Until You Page 20

  “I adore you,” he told her. “Where you are, I must be. You have breathed life into me again after so many years of sorrow.” He brushed her face tenderly with his fingertips. “I shall always love you, Rosamund. Always!” Then he picked her up in his arms and returned to the beach with her, laying her gently on the sand, his big body covering hers as he entered her. He moved on her slowly at first and then with increasing urgency as his need sought to be satisfied. He felt her fingernails raking sharply down his long back. Her teeth sunk into the fleshy part of his shoulder.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she sobbed in his ear, clinging to him. Her breasts were aching as their embrace flattened them. Her nipples tingled. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on his manhood filling her, hungering for her, wanting her. She allowed the walls of her love sheath to enclose him, squeezing him until he groaned with delight. He probed her fiercely until she was weeping with her pleasure, and then together that pleasure burst to wrap and enfold them in a sweetness that for a brief moment seemed neverending. “Oh, Patrick!” was all she could whisper when it all faded away.

  They lay together for a time, the sun warming their nakedness. Then he drew her up, and they entered the sea together to cleanse themselves of their heated passions. When they came again from the water they sat upon the cloth he had spread upon the sand and opened the picnic basket. Their appetites were great, and in no time at all the basket had been emptied of the chicken, the thinly sliced ham, the bread, and the cheese. Then they sat together in the afternoon sunlight feeding each other from the great bunch of grapes, and drinking the sweet wine of San Lorenzo.

  “Tell me what happened with the artist,” Rosamund said quietly.

  “It is as King James suspected. Venice will not weaken the alliance. I suggested they be neutral, but the doge wants no difficulties with the pope. However, I believe I have given the Venetians more insight into Henry Tudor than they had. I have warned them that he is a ruthless, determined man. I think they did not realize that of him, for he is so young a king and not yet well known. I also reminded them of the Ottoman menace that touches them first should the sultan decide to move farther west. While Venice will give lip service to the pope, I think they will be slow to commit their troops, but commit them they will. We are still no better off than we were.”

  “You still have the baroness to speak with, my love,” Rosamund said.

  “It is even more unlikely the emperor will cooperate with Scotland. Without the pope’s blessing he cannot rule at all. His alleged empire is but a group of German states, each governed by its own prince, or count, or baron, and very loosely held together by Maximilian the first. I must try, but I hold out even less hope.”

  “What do you think of the maestro?” she asked him, a twinkle in her eye.

  “He is far more intelligent than he would have the world at large know. He is more valuable to his family by appearing to be nothing more than an artist. I have commissioned him to paint your portrait,” the Earl of Glenkirk told her.

  “With or without my clothes?” she inquired sweetly.

  “With, I think. The without I prefer to retain within my mind’s eye, sweetheart,” Patrick replied with a grin. “The artist comes tomorrow. I shall be curious to see what he does with this opportunity I have given him.”

  “I will expect Annie with me while I pose for him,” she said.

  “I will expect Annie with you,” he said. “And Annie and Dermid must wed before any unfortunate incident is brought to light by the enthusiasm Loredano’s sketch exhibited to us. I warned Dermid. That he was unable to help himself, and seduced her, I have not a doubt.”

  “And I did warn Annie,” Rosamund said. “Aye, they must be wed quickly.” She lay back on the cloth again. “Kiss me again, Patrick, for I am yet starved for your love.”

  “With pleasure, madame,” he responded, and then he complied most willingly.

  Chapter 8

  The Scottish ambassador’s villa rang with laughter as the entertainer with the dogs set his animals to dancing. The early evening was fair and warm. The great terrace, where the rectangular oak dining table had been set out, was lit by delicate lanterns strung over the area and great footed candelabras set about the red tiled floor. The guests had eaten well and now were being diverted by a traveling troupe of players who sang, danced, and provided other amusements for the ambassador’s guests. No one paid a great deal of attention when the Earl of Glenkirk left the table to be followed shortly thereafter by Baroness Von Kreutzenkampe. The lady moved discreetly through the terrace doors back into the villa.

  “This way, madame,” she heard the earl’s voice directing her, and following the sound, she moved across the salon and out into the hall where he awaited her. “Come with me, my dear baroness,” Patrick said, and taking her hand, he led her into the ambassador’s private library, where he seated her.

  “You are a careful man, my lord,” she murmured. “That was very well done, but that the artist was watching us.”

  “He represents the doge as you represent the emperor,” Patrick replied.

  “Gott im himmel! That popinjay?”

  The earl laughed. “He does give that impression publicly, but believe me, madame, he is a clever fellow.”

  “The buffoon is a pose, then?” she asked, and when he nodded she smiled. “I would not have thought the old doge so clever yet. It is said his mind wanders. I thank you for telling me, but then you meant to put me on my guard with the Venetian, my lord. What is it that you want of the emperor?”

  “I come from King James of Scotland, baroness. My master is concerned that this alliance your emperor has formed with the English king may not be to his advantage.”

  Irina Von Kreutzenkampe laughed her throaty laugh. “Your master has been Pope Julius’ favorite for many years, my lord. Now the pope treats with the English king. Is King James jealous? I know little of him but that he is said to be noble and devout.”

  “He is extremely honorable, baroness, and it is this very honor that prevents him from joining your Holy League. France has ever been Scotland’s ally. King James has no just cause to betray King Louis, and he will not. King Henry knows this, and he uses his knowledge to incite the pope to another way while driving a wedge between Scotland and the Holy Father. Henry Tudor is an ambitious and dangerous man. I think your emperor has little idea of how treacherous an ally he is dealing with, baroness.”

  “What is it you want of the emperor, my lord?” she asked him. “Emperor Maximilian is also an honorable gentleman. He has committed himself to the pope’s cause. You know he has little choice, as he reigns at the pope’s pleasure.”

  “I know your master will no more break his word than will mine,” the earl replied. “But Scotland would warn Maximilian that he is dealing with a ruthless man in Henry of England. My master asks nothing more of yours than that he understand that England does nothing that is not to its full benefit. Do you really believe that King Henry will commit his troops to war here on the continent? Perhaps. And perhaps not. What he does he does so that when he decides to go to war with Scotland, he has the full support of the pope, Spain, Venice, and your emperor. Yet what benefit would England’s war with Scotland have for you? And Scotland is both prosperous and peaceful. They desire to war with no one.”

  “Is not your queen Henry Tudor’s sister?” the baroness inquired.

  “She is. But it matters not to England’s king. Perhaps you have heard the story of how Queen Margaret’s grandmother left her jewelry to be equally divided between her two granddaughters and her grandson’s queen. Yet King Henry has refused to part with the share meant for Queen Margaret. Our queen finally, and most regretfully, told her younger brother he might keep it all, for King James would give her the cost of her grandmother’s jewels twice over. It was a gallant thing to say, for it was not the worth of the gems that meant anything to Queen Margaret. Their value for her was sentimental, for the queen loved the grandmother for whom she was named most dearly.
This is the kind of man Henry Tudor of England is.”

  “This is most interesting information, my lord, and I appreciate your candor in revealing it to me. Still, your master must know that Emperor Maximilian will not break this alliance he has made with the pope and the pope’s allies.” But her look was very thoughtful as she spoke. The Earl of Glenkirk had indeed brought her valuable information. She regretted she must disappoint him. She smiled sympathetically. “I am sorry.”

  “King James would never ask another honorable gentleman to break his trust, baroness,” the earl replied, smiling back at her. “He but hopes the insight he has to offer will cause the emperor to move cautiously when dealing with Henry Tudor.”

  “I will see that the emperor knows everything that you have told me, my lord,” the baroness responded. Then she rose from her seat. “I think it is best that we now return as discreetly as we may to the terrace, lest gossip ensue regarding our relationship. I would not want to distress your mistress. She is very beautiful. But she is not Scottish.”

  “Nay. She is English,” he answered the baroness, amused. She was really quite transparent in her desire for more information. “Rosamund is the queen’s dear friend.”

  “Ah, so you met her at King James’ court. Of course.”

  “Aye,” the earl replied, and he took Irina Von Kreutzenkampe by the arm and led her from the library and back to where the other guests were assembled.

  “Does Lord Howard know her?”

  “She tells me they have never met,” he answered as they walked onto the terrace.

  “And you believe her?” The baroness was curious now about this Scots earl with the English mistress who was the queen’s friend yet did not know the English ambassador. If the lady was the queen’s friend, they must have known each other from the English court.

  “Why would I disbelieve her?” Patrick asked.

  “My lord, I cannot believe you are that naive!” Irina Von Kreutzenkampe exclaimed.

  It was then he understood her, and Patrick laughed. “Rosamund was briefly with the English court as a child. It was there she became friends with Margaret Tudor, but she lives in Cumbria, in the borderland between England and Scotland. She has no connection at all with King Henry’s court.”

  “And no husband obviously,” Irina murmured, still probing.

  “She is a widow,” he replied with a small grin. “With three daughters and a rather large estate full of sheep. Is that what you need to know, madame?”

  The baroness had the good grace to flush, and the blood rushing to her face made more obvious the pockmarks she bore. “I beg your pardon, my lord. My duty is to gain as much information for the emperor as I can. I have overstepped the bounds of good manners, however, and I do apologize.”

  “It would be impossible for me not to forgive you, my dear Irina.” He smiled, his eyes skimming over her ample bosom. Then he took her hand up and kissed it.

  “You are very gallant in your manner, my lord,” she told him, wondering as she withdrew her hand whether she might seduce him. He was not a young man, yet he had a young mistress who bore the look of a woman well satisfied. Her blue eyes studied him.

  “I am flattered,” he said, “but I am very much in love with the lady.”

  Again the baroness blushed. “Do you divine minds, then, my lord?” It was said angrily, for she was angry at herself for being so transparent.

  Patrick laughed softly and said, “Do not be angry, my dear Irina. As I have previously said, I am flattered.” Then, with a courtly bow, he left her. Slipping into his seat next to Rosamund, he leaned over and kissed her shoulder.

  “She is offended,” Rosamund said quietly. “What did you do?”

  “I refused her,” he replied just as softly.

  “Was that wise?” Rosamund wondered.

  “What? Would you have me seduce her?” He was surprised.

  “Nay. But you might have given her reason to hope and kept her friendship, my lord,” she told him.

  “She asks too many questions,” the earl replied.

  “About me, I assume. Of course she does. She is friends with Lord Howard, I have learned. Or so he believes.”

  “Aye, he would believe it. But trust me when I tell you, Rosamund, that Irina does nothing without considering how it would effect the emperor and her own position. It is not in her best interests or those of Emperor Maximilian to seduce the English ambassador,” Patrick said. And he chuckled. “She would make a right armful, however, my darling.” And he laughed aloud when Rosamund shot him a furious look.

  “Well, ’twas you who suggested I seduce her,” he defended himself.

  “I most certainly did not!” Rosamund responded indignantly.

  He grinned. “MacDuff says his piper will play for us this evening, sweetheart.”

  “The maestro says my portrait is coming along nicely, but he will not let me see it until it is finished,” she told him, changing the subject.

  “What are you wearing?” he asked her.

  “Lavender draperies,” she purred sweetly. “I decided that as long as he has seen me as God fashioned me, and since Annie is with me, I would pose for him as he wanted. As the goddess of love.”

  He was uncertain whether he was angry or amused. “Are your breasts bare?” he queried her.

  “Only the left one,” she replied innocently.

  “Not the right?” His eyes were now dancing with amusement.

  “Nay. Only the left,” she told him. “I am a modest goddess, my lord.”

  “I am relieved to know it. But what am I to do with a portrait of a bare-breasted goddess, lovey? I can hardly hang it at Glenkirk.”

  “Then why did you commission a portrait of me, my lord?” she wondered, and she reached for her goblet to sip at her wine.

  “I wanted you to have it to remind you of our days here in San Lorenzo,” he said softly, and he kissed her shoulder again.

  “The maestro paints this portrait for himself,” Rosamund said. “He will never let you have it. I have arranged, however, for him to paint your portrait so I may have a tangible memory of you when we are no longer together. I desire no reflection of my image, Patrick, and you could hardly hang a painting of me at Glenkirk, especially one with a bared breast.” She chuckled. “From what you have told me of your daughter-in-law, the lady Anne, she would most definitely not approve.”

  He laughed. “Nay, poor Anne would be quite shocked,” he agreed.

  “So now, my lord, what are we to do? You have spoken with the baroness, and she has, I expect, told you that her emperor will not cooperate with King James,” Rosamund said low.

  “Aye, but if we are to complete the impression of two lovers who have run away for a time from their responsibilities, then we must remain here in San Lorenzo for another month or so,” the earl said. “Besides, the maestro will need more time to complete his goddess of love,” he teased her. “Will you mind remaining away from your beloved Friarsgate longer? I know how much you love your home.”

  “Where you are is my home, Patrick,” she told him, tears in her eyes. “We will return eventually, and I must go with you to court, for I promised the queen I should come back. I cannot disappoint her. She has been a good friend. We will spend the summer at Friarsgate, and my daughters will come to know you. And you will meet my family, Patrick. They will like you.”

  “And you will come to Glenkirk with me in the autumn,” he said.

  Rosamund shook her head. “I think not, my darling, for I do not believe that your son would be pleased to know that you have found love. I would present a threat in his eyes, and I shall not be the cause of a rift between you and Adam.”

  “You cannot know that,” he said.

  “But I do,” she answered him. “If I were in your son’s position, I should feel threatened that my father brought home a beautiful young mistress. And mayhap not just a bit jealous given the wife I have chosen. Not this year, Patrick, but in time, when Adam has learned to accept I
am no threat to him, or to Glenkirk, then I will come. I promise. For now we will enjoy the San Lorenzo sun and the warm days and nights. We shall swim together in the sea, and we shall have our portraits painted.”

  “And spend our nights making love, my darling,” he said, his glance heated.

  She smiled. “Aye, I shall live for the nights, Patrick,” she told him.

  “Have you spoken to your Annie?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I have done something far more clever. I do not wish to broach that delicate subject with her. I thought it best that they come to us regarding the matter. Before I came down tonight, I left the drawing the maestro made upon the table in our dayroom where Annie will be certain to see it. I expect she and Dermid are even now setting the date. We have hardly set an exemplary example for our servants to follow, my lord.”

  “We are their betters,” he said. “Our privileges are greater under such circumstances.”

  “Because we are their betters it is even more important we set them a pattern for good behavior,” Rosamund responded.

  “Yet you will not marry me,” he replied quietly.

  “Nay, I will not, for I am not of a mind to marry again. But I will also not bring your bastard into this world, my lord. Dermid cannot guarantee Annie that, can he? I should not be surprised if his seed has already taken root in the foolish girl’s hidden garden. But when Annie sees that drawing she will know we know of their misdeeds. They will certainly come to us for permission to wed, and we will give it. Moreover, we will witness the deed, Patrick.”

  “You are certainly wickedly clever, my love,” he told her admiringly.

  “I have been managing my servants since I was barely out of leading strings,” she answered him. “It is better in a case like this not to plunge head-on into accusations and recriminations, Patrick. It leads to resentment and bitterness. Though some will not admit to it, those who serve have feelings also. I wish Annie and her Dermid to continue to serve us happily, not angrily.”