him. “I have said plainly that my daughter will not marry Henry Bolton the younger. I have said it more than once. What else can I do if he will not listen?”

“Young Philippa must be guarded closely at all times,” the priest agreed. “You must be frank with her and explain the dangers involved.”

“It is time,” Edmund agreed, and the others about the high board nodded.

“What must I be told?” Philippa asked them. She had been bored the entire ride home from Windsor. Her mother and her uncle had paid little attention to her.

“My cousin Henry wants to steal you away and force you to marriage so he may get his hands on Friarsgate, Philippa,” Rosamund told the girl. “So you must be protected.”

“But I am to marry Giles FitzHugh someday,” Philippa said.

“That is not so!” her mother said quickly. “Who told you such a thing?”

“Cecily did. She said she overheard her father and mother discussing it when they did not realize she was nearby. Giles is very handsome, mama.”

Rosamund shook her head wearily. “There has been no discussion between the Earl of Renfrew and me, Philippa. Giles FitzHugh might make you a good husband one day, or he might not. And there are other possibilities to consider before any decision regarding your future is decided.”

“But I like Giles FitzHugh,” Philippa said stubbornly. “He is so handsome.”

“So you have said, Philippa,” her mother remarked dryly, “but there are other requirements in a husband that are more important than just his features. And besides, you are much too young to be thinking of marriage. I will not even consider a match for you until you are fourteen.”

“Oh, mama! You were wed three times by the time you were fourteen,” Philippa countered.

“We are not discussing me, Philippa. We are speaking of your future,” Rosamund said in a steely voice. “Now, if you have finished your meal, you may be excused.”

Philippa slipped from her place, and as she did so, one of the laird’s clansmen arose to follow her. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Rosamund wondered. She looked to the priest.

“Mata, send to the laird on the morrow,” was all she said.

“Very good, my lady,” the priest answered her, but they both knew he had already done so.

“Now,” Rosamund said, turning back to her uncle, “other than strangers looking down on us, all was well?”

He nodded. “We’re beginning the harvest now, niece. It will prove to be a good one, as the fields are lush with their crops. The orchards, too, will give us a bounty, but the fruits will be a bit smaller this year, for we have not had quite the rains we have in most summers. Still, the apples and pears will be the sweeter for it.”

“The wool?” she asked him.

“Of excellent quality,” he said. “The sheep are fat and content this year. The cloth woven will be the best we have had yet. We’ll be ready for next year. We’ve withheld enough this year that the merchants in Carlisle are complaining already,” he chuckled. “I’ve noised about what we intend to do, and they are not happy.”

Lord Cambridge smiled and nodded. “Have you begun the dyeing yet?”

“We will once the harvest is in,” Edmund replied. “The dyeing and the weaving make for good winter work for the Friarsgate folk, Tom. But by springtime, I promise you, we will fill your ship’s hole with fine cargo.”

“We shall be very rich by this time next year,” Tom said with a grin. “The Friarsgate Blue cloth will bring us a premium, especially as we shall not offer much of it. You must hold back at least half of every year’s stockpile in the warehouse, Edmund. We alone will regulate the sale of the Friarsgate Blue woolen cloth.”

“Should we not be more generous the first year and then hold back later in order to drive up the price of the cloth?” Rosamund asked him.

“Nay,” he said. “There may be among our mercers some more clever than others, who will hold back from their own meager supply in order to enrich themselves. We cannot take that chance, for that would then cut into our profits. Nor will we permit it,” Tom said. “Any mercer who does not sell his entire supply will receive none the following year. We will know how much they sell by how much we sell them, and we will demand proof of the sale of their entire stock.”

“I think,” Rosamund told him, “I shall leave the stratagem to you, cousin. I shall simply watch over Friarsgate and all that entails.”

Logan Hepburn came late the following day. Rosamund looked at him as a man for the first time in a long while. He was still handsome in his rough-hewn way. His eyes remained that blue-blue color that had once had the effect of making her weak in the knees when she looked into them. She wondered if they could do that again. But was there the faintest touch of silver at his temples amid the ebony of his thick hair? He slid easily from his mount, and coming to greet her, he smiled.

