Chapter 4

W hen the English finally learned the extent of their impressive victory over the Spanish and the great Armada, the country went wild in a frenzy of rejoicing. For a good week, bonfires blazed on every hill throughout the land during the late-summer evenings. Before leaving Tilbury, the queen rode to every corner of the encampment to bid her faithful soldiers farewell and to thank them for their loyalty. Riding through the lines of cheering men, she was accompanied by Leicester and young Essex.

As they escorted her to her barge, Robin Southwood could not help but notice that Leicester did not look particularly well. His hair and beard were suddenly white, and his too-florid complexion coarse. He had also grown fat with too much good living and his many personal indulgences. Remembering how a once slender and elegant Leicester had long ago abused his mother and misused his position as Robin's godfather, the Earl of Lynmouth could feel little pity for the man. True, he was ever loyal to the queen, but in his favored position he had often misused that power. Robin stepped forward as Elizabeth Tudor approached the quay and, bowing with a little flourish, kissed his sovereign's hand.

"Ah"—Elizabeth smiled warmly—"my lord Southwood. Are you for London then?"

"Aye, madame, but only for a short while. Merely long enough to visit the O'Malley-Small warehouses in order to choose fabrics for my bride. I am anxious to take her to Lynmouth to see her new home and to meet my little daughters."

"Will you not stay in London long enough to await your mother's return, my lord?"

"Mother's last letter this past spring said that she would come to Bideford first, madame. It is my daughters, I suspect, who draw her to Devon."

"The beautiful Skye, a grandmother!" said Leicester with an exaggerated sigh. " 'Tis not to be borne!"

"We all grow older, my lord," Robin returned.

Robert Dudley looked sharply at the younger man, but Robin turned a bland face to him and smiled pleasantly.

"Bring your bride to court when you next come to London, my lord Southwood," the queen said graciously. "We shall be happy to receive her."

"As always, madame, you are too kind. God grant Your Majesty a safe trip."

The queen passed on to her barge, and Robin moved down the quay to his own vessel. The incoming tide swept them swiftly up the Thames to London, which was already celebrating the Armada's defeat at the hands of England's brave seamen. The streets, draped in festive sky blue silk cloth, were packed with people hoping to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth Tudor so that they might cheer and salute this bold queen, defender of England. Arriving from Tilbury, she was transferred into a great gold coach decorated with a lion and a dragon holding up the arms of England at its front, while four gold columns held up a canopy in the shape of a crown over her head. Beneath it, the queen in her white velvet gown sat accepting her people's homage, a relaxed smile upon her face, her hand waving in salute to the happy crowds.

Services of thanksgiving were held at both St. Paul's and at St. Paul's Cross, where the banners of the captured Spanish fleet were displayed to the delight of the crowds. There were bonfires, dancing, feasting, and tournaments to celebrate the miraculous victory. The formal services of thanksgiving would be held on November 17, 1588, a day that would also mark the anniversary of the queen's thirtieth year as England's ruler.

The queen in her good humor was overly indulgent of her young goddaughter, Velvet de Marisco. So it was that Velvet found herself spending more time at Lynmouth House than at court. She was helping Angel to pick out fabrics for all the gowns that Robin was having made for his bride. Never had the young Countess of Lynmouth been faced with such incredible bounty. Never in her life could she remember having more than two dresses at one time, and usually they were either remade from someone else's outgrown garment or of the plainest fabric. Angel was stunned by the profusion of gorgeous fabrics presented to her. Amazed, she watched as Velvet, heiress born and raised, chose bolt after bolt of the incredible stuffs.

"That ruby red velvet, that emerald brocade, the pink silk, and, of course, the violet. No, no! Yellow is not Lady Lynmouth's color, dolt! Now that amethyst with silver stripes has possibilities." Velvet turned to her sister-in-law. "What do you think, Angel?"

Angel laughed. "I think it's too much, Velvet. We've already enough fabric for a dozen dresses."

"Dearest Angel, you are the Countess of Lynmouth, not some little royal ward now," Velvet teased her friend. "You will need dozens of gowns."

"I give up! You and your brother are totally incorrigible. I shall never in a million years wear all the gowns you insist on having made, nor the jewelry Robin has lavished upon me."

"Yes, you will," Velvet said with great assurance. "Oh, it's true you're going down to Southwood for a while, but I guarantee that once Mama is back from her voyage, you'll be invited to Queen's Malvern , and Her Majesty has already insisted that you and Robin return to court. You'll need everything we're having made and more!"

"What is she like?" Angel asked.

"Who?"

"Your mother. I've heard … Well, everything said about her is so contradictory."

Velvet chuckled. "She is the most marvelous woman alive, Angel, and she will love you as Robin and I do. I don't doubt everything that you've heard is contradictory. Mama is so fabulous that there is no other woman like her in the world. My father is her sixth husband, and she has had healthy children by all but one of them. For many years she was head of her family in Ireland and took care of them all. Along with Sir Robert Small, who has been my mother's partner for many years, she built up a huge trading empire. O'Malley ships have been bringing spices to England for years, although now that the Portuguese have a stronghold in the Indies it is much harder. That is one reason my mother undertook this voyage. She wanted to obtain for England the same privileges that the Grand Mughal has given to the Portuguese. Still, despite her many activities, none of her children has ever been slighted, or felt unloved, and we are all close.

"Of course, Robin holds the highest rank of us, although he is the fourth born. We have two O'Flaherty half brothers: Ewan and Murrough. Then comes our half sister, Willow, the Countess of Alcester. Then there are our Burke half brother and sister, Deirdre and Padraic. My father has been married to Mama longer than any of the others. They have been wed sixteen years."

"What are Robin's little girls like?" Angel was obviously concerned that her stepdaughters like her.

"Beth has just turned three this year, Kate was two in January, and little Cecily will be two in December. They are dear little things with Alison's blue eyes and Robin's blond hair. They don't remember their mother at all, even Beth for she wasn't even two when it happened. You are their mother now, Angel, and for them you will always be. You need have no fears in that direction."

Suddenly the door into Angel's bedchamber was flung open, and as they looked up, startled, Willow, Countess of Alcester, stalked into the room. "Is this the bride, Velvet?" she demanded. Willow was an extremely beautiful woman with Skye O'Malley's black hair and her father's amber-gold eyes and skin. There was an exotic look to her for all her English ways.

"Willow! Oh, I'm so glad to see you, and yes! This is Angel, Robin's new wife!"

"Could you not have informed me, Velvet? James and I hurried to London to celebrate the queen's great victory, and after we had paid our respects to Her Majesty, I was accosted by Lord Dudley, oozing with his usual sly innuendos, this time about Southwood's bride. Have you at least had the decency to inform the others, or is there some reason it is to be kept secret from the family? Will Mama approve?" Though Willow was several inches shorter than her younger sister, there was a regalness about her that was intimidating.

"We have been back in London but two days, Willow," Velvet said calmly. "Scarce time to inform the family. 'Twas far more important to Robin that Angel be clothed decently and as befits the Countess of Lynmouth. After all, Mama will be returning any day now."

"Mama will not be returning until next spring, Velvet. Robin has had word this very day."

"What?" Velvet looked as if she were about to burst into tears. "What has happened? Why is she delayed?"

"I don't know," snapped Willow. "You will have to ask Robin, for it is he who received the communiqué. Besides, 'tis not as important as this marriage." She turned and fixed Angel with a searching gaze. " Who are you? Are your people landed? I know nothing, but I intend to know all!"

"I must go and find Robin," Velvet said. She turned to her new sister-in-law. "Don't be afraid of Willow, Angel. Her bark is far worse than her bite, and she has always been our little matriarch. Tell her everything. She will love you as the rest of us do." Then, picking up her skirts, she hurried from the room, her elder sister's voice echoing in her ears as she ran.

"Impudent chit!"

A little frown upon her face, Velvet moved swiftly down the stairs to the next floor of the house and along a hallway to her brother's library. She burst in without even stopping to knock. Both Alex and Robin were there bending over a map. They looked up, annoyed, as she barged into the room.

"Is it true? Is it true that you received a message from Mama? That she is not to be home until next spring? Why didn't you tell me, Robin? What shall I do when this damned betrothed of mine arrives on the scene, which he is bound to do any day now?" Then she began to sob. "I want Mama and Papa, Robin!"

Alex strode across the room and gathered the weeping girl into his arms. Looking over her head at Robin, he said in an even voice, "Enough of this charade, Robin! I will not have Velvet terrorized any further. Sweetheart, look at me. I am the Earl of BrocCairn, your betrothed husband, and I love you. Please don't be frightened any longer, I beg you!" He kissed the top of her head, making soothing noises at her.

Safe in his arms, it took a moment or two for his words to penetrate her brain, but then Velvet shrieked with outrage and pulled furiously away from him. She looked angrily at her brother. "You knew of this, Robin? You knew who he was?"

"Of course I knew, Velvet. He is an old friend."

"You lied to me!" she shouted at him. "Both of you lied to me!"

"What lie?" demanded Robin. "No one lied to you."

"You said he was Alexander, Lord Gordon!" She angrily stamped her foot, and her midnight blue skirts shook with a furious hiss of silk.

"He is, you little virago. He is Alexander Gordon, the Earl of BrocCairn. There was no lie told to you."

"But not the full truth either," she accused. "Oh, I will never forgive you! Never! Neither of you!"

Robin's lime-green eyes narrowed in sudden anger. Grasping his sister by her upper arms, he shook her, enraged at her behavior. "You spoilt little minx, do you know how lucky you are in Alex? He has all the rights, Velvet. Not you! It is his right to demand an immediate marriage with you, and if I were wise, I am thinking, I would insist upon it, for I am convinced it is past time you had a lord and master to teach you a woman's proper place. God knows Mother and Adam never have. They have spoilt you to the point of ruination! Alex, however, felt if you had the time to learn to know him, you could be brought around. He has been far more sensitive of your feelings than you have been of his."

Velvet pulled away from her brother. Rubbing her arms where he had bruised her, she drew herself to her full height and said, "I shall return to court immediately, Robin. I thank you for your hospitality. I have aided your wife in the choosing of fabrics, but now that our elder sister, Willow, is here she can take charge. She is far more knowledgeable than I in matters of the latest fashions."

"You will remain here if I have to lock you in your rooms, Velvet! I shall ask your release from the queen, and we will celebrate your marriage as soon as possible so that you and Alex may return to Dun Broc before winter." He glowered at her icily, every inch the great lord.

"Go to hell, my dear brother!" she spat back at him. "Try to force me to the altar and I will create a scandal the likes of which the Tudor court has never seen!" She turned to gaze scornfully at Alex. "And what have you to say about all of this, my proposed lord and master , my betrothed?"

"My dear, I am of a mind to release you from the agreement our parents made ten years ago. I have never had to force a woman to my bed yet, and frankly I am not sure you are to my taste with your russet hair, your bad manners, and your temper. I seek a woman for my wife, not a spoilt brat."

"Oh!" Velvet looked outraged, and Robin hid a small smile of amusement.

