CHAPTER ELEVEN

S HE LOVED HIM .

She had loved him for so long that she did not even know when it had begun.

And in that, she understood what it was the queen longed for so deeply. A marriage that would suit the state—and more. One that could offer her the radiance, the ecstasy, that Gwenyth had found that night. To love, to be in love, to be loved in return….

She fell suddenly back to earth. He had offered to marry her. He had never said that he loved her.

Gwenyth spent the next morning in a haze. She could talk about it to no one, of course. Not even Annie, who had helped her slip out, and who had found out the name of the dairy-maid who worked in the kitchen at the lodge, the sweet girl she had impersonated when she slipped in.

Annie was certain her pure and chaste charge had gone—fully dressed—to explain to Laird Rowan that she had gone out in disguise only to prevent the queen from doing so. Gwenyth wasn't at all sure how she had managed to keep a straight face as she told Annie that they had talked things out very politely, but somehow she had done so.

Then she had helped the queen to dress in her finery and attended to her when she went to the castle and addressed her people. The queen was clearly elated at her victory and their support, but was also very serious, making certain her people knew the importance of what had taken place, that she wished no ill to anyone, that all she craved was prosperity and happiness for all her people, no matter how they chose to worship, and a Scotland that was respected by the world.

Gwenyth had done this while trying not to look over at Rowan, who stood with Laird James and the other military advisors, no sign upon his features that something so…unusual had happened in the night. Or perhaps it was not so unusual for him.

But she…she was different.

She was changed entirely.

That night, when they continued to celebrate in the hall, she managed to convince the queen that the Highlanders would be far more entertained if they were invited to sing and dance. But when the queen agreed and invited everyone to take the floor, Gwenyth was asked first by the Laird James, and she felt as if her heart would tear apart when she saw Rowan with Mary Livingstone. In time, however, she was in his arms, and then she was afraid again she would give herself away.

"How was your day?" she asked, as they drew together, but they moved apart in the steps of the dance before he could reply.

When they came together again, he smiled and said, "I had a lovely day, m'lady. But not near so lovely as my night."

She felt her cheeks flood with color. "You mustn't say such things."

"Every man should speak the truth."

They drew apart.

They came together.

"We need to speak to the queen," he said gravely.

"She has been jubilant throughout the day," she replied. "But I must repeat—you are not compelled to marry me."

"I give the offer freely."

Something tugged painfully in her heart. Aye, he offered. It was the right thing to do. And she was insane if she did not accept.

But…she wanted to be loved, not just desired. She wanted to be craved as a wife, not given the title because she was entertaining between the sheets and, given his position, it was necessary that he marry again.

They drew apart, and when the music brought them together again, she said only, "Perhaps."

"Oh?" he arched a brow in amusement.

"Time will tell," she told him.

The music came to an end, followed by a burst of applause. Rowan smiled at her, but then, to Gwenyth's surprise, the queen summoned him. He bowed deeply and went to do her bidding.

Gwenyth escaped the floor, hurrying back to her seat on the dais, not wanting to dance with any other man. But the Laird James sat down beside her and let out a sigh. "My sister, the queen, can be reckless," he said.

She looked at him. He waved a hand dismissively. "My dear, I know full well you were sent out on a ridiculous mission the other day."

"But…I was able to ascertain where Laird Huntly meant to gather his troops. Though I was unable to return with that information," she admitted.

James looked ahead, brooding. "She would have gone herself."

Gwenyth merely nodded in reply, though she had no idea whether he had turned back to her and saw her response or not.

"She intends still that you should travel to London."

"Aye." Had she meant it as a question or a statement? She did not know.

"The sucession is very important," James said.

"Of course." Was it so very important, though? Gwenyth wondered. Wasn't it enough to rule one nation?

But looking at James, she thought sadly that even the best of men always seemed to want more.

And how did she know that Rowan wasn't the same? In his heart, did he crave another English heiress, someone to balance out the richness of his Scottish holdings?

"Take care—take the gravest care—in your dealings with Queen Elizabeth," James warned her gravely.

"Of course," she said again.

"You are not an ambassador."

"No, my Laird James, I am not. Nor did I ask that I be sent. Mary said that I should go."

James nodded, rubbing a finger along the stem of his goblet. "I am not against the undertaking. Laird Rowan is one of her favorites and will no doubt keep you safe so long as it is in his power to do so. I am just warning you to take care."

"Of course, Laird James."

He rose then. A few minutes later, flushed, and followed by several of the ladies of the court, Mary returned to the table. "How I love to dance," she said.

Gwenyth stood at the queen's approach, as protocol dictated, and smiled. "Indeed, and you do so extremely well," she said. It was not flattery; Mary truly was an excellent dancer.