“Welcome home, lady,” he said.

“You did not bring my daughters back?” she asked him.

“Nay. I think it best they remain hidden at Claven’s Carn with me until we have solved the difficulty of your cousin,” he told her.

“You know?” But she wasn’t surprised. The priest was his kin and would have told him, of course.

He nodded. “His men have been watching Friarsgate, and we have watched them, though they know it not,” Logan said with an engaging grin.

“I don’t know what to do,” Rosamund said honestly. “I cannot keep looking over my shoulder forever. And I cannot have Philippa frightened over this.”

“Then we must find a way to defeat Henry Bolton the younger, for good and for all,” the laird told her frankly.

“How?” Rosamund asked.

“Perhaps we may even use your Lord Dacre against him if we are clever. Henry is raiding on both sides of the border right now, lady. Lord Dacre is raiding on the Scots side, though he has been told to cease by his king. Still, Henry Tudor makes no effort to enforce his edict with Lord Dacre, which leads me to believe he raises havoc in the borders with private royal sanction though your king cries otherwise.”

“What do you propose, then, my lord?” Rosamund asked him.

“Your cousin raids out of his lust for riches. He has no loyalties to anyone but himself, having never been taught otherwise. Lord Dacre raids not simply for what he may carry away, but out of a sense of loyalty to his king and to England. Lord Dacre hates the ancient enemy. He fights to the death. What if he believed that your cousin and his band of ruffians were renegade Scots? What if he and his men met up with your cousin and his men?” The laird of Claven’s Carn smiled wolfishly.

“You hope that they will kill each other,” Rosamund said, “thus relieving us both of an enemy. You do not do this just for me.”

“I did not say I did,” he replied. “We are far enough to the west in the borders to have been safe so far. But what if Lord Dacre comes to Claven’s Carn unexpectedly? He will not ask if any of the inhabitants are English. He will simply slaughter everyone he can find, lady.”

“Then bring my daughters home,” she replied nervously.

“Dacre has not cast his eye in our direction. Your lasses are safer with me,” he reassured her.

“This is how you would court me?” she demanded of him suddenly.

“I have not come to court you, Rosamund Bolton,” he told her. “I have come to strategize with you to our mutual benefit. Perhaps one day, if I think you are ready, I will indeed come to court you. I am not of a mind to marry again quite yet.” He smiled.

“Good!” she said. “Neither am I, Logan Hepburn.” But she was thinking, He was a devil if she ever had met one. All that soft talk he had used before she had gone down to court, implying that he loved her yet and wanted her for his wife. He hadn’t changed at all. It had been nothing more than a deception. He was probably revenging himself on her for refusing him once. Well, she didn’t need him, but she did need his clansmen. “May I retain the use of your men?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, smiling again. The look of surprise on her face when he had said he hadn’t come courting her had almost caused him to laugh aloud. The clansman who had ridden through the night to fetch him had brought a message from Tom Bolton. Rosamund’s cousin had advised the laird of Claven’s Carn to pretend he might not be as interested in remarrying as he had previously indicated. Rosamund far preferred a challenge and would respect him more if she believed she must work to regain his love. Follow your instincts with her, Lord Cambridge had advised the lord of Claven’s Carn. And so he had. The results had been far better than he had hoped for.

Rosamund, he knew, had believed that she would control their courtship. She thought that he wanted her enough to dance to her tune. And he did. But he realized now that Tom knew exactly what he was saying when he suggested play difficult to obtain. It had been just the right thing to do. Now the next move in this game they were playing would be up to her. He wondered what she would do.

“You will remain the night,” she said. It was not a question on her part.

“Nay,” he said. “I think it better I return to Claven’s Carn, lady. I must think on how we may bring your cousin and Lord Dacre into serious conflict with each other. I will return when I have the answer to my questions.”