"Nevertheless," Alex continued, "the uniting of our families was a dream of both my late father and your father. Let us wait until the spring when your parents return home to make any irrevocable decisions."

He had stung her and Velvet now retaliated wickedly. "Very well, my lord, but you understand that we are both free to seek our pleasures where we may until then."

"Of course, madame," was his equally cool reply.

Throwing him a final outraged look, Velvet turned on her heel and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.

"She ought to have her bottom paddled," said Robin angrily.

"Thank you for telling her it was I who suggested giving her time to accept our marriage."

"It was the least I could do under the circumstances, Alex. Why did you think now was the moment to tell her who you were?"

"In the few weeks Velvet and I have gotten to know one another, I believed we had become friends. I realize now that I have miscalculated."

"Hell, man, you should have let me arrange the wedding and be done with it. Velvet would have settled down once she realized she had no other choice. She is a stubborn chit, but not a stupid one," Robin said.

"Nay, she's not stupid, but you would have miscalculated if you had tried to force the marriage now, and I would be the fellow who had to live with the consequences, Robin."

"What will you do then, Alex?"

Alex chuckled, and it was a deep, rich sound of pure mirth. "I think, Robin, my friend, the time has come to give Mistress Velvet de Marisco a lesson in tactics. I love her, Rob, and I believe she is beginning to love me. But I shall teach her a lesson that will have her begging for our marriage within a very short time, I promise you."

"In that case," Robin said with a slow grin as he poured them out generous goblets of golden wine, "I think we should drink a toast to your wedding, Alex. When do you think I can anticipate the festivities?"

"I imagine I can bring your sister to heel by midautumn," came his confident reply. "Although I forced my sister and her weak-kneed spouse from Dun Broc , I want to get back before Bella takes it into her head to move back again."

Neither Alex nor Robin, of course, took into account that if Alex Gordon was stubborn, Velvet de Marisco was even more stubborn. Returning to court and her duties as a Maid of Honor, she threw herself into the social life that surrounded the queen with surprising vigor. The hitherto shy maiden that Velvet had been disappeared, and in her place emerged an amusing and beautiful young woman with a distinct penchant for fun. It was she who suddenly became the instigator of the games and the practical jokes that the youth of the court delighted in so much. If the women at court were no friendlier than they had originally been, the gentlemen were most assuredly delighted.

At first Alex and Robin watched Velvet with tolerant amusement, but as the weeks went by they became less enchanted with her behavior. It was not that there was any real gossip about Velvet, for she was no fool, and if she was flirtatious, she was still careful of her reputation. Her coterie of gentlemen, however, did not include either her brother or her betrothed, which made it difficult for either of them to know exactly what she was doing. Everything they learned was by hearsay, and both were becoming increasingly nervous. Robin and Angel paid a hurried visit to Devon, then returned to find Velvet becoming more unbridled as each day passed.

"I thought you had a plan to control my sister," Robin complained to Alex one evening after they had spent a good hour watching Velvet and her friends play a particularly wild game of hide-and-seek. There had been much shrieking, open tickling, and even a quick kiss observed as the Earl of Essex cornered Velvet, who quickly escaped him, throwing her brother and his friend an arch look as she did so.

"I do," Alex said somewhat smugly, "but I wanted to give her time to amuse herself first. Now, however, I shall make her jealous."

"Jealous?" Robin was incredulous.

"Aye, Rob. Jealous! I am going to suddenly find myself enamored of a lovely lady of this court. One, of course, of experience who cannot possibly accept any serious addresses on my part, but one who will flirt with verve."

"Oh, Alex," Angel cautioned, "I do not think that very wise. In the short time I have known Velvet, I have learned one thing. She never does the obvious. You will only make her angrier, I fear."

"Now, sweetheart," Robin soothed his lovely wife, "Alex is right, I am certain. Velvet may be angry at us now, but she is basically an innocent. Let her believe that her betrothed husband, whom I know she must care for, is interested in another woman, and she'll come around quickly enough."

Angel shook her head worriedly. Men were sometimes very dense when it came to understanding women, and yet they were supposed to be the superior sex. She sighed deeply. Velvet was not going to come running like a chastised puppy if Alex annoyed her further. She would instead seek to retaliate. If, however, Velvet knew what Alex was planning … Angel brightened. That was it! She would tell her sister-in-law and, thus warned, Velvet would not react so violently.

Velvet, however, to Angel's dismay, chuckled wickedly when she learned what her betrothed was planning. "So he seeks to make me jealous? Ha! Until now, all I have done is amuse myself. Now I shall endeavor to make him jealous instead while ignoring his little amour. Do you know whom he has singled out, Angel?"

Angel hesitated, then said, "Lady de Boult."

Velvet whooped with glee. " That drab!"

"She's very beautiful," ventured Angel.

" 'Tis also said she's entertained every cock at court at one time or another," was Velvet's quick reply.

Angel laughed. "Shame on you, Velvet de Marisco! A maiden should not know such things even if they are true!"

"You did!" Velvet countered. "Besides, I'll have far better taste, I assure you, in my choice of a lover."

Angel's eyes widened, and her voice was shocked. "You don't really mean to take a lover, Velvet, do you?"

"Nay!" Velvet quickly reassured her best friend. "Alex, however, shall never be certain of it until after our marriage! 'Tis payment enough for his perfidy, I think."

"You love him!" Angel accused.

"Perhaps, though he's scarce given me the chance."

"Nor you he," Angel reminded Velvet.

"Nay," Velvet agreed. "In the beginning it was my fault, but I was so fearful of being forced into a marriage without my parents. Alex, however, must shoulder part of the blame now, for he and Robin should have told me from the start who he was, and then quickly reassured me that he would be willing to wait. We are both, it appears, quite stubborn."

"If you are wise enough to know that, then stop this foolishness before it goes any further, Velvet. Say to Alex what you have said to me and let us end the enmity now," begged Angel.

"Not yet, Angel. If Alex thinks he has bested me in this, then he will always try to keep the upper hand, and our married life will be one battle after another. No. Let him win me, and he shall then appreciate me much more than if he simply married me because I was his betrothed wife. Remember that for ten years he has ignored me in his arrogance! Let him fight a little to regain my affections. It will be a great lesson for him since I shall never allow any man, even my husband, to take my love for granted."

There was a great deal of wisdom in what Velvet said, and Angel was greatly reassured that her sister-in-law would do nothing foolish.

To be wise is one thing, however, but to be jealous is another. Knowing that Alex meant to enrage her by his attentions to Lady de Boult, Velvet did not expect to find herself plagued by what the ladies surrounding the queen referred to as "the green-eyed monster." She could not, however, avoid the gossip that was gleefully reported by the other maids of honor, and Lady de Boult did nothing to discourage the talk surrounding her affair. Indeed she added to it by openly discussing her liaison with her cousin, Audrey, who was one of the queen's ladies.

On the afternoon of the queen's fifty-fifth birthday, Velvet had been listening for over an hour to increasingly idle talk until she thought she would shriek with annoyance. She could not leave because the embroidery threads in the queen's basket were in an incredible tangle. It had taken her most of the afternoon to separate the reds, pinks, roses, and light blues. The greens, darker blues, yellows, and purples were still hopelessly enmeshed, and the queen liked to do busy work in the early evening. Head lowered, she worked to separate the bright colors and ignore the silly chatter, but Audrey Carrington's irritating voice suddenly cried out, "Oh, Mary, how lovely you look! Where did you get those marvelous earbobs? They're new, aren't they?"

Lady de Boult glided into the Maiden's Chamber, a small, feline smile upon her pretty face. She was a tiny, full-figured woman with a delicate, brunette beauty about her. She had milky white skin and large dark eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. She wore a garnet red silk gown, and her hair was contained in an exquisite gold net, a new extravagance from France that allowed her new earbobs to show to their greatest advantage.

Tossing her head, Lady de Boult asked, "Do you like them, Audrey? Lord Gordon gave them to me."

"Are they rubies?" Audrey was quite impressed.

"Aye. Beautiful, aren't they? He said their color reminded him of my lips."

"Oh, how romantic!"

"Aye, he's the most romantic man I've ever met," purred Lady de Boult, looking smugly about her.

"He's a crude Highlander," murmured Velvet, "and more than likely the stones in your ears are either glass or garnets of poor quality."

"How would you know?" Mary de Boult sneered, tossing her head so that the red stones glittered.

"He's my brother's friend and is staying at Lynmouth House," replied Velvet sweetly. "I suspect he's a fortune hunter, m'lady, for earlier this summer he tried to sweep me off my feet, and I'm a betrothed lass. Robin says he has very little but an old stone castle in the mountains west of Aberdeen. More than likely he's come south for a rich wife to rebuild his tumbling-down manse."

"Well! I should certainly not qualify to be his wife," said Lady de Boult huffily, "after all, I have a husband."

"Then why do you accept gifts from another man? I doubt very much the queen would approve such conduct," Velvet retorted primly.

"You know very little about the world, Mistress de Marisco," Lady de Boult replied scathingly.

"True, madame, but is yours an example I should follow? I may be young, but I am not so young that I misunderstand either your shameless behavior or Lord Gordon's base motives."

"How dare you!" Mary de Boult's fair complexion became mottled with outrage, and she raised her hand to slap Velvet, but at that moment the door to the Maiden's Chamber flew open violently.

"Where is the queen?" Robert Devereux entered, an urgent and distressed look about him.

"I'll tell her you're here," said Bess Throckmorton, and, catching Velvet by the hand, she drew her away from Lady de Boult. Together the two young women entered the queen's bedchamber where Elizabeth lay sleeping, for she had had the ague recently. "Majesty, please awaken," Bess said gently, touching the queen lightly.

Instantly Elizabeth woke. "Yes, Bess, what is it?"

"The Earl of Essex with an urgent message, madame."

The queen sat up. "Velvet, hand me my wig and help me with it. Bess, give me but a moment and then tell the earl I shall be with him."

Quickly Velvet aided the queen in setting the beautiful red wig upon her head. The queen's hair had grown thin and gray with age, and she did not feel it suited her at all. The wig was a vanity she readily admitted to, but she cared not who knew as long as no one she considered important saw her own naturally steely locks. Once the hairpiece was affixed atop her head, she stood up, and Velvet helped her sovereign into a beautiful white velvet chamber robe embroidered with gold threads and pearls.

"Thank you, child," murmured Elizabeth kindly to Velvet. "I am so very glad to have you with me."

Bess held the door open as the queen passed through into the Maiden's Chamber. Robert Devereux knelt and, taking the queen's hand, kissed it.

"Madame," he said, his voice low and choked. "Madame, I do not know how to tell you this without hurting you, and hurting you is the one thing I would not do."

Elizabeth Tudor stiffened. "Say on, my lord, for your procrastinating will make it no easier."

"I have come to you from my mother at Cornbury. She wishes you to know that her husband, my stepfather, Lord Dudley, departed this life on September fourth. She said I was to tell you it was a peaceful death, and that Lord Dudley's last thoughts were of Your Majesty." Essex caught at the hem of the queen's gown and kissed it fervently. "God forgive me for having to be the one to bring you this news, for I shall never forgive myself."

