Until You Page 11

  “I suppose we should get some sleep,” Jeannie said softly. “I expect tomorrow and the days to follow will be long ones. Is it far to Claven’s Carn?”

  “If the weather holds it will take you several more days past Edinburgh,” Rosamund told the young girl. “Your home is on the border, and you are nearer to England than anything else Scotch.”

  “I have been told the English are very fierce, madame. Is it true?” Jeannie’s blue eyes were wide with her interest.

  “I am English, Mistress Hepburn. Do you find me fierce?” Rosamund teased the girl gently.

  Jeannie giggled. “Nay, madame.”

  “Go to sleep, then, lass, and do not worry yourself so much. You have married a good man, and you will be happy at Claven’s Carn,” Rosamund told her.

  In the morning they departed even before the sun was up, riding for several hours until they reached a fork in the road where there were two directional signs. One said “Edinburgh” and the other said “Leith.” The Earl of Glenkirk stopped in the crossroad, and Tom rode up next to him.

  “ ’Tis here we part company, Tom,” Patrick said quietly, and he signaled to Logan to join them. “Keep the ladies company, and make your farewells to your cousin while I speak with the laird.”

  “Godspeed, Patrick!” Lord Cambridge said. “I hope we will meet again.” He shook the earl’s hand, then moved off to join Rosamund and Mistress Hepburn.

  “What is this about, my lord?” Logan demanded. He was not at all happy that he had been traveling with this man and Rosamund for the past two days.

  “What I am about to tell you, Logan Hepburn, must go no farther. I tell you this on the king’s order. Do you understand?”

  The laird nodded, now intrigued. “I understand, my lord, and you have my word that whatever you tell me I will not repeat.”

  “The queen,” the earl began, “enjoys a good jest. She found it amusing, not aware of why we were really departing the court, to put us together in our travels. She believes that Rosamund’s daughter is ill, and Rosamund is going to her. She believes I am accompanying Rosamund. She is fully aware of the relationship you desired to forge with the lady of Friarsgate and thinks it humorous that you and your bride travel with us. But Rosamund’s daughter is not ill, and we are not going to Friarsgate. The king has delegated me to undertake a secret diplomatic mission for him. As you are aware, I have not been to court or out of my Highlands for eighteen years. Consequently, no one would even consider that the king would appoint me to such a duty. Nor is anyone other than the king aware of what I am to do or where I am going. I cannot even tell you, Logan Hepburn. I told the king I would do his bidding if Rosamund could come with me.”

  “What if she hadn’t wanted to go?” the laird demanded. He was, in spite of it all, jealous of this man who had somehow stolen Rosamund from him. “Rosamund loves Friarsgate and dislikes being away from it for very long.”

  “Nonetheless she agreed to go with me,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly.

  “How can you love each other so on such short acquaintance?” Logan burst out, unable to help himself from the question.

  “I do not know,” the earl admitted honestly. “All I can tell you is that until Rosamund I had just existed, and I never even knew it. From the moment our eyes met we have desired nothing more than to be together.”

  “She will never desert Friarsgate,” Logan said.

  “Nor will I desert Glenkirk. But until the time comes when we must return to our duties, however long a time that is, we shall be together.”

  “Do you love her?” he asked, his look tortured.

  “I have always loved her,” came the strange reply.

  “She loves you,” Logan said, almost bitterly.

  “Aye, she does,” Patrick said simply.

  “That you are leaving us here says you are going to Leith,” the laird of Claven’s Carn said.

  “We sail tonight,” was the reply.

  “Rosamund was never a girl for adventure,” Logan remarked. “She has changed so suddenly that I cannot believe she is the same girl. Have you bewitched her, my lord?”

  The Earl of Glenkirk laughed. “Nay,” he said, “although we both considered such a thing that first night. She has told me she isn’t adventurous, and yet she is willing to come across a sea with me. Such is the power of our love. But it is not witchcraft, Logan Hepburn. Now, Tom Bolton will travel with you as far as Claven’s Carn, and Rosamund would appreciate it if your clansmen would escort him over the border back to Friarsgate. He holds her authority so that her uncle Henry cannot interfere should he learn she isn’t there. She fears for her lasses. Will you do that for her?”

  “There is nothing she could ask me that I would not do,” Logan said.

  “Laddie, laddie,” the earl replied, shaking his head at the younger man, “Bothwell gave you a sweet wife. Be true to her, and put my fair Rosamund from your thoughts. She would not have wed you even if we had not met. She is not ready to remarry, and I know she tried to explain that to you, but you would not hear what she had to say. You wanted a wife upon whom to get your heirs. You have one. Take her back to Claven’s Carn and put a bairn in her belly. Rosamund and I will be far away from Scotland.”

  “And when you return, my lord?” the laird asked.

  “I do not know. But when we do return I hope we shall hear that you have a healthy son, Logan Hepburn.” He held out his hand. “Now, shake my hand, for I already have your word that you will not divulge what we have discussed. Then bid us Godspeed. If I can accomplish what the king desires, we may prevent a war.”

  The laird of Claven’s Carn took the Earl of Glenkirk’s big, gloved hand and shook it. “Then I do bid you Godspeed, my lord, and reassure you again that my lips are sealed in your secret matter. Tell Rosamund that I will see Tom Bolton is brought safe and sound back to Friarsgate.” Then he turned his mount and rejoined his wife and the clansmen who were accompanying them.

  Rosamund and Tom moved forward. The Englishman took his cousin’s hand in his. “Be careful, dearest girl, and come home safe to us when you can,” he said.

  “You have the letter for Maybel and Edmund?” she asked him for the third time.

  “I do,” he said, and he kissed her hand. “Godspeed, cousin,” Tom told her, and then he rejoined the laird’s party as they moved off down the road to Edinburgh.

  “You are certain?” Patrick asked Rosamund.

  She nodded. “I am.” Then she turned to Annie. “ ’Tis now or never, lassie.”

  “I’m coming!” Annie said firmly. “ ’Twill be something to tell my grandchildren one day,” she finished with a grin.

  “Then, let us go,” the earl said, and he signaled to his manservant, Dermid More.

  The little party of four, each mounted, turned onto the Leith road and headed for the port. The day remained very cold, but bright. They reached Leith in the late afternoon as the sun was setting behind them, making their way to the Mermaid Inn on the waterfront.

  It was a large and prosperous establishment, and its courtyard was bustling busily. Dermid dismounted first and went into the inn. He returned a few moments later.

  “Captain Daumier is awaiting us in a private room, my lord,” he reported.

  “We’ll go in, then. You know the way, Dermid?” the earl asked, sliding off his horse and then helping Rosamund from hers.

  Dermid nodded, then aided Annie to dismount.

  “My bottom is fair sore,” Annie said with a sigh. She followed her mistress and the earl into the inn as Dermid led the way. It was a back route, and they neatly avoided the public rooms by taking it. At the end of a narrow hallway was a door, and Dermid knocked upon it, then opened the portal to usher his master and their party inside.

  A portly gentleman arose from a chair by the fire and came forward. “Lord Leslie?” he asked.

  “I am Patrick Leslie,” the earl replied.

  The gentleman nodded. “Jean-Paul Daumier, captain of La Petite Reine,�
�� he said.

  “I was told we are to sail tonight, captain. Is everything on schedule?” Patrick Leslie queried.

  “But, of course, my lord!” came the firm answer. “The weather is fair, and will remain that way for a few more days, thanks to le bon Dieu. We have good northwest winds, and your passage should be a swift one. Be advised that I will be hugging the English coast for several days so that if the weather turns we can make port safely. We’ll cross the Strait of Dover to Calais, then sail on to Boulogne, and if the weather is still good I can get you as far as Le Havre, but no farther. The weather will turn sooner than later, and I’ll not cross the Bay of Biscay at this time of year. I’m just a coastal freighter.”

  “I understand,” the earl said. “And having made that passage several times, I will certainly agree with you, Captain Daumier. Will we be safe, however, within sight of the English coast?”

  “Oui! The English, for all they proclaim the French their enemies, are always happy to see me, my lord. Especially the wine merchants and their rich customers!” Captain Daumier said with a broad smile. “If we should be boarded, I have enough empty barrels aboard to confirm my story, and you are just a gentleman running away from his wife with his amour, eh?” He chuckled.

  The Earl of Glenkirk laughed. “Nonetheless, I hope we are not stopped.”

  “It is unlikely,” the captain told him. “These English are not good sailors. But their king, I am told, seeks to build a great navy, so maybe one day they will be. For now they fish near the shore and run for land at the slightest blow. We will be safe.”

  The earl nodded. “When do we sail?” he asked.

  “You have time for a good supper, my lord, but then you should come aboard. I will send my cabin boy for you and your party,” the captain responded. Then he bowed, and taking up his cloak, departed.

  “I am ravenous!” Rosamund announced. “It has been a long, cold ride.”

  “Dermid, find the landlord and order us supper. Do it discreetly, and try not to be seen by any who might recognize you. Leave your plaid and badge here, man,” the earl instructed his servant.

  “Aye, my lord,” Dermid said, and hurried out.

  “Why did you instruct Dermid as you did?” Rosamund asked Patrick.

  “Because Leith is a port, and it is full of spies seeking whatever bits of information they can find to sell. A Leslie tartan would give rise to questions in certain quarters, and so I prefer that we not be seen or identified,” he explained to her.

  “But the landlord? How did we get this private accommodation, and how will we pay for it?” she questioned him.

  “The landlord of the Mermaid is in the king’s pay. He collects bits of information for Jamie Stewart. He was instructed to have this room available for Captain Daumier and his friends. And he was paid well to be silent about it,” the earl explained to her.

  “This is certainly a world of which I had no idea,” Rosamund said to him.

  “Why would you, my love?” he said in answer. “You are the lady of Friarsgate, a prosperous estate in the borders of England. Intrigue is not something with which you would be familiar, but you will soon learn much of it, for you are with me. This is more than likely a useless business I undertake, but the king will attempt every means he can to avoid a war with England. Would that your king were as careful.”

  “Henry Tudor has a great sense of his own importance,” Rosamund began. “When he decides that he is right, he will follow a course to its end. And God is always on his side,” she finished with a smile.

  The Earl of Glenkirk laughed aloud at this. “I think, my darling,” he said, “that you have a very sharp eye and will be very useful to me in this matter.”

  “I will not act against England, Patrick,” she told him. “I am no traitor.”

  “Nay, lovey,” he responded. “We do not act against England, but Scotland’s king is older, more experienced, and has more wisdom than your Henry Tudor. And do not forget that Scotland’s queen is England’s sister. But we would prevent a war, and our king will not betray his alliances to serve his own ends, as your king attempts to make him do. It is most dishonorable, Rosamund.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “Meg always said her younger brother was a bit of a bully. And now he is England’s king.”

  “And jealous of King James’ good relations with His Holiness. He attempts to destroy that relationship for his own ends,” the earl noted.

  “He is not a man who likes to lose, or even take second place,” Rosamund admitted. “Patrick, tell me exactly what it is you go to do.”

  “When we are aboard La Petite Reine,” the earl said.

  “You do not trust me?” She was astounded and hurt.

  He took her in his arms. “Aye, I trust you, but I cannot know who is listening at the door, my love. Do you understand me?”

  Her amber eyes grew wide with surprise, and then she silently nodded.

  A moment later the door opened to admit Dermid and a servingman bearing a tray. The tray was set upon a table, and the servant left after a swift glance about the room. There was nothing of note, and it was just as his master had told him. Lovers escaping to another land. No one would pay good coin for that unless they were people of importance, and while their clothing was fine, it was not extravagant, and the gentleman wore neither a plaid, nor a badge that would identify him. Disappointed, the servingman was swiftly gone.

  “He’s got a sharp eye in his head,” Annie noted pithily.

  “Nothing to see here.” Dermid grinned at her.

  The two young servants served their master and mistress the meal that had been brought, and then, invited, sat down to eat with them. There was a joint of beef, a fat capon with apple, and bread stuffing. There was a bowl of mussels steamed in white wine and bread that was freshly baked and still warm from the oven, with softened butter melted on it. A wedge of cheese had been supplied along with a pitcher of October ale. They ate in silence, and they had barely finished when there was a soft knock upon the door. It opened to reveal a young boy.

  “Madame and monseigner will follow me,” he said, turning to go.

  Annie set her mistress’ fur-lined cloak around her shoulders and then stuffed the pockets of her own cloak with the apples and pears that had come with their meal. Then she and Dermid followed after the ship’s boy. They exited the inn through the same back entrance through which they had entered, and followed their guide away from the courtyard and down a narrow alley, out onto a long, wide dock. At the end of the wharf was their vessel, a fair-sized boat that appeared to be in good condition. They boarded, and the boy led them through a door at the ship’s stern.

  “This will be your cabin,” he said, and then he left them.

  Rosamund looked about the room. It wasn’t very big, she thought nervously.

  “There is still time,” he said to her.

  “Nay,” she responded.

  A large wide bunk was built into the wall, and above it was a single bunk.

  “You and Annie will sleep here,” the earl said. “Dermid and I will take turns sleeping and watching.”

  “ ’Tis cold,” Rosamund said.

  He nodded. “We won’t be warm again for several weeks,” he told her. “Traveling in winter is never very pleasant, but we will manage. You and Annie get into bed now, for that is how you will stay warmest. Remove only your shoes, lovey.”

  The two young women climbed into the larger of the two bunks after taking their shoes off. They burrowed beneath a surprisingly warm down coverlet.

  “It’s better here,” Rosamund agreed.

  “You can sleep safely. Dermid and I will not leave you,” he told her.

  “I think I am too excited to sleep,” Rosamund told him, but both she and Annie were soon snoring lightly.

  “Get your rest. I’ll take the first watch,” the earl told Dermid, and the servant climbed into the top bunk without another word. Patrick settled himself in the small window seat of the stern window. He li
stened while the ship was freed from its moorings. He felt the shift of the vessel as it began to get under way, slipping out into Firth of Forth, riding on the outgoing tide. He could see the royal shipyard with the black masts of Great Michael, the king’s pride and joy. The night was fair, and as they moved farther down Firth of Forth and away from the port the stars began to appear in the dark skies above them.

  Patrick thought back to the last time he embarked for San Lorenzo. His daughter, Janet, was no more than ten, and Adam, six. He traveled as King James’ first royal ambassador to San Lorenzo. He hadn’t wanted to go, to leave Glenkirk, but duty had called him; the king had said it would not be for more than a few years. When he had returned again to Scotland his daughter was lost to him forever. He and his son and Mary MacKay, who had been his daughter’s maternal grandmother, had gone back into their Highlands. Mary had died several years later, in her cottage, where his daughter had been born. Jan. Janet Mary Leslie. What had become of her? Was she even alive today?

  And now here he was once again on his way to that exquisite Mediterranean duchy, traveling this time with a girl younger than his daughter would be now. What madness, he thought, with a small smile. And what incredible happiness he was experiencing, such as he had never known in all of his life. Silently he thanked the fates for giving him Rosamund. That she was as passionate about him was astounding. The mode of their travel was hardly romantic. It would take them several days to reach France traveling as they were, and then a long and weary ride stretched before them. He had been mad to ask her to go. He had been mad to consider going himself. It was a fool’s errand the king was sending him upon, but James Stewart would do whatever he had to do to keep the peace with England.

  Amazingly, the weather held as they sailed south down the coastline, never letting the land disappear from their sight. It was cold, but the brisk winds sent their vessel speeding along. And then, one morning as Annie and Rosamund stepped from the cabin for a walk about the deck, Captain Daumier approached and pointing, said, “France, madame. We crossed the Strait of Dover in the early hours of the morning. As the weather is holding, we shall make for Le Havre. With luck we will be there by the morrow.”