“Very well, my lord,” Rosamund answered him. He was not staying. Why would he not remain? Could they not have spoken together and made a plan? “Perhaps if we dealt with the matter together, Logan Hepburn, the solution might come easier and sooner,” she heard herself suggesting.

“Do you think so?” he said. She was asking him to stay.

Rosamund nodded. “Certainly Claven’s Carn is well protected in your absence, as your son resides there,” she reasoned. “And it would indeed be a quicker ride home for you in the daylight.”

“You may be right,” he said casually. “Very well, lady. I will stay.”

“Come into the hall, then,” she invited him, and turning, she led the way.

Logan winked at Lord Cambridge, and then he followed her.

“What was that all about, I should like to know.” Maybel demanded. “What mischief are you up to, Tom Bolton?”

Tom grinned at the old woman. “I have simply advised him how to win her. He must pretend his interest in her is beginning to wane so it is Rosamund who will have to convince him that they should be man and wife,” he told Maybel.

“Oh, traitor!” Maybel said, and then she laughed. “My child would not be happy if she realized how well you have come to know her, Tom Bolton. But you are right. If we are to see her married again, and happy at last, it must be her own wish, not ours.”

“You’ll not tell on me?” he said, his eyes dancing with their conspiracy.

“Nay, I’ll not,” Maybel promised. “You have been her guardian angel since the day in which you came into her life, Tom Bolton, and I thank the Blessed Mother for it.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. “But you well know we have been a blessing to each other, Maybel. Come along, now, and let us see what is transpiring in the hall. Are you not curious? I know that I am.”

That evening, after the meal had been served, Rosamund, Logan, Father Mata, Maybel, Edmund, and Tom sat together in the hall plotting. Philippa had been sent to her bed, her windows barred, Lucy on the trundle by her bedside, and the Hepburn clansman on guard outside the girl’s door.

“The bait must be something tempting to them both,” Rosamund said.

“Then the trap must be baited twice,” Logan told them. “Once for Henry the younger and once for Lord Dacre.”

“If Dacre believes that Henry and his men are Scots,” Rosamund considered, “that should be bait enough for him. But what will bring them together at the same time and in the same place?”

“There is a deserted abbey near Lochmaben,” the priest said. “What if Lord Dacre learned that gold, previously hidden there, was to be transported from that abbey across Scotland to Edinburgh for the little king’s use? He would want to take that gold. And what if Henry the younger learned about the same gold? The abbey is in a desolate area. Both men would consider it an easy haul. Lord Dacre would be warned of this band of renegade Scots in the neighborhood. Henry would not be warned of Lord Dacre. If they came upon each other, certainly a battle would ensue.”

“I remember once,” Edmund remarked, “my brother Richard saying you would go far in the church, Mata. Your talents are indeed wasted in this rural outback.”

The young priest grinned.

“To get them to the same place at approximately the same time,” Logan noted, “that is where our problem will lie.”

“Not if Henry believes the shipment will be unguarded for only the first five miles of its trek. That it will meet up with the king’s men where the abbey road and the Edinburgh road join. That means he must attack before the gold reaches it guardians. If he is clever, he will wait until the shipment is halfway between the junction of the two roads. We will make certain he does this and then we will make certain Lord Dacre knows it,” Logan said. “Your cousin is basically a coward. He is not looking for a fight, but rather easy pickings.”

“How do we do this?” Rosamund asked him.

“I will go to Lord Dacre,” Tom said. “I am English, and he will believe me, particularly as I will bleat about this bandit who threatens my estates at Otterly and those of my cousin the lady of Friarsgate, who is the queen’s dear friend, just back from court, you know, where her daughter was chosen to be a maid of honor in two years’ time and may be matched with the Earl of Renfrew’s son. His lordship is a snob. He will listen carefully to what I have to say and think to gain greater favor with the king by stealing this gold for him and protecting the queen’s friend in the bargain.”

“And who will tell Henry the younger of the gold?” Rosamund asked.

“I will,” Edmund spoke up.

“You, old man? Are you mad?” Maybel demanded. “Am I to be widowed in my old age, then? You will do no such thing, Edmund Bolton!”