For a long moment Elizabeth Tudor stood very still and remained very quiet. She was whiter than her gown, and Velvet was almost afraid that the queen would die right where she stood, seemingly rooted to the floor.

Then Elizabeth Tudor took a deep breath and said in a tight, controlled voice, "Get up, Essex." When he had risen, she continued, "I forgive you, for someone had to tell me, and I had as lief it was you. Now leave me, all of you!" Then, turning, she moved swiftly back into her private closet.

"Come along." Bess Throckmorton hurried them all from the Maiden's Chamber, but not swiftly enough, for they all heard the sound of Elizabeth Tudor's bitter weeping. Shock coursed through them for never in the memory of anyone present had the queen been heard to cry.

It was said that though Elizabeth was sorry about the Earl of Leicester's death, no one else was. The court was too worried over their sovereign's grief, however, to stop and mourn even had they had the desire to do so. The queen locked herself in her rooms for some days, weeping until her eyes were virtually swollen shut and vastly irritated by the salt from her tears. Food was brought in upon trays only to be taken out barely touched as the ladies-in-waiting and the Maids of Honor huddled, whispering worriedly, with the queen's councillors in the palace corridors.

Finally, when several days had passed, and the queen was still prostrate with her grief, Lord Burghley's concern for Elizabeth Tudor overcame his respect for the privacy of the woman he had served for more than thirty years. Pounding on her bedchamber door, he shouted, "Madame, you must cease your grieving now! I understand your sorrow, but it will not bring my lord of Leicester back to life again, and it would pain him to know that you neglect your duties in this way!"

"He would love every minute of her grief," muttered Ralegh irreverently.

Lord Burghley sent Sir Walter a fierce look, effectively silencing him. "Madame, I beg you," William Cecil continued.

"You must give up your sorrow now. We need you. England needs you!"

There was no sound from within the queen's closet now, and after a few moments Lord Burghley took it upon himself to order the door broken down. It was the smashing of the wood that finally brought the queen to her senses. Rising from her bed, she admitted her ladies into the room. She was queen of England, and there was no further time for sorrow. She would have to face the rest of her days without her sweet Robin.

Her grief was stirred afresh however, several weeks later when the Earl of Leicester's will was read. In it he wrote:

First of all, and above all persons, it is my duty to remember my most dear and gracious Princess, whose creature under God I have been and who hath been a most bountiful and princely mistress to me.

The queen was then presented with a rope of six hundred pearls from which hung three great bright green emeralds and a large diamond set amidst them. Dudley had left the necklace to Elizabeth, his parting gift to her. A single bright tear rolled down the queen's face before she firmly recovered herself.

When Leicester's widow, Lettice Knollys, quickly remarried Sir Christopher Blount, the queen sued the Dudley estate for all of the thousands of pounds he owed the crown. She would have forgiven the debt but for her cousin Lettice's lack of respect for Leicester's memory. Now she would rather impoverish Lettice than see the money go to the Blounts.

Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, was mortified by his mother's lack of respect for her late spouse. There were times, he thought, when Lettice could be an embarrassing liability, and this hasty marriage to a man young enough to be her son was certainly one of those times. Besides, he had come to like his stepfather.

He grumbled about it to Velvet one afternoon as they stole a few moments from their duties, seated together in a secluded, windowed alcove. "Blount, of all people, Velvet! What in God's name does she see in him?"

"He's very handsome," Velvet ventured.

"Handsome!" Essex was forced to laugh. "That's just the sort of answer I would expect from an inexperienced girl."

"I am not inexperienced!" Velvet huffed.

Essex chuckled and slipped a bold arm about her waist. "You're certainly not experienced, Mistress de Marisco," he teased her fondly, and then stole a lingering kiss.

"Fie, sir!" she scolded him breathlessly, but she dimpled and colored becomingly, totally unaware of how very lovely she was at that moment, of how she glowed, flattered by his attention.

It would have added greatly to her pleasure to know that across the room, unobserved by the pair, Alexander Gordon seethed with impotent rage. He could not hear what they said, but it mattered not, for it was obvious that Velvet was flirting shamelessly with the Earl of Essex, and Alex could do nothing about it.

The court that autumn was a dull place, for the queen would hold no revels nor allow any gaiety until the official thanksgiving for the Armada victory, which was to be held on November 17. Nonetheless, the younger members of the court managed to find their way to the beer gardens, the theaters, and the autumnal fairs during the afternoons when the queen was less apt to notice their absence.

Alexander Gordon kept up his seemingly ardent pursuit of Lady de Boult. One warm autumn afternoon Velvet came upon the couple in an arbor by the river. The sight of his hand down her well-filled bodice enraged Velvet.

"Lecher!" she shrieked at him as Mary de Boult looked stunned, caught between the two of them. "So you court her to make me jealous and to bring me to heel, do you? Liar! Liar! Liar! You could not possibly have known that I would choose to walk at this hour along this path! You but use our estrangement as an excuse to pursue any bitch who is willing to lift her tail for you!" Then she slapped him with all her might and, turning on her heel, stalked angrily away.

"Madame!" His voice roared after her, and when she did not stop, he leaped the space between them and, grasping her arm, spun her about.

"Unhand me, lecher!" she snapped, "else I'll tell the queen of your behavior with this woman!" She tried to pull away from him, but his fingers tightened cruelly about her flesh.

"You're jealous," he said flatly.

"Never!" She shouted the hollow denial.

"Aye, you're jealous, Velvet, and I've been jealous, too, each time I've seen you cuddling with my lord Essex." His grip loosened enough to pull her toward him, while his other hand tipped her face up toward his. "Come, sweetheart, enough of this warring between us. We have both been wrong. Now let us make peace and begin afresh. Your parents will be home in the springtime, and we will celebrate our marriage then. Let us spend the winter learning to love one another." He bent to kiss her, but Velvet turned her face from his.

By this time Mary de Boult had recovered her surprise and, glaring at them, demanded to know, "Are you to marry this, this chit, my lord Gordon? How dare you lead me on, then! I have never been so insulted in my entire life!"

"Nor as amply rewarded for your infidelity!" snapped Velvet. "If you feel so abused, my lady, then I suggest you complain to your husband!"

"Ohhhh!" Lady de Boult was a picture of perfect outrage. With an angry, futile, "Well!," she glowered at Alex, and then, to his surprise, she also slapped him before stamping off toward the palace.

With a rueful grin, he rubbed his twice-injured cheek. "You English lasses have hard hands," he said.

"Go to hell!" was Velvet's furious reply. "If you think I intend to kiss and make up with you, you're mistaken, my lord."

His brow darkened, and then he said in a seemingly calm voice, "What I think, Velvet, is that you're a spoilt brat. I admit I was wrong in ignoring you in the years between our betrothal and now, but when that contract was made between our families you were a child and I already a man."

"You might have sent the child a doll, my lord. You might have remembered her occasionally on her birthday, or Twelfth Night, or even the anniversary of our betrothal, but you did not! The truth of the matter is that you did not remember me at all until your dying father reminded you of your obligations. Only then did you decide you needed a wife, a creature upon which you might breed the next generation of Gordons of BrocCairn. Well, my lord Earl of BrocCairn, I am not a brood mare, and I have decided that I will not marry you ever! You're far too fickle a man to suit me!"

Alex was stung by the truth of her words, yet if she would not give in, neither would he. The right was his, he told himself firmly. "I was willing to wait until yer parents returned home, Velvet," he said in an ominous voice. "I have played, or tried to play, the suitor for these four months, but ye're an impossible little shrew! I will wait no longer! Not for yer parents, not for ye, not for anyone! I need a wife now, and ye're contracted to me by both God's law and man's." Taking her firmly by the hand, he dragged her along behind him down the queen's garden toward the river.

"Stop! Where are you taking me?" Velvet demanded of him.

"To Scotland, madame! To be my wife! To be the mother of my children! By this time next year, the first of our sons will be at yer breast, Velvet, and this nonsense will be long forgotten!"

"Never!" she cried. "Never! I would sooner be dead!"

He ignored her cries and her frantic struggles as, reaching the quay, he called out to hail a boatman. Shoving her down into the small boat, he directed the man to Lynmouth House. When she looked as if she might scream, he glowered at her and said in a low, threatening voice, "One word, Velvet, and I'll toss ye in the river to drown! I swear it!" She believed him, regretting bitterly that she had ever driven him so far. It was symptomatic of her own childishness, she realized, that she had been so wrapped up in herself she hadn't stopped to consider him or his feelings in this matter. Perhaps she might reason with him.

"My lord," she began softly, "please, I beg of you, do nothing foolish. We are too much alike, I fear, to make a successful match. I cannot believe that there are not any number of girls who would be honored to be your wife."

"Ye are my betrothed wife," he growled at her. "Now be silent! I don't wish to share our problems with all of London."

She opened her mouth to protest further, but then closed it again. Better not to aggravate him. They were going to Lynmouth House, and Robin and Angel would be there. They would help her reason with him and it would all be resolved. Meekly, she folded her hands in her lap and waited to reach their destination.

The Earl and Countess of Lynmouth, however, were not in residence when they arrived. A message had come up from Devon late the day before saying that the earl's little daughters were ill, and nothing would do, the majordomo told them, but that her ladyship hurry down to Lynmouth Castle to minister to her stepdaughters. Naturally his lordship went with her.

Velvet was horrified, realizing that without Robin and Angel to mediate this quarrel she had no control over Alex. Turning, she whispered, "I can't leave without seeing my brother, my lord."

"We're leaving within the hour," he said coldly. "I want to be free of London and well on the road north before nightfall. We have maybe four hours of daylight left today. Pack only essentials. I'll arrange to have the rest of yer things sent later on."

"I cannot leave the queen, my lord. She will never forgive me if I go without speaking to her first."

"Once we're in Scotland, Velvet, Elizabeth Tudor will no longer matter in yer life. Ye'll have a king then. A Stewart king."

"What about Pansy? I can't travel without my maid!"

"Aye, ye'll need the girl. Where is she?"

"Back at the palace."

"I'll send Dugald for her." He grasped her arm again and led her up the stairs of Lynmouth House to his apartments. "I want ye with me, madame, for I'll not have ye upsetting the servants with any caterwauling." They entered his rooms. "Dugald! Get back to St. James and fetch Mistress de Marisco's tiring woman, Pansy. Be quick, man, for we're off for home this day!"

Dugald's face split into a wide grin. "Aye, my lord! I'll not be long in fetching the lass, and 'twill be good to go home at last." He hurried out the door without so much as a look in Velvet's direction.

"Sit down," Alex commanded, and in order not to anger him any further, she obeyed.

For some minutes they sat in silence, and then Velvet said pleadingly, "Please, my lord, you can't do this."

He looked coldly at her. "I am doing it, Velvet, and if ye were to challenge me in the courts over this I should win. Ye are legally my betrothed wife, and unless either I or yer parents dissolve the contract made between us, ye have no other choice. Yer parents are away, and I wish to marry now. Yer brother would support me if he was here as he is yer guardian. Ye know that, so resign yourself to our marriage."