"So do you, my Highland poppet." The queen lifted her chalice in toast. "To my Lady Gwenyth, ever loyal and brave. Tonight we say goodbye to our dear friend once again. Tomorrow she heads south to visit my dear friend and cousin, Elizabeth of England." She spoke gaily. Around her, her courtiers applauded in approval.

Gwenyth bobbed a curtsy, once again wishing that the queen would not take her so by surprise. She had known she was going, just not so soon.

No matter what she had said, she longed to marry Rowan. To be his wife. But now….

Rowan returned to the dais with Laird Lindsay.

"My Laird Rowan, I have just informed my Lady Gwenyth of what I discussed with you only a few minutes ago: that you will begin your travels tomorrow. I ask you to convey my deepest love and respect to my cousin. And you will, of course, protect my Lady Gwenyth."

Rowan bowed handsomely to her. "It shall be as you command, my queen. And I serve you, as ever, with my life."

Around them, there was applause and cheers. Gwenyth met Rowan's eyes, and she knew she should have been happy. He was handsome, one of the finest warriors in the country but also a well-educated man. He was pleased with his assignment. Pleased to be her protector.

But she wanted so much more. And this meant a long journey. A long time before they could even approach the queen.

Queen Mary set her chalice down. "Tonight, I bid you all rest well. I thank you again for your support, and I pray God watch over Scotland. Gwenyth…will you tend me this last night?"

It wasn't a question. It was the queen's command.

"At your pleasure, Your Grace," Gwenyth said and, with a slight nod to the company, she hurried after the queen.

In the bedchamber Mary had chosen, the queen whirled around, clapping her hands together. "I am still on fire with victory. The people love me," she said, beaming.

Gwenyth agreed. "So they proved."

She stood behind Mary, finding the pins that held the head-piece in place, removing them and starting on the queen's own lustrous dark hair. She hesitated, wondering how to broach the subject of her own marriage. Or even if she should.

"Your Grace—"

"There is one thing that I now must have," Mary murmured.

"Your Grace—"

"A husband. It is such a dilemma. But…." She let out a long breath and turned to Gwenyth, clasping her hands. "Thus far, all has gone well. But…I cannot rely on my brother forever. I feel that I am ruling alone, and I don't want to be Elizabeth. I don't want to be an unwed, barren queen."

Gwenyth stared at her, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"I can think about nothing other than the fact that I need to make a proper choice—and that I must be acknowledged by Elizabeth."

She turned around so that Gwenyth could help her from the stiff collar she was wearing. Gwenyth had long tended the queen, and knew all the proper care of her clothing and accessories.

"Marriage," Gwenyth murmured. "It is something I've wondered about myself."

Mary lifted a hand. "Dear Gwenyth. You mustn't consider such a step at this moment. You know that I will see to it that you are properly wed when the time is right, but that time is not now. You must get to know Elizabeth and, with Laird Rowan's help, win her to my side. Maitland and others have advised me that she loves Laird Rowan. And why not? My dear cousin, the fierce spinster, has never pretended that she is not thoroughly amused and entertained by handsome men—she simply chooses not to allow any of them to share her power. When you return…perhaps. In time. And it will not be so long, I promise, my dear, dear, Gwenyth."

She spun around. Gwenyth barely let go of a hook in time to keep from ripping the queen's brocade bodice.

"I will not be Elizabeth! Now, my dear, off to bed with you. Laird Rowan has been given orders for the morning. The death of his dear wife delayed this journey far longer than I had anticipated. Do you know how long I have ruled now? And now I am triumphant! Such a victory will be sweet on his lips when he sees the English queen."

Gwenyth nodded. "I will do everything in my power to further your cause, my queen."

Mary was satisfied. She began removing her heavy skirt, quite capable of taking care of herself when she chose.

"I am the only proper heir to the English throne. Elizabeth must be made to see that although I am fiercely Catholic and love my religion, I am no threat to the English Church. Of course, the English will be furious if I seek a Catholic husband…they would prefer a man with English blood. But…should the English turn on us, as they are so wont to do, then we would need the power of a foreign king." She broke off. "I repeat myself, I fear. You must go and get some rest. I am eager for you to reach Queen Elizabeth and to report back to me."

"Aye, Your Grace," Gwenyth replied.

"Come, hug me warmly and let me bid you the best goodbye."

Mary was emotional. She was also determined. She said goodbye with a warm embrace, then shooed Gwenyth from the room.

I N HER OWN QUARTERS , Gwenyth discovered that Annie had been informed they would be leaving in the morning. Her night dress was set out, a riding ensemble set apart for the morning and her trunks were packed.