They all laughed, but Edmund replied to his wife, “Nay, old woman. I will go to my nephew and tell him this tale of gold. I will say I heard it from our neighbor, the laird of Claven’s Carn. That I have come to him in hopes that by telling him of this bounty that can be his, he will leave Friarsgate and Philippa Meredith in peace. That the gold he may steal will give him the opportunity to begin a new life somewhere else. I am his uncle, his blood kin. He knows how much I love Friarsgate and our family. He will believe me, for he could never conceive that I would be duplicitous with him where the safety of Friarsgate and its inhabitants are concerned.”

“He is right,” Tom said.

“Aye, and brave, too,” the laird remarked. “You’ll take an armed guard with you, Edmund, for without them your nephew might be tempted to do something foolish.”

“And just where is this gold going to come from?” Maybel demanded. “And how will you gain the monks’ cooperation in this charade?”

“Remember, the abbey is deserted, Maybel. But neither Lord Dacre nor Henry the younger will know that,” the priest said. “Monks’ robes are easily available, and some of the laird’s men can don them to make it appear to anyone watching that the abbey is populated. Two monks will drive the cart up the abbey trail towards the road. At the first sign of trouble, the drivers will leap from the cart and flee into the woods. No one will chase after them, for it is the gold they want, not a pair of cowardly monks.”

“You still have not said where the gold will come from,” Maybel insisted.

“There is a supply of bricks stored away from when we made the new bake ovens,” Edmund said. “They can be wrapped in cloth and tied with yarn. Piled in the cart, they will appear to be just what Lord Dacre and my nephew have been told. Gold.”

“It must all be done with perfect precision if we are to succeed,” the laird said. “Tomorrow we will set up the steps to follow.”

“What will Lord Dacre think when he discovers the bricks?” Rosamund wondered.

“He will undoubtedly head for the abbey, and discovering it empty, realize he has been duped. I suspect he will believe there was indeed gold but that it was transported earlier in some secret manner to foil the English,” Tom said. He stood up, stretching and yawning broadly. “Oh, I believe I am ready for my bed,” he said. “All this plotting is absolutely exhausting, dear girl.” He bent, and kissed Rosamund upon her forehead. “Good night, and sweet dreams, cousin. Logan. Maybel. Edmund.” And then he was gone from the hall.

Edmund arose quickly, and taking his wife’s hand, bid Rosamund and Logan good night as he hurried his wife from the hall. Maybel, who had opened her mouth to protest their swift departure, suddenly realized what her husband was all about, and her jaw snapped shut as their eyes met in understanding.

“Where am I to sleep, lady?” the laird asked his hostess.

Why was he in such a hurry? she wondered. Had he met another woman while she was down in England? “Bide with me a while, my lord,” Rosamund said, and she arose to pour him a goblet of her best wine. After all these years of his alleged devotion, he was going to desert her for some other woman? Most certainly not until she decided if he was worth marrying! She swallowed her temper, and smiling, handed him the wine. “This is my favorite time of day, or rather, evening,” she told him as she brought her own goblet back to her seat by the fire. “Everything is quiet, and there seems to be a peace on the land as at no other time.” She sipped her wine.

He couldn’t resist. He enjoyed it better when she fought him openly. “Are you attempting to ply me with good wine and then seduce me, madame?” He cocked a black eyebrow questioningly at her.

“Have you always had such a fine opinion of yourself, Logan?” she demanded with a show of her old spirit. The beast! Could he read her mind?

“Always, my darling,” he told her with a brash grin. He saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her goblet. “You are contemplating hurling the contents of your vessel at me, aren’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted through clenched teeth. “Oh, yes!”

“I have a better idea, and it will save my doublet and not waste your good wine,” he told her with a grin. Then, setting his own goblet aside, he stood up. “Get up, Rosamund, and I will help you calm your temper,” Logan said. “But let us put your wine aside first,” and he took the goblet from her hand and set it upon a table. He drew her to a standing position. “From now on,” he said, “when you wish to do violence to me, you will instead kiss me.”