"Wait at least until Robin returns from Devon, my lord!"

"Nay, Velvet. If I sent a messenger after Robin it would be several days before we had a reply. Winter is coming, and in the north it's nearer than it is here in yer soft England. Even the few days it would take to obtain Robin's official permission could mean the difference between our getting back to Dun Broc before the snows or being caught in the first storm of winter. I have the right, Velvet, and we leave before sunset."

Once again silence descended upon the room. Why, thought Velvet to herself, why could I not have walked away when I saw him fondling that overblown de Boult creature? Because you love him , came the answer, and she cried aloud, "No!"

"No?" he questioned.

" 'Tis nothing, my lord. I but had a thought that distressed me."

"What thought?" She shook her head.

"What thought?" he repeated, and now he came and knelt by her chair so that he might look up into her face. "What thought, Velvet, distresses ye so greatly that ye cry out against it?"

"I but merely wondered why I had not left you to your pursuit of Lady de Boult instead of interfering," she said honestly. "Had I not disturbed you, I should not now be in this position."

"And why did ye interfere, sweetheart?" His voice had gotten softer, and his amber eyes were suddenly gentle and even a touch amused.

She shook her head. If he thought to cozen her with sweet words, then he was very much mistaken.

"Oh, Velvet," he said quietly, "why do ye refuse to admit that perhaps ye care a trifle for me?"

"Nay!" Her denial was too quick, and she flushed quietly.

He sighed. "I think ye lie, lass, not only to me, but to yerself also. Never mind, for we shall become reacquainted again on the road where we will have no one but each other. I had thought, though, that perhaps ye were beginning to care a little."

"And you, my lord? Do you care, even a little?" she asked.

"Aye, lass," he answered her without hesitation, and to her great consternation. "I do care."

Velvet swallowed hard, but refrained from answering him. For ten years he had ignored her existence, and then, upon entering her life, he had falsely represented himself. He had flaunted another woman at her, no matter that she had known it was only to make her jealous. She strongly suspected that he had enjoyed himself, and that was totally unforgiveable!

The silence about them deepened. Lord Gordon arose from his knees and, going to a table, poured himself some wine from the decanter. "Are ye thirsty?" he asked her, holding out a goblet. She shook her head, so he drank deeply of it himself. The minutes ticked slowly by, and the tension about them was so thick that she thought she would scream. Finally, when she believed she could bear it no more, the door of the apartment opened, and Dugald entered with Pansy, who ran directly to her mistress.

"This brigand dragged me from the Maiden's Chamber where I was awaiting you, mistress. He says we are going to Scotland. Is it true then?"

Before Velvet could answer, Alex spoke for her. "We will leave as soon as ye can pack, Pansy. We are riding. There will be no carriage. Lord Southwood's servants can pack yer mistress's things for shipping later on, but she will need some necessities for now. I expect ye can ride?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"Very well then, go along, lass, and hurry."

"I must go with her," Velvet said.

"Why?" he demanded harshly. "My lord, have you no delicacy?"

He flushed. "I beg yer pardon, Velvet. Of course, go with yer woman, but Dugald will accompany ye."

"As you will, my lord," was her cool reply.

Ignoring the grinning Dugald, Velvet left Alex's apartments and, with Pansy following, hurried through her brother's house to her own rooms. As Dugald attempted to step into the apartment after them, Velvet firmly barred his way. "I will have my privacy!" she said sharply.

"The earl said I was to stay wi' ye, mistress."

"There is only one way into or out of my rooms, and we are three stories up," Velvet snapped. "You'll stay here in the hall, or I'll scream the house down! Lord Gordon will not thank you if I create a scene." Then she firmly slammed the door in his face.

"What is happening?" Pansy begged to know.

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

"It appears, mistress, that there is nothing to do but go with the earl," replied Pansy. "He is your rightful betrothed. Don't be afraid, for I shall come with you."

"Nay, Pansy! You must ride for Devon and send my brother after us! 'Tis my only hope!"

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

"I'll write it immediately!" Velvet hurried to the desk.

"And I'll pack for us, for we're off to Scotland whether we will or no," replied Pansy, beginning to gather up the necessities.

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

"I canna leave her ladyship," Dugald replied. "Ye know the earl's orders."

"Then you'll not mind if I speak to the housekeeper meself," said Pansy.

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

"I'll run like there's wings on me feet," replied Pansy pertly. "Let me tell me mistress first though." She popped back into Velvet's rooms, closing the door once more behind her. "Give me the note, mistress. I'll get it to Elvy now, and when I get back, I'll help you change into your riding clothes."

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

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

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

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

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

Elvy was in the pantry cleaning the silver and looked very surprised when Pansy told him that she and Mistress Velvet were leaving that very afternoon for Scotland. " 'Tis a quick decision, it is," he said. "Is she then with child that a wedding must be celebrated so soon?"

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

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

"The whys and wherefores of the gentry aren't for us to wonder about, Elvy. Just get the note to me lord Southwood. Now I'd best get back lest they leave without me. I don't want me lady to ride alone." She left him and flew back upstairs.

"That didn't take long," Dugald remarked as Pansy hurried back to the apartment door.

"I'm a swift worker," Pansy replied.

"Aye, and I'll just wager ye are." He chuckled.

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

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

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

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

"Aye," replied the girl, "but me mother says 'tis a good thing to keep a man waiting lest he become too sure of you." She gave Velvet a cheery smile. "It's a lovely time of year to go north, Mistress Velvet, and I've not a doubt Lord Southwood will have caught up with us before we even get to Worcester. Take your gloves now, else you ruin your beautiful hands." She handed her mistress a pair of soft beige kid gloves.

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

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

"Where is my chestnut stallion?" Velvet demanded.

"There can be only one stallion in my stables," Lord Gordon replied, "and Ulaidh is that stallion. I have arranged to have your horse returned to Queen's Malvern as he is a valuable breeding animal. I knew you would not want him sold."

"You are too kind, my lord," she said dryly. "Have you named my mare?"

"Her name is Sable," he replied. "She is a daughter of Ulaidh." Without warning, he boosted her into the saddle. "If you wish to discuss my stables, Velvet, we can do so as we ride. The day wanes already."

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

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

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

Velvet settled herself in her saddle and concentrated on learning the whims and ways of her new mare. She quickly found that Sable was beautifully trained, needing only the lightest touch of the rein to bring her to obedience. "What a lovely little creature Sable is," she exclaimed. "Her manners are perfect. Who trained her?"

"I did," Alex replied. "She's very spirited, but then I've always had a way with skittish females, I'm told." He grinned rather impudently at her.

Velvet tossed her head. "We'll see, my lord, how good you really are," was her sharp retort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am embarrassed to come before you dressed in my riding clothes, but I suspect I am a great deal more respectable than if I wore my only other garment, my nightshift." She smiled wryly at him.

"You are growing used to our pace now?" he questioned her. "Aye, my lord. My poor bottom is well used to my saddle by now."

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

"It would be nice to have a day out of the saddle, however," she continued. "Might we stay in York a short while? I am told the cathedral is magnificent, with more stained glass than any other church in all of England."

"We have several more days ahead of us, Velvet, before we even reach Scotland. I have told you that winter comes early in the Highlands."

She sighed deeply. "Would just one day matter?"

He thought a moment. One day could matter very much, and yet she looked so disappointed. He wanted to please her. He wanted them to have that same relaxed and pleasant relationship they had once had. Perhaps humoring her would help. "Very well," he said, "but just one day."

Early the following morning, Pansy was up and out to an open-air market where she managed to purchase secondhand a respectable dark green velvet skirt that her mistress could wear and that would cover Velvet's riding boots as she walked about York. It was a plain garment but her mistress certainly could not wear her riding skirt in town.

After a breakfast of steaming oat porridge that had been served with heavy cream and honey, a hot cottage loaf that was offered with a crock of sweet butter, peach jam, or cheese, brown ale for Alex, and watered wine for Velvet, they left the inn to visit the cathedral. Despite her anger at being dragged from London, and her fear of marriage to this strong, fierce man, Velvet was as excited as any sightseer. Educated in the history of her country, she knew that next to Canterbury, York Minster, originally called St. Peter's, was the most famous cathedral in all of England. It was built between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, but its soaring towers only dated from the previous century. It was one of the loveliest examples of Gothic architecture in all of Christendom.

Velvet, who, unlike most of York's pilgrims who came simply to pray to the saints, had a rare appreciation of beauty in art, found the north transept of the cathedral with its magnificent stained-glass windows beautiful beyond all. She was in transports over the wood vaulting in the nave of the cathedral and simply fell in love with the exquisite Lady Chapel. Alex, who had seen York Minster before, now saw it through her eyes with a new enthusiasm, and was enchanted at this different aspect he had found in this child bride of his.

Leaving the cathedral, they walked through the old part of the city with its narrow and winding medieval streets. This ancient part of York was surrounded by the original wall of the city with its four gates. It was a lovely, cool autumn day, and Alex found that he was glad he had stopped their journey in midflight. Velvet was more relaxed and chatty than he had seen her in weeks. Rather than return to the inn at midday, they bought sausage, bread, and cider from street vendors and sat by the banks of the river. Each carefully avoided the subject of their marriage: Alex, not wanting to fight with Velvet again, and Velvet, not wanting to spoil the day lest he insist they go on their way once more. Every hour they remained in York was an hour closer to her rescue by her brother. Surely Robin would come tomorrow or the next day.

Velvet's heart sank when Alex announced that they would retire early that night because he wished to ride out before sunrise.

"We can't make up for this lost day, but we'll be a bit farther on than if we started later," he said.

"How far will we ride tomorrow, my lord?" she asked him, afraid of the answer.

"I should like to make Hexham. If we do, then we shall be able to cross the border into Scotland the day after tomorrow."

Alone with Pansy, Velvet fretted, "Where is Robin? It is a week since we left London. He should be here now!"

Pansy looked unhappy, and then she said, "Perhaps he is not coming, mistress."

"Not coming! Why wouldn't he come to my rescue?" She stamped her foot to emphasize her point.

"Mistress Velvet, you are betrothed to Lord Gordon, and your mama and papa did approve the match. Perhaps Lord Southwood feels that now that the earl has taken things into his own hands, it is better to have you marry and be done with it."

Velvet's face crumbled. "No!" she whispered. "I don't want to be married now! I don't want to be a mother yet! I am just barely past my own childhood, dammit! It isn't fair! It just isn't fair!"

Pansy sighed deeply. Life wasn't always fair, she thought, but there it was. You took what was handed you and made the best of it. At least that's what her mother had always said, and her mother knew. Pansy's charming Irish father, one of Lady de Marisco's captains, on the other hand, was more like Mistress Velvet. Always seeking the impossible, always anxious to see what was over the rainbow. He was a dreamer and a romantic, just like the young girl she served. Pansy couldn't understand why Mistress Velvet was making such a fuss. If she had been given a handsome, wealthy, and kind man for a husband, she would be on her knees thanking the blessed Mother!

"We will run away!" Velvet said dramatically.

"What?" Pansy was startled from her reverie.

"We'll run away," Velvet repeated. "Tonight, when Lord Gordon is snoring snugly in his bed, we will escape him and make our own way back to London. When I tell the queen that he kidnapped me, she'll have his arrogant head!"

"Mistress Velvet! That's the silliest idea I ever heard," Pansy declared bravely, for she had no right to speak to her mistress in such a fashion. "Frankly, we have been lucky to get this far without being assaulted by robbers, traveling without an armed escort as we have been doing. Only the fact that Lord Gordon and Dugald are well armed, and look like the type of men that will not be trifled with, has saved us, I've not a doubt. Two women, however, are a totally different matter! We'll not get five miles from York before we are set upon, murdered, robbed, and heaven only knows what!"

"There is no other way, Pansy. Perhaps we could dress as boys?"

Pansy looked down at her full bosom and shook her head ruefully. "I could never disguise these," she said. "Mistress, listen to me. Let the earl bring you to Scotland. 'Tis true you're his betrothed wife, but only a priest can unite you in the holy bonds of matrimony. If you refuse the marriage, there can be no marriage, can there? Lord Gordon will have to send you back to England and wait until your parents return next spring, won't he?"

The smile that suddenly lit Velvet's face was like the sun returning after a gray day. "Oh, Pansy! You're right! You're absolutely right! Why didn't I think of it in the first place? The worst that can happen is that we'll be stuck in Scotland for the winter. What matter as long as we return to England in the spring?" Impulsively Velvet hugged her tiring woman. "Oh, what would I do without you?"

Pansy sighed with relief. Her mother had always said she had a quick mind. If her mistress had persisted in attempting an escape from Lord Gordon, Pansy would have had to side with the earl for Velvet's sake, but she knew that her mistress would never have forgiven her, and she would have been sent home in disgrace. What would she have said to her mother then? Pansy was certain that Lady de Marisco couldn't have been like Velvet or else Daisy would not have been able to cope so well.

Two days later, the Earl of BrocCairn's party crossed over the invisible line that separated England and Scotland and rode into the Cheviot Hills. It was a clear mid-October day, and the air was sharp and crisp. Alex had put aside the elegant garb of the gentleman that morning, and he now rode dressed as the Highlander he was in a belted plaid consisting of a piece of Gordon tartan, plaited in the middle and wrapped around his back, leaving as much at each end as would cover the front of the body, the ends overlapping each other. The plaid was held in place with a wide leather belt that had a silver buckle jeweled with a reddish agate. The lower part of the tartan fell to the middle of his knee joints while the upper part was fastened to his shoulder with a large silver brooch engraved with a badger and the BrocCairn motto, "Defend or Die."

With the tartan he wore a white silk shirt, knitted green hose, a doeskin vest with horn buttons, and black leather brogues. On his head was a blue bonnet with a pheasant's feather set at a jaunty angle. He was armed with his broadsword, a dirk, and a sgian-dubh in his right stocking.

Dugald was dressed similarly, and Pansy openly eyed him with approval, for he was a fine figure of a man in his plaid, she suddenly decided.

Velvet was now more uncomfortably aware of Alex than she had ever been. He was, she noted, extremely handsome in his tartan, and seeing his bare knees gave her a shiver. There was something almost savage about him that had not been there before. She began to wonder if perhaps she shouldn't have fled him in York when she had the opportunity. Any softness he had shown was gone with his English clothes.

They stopped during the noon hour to rest the horses and to eat the lunch that the innkeeper's wife had packed for them that morning. There were slabs of fresh bread with sharp cheese and sweet pink ham, a cold chicken, a skin of cider, and some pears. The day was quiet, the air warm and still. Velvet was taken by the beauty of the Border country. The hills stretched into the purple distance, seeming almost softly smudged in the clear autumn light.

"Where are we to stay tonight, my lord?" Velvet asked as they mounted up to ride again.

"I am heading toward Hermitage , the Border home of my cousin, Francis Stewart-Hepburn. He is the Earl of Bothwell, and even if he is not in residence, they will offer us hospitality. I am hoping to stay a few days while I send Dugald on to Dun Broc to bring back an escort. We have been lucky so far, but I will bring ye no farther without my men at my back."

"Is it so dangerous then? We have had no difficulties, and we are closer to Dun Broc now than we are to London."

"Are ye anxious then, Velvet, to see yer new home?"

She flushed at his reference to Dun Broc as her home. "My lord, you have kidnapped me from the queen's court, and though it is true that we are betrothed, you cannot compel me to marry you. I have told you that I will not marry you until my parents return home."

He smiled. "I thought ye weren't going to marry me at all," he gently teased her.

She would not look at him, instead staring straight ahead, her hands clenching her reins. "It is not that you are not suitable, my lord, it is just that I am not yet ready to wed. Why can you not understand that? I am being neither coy nor coquettish."

"Ye were correct when ye said that we are alike, Velvet, for if I do not understand yer attitude, ye do not understand mine. I have courted ye and tried to be patient."

She snorted derisively, and he was forced to laugh in spite of himself.

"There is no way you can force me to the altar without my family about me," she said firmly.

Before he could answer her, Dugald said urgently, "Riders, my lord! Up ahead, and they've already seen us." His hand reached for his broadsword.

"Rein in!" Alex commanded sharply, and then he directed his words to the two women. "Even at this distance I can tell Borderers. Pray God they are Bothwell's men, but, in any event, keep yer mouths shut! Velvet, I am deadly serious when I tell ye that this is a matter of life and death."

"I understand, Alex," she replied softly, and he looked sharply at her. It was the first time since they had left London that she had called him by name.

He smiled a quick, encouraging smile back at her. "Good girl!"

They moved forward at a slower pace, allowing the large party of riders ahead of them to come toward them. As the troop came nearer, Alex's tense face relaxed as he realized that they indeed wore the plaid and the badge of the Earl of Bothwell. As the two parties came abreast of each other, the Earl of BrocCairn saw Francis Stewart-Hepburn's bastard half brother, Hercules Stewart, riding in the forefront. Hercules, like the hero he was named for, was a huge man with a shock of black hair. He also had a handsome Stewart face.

"Hercules, my friend," called Alex.

Hercules Stewart's face broke into a friendly smile. "My lord Gordon! What brings ye into the Cheviots?"

Alex reined his horse in, facing Hercules. "I'm just over the border after several months spent in England. Is Francis at Hermitage? I would ask his hospitality for several nights. We have ridden hard from London these last ten days and my lady is weary."

Hercules let his gaze roam to Velvet, and his eyes widened with approval at what he saw. "Aye, my lord Bothwell is in residence and will welcome ye. We'll escort ye there now. Have ye come all this way without any escort? Christ, man! Ye're braver than I!"

Alex laughed, saying, "When did any Scotsman need an armed escort among the English? However, I dinna think it safe to continue north without my own men. Dugald will leave tomorrow for Dun Broc."

Hercules nodded. "Aye, 'tis best. The northern clans have been roused to a fever pitch pillaging the Spanish ships driven ashore in the late-summer storms. Travel is even worse than usual."

" 'Twas a great victory for the English," Alex remarked.

" 'Twas God's own luck," rejoined Hercules. "They were badly outnumbered, though I'll grant they're better sailors than King Philip's men." At this point his band had moved around and behind Alex's party. "Come along now, my lord, and I'll take ye to Hermitage. Yon bonny lass looks as if she'd welcome a bath and a soft bed."

"She's my betrothed wife, Hercules," Alex said quietly.

"I congratulate ye, my lord," was Hercules' reply, then he raised his hand as a signal, and they moved forward.

Within the hour they had reached Hermitage , the favorite residence of the Earl of Bothwell. A thirteenth-century castle, it was the strongest of the Border strongholds and sat atop a hill, allowing its inhabitants a view of the land below and for miles around. Above its main entry were the Hepburn lions, and Velvet noticed as they rode in that Hermitage's heights were well patroled.

Dismounting within the castle courtyard, they followed Hercules into the building. It was late in the day now, near to sunset, and the Great Hall of the castle was alive with activity as the dinner hour approached. The four fireplaces were already blazing with hearty fires that took the chill from the large room. There wasn't a woman in sight except for a few serving wenches, but the hall was filled with Lord Bothwell's male retainers who lounged about chatting, drinking, and dicing while they awaited the arrival of their master for the meal.

"I'll get my brother," Hercules said. "Ye'll be comfortable here." And then he was gone up a flight of steps.

"I've heard of the Earl of Bothwell," Velvet said. "Wasn't he wed to the late Queen Mary?"

" 'Twas his uncle," Alex replied. "It was James Hepburn who tried to be king. Sadly, he left no legitimate heirs, and so the title passed to his sister's son, my cousin Francis. He added the Hepburn to his own Stewart name in honor of his mother's family. He's an interesting man, Velvet. Educated and highly intelligent. The king is terrified of him." Alex chuckled. "But, then, Jamie Stewart is terrified of his own shadow."

"How are you related to the earl?" she asked, curious.

"I'm afraid ye'll be shocked, Velvet, but we are all related through a common grandfather, King James V of Scotland. The Stewarts are a loving family, but they've nae been known to confine their loving to their legal spouses. Both my grandmother, Alexandra Gordon, and Francis's grandmother were mistresses to the king at one time. My father was the result of my grandmother's liaison with James, and Francis's father, John Stewart, the prior of Coldingham, was the result of his grandmother's passion."

"Aye," said a deep, amused voice. "We Stewarts have always been a passionate clan, and generous with our favors. Good day, my cousin of BrocCairn, and who is this fair creature ye bring into my castle?"

Velvet turned and saw before her one of the handsomest men she had ever laid eyes upon. He stood well over six feet in height, and had the lean, hard body of a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors. He had a sculpted, sensitive face with bright blue eyes. His hair was a deep auburn like hers, his short, barbered beard the same. His smile was quick and extended as far as his eyes.

Alex laughed, "Ye never change, Francis! Always an eye for the wenches, but this one is mine, and I've brought her all the way from England. My betrothed wife, Velvet de Marisco. Velvet, this is my cousin, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stewart-Hepburn."

Bothwell bowed low over Velvet's hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it. "Madame, if I had known that England held such an exquisite treasure, I should have long ago stolen ye away like the Border raider I am," he said.

She blushed, yet she was delighted by his words, and he knew it.

"My lord," she returned, "if all Scots earls were as charming as you are, I should have come to Scotland long since." She cocked her head at him and asked mischievously, "May I please have my hand back now?"

Bothwell laughed, delighted by her quick tongue. This was certainly no silly miss. "I return yer hand wi' regret, sweetheart," he told her. "When is the wedding, Alex?"

"As soon as we return to Dun Broc," came his answer.

"In the spring," came hers.

"What is this? A reluctant bride?" demanded Bothwell.

"Velvet, dammit! When will ye learn that I will be master in my own house?"

" 'Twas you who kidnapped me from court and stole me away to Scotland, my lord of BrocCairn! I have told you a hundred times: There will be no wedding until my parents return home!"

About them the men in the hall had grown quiet, listening with keen interest. Here was something that might prove to be amusing.

"Velvet de Marisco, are ye or are ye not my legally betrothed wife? Do ye mean to wed wi' me or nae?" Alex asked her, and Francis Stewart-Hepburn suddenly realized just what his cousin was doing. He looked to the English beauty.

"Aye, Alex, I am your betrothed wife," she answered him angrily. "And well you know it! You infuriate me beyond all, but, aye, I will wed with you. Not, however, until my parents return home to England!"

"Ye heard her?" Alex looked to his cousin.

"Aye," came Bothwell's level reply.

"And ye?" Alex looked to Pansy, Dugald, and Hercules Stewart. "Did ye hear her?"

"Aye," they chorused.

The Earl of BrocCairn turned to Velvet and said quietly, "Under the laws of Scotland, Velvet, we are now married. Ye're now my wife."

She paled, then shrieked at him, "What? What trick is this you play on me, Alex?"

"No trick, sweetheart. The law of handfast requires only that a man and woman publicly state their intentions to wed in order to be wed. We have done that in the presence of a hall full of witnesses and are therefore married."

"Never!" she hissed, and then, with a speed that surprised them all, she snatched his jeweled dirk from his belt. "I'll carve your heart out before I'll let you do this to me, Alex Gordon!" She held the dirk in a distinctly threatening position toward him.

"God in His heaven!" roared Bothwell. Then he turned to Velvet. "Gie me the dirk, lass. 'Tis no use really, ye know."

Her mouth trembled. "Nay," she whispered.

It was a mouth meant for kissing, Bothwell thought, and he sighed. "Lassie, be reasonable. Do ye intend to hold us all here forever, for that is the only choice I can see ye have. Gie me yer weapon, and we will discuss this privately. I am the law here and along the entire border, nae my cousin of BrocCairn."

Two bright tears rolled down her cheeks, and, reaching out gently, Bothwell took the dirk from her. "Trust me, lass," he said softly.

"I ought to beat ye black and blue for that," Alex snarled. "Touch me, and I'll kill you, I swear it!" Velvet retaliated, her tears gone.

Bothwell was forced to laugh. The lass reminded him of a small, spitting kitten, while his cousin was as belligerent as a large dog. "How long have ye two been betrothed?" he asked.

"I was matched with him when I was five, but he was a man grown and couldn't be bothered with me in these last ten years!" Velvet said indignantly. "Then his father and brother died, and suddenly he must hurry to England, for he must marry and have an heir."

"It's a reasonable request!" shouted Alex. "I am the only male left in my direct line!"

"I told you we would be wed in the spring when my parents return from the Indies, but nay! Nothing would do but that you kidnap me and drag me to Scotland, and attempt this mockery of a marriage!"

"I love ye, dammit! I don't want to wait!"

"You love me?" She looked surprised.

"Aye, ye stubborn jade! I love ye though I don't understand it myself." He turned to Bothwell. "Dammit, man, isn't there somewhere private where we might speak?"

The Border lord hid a smile. Love was a powerful emotion. With a nod of his head he led Velvet and Alex to his library. "If I leave ye alone, can I trust ye nae to kill each other?" he asked, but they didn't hear him, for they were already too involved in their argument. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Velvet, I adore ye, but I can't wait any longer," Alex said. "I lay awake nights aching for want of ye. What difference does it make if yer parents are here to see us wed if we love each other? 'Tis a match they planned themselves."

"I love my parents, Alex."

" 'Tis good that ye do, sweetheart, but ye're no longer a child. All that sweet love ye possess should now be directed toward a man, toward me." He moved next to her and slipped his arm about her tiny waist. She quivered and tried to pull away, but he would not allow it. "Sweetheart," he murmured against her ear, kissing it. "I mean to have my way in this, Velvet. Ye love me. I know ye do, though ye will nae say it."

"Without a priest there is no real marriage between us in my mind and heart, Alex."

"We dinna need a priest, sweetheart. We are already wed by law, and I mean to bed ye this night."

"Your sons will be bastards then, my lord of BrocCairn, for whatever anyone may say, I will deny that any marriage ever took place between us. I can imagine how that will delight your sister and her husband, for I suspect they look to your lands for their own sons."

"Very well, ye damned little hellcat, I'll find us a priest, but ye'll wed wi' me before him tonight or I swear I'll gie yer pretty little maid servant to Bothwell's Borderers for their evening's amusement! Do ye understand me?"

"Aye," she snarled back bitterly at him.

Alex slammed from the room, leaving her alone and not a little frightened. She had never in all her dreams of her wedding day imagined that the event would take place in a gray Border fortress filled with men, without any of her beloved family about her, or that she would be forced to marry in a travel-stained riding skirt. "I'll never forgive him for this!" she muttered mutinously.

She didn't hear the door open, but turned, startled, as Lord Bothwell said, "I'm afraid there isn't a priest of the old kirk to be found in these parts, lass, but I've sent for a parson of the new kirk."

" 'Twill be no true marriage for me then," she said sadly.

He came into her line of view and, tipping her face up with gentle fingers, said, "A marriage isn't made by words spoken by any man, be he holy or not, lass. A marriage is in the heart and in the soul. I know, for I had a proper marriage in every sense of the word, and yet my wife and I haven't lived together in years."

There was a sadness in his eyes that Velvet saw, though he quickly masked it.

"Is there no one you love, my lord?" she said shyly, yet curiously.

"Aye, there is someone I love, though she knows it not. I canna speak of it for she is the loveliest and most virtuous of women." Again there was a sadness that touched Velvet, but then Bothwell sighed deeply and said, "Ye canna be wed without a proper dress, lass. I've asked one of the serving wenches to help ye prepare."

"But, my lord," Velvet protested, "I've nothing suitable. Alex really did kidnap me from London, and I've nothing but what I am wearing and an old velvet skirt that is no better."

Bothwell smiled. "But, lassie, ye're in a Border brigand's castle. I've all sorts of booty available if ye dinna mind choosing a gown from amongst such stuff. Come along, and I'll take ye to yer rooms."

He led her from his library and up a narrow, curving flight of stone stairs to a spacious apartment. There they found a woman waiting, and the Border lord said, "Maggie, this is Mistress de Marisco, who will very shortly be the Countess of BrocCairn. Find her something suitable and lovely to wear to her wedding, and have the men bring a tub, for I'll wager the lass wants a bath."

"Oh." Velvet sighed with pleasure. "You're an intuitive man, Francis Stewart-Hepburn!"

"Aye, 'tis what all the lasses tell him." Maggie laughed, and then she was gone from the room before he could reach out to swat her bottom.

Bothwell chuckled. "I think that my cousin is a very lucky man, sweet Velvet. Damn me, if I dinna think ye're a lass made to love!" Then to his surprise Velvet suddenly began to cry softly. "Why, lassie," Bothwell protested, and found himself taking her into his arms, "what is it?"

"My lord," she said, sobbing, "I do not know how to love a man!"

"Why, lass, there is no crime in that. In fact I suspect that Alex will far prefer it that way, for a man likes to school his own wife in matters of that sort." He reached for the silken handkerchief that was tucked into his sleeve and tried to wipe her tears away.

"My brother wed put a little while back, and I slept in the room next to his and his bride's on their wedding night," Velvet said. "She cried with pain when he made love to her, and Alex said it was because he had pierced her maidenhead, that it would only hurt once. Did he tell me true, my lord, or did he say it to calm me? What did my brother do that hurt his bride? I do not understand, and my mother never spoke on it, for she believed me too young before she went away. Do a man and a woman mate like the animals do? I have seen the stallions in my father's stables mated with the mares. I have seen his hounds with the bitches. I can't believe it, but is it the same?"

She nestled against him, and Bothwell wondered how he had gotten himself into this predicament. He had always thought of himself as an elegant and debonair man. He saw nothing about himself that should remind an attractive young woman of a mother hen, and yet here was this adorable female who, on the barest of acquaintances, was asking him questions that her mother was far more suited to answer than he. Then she trembled against him, and Bothwell, ever a gallant where the ladies were concerned, began to speak.

" 'Tis something like the animals, lass, but nae really. The beasts feel a need to mate while a man and a woman feel something entirely different. For a man and a woman, the mating is nae simply a physical act but an emotional one as well, though a man can take a woman physically simply because he desires her body. There is pain the first time a maiden is mounted, but the amount of the pain depends upon how tightly the maidenhead is lodged. 'Tis over in an instant, though, and then there is naught but sweetness. Alex has never been known to mistreat a lass, Velvet. He loves ye and will be gentle wi' ye, I've nae a doubt." He stroked her hair and said, "Now dry yer eyes, lass. There is naught to fear, I promise ye."

She took his handkerchief and wiped her face. "I have no other choice, do I?" she said softly, realizing he had actually told her nothing.

"Nay, lass, ye don't," he agreed.

The door to the room opened and several sturdy, kilted Borderers came in carrying a huge oak tub, followed by others bearing steaming buckets of water. The tub was quickly filled, and Bothwell followed his men from the room, saying as he went, "We'll have to fill the other tub in the kitchen, lads, for if the lass bathes, then so should the bridegroom." The door slammed noisily behind them, and for a minute Velvet found herself alone. Then the door burst open again, and Pansy ran into the room.

"Oh, Mistress Velvet! A tub, and 'tis hot, too! Here, let me help you. That Maggie is bringing the loveliest dress you've ever seen for you to wear. She's just behind me now."

"Och, good! The men filled the tub," said Maggie as she reentered the room carrying a gown. With a smile she held it up for the bride's inspection.

Velvet's eyes widened, for when Bothwell had offered her a dress, she had not expected it would be something as incredibly lovely as what Maggie now proffered. The gown was of a heavy candlelight-colored satin, its bodice and underskirt embroidered with pearls and crystal beads. The leg-of-mutton sleeves were tied by many small, pearl-encrusted ribbons; the cuffs, which were turned back, were of rich antique lace. The neckline was shockingly low but totally fashionable. It was the most beautiful dress Velvet had ever seen, and it was obviously brand new.

"It's glorious!" Velvet exclaimed. "Where did he ever find such a gown?"

Maggie laughed. "When a Borderer gies ye a gift, lassie, 'tis nae wise to ask where he got it." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a necklace that blazed with diamonds and pearls set in rose gold. "These are Hepburn family jewels, and he says for you to hae the loan of them for yer wedding."

"Oh, Maggie, please thank Lord Bothwell for me!"

Maggie smiled and nodded, then went about the task of helping Pansy to ready the bride. The serving woman had seen the woebegone expression on Mistress de Marisco's face earlier, and the men were already talking of the fierce argument between Lord Gordon and his betrothed wife. His lordship must have seen her look, too, and had obviously comforted the lass before sending along the jewelry. He was a man who knew how to make a woman smile, was Francis Stewart-Hepburn, thought Maggie, who had known him all her life.

Stripped of her filthy riding clothes, Velvet climbed into the high oak tub and sighed blissfully. Then suddenly she sniffed. "Gillyflowers!" she exclaimed.

"Aye," said Pansy. "I may have had to pack light, mistress, but there was no need to forget the essentials. I slipped a small vial of your scent into the pack."

Together the two women soaped Velvet, then washed her long auburn hair. There was no time to dally, Maggie said, for the wedding was set for eight o'clock. The men were already decorating the hall, delighted at the diversion. Half a dozen of Lord Bothwell's men had ridden into the nearby village to bring back the preacher. She chattered on, Pansy joining in, while Velvet only half listened to them.

Married. She turned the word over in her mind. Married. She still felt as strongly about her situation as she had five months ago when she had first heard of Alexander Gordon. It was not that she didn't care for him, for to her discomfort she found that she did. Whether or not it was love she couldn't be sure, never having been in love before. What she did know was that she felt trapped. She was willing to marry Alex, but not quite yet. I'm not even sixteen, she thought.

Her mother had been married for the first time at fifteen, and Velvet knew that that was precisely why she had wanted her youngest child to have more time. Somehow Velvet didn't believe that she would be like her mother with several husbands and so many adventures, but it would have been nice to have had a little more time at court. She was also unhappy about Alex's tricking her into a handfast marriage, followed by this hurried religious ceremony by a Calvinist preacher. She had been raised in the holy Catholic church, and although she was not particularly religious, she knew in her heart that until she was wed in her own church, she would feel slightly wicked.

Pansy and Maggie worked quickly to prepare the bride who silently obeyed their orders. Another serving wench arrived with a tray containing a small meat pie, steaming hot from the oven, and a tall goblet of heady, sweet red wine. Velvet ravenously wolfed the meal down, for she was very hungry. Then she suffered her face and hands to be rewashed. Silken undergarments and charming silk stockings with gold roses embroidered on them were brought and put on her. Somewhere a pair of shoes that fit her were obtained, and finally the gown was dropped over her head. The fastenings were neatly done up, then Pansy sat her on a chair and brushed her long, auburn hair until it shone with dark red and gold lights. The hair was left unbound to signify her virgin state and her head crowned with a wreath of wheat, symbolizing fertility. Then Pansy carefully fastened the necklace about Velvet's neck. As the young tiring woman stepped back, she gaped in awe when Velvet stood and turned to face her.

"Oh, mistress! You're absolutely beautiful!"

Maggie's face was also soft with admiration. "I dinna believe that Hermitage has ever seen a more beautiful bride," she declared.

There was a knock on the door, and Maggie opened it to admit Lord Bothwell. He was dressed in the elegant red and green Hepburn plaid and a black velvet jacket. His blue eyes swept approvingly over the bride as he said, "Christ almighty, lass, ye're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. With each minute that passes I further envy Alexander Gordon." He held out his hand to her. "Will ye gie me the honor of escorting ye?"

"With pleasure, my lord," Velvet answered. "Since my own dear papa isn't here. I cannot think of anyone else I would prefer but you."

Bothwell winced at the mention of her father. Dear Lord! He certainly wasn't old enough to be the lass's father—or was he? He dismissed the thought immediately with a grimace and sent Maggie a black look, for he had heard her muffled chuckle. Her gray eyes danced with merriment.

Velvet put her hand into Francis Stewart-Hepburn's, and together they walked from the room and down the narrow stone stairway into the Great Hall. Velvet's eyes were round with amazement at the transformation that had taken place in just the few hours that she had been at Hermitage. The hall was decorated with pine, red whortleberry, and white heather. At the entry to the Great Hall Lord Both well said something low to one of his retainers, and the man hurried away to return a moment later with a small bouquet of white roses and white heather.

"The very last of the roses." Bothwell smiled at her. "One of the serving girls found them by a sheltered wall and cut them for ye."

"You're so very kind, my lord," Velvet said. "You almost make me feel guilty for being such a reluctant bride."

"Captive brides are a tradition here on the Border, lass," was his reply, "but I believe that within a few short days yer anger will have cooled. He's a good man, ye know."

"Aye, the queen said that of him," Velvet replied.

"Did she now? Well 'twas never said that Bess Tudor was a stupid woman." Bothwell stopped a moment and lifted her face with his hand. "Gie us a wee smile now, Velvet de Marisco, for I can see ye love the man, even if ye're too stubborn to admit it. Pride is something I well understand." She smiled up at him, and he said, "Aye, lassie, that's it! Now, come forward, and we'll meet yer fate head-on. Never fear to meet yer fate!"

Then he led her into the Great Hall, and a mighty cheer went up from the Borderers gathered there. Before the high board stood the hastily summoned preacher of Scotland's new kirk and Alexander Gordon, the Earl of BrocCairn, freshly scrubbed, and with a black velvet jacket borrowed from Lord Bothwell to wear over his dark green, blue, and yellow Gordon plaid. On his shoulder he sported a magnificent gold clan crest, identifying him as the chief of his clan, the Gordons of BrocCairn. On the pin was the raised and snarling badger with red ruby eyes, and around the beast were inscribed the words "Defend or Die."

The pipes began to skirl softly as the bride was led forward. Lord Bothwell placed Velvet's hand in Alex's, and without further ado the preacher commenced reading the marriage ceremony. Where are the beeswax tapers in the gold candelabrum, the sweetly singing choir, and the family priest in his glorious white and gold vestments? thought Velvet. For a moment she almost cried, for she so wanted her parents, her sisters and brothers, Uncle Robbie, Dame Cecily, Uncle Conn, and sweet Aunt Aiden. Instead she found herself in the stone hall of a Border castle surrounded by men, being married by a Calvinist preacher to a man she half feared.

"Say aye!" Alex hissed at her, and she said, "Aye," as he pushed his own chieftain's heavy gold ring upon her marriage finger. She had been paying absolutely no attention to what was happening at all. This was her wedding. Was she going to tell her children and her grandchildren one day that she didn't remember the ceremony because she had been daydreaming? She giggled, and the preacher looked sourly at her, making her want to laugh all the more. Alex squeezed her hand in warning, and Velvet got a grip on her emotions though she was becoming nearly hysterical.

"I pronounce ye husband and wife," the preacher said, and another mighty cheer went up in the hall.

Alex pulled her into his arms roughly and kissed her with a passion that left her breathless. When he let her go she was blushing, and his eyes mocked her. "Now, m'lady, ye're most truly wed wi' me," he said softly. "Wedded, and soon to be bedded."

"I will never truly feel wed with you until we are married in our own church and my family is about me," Velvet said stubbornly.

"God's blood, madame! How many weddings do ye want?"

"I think," said Bothwell, interrupting what seemed to be another storm brewing between the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn, "that it is my turn to kiss the bride."

Velvet held up a cheek for him to kiss, but Francis Stewart-Hepburn laughed mischievously and said, "Nay, lass," as he took her lips. It was but a moment, and it was a sweet kiss. As he let her go he said, " 'Tis the only time I've an excuse to sip yer honey, lass, and ye're far too sweet to resist."

The preacher had disappeared, and the lord of the castle led them up to the high board. "I must apologize for such a simple wedding feast, my lady," Bothwell continued, "but I was not expecting to gie a bride away tonight." Then he signaled the servants to bring in the meal. There was venison, boar, pheasant, quail, duck, and capon. There were platters of salmon and trout dressed with cress, bowls of peas and carrots and beans, as well as hot breads and tubs of butter and cheese. Ale and wine were both served.

Velvet ate sparingly, taking a bit of capon and another slice of trout, some vegetables, bread, and cheese. She was very nervous now, and her stomach was rolling. Only the wine seemed to settle it, but she drank sparingly even of that. She had been placed between Alex and Lord Bothwell, both of whom took delight in filling and refilling their plates and goblets until she thought that they would surely burst. A large apple tart with heavy cream was the last thing to be presented and it was the only dish that tasted good to her, so she ate two large pieces of it.

The pipes started up again, and the men began to dance upon the gray stone floor. The fireplaces and the tapers smoked as the wind had risen outside, somehow managing to slip through cracks in the stone walls. Above Velvet were many colored banners and pendants. Francis leaned over to tell her that they were taken in various battles over the centuries by the Hepburns and their allies. The skirling bagpipes, the kilted clansmen dancing a dance she was told was the sword dance, the orange firelight shadowing the hall as it leaped in time with the pipes—all combined to create a savage splendor that she would not soon forget. This was what she would tell her children and grandchildren. It was all really quite exciting.

Then Lord Bothwell said quietly, "Maggie is outside the hall, Lady Gordon. She will escort ye to yer bedchamber."

Velvet started at the address "Lady Gordon."

"Is it time so soon?" she asked him plaintively.

"Aye, but remember what I told ye to do, lass. Face yer fate bravely and squarely. Alex has told me of yer parents, and I suspect beneath yer maiden fears ye're their daughter well and true." He took her hand and kissed it. "Go along now, my lady Gordon. I'll be sending ye yer man in a few minutes."

As Velvet stood to leave the high board, Bothwell raised his goblet and cried out, "The bride!" His words were echoed by the hundred men who were in the hall. "The bride!" was their toast. Her head held high, she acknowledged them with a return toast. "A Bothwell!" she shouted, and they cheered her as she drank. And then she made her way out of the hall to where Maggie and Pansy awaited her.

"God, she's bonny!" Francis Stewart-Hepburn said admiringly after she had gone.

"Aye," replied Alex. "And stubborn, and beautiful, and maddening, but, damn me, I want her!" He sighed. "I'm not so sure I should not have married a more biddable female."

Bothwell laughed somewhat bitterly. "Biddable females breed up weak sons, cousin. This little wench of yers will give ye a litter of fire-eaters for BrocCairn. Have another cup wi' me, and then go to her."

While they drank of Lord Bothwell's excellent Burgundy, Velvet was shown to the bedchamber she would share with her new husband. There she was divested of her finery by Maggie, while Pansy brought her a silver basin in which to wash her face, hands, and teeth.

"Have you eaten?" Velvet asked her tiring woman.

"Aye, mistress, I mean, my lady Velvet."

"Where will you sleep?"

"Maggie is letting me stay with her, me lady,"

"Steer clear of Dugald, Pansy. He means to seduce you, I suspect."

Pansy giggled at her mistress's words. "I may be a country girl, me lady, but I'm wise to the likes of Dugald. He'll get naught without a wedding ring for me finger first."

Velvet was completely nude now and she looked surprised when the two women led her to the big bed. "My nightshift, Pansy," she scolded the servant.

"Nay," said Maggie. " 'Tis the custom in the Border that ye greet yer new lord in yer bed without a shift, but as God has made ye, m'lady." She tucked Velvet beneath the lavender-scented sheets and the soft fur coverlet. Then she plumped up the fat goosedown pillows behind her back. "There! Now ye're ready, and just in time, I vow!"

In the hallway outside they heard men shouting, and then the door was flung open and the room filled up with laughing clansmen. Velvet clutched the covers to her bosom, drawing them almost to her chin.

God's blood, Lord Bothwell thought as he looked at her gardenia skin, wide green eyes, and auburn hair. She's exquisite! I'd best get my men from this room before there's a riot. He shoved his cousin forward. Alex had been stripped down to just the lower half of his plaid. "Yer husband, Lady Gordon!" Bothwell announced. Then he said to his men, "Come, lads! There's a troupe of gypsies outside Hermitage walls this night, and I'm thinking we should invite some dancers in to entertain us." He moved out of the room, and thus diverted, the two serving women and his retainers followed him.

The door closed behind them, and Alex, swiveling, shot the bolt before turning back to Velvet. He gazed at her for a long moment, and she reddened beneath his close scrutiny. Then he moved about the bedchamber blowing out the candles until only the one on the table by his side of the bed remained. A small, cheery fire burned in the fireplace. Without a word he pulled off his plaid and climbed into bed before she even had a chance to see him, except for a flash of taut buttocks.

Her heart was hammering wildly as she sat stiffly in the bed, next to him. She wasn't sure she was even breathing. There was a fluttery feeling of anticipation in her stomach, and yet she was also afraid. She desperately wished now that her mother had not believed her to be too young to discuss the marriage bed before Skye had left for India. Velvet didn't know what to do, or even if she should do anything, and she felt like a perfect fool. Her fingers clutching the bedcovers were white with her tension.

"Lower the bedclothes, Velvet." Alex's voice in the heavy silence startled her and she jumped. Gently he broke her death grip on the sheets and the coverlet, and her hands fell into her lap. She stared straight ahead, for she was terrified of looking at him.

Alex felt his breath catch in his throat. That one time all those long weeks ago that he had caressed her lovely body had not prepared him for such perfection. Free of any restraints, her beautiful young breasts sprang forth, as smooth and as round and as firm as young apples. Her skin was smooth in texture and creamy in color.

Velvet felt herself blushing again under his warm gaze. She wished he would hurry and do whatever it was he was going to do, and then leave her be. But when Alex reached out to caress one of her breasts, she was unable to restrain the little cry of fear that struggled from her tight throat as she tried to push his hand away.

"No, sweetheart," he said softly, "don't, for I love ye."

"I am so afraid," Velvet whispered.

He knew what that admission must have cost her. "Why are ye afraid, lovey? Ye know I won't hurt ye."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she said miserably.

Laughter bubbled up in his throat. "Do? God's blood, Velvet, the marriage bed is nae a performance."

"Don't you dare to laugh at me, Alex Gordon!" she cried. "From the moment I first heard your name, all I have been told is that you must breed sons quickly to protect your damned direct line of descent. Well, my mother has been gone from me for over two years, and she did not think me old enough before she left to discuss adult things with me. I know nothing of how sons are bred up, you arrogant ass! I asked Lord Bothwell earlier, but he told me naught. In fact I think now that I probably embarrassed him."

Alex could not help it. He howled his laughter. The thought of the elegant and urbane Earl of Bothwell being asked to mother-hen his bride was too delicious. "Y-you asked Francis about t-the, t-the marriage bed? Ah, ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ouch!"

This last came as Velvet, desperate to retaliate, grabbed a handful of his thick, black hair and yanked.

"Dammit, ye little vixen, let go!"

"Don't you dare laugh at me!" she raged at him. "Don't you dare!"

She tried to slap him, but Alex, now realizing that she was deadly serious, grabbed for her. Fiercely they wrestled across the bed, she trying to smack at him; he trying to prevent it. They battled back and forth for several minutes until suddenly Alex found her beneath him.

Her eyes widened with sudden realization as she felt his hard body pressed atop her. She groaned in defeat as his mouth captured hers in a deep and tender kiss.

In that moment Velvet knew that she was lost. His lips moved gently and sweetly against her own, coaxing her to respond, willing her to meet his passion with her own. Hungrily he kissed her, sending the blood racing through her veins and into her head with a pounding roar that left her dizzy. She had the feeling that she was falling, and she clung to him desperately.

"Ah, lovey, how ye intoxicate me," he murmured against her mouth, kissing her again, this time parting her lips to plunder its sweetness. For a moment this new intimacy drained her will completely. Only once before had he kissed her like that and then but briefly. Now his tongue probed deeply with slow, exaggerated movements, stroking and caressing the satin of her tongue until small flames of undiluted desire began to burn deep within her.

Alex thought he would go mad from the pleasure that her lips presented. He had never believed that any woman could offer such delights, and he was in no great hurry to rush them into the final act of consummation. As her head fell back against his arm, he trailed his slender fingers down her graceful throat, lingering a moment to touch lightly the visibly beating pulse in its blue-veined hollow. Then he bent his head and kissed the quivering throb.

He lay back a moment, his dark head next to her auburn one on the pillows. "Look at me, Velvet, my love."

She turned her passion-glazed green eyes toward his lionlike golden ones, which now gazed down on her. With feathery touches he stroked a tender breast, his fingers gently encircling it slowly in a delicious, mesmerizing action. Velvet felt a lovely warmth begin to suffuse her limbs. Without realizing it she sighed, and Alex smiled softly. His fingers moved upward and began to tease the sensitive nipple until she thought the flesh would burst open and pour forth a liquid sweetness. But then, when he twisted his body and, lowering his head, took her little nipple into his mouth, Velvet understood that the pleasure was only beginning.

Suddenly she was no longer afraid. She realized that she hadn't understood anything about this marvelous thing called lovemaking. She still didn't understand what was expected of her, or exactly what the act of consummation would involve, but she was content for now to trust in Alex Gordon. After all, she reasoned for one brief, sane moment, he was her betrothed husband and she certainly could not deter him from his intent. A great burst of tenderness overcame her and, reaching up, she caressed his thick hair with her hand.

He felt her touch, and his heart quickened with delight, for he recognized that at least for the time being she was free of fear. When he turned his attention to her other breast lest it feel neglected, she moaned low, and the passionate sound sent a shiver through him. His curious hand slipped down her torso to her belly, and he tenderly rubbed it, sending a small dart of delight through her.

Then to his surprise she said, "May I touch you, Alex?"

"Aye, lovey, for if I gie ye pleasure wi' my touch, so can ye gie me pleasure wi' yers." He lay back, barely breathing lest he startle her.

Velvet raised herself onto an elbow and gazed down at him. He was lean and muscled, and upon his broad chest was a wide mat of dark hair that narrowed as it traveled down his belly. She followed the dark line, her green eyes widening suddenly, her gaze flying back upward as her cheeks reddened. Then, shyly, she caressed his shoulder, her hand running down his chest, tangling in the soft fur of him. Her touch inflamed him, and his own heart beat wildly as she indulged her virgin's curiosity.

Reaching up, his arm encircled her neck and drew her back down so that her firm, young breasts were pressing against his chest. Their lips met again, and this time Velvet did not simply receive his homage. This time she kissed him back. He rolled her onto her back, enfolding her in his hungry embrace. She could feel his long body matching hers: his legs against her legs, his long torso pressing into her soft flesh.

His lips became more frantic as desire rose from deep within him. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, her stubborn little chin, and her mouth again. "Tell me that ye want me, Velvet," he almost pleaded with her. "Tell me that ye want me as much as I want ye!" And he shuddered with his desperate need.

She shivered, too, feeling the hard length of him that had not been there before. It pressed insistently against her thigh, almost a separate entity of its own, seeking entry into her young body. Suddenly she was afraid again, and she sobbed her fear.

"Dear God, Velvet, dinna put me off now when I long so desperately for ye!" Shifting his weight, he slipped his hand between her legs and, moving swiftly up, touched her in that most secret of places.

"No!" She twisted beneath him, her fright evident.

He groaned. "I won't hurt ye, sweetheart. I swear it!"

"Liar!" she whispered. "Do you not remember my brother's wedding night? I do!"

"The pain is sweet, my darling, and 'tis only once. For God's sake, let us have done with this damned virginity of yers!" He caught her hands and, pulling them above her head, pinioned her firmly. Then his knee nudged her resisting thighs apart while with his other hand he guided his manhood to the mark.

Feeling him gain a small entry, she cried out as the swelling pressure invaded her and she begged him to stop. Maddened now with his own needs, he barely heard her. Carefully so as not to give her any more pain than necessary, he slowly pushed himself into her virgin sheath. She could feel him filling her with a fullness that shattered her, and then, before she could protest his actions further, he thrust through her maiden barrier with one swift movement.

She felt but a single stinging pain and cried out sharply, but her cry was more of a lament for something lost rather than from any serious hurt she had received.

He lay very still within her, allowing her tender body to adjust itself to his invasion, and then he said softly, "There, sweetheart, 'tis over. Now let me teach ye the honeyed sweetness that two bodies can create."

There was a little discomfort as he began to move in her, but with each stroke of his manhood it lessened. His breathing became labored, then suddenly he shuddered and lay still once again.

"God's blood!" he swore angrily, and, curious, she asked, "What is it, my lord? Have I displeased you in some way?" She didn't understand why, but suddenly she wanted to make him happy.

He rolled off her and, laying next to her in the big bed, said, "Nay, sweetheart, ye've not displeased me. I am angered at myself, for I was so damned hot for ye that I was only interested in my own pleasure and gae ye none. 'Twill not happen again, Velvet, I promise ye. I behaved like a green boy, spilling my seed so quickly."

She really didn't quite understand what he meant, and so, innocently, she soothed him. "You didn't hurt me greatly, Alex. After the first pain it was rather pleasant. Really it was!"

He laughed gently. "Pleasant, Velvet, is not quite what it should have been. There should have been a lovely melting feeling, and I know that ye did not receive that, did ye?"

"Nay," she answered him, puzzled. "A melting feeling? Nay, I had no melting feeling. Is it necessary, this melting feeling?"

"Not necessary, but wonderful, sweetheart. Gie me time to recover myself and then we shall love again. Ye hae made me very happy, lovey, and I would make ye happy also." He put an arm about her and said gently, "Sleep now, sweetheart. 'Tis been an exciting day for us both."

When Velvet opened her eyes again, the gray dawn was just beginning to filter through the narrow windows of the room. For a second she forgot where she was, but then Alex snored lightly beside her and she remembered. Curious, she sat up and stared down at him. It was the very first time she had really looked hard at him, and in sleep there was a vulnerability about him he did not have when awake. Just above his left eyebrow was a tiny scar that she had not noticed before. Gently she reached out and touched it, letting her fingers trail softly down his jawline. He was really quite attractive, this man who was her betrothed husband, even if he was totally impossible to get along with and far more stubborn than anyone else she had ever known in her whole life. Her husband. This man was her husband. Nay! She was betrothed to him, but he was not her real husband yet, and neither a handfast marriage nor a Calvinist preacher could make it so if she would not accept it. When her parents returned from the Indies, when they were properly wed in a church by a priest of their own religion, then she would accept him as her husband.

"Ye're even beautiful when ye frown," he remarked, opening his wonderful eyes.

She smiled at him, noticing that his speech had become even more Scots in character since they had crossed over the border yesterday. "How did you get the scar over your eye?" she asked him.

"When I was a boy, my brother Nigel and I were practicing with swords and his foot slipped. My father beat him for it, and me also. He said we should have been better swordsmen." He