Annie rushed in from her small adjoining room, clapping her hands. "London!" she said excitedly. "Ah, m'lady, how magnificent to meet yet another queen."

Gwenyth nodded. "Aye, to meet another queen," she said, and tried to sound cheerful. At that moment, she wished she knew no royalty at all, that her father still lived and that she had simply met Rowan as any woman might meet a man.

She was a fool. She'd known all her life that duty came above all else, not just for the queen but for herself. Duty would always outrank love. The queen, in fact, had warned her. Don't fall in love with him.

But the queen was related to Rowan! Surely she would understand, when the time was right; she would give her consent, and all would be well. Oddly, all Gwenyth could feel was a sense of foreboding.

R OWAN HAD KNOWN THE LONG weeks of travel would be difficult. Roads in Scotland quickly became impassable with snow or rain, and they were traveling with a large party: Gwenyth, Annie and ten men, Gavin among them. He was a favorite of Gwenyth, easily making her laugh as he himself could not.

She was also enamored of his performance on the day when he had played a lunatic to stall for time in the forest. He was young, closer to her age than Rowan's, and he was a fine musician, proficient with a lute.

Sitting one evening around a campfire, since it had been decided that they would sleep in the woods rather than ride hard and in darkness searching for an estate or a town, he watched as Gwenyth complimented Gavin on his performance. "You were excellent, so convincing."

"My lady, you are a true mistress of disguise. My performance was but paltry in return."

Gwenyth was admired by all his men. Whereas he had been angry at the risk she had taken that day, they were deeply admiring.

They didn't argue along the road, he thought, but neither did they ride together. He kept his distance from her, for being with her was too painful. He had tried to speak with the queen, but she had wanted to talk about nothing except the English throne, her difficult situation and her orders for him once he reached England.

"She was quite incredible, was she not?" Gavin demanded from his seat before the fire, breaking into Rowan's morose thoughts.

"If one can call a fool incredible," Rowan replied.

Gwenyth gasped. "Mary threatened to go out herself," she informed him.

"Some sense might have been talked into the queen," he said, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against a tree.

She lifted her head, smiling, refusing to be offended. "Playacting, my good Laird Rowan, is an excellent strategy."

He nodded. "I shall remember that, my lady."

She, too, nodded quickly, then looked away. She tried hard never to give away a hint of what had transpired between them, he noticed. He didn't believe it was a matter of shame but rather that they both conducted their lives according to the queen's will. And they both knew that she considered their trip to England crucial to the future of her realm and her rule.

"Gavin, play something will you?" Gwenyth asked.

"Indeed I will, and I know just the piece," he assured her, and began.

Early one morning,

As the day was dawning,

I met a fair lady

Far along the way.

And so wooed her,

And so I kissed her,

And then so again,

I went along my way.

And when I came again,

She sped me on my way,

Singing ever so softly,

Please, for you will leave me,

Please don't deceive me

How could you use

A poor maiden so?

Gwenyth and Annie applauded, as did the rest of the men, who teased Gavin for being a musician and far too attractive, though their words were all in good fun.

Rowan would never have said he was jealous of the young man, exactly, but he often envied him his easy ways.

"Sing with me," Gavin asked Gwenyth then, and so she did, their voices melding beautifully under the rich canopy of the forest.

"Best get some sleep," Rowan advised when they were done. The women found a comfortable place beneath a spreading tree, and five men slept, while the other five took first watch.

Morning came, with the softest nip in the air. Everyone washed quickly and drank at the brook that bubbled through the trees nearby, and on their way to the next town, they found a farmer who was happy to make them a filling breakfast of bacon, bread, fish and eggs.

They traveled south through the Highlands, down to the border country, and finally reached Yorkshire, where Rowan made the decision not to enter the great walled city. They bypassed the city and traveled on until late at night—despite the fact that Annie allowed her grumbling to be heard.

"A fine lady, the queen's lady, travels in this party, and we might have stopped at a fine castle and been welcomed there—even if this be England," she said.

"You'll like the castle where we're stopping, Annie," Rowan assured her, riding back to disarm her with a grin. "Won't she, Gavin?"

Gavin solemnly agreed. "It's a fine place, Annie. I promise you."

At last they came to a great walled fortification. Gavin had ridden ahead then, and the drawbridge was already down, providing safe passage above the moat. Within the walls, a stone castle rose several stories into the night sky. Outside the walls, the countryside they'd been riding through was lush and fertile, and there were numerous cottages. When they reined in, Gwenyth looked at Rowan with weary but curious eyes.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"It is called Dell," he told her.