“What?” Surely she had not heard him aright, but then he was folding her arms behind her as he pulled her into his arms. His head was descending to meet hers. His lips were pressing themselves to her lips. With the touch of his flesh on hers, Rosamund’s knees gave way, but he was holding her so firmly that she did not fall. Her eyes had closed of their own volition, and her head began to spin.

Then he raised his mouth from hers and said, “Kissing is much nicer, Rosamund, than quarreling. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

“I have never quarreled with anyone the way I do with you,” she said as her head cleared. “You are the most annoying man.”

“You are no longer angry at me,” he teased her.

“Nay,” she said. “I do not think I am.”

“You see?” he said as he released her from his embrace.

“Will I have to fight with you in order for you to kiss me?” Rosamund asked him provocatively.

“For now, aye,” he told her. “You are not an easy woman, and I must bring you to reason if we are ever to marry, my darling.”

“Bring me to reason?” Her outrage was more than evident. Her little balled fist hit him a blow on his arm. “Not an easy woman? Who the hell are you to criticize me, Logan Hepburn? Do you think you are some paragon of perfection? Even Jeannie, God assoil her sweet soul, knew better than that!”

He wanted to laugh, but he did not. Instead, he yanked her back into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless and half-swooning. “I will master you, you impossible wench, if I must spend the rest of my life doing it,” he said to her. Then he kissed her again and again and again until she was whimpering with pleasure. Finally he set her back on her feet, holding her arm lightly as she swayed for a moment. “There,” he said. “You should be calm again. Now, show me where I am to sleep this night, Rosamund Bolton.”

She shook her head to clear it, saying nothing. He was irritating! He was impossible! He was overbearing! But God’s wounds! His kisses were divine. She was surprised to discover that she could move her legs now, and so she led him upstairs to the guest chamber. Opening the door, she stepped back to allow him through. “Good night, my lord,” she said softly. More softly than she had intended, but at least she could speak, Rosamund thought.

He stepped past her, and then turning, said low, “Not tonight, Rosamund, but another night, we will share this bed together.”

“I have not said I should marry you, Logan,” she replied quickly.

“I have not said I should ask you, Rosamund,” he told her. “I have simply said that one night soon we will share this bed, you and I. Good night, madame.”

Astounded, she stepped away from the door as he reached to close it. Her heart was beating madly. She began to consider what it might be like in his arms, and then she thought of the last time she had lain in a man’s arms. “Patrick,” she whispered, but even as she said his name she knew that the Earl of Glenkirk would never deny her the happiness with another man that he could no longer give her. And with that thought came the realization that the premonition they had both experienced when they had first met had finally come to pass. She would never see Patrick Leslie again in this life. And with that knowledge Rosamund knew she was suddenly free to love once more. She would always love Patrick. She knew that. He would live hidden in that secret place in her heart known only to her. But her life had to go on, and she knew now that she could not live without love.

Logan stood, his back to the closed door, breathing slowly. Deeply. Her mouth had been far sweeter than he had remembered. The sensation of her full breasts against his chest had made his senses reel and his manhood ache with his need. The boldness of the words he had just spoken to her burned in his throat. Instinct had warned him it was too soon, but how he had wanted her in his bed this night. Tom’s advice had been good, but he could not play this game with her forever. He had not the patience for it, he knew. He loved her too much. Logan wanted Rosamund as his wife. And his wife she was going to be sooner than later. He slept badly. As did Rosamund.

Her dreams were wild, jumbled impressions that left her tossing and restless and more awake than asleep. She awoke bleary-eyed and irritable, but she was ready to begin preparing the trap they had devised the previous evening to rid Friarsgate of her cousin Henry Bolton once and for all. For all of her life she had been troubled, first by her father’s youngest brother and now by his son. Her uncle’s bones rested in the family burial ground. But Rosamund knew she would not feel safe until her cousin lay beside his father.

To her surprise, she found Logan gone when she came down into the hall. He had, a servant informed her, departed at first light with just a few of his clansmen. Then her uncle Edmund entered the hall.