"I see," she murmured, though she did not.

"It is mine," he told her.

"Yours?"

"A gift from the Queen of England. I hold it through no one," he added quickly, thinking she might surmise he had gained the estate through his marriage to Catherine. "I accomplished a small service once for Queen Elizabeth, and therefore, I am Lord of Dell."

"I see," she repeated, and this time her smile was dazzling.

They were greeted by his steward, an amiable man named Martin, a corpulent and cheerful fellow who was delighted that his lord had returned to his English land and quickly had a very fine meal prepared. The men joined them for the late supper, and there was much discussion about the storage of crops and the maintenance of the castle, so Gwenyth excused herself as quickly as she could.

Rowan had seen to it that Gwenyth was given the chamber kept in preparedness at all times for the ambassadors and nobles who often stopped here on their journeys to the north and south. The bed was vast, the mattress firm and not at all lumpy. The hearth was huge, the fire warm.

Shortly after he saw Gwenyth leave, Rowan excused himself, knowing his men might well enjoy his hospitality long into the night.

This time, he came upon Gwenyth in the bath. He slipped silently into the room, where she was resting her head on the rim of the tub, appreciating the hot water after their long ride.

"Ah, m'lady Gwenyth. I've brought towels," he said.

"Annie is on her way back," she advised him gravely when he entered. "She thinks that I must have some warmed wine, if I'm to sleep well."

"We'll bolt the door."

"And how will I explain that?"

"Simply say that you're already half-asleep."

"You don't believe she'll suspect some…danger?" Gwenyth teased.

"Do you want me to leave?" he queried.

"Nay, m'laird, never!" she protested. "But perhaps you should hide in the wardrobe."

"My dear Lady Gwenyth, it is far beneath my dignity to hide in a wardrobe," he replied.

As he spoke, there was a tapping on the door, and Annie's anxious voice sounded softly. "M'lady? Are you all right? I thought I heard voices," she said. "Should I send for the guards?"

Rowan turned and opened the door, despite Gwenyth's gasp.

Annie stood in the hall, her jaw dropping. Afraid she would also drop the tray with the pitcher of wine and chalice, Rowan quickly rescued it.

"Please, dear woman, I'm quite afraid some small spider might drop into your mouth. Close it, and do come in," Rowan told her, setting the tray on a trunk.

Annie snapped her jaw shut and entered the bedchamber. She stared from Rowan, still resplendently handsome in the formal attire he had donned for dinner, to her mistress.

Gwenyth was afraid that the maid who had tended her so lovingly and so well for so long now was going to voice her sternest disapproval. She was equally afraid that their affair might be given away. Instead, to her astonishment, Annie grinned, and then she began to laugh outright.

"Well, well. So ye've both finally realized what all the rest of us have long seen," she said.

Gwenyth frowned.

"Oh, nay, y'er not suspected of this, " Annie said, still laughing. But then her laughter faded, and she set her hands on her hips and stared at Rowan. "This is nae a round-heeled maid to satisfy yer fancy—m'laird."

Rowan leaned against the wall, amused. "Nay?" he inquired.

"Nay," she echoed a fierce frown.

Rowan gave her his deepest, most charming smile. "Annie, I have promised the lady I will wed her. Thus far, she has refused me."

"What?" Annie's jaw dropped again.

"I have my reasons," Gwenyth said.

"Well, not a one of them can be good enough," Annie said with complete certainty.

Gwenyth did not have a chance to tell Annie any of her reasons, because Rowan stepped in and informed her maid, "The queen would allow no conversation about my second marriage until her own domestic situation is settled. She was quite fierce on that score. But, Annie, I am a man of my word. I am quite aware that Lady Gwenyth is no lightskirt."

Annie stared at Gwenyth. "Ye will marry the laird, m'lady," she said sternly.

Gwenyth had to laugh, then looked at Rowan. "We needn't wait for the queen. Annie says that we must marry."

"Don't ye go mocking me," the older woman said sternly.

"Never, Annie," Rowan said solemnly. "I give you my most solemn vow that I will marry your mistress."

He was serious, Gwenyth knew. Wrong reasons, right reasons. At that moment, it didn't matter. He was there. He had made a vow. And he would never give his word lightly.

Annie was shaking her head as she started from the room. "Don't ye be mindin' me. I'm off—minding me own business." Then she paused and turned back. "There be a bolt on that door. I suggest ye use it."

"It is my castle," Rowan reminded her politely.

"Mayhap," Annie sniffed, but happily. "I still say, bolt the door."

"Thank you. I stand well-advised," Rowan said.

He bolted the door as soon as Annie was gone. He set down the wine, walked to the tub and reached down, then, soap and all, pulled Gwenyth into his arms. If he had been ardent before, he was doubly so now. If she had longed for him before, it was with an ever-greater desperation now.

Now she knew what it was to feel the power of his muscles, the sleek ripple of his flesh beneath her fingers. Now she knew that his kiss would make her feel as if she had never really lived before.

It mattered not to either of them that she soaked his fine clothing through, for even as he took her from the tub, he had begun to cast it all aside.

She never knew where it went, only that she was touching him, unafraid to explore. She was half-maddened in her desire to stroke him, feel the vital contraction of his muscles and bask in the feel of her flesh against his. She cupped his hand in her palm, her lips upon his throat as she savored the drumbeat of his pulse. She was learning to play, to tease and taunt, and the taste of his flesh beneath her tongue was purely erotic. She could not be close enough to him, and as she pressed herself against him, she did so with the sole intent of feeling some part of his flesh along every inch of hers. She caressed him with her fingers, trailing them along his body as he had trailed his along hers. She was not so experienced a lover yet that she was not hesitant at times, but his ardent whispers urged her along, drove her to new heights. She grew bolder, feeling his hands always upon her, yet he let her play and experiment first, and she could tell from his response that she was instinctively learning all that was most seductive. She dared to let her fingers dance upon his erection, followed by a harder touch, a liquid caress. She savored the hoarse cry of surprise and pleasure that issued from his lips, the fierce ardor with which he grasped her to him, the trembling power with which his arms held her when he made love to her, when he was one with her, and it seemed the world itself shook with the wild ferocity of their passion.

He did not leave her in the night but lay by her side and held her.

When the morning's light broke gently through the arrow slits, she woke and was immediately aware that he had already wakened and still lay by her side, leaning on one elbow, watching her. "When you grow to be a very old woman, m'lady, you will still be a beauty."

She laughed, her brow furrowing. "M'laird, when I grow to be a very old woman, I will be quite wrinkled."

"The soul never ages," he told her. "Did you know that?"

"Are you saying I have a beautiful soul?" she queried.

"Aye, that I am," he said gravely. "But this morning, when I woke, it was your face, I must admit, that I noticed. That, and perhaps the way the sun's rays fell upon the length of your back…perhaps even how it made your hair catch fire."

"My hair will turn gray," she told him.

"It will. But no matter how you age, you will have beauty in your face, in your eyes and smile."

She wondered if it was possible to be any happier as she curled closer to him and said, "You will be a very striking old man."

"Muscles do not remain strong forever, and flesh sags. I will be stooped and possibly bald," he told her.

"Ah, but you, too, will always have your face."

"Not so delicate as yours, I fear."

"I don't believe such a strong chin will ever go weak. And your eyes…even if the color begins to fade, they are so deep a blue that they are nearly black. They will always be fierce," she said gravely.

He gently stroked her cheek with his knuckles. "And to think you had little good to say about me once."

"Mary is a good queen," she told him earnestly.

"Aye, she has proven so," he agreed.

"You still do not sound certain."

"Twenty years from now, I shall be certain," he said, and he threw off the covers, then held himself poised above her. "My lady, you serve her well in her chambers—may we keep her out of ours?"

He waited for no answer. The morning had come, but he did not intend to forget the night.

At last he lay beside her again, cradling her to him, surprising her with his passion when he spoke.

"If only we could remain right here."

"If we remained here," she reminded him, "we would not reach Elizabeth. We could not convey to her the respect in which Mary holds a man's choice of religion. We could not make her understand that Mary is her proper heir, deserving of recognition."

His fingers threaded through hers. "We could not return to the queen and gain her consent for our marriage," he said flatly.

Gwenyth rolled to him, rising up on her elbow, seeking his eyes. "Rowan, I swear…I'd not trap any man into marriage."

"Well, you were certainly bold," he said softly, and with affection, "but I do believe that I did the trapping."

"I suppose that's what you must believe," she teased.

"It is the truth, and therefore what I believe."

He pulled her close again, and kissed her long and tenderly. But when that kiss threatened to become more, he drew away with regret. "There is nothing I would like more than to remain here," he said with a sigh, his eyes still tender. "But we have to ride. We are still only in the north of England."

He turned away then and rose, but he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead before he picked up his strewn clothing, dressed, and at the door bid her rise.

"Breakfast, then the road," he told her.

"Aye, I shall move," she promised him as he closed the door in his wake.

The sheets still held a hint of his scent, so she remained where she lay, hugging her feather pillow.

It seemed impossible to be so happy.

She would never leave him, she vowed.

And surely, whether he said so or not, surely he loved her. Would do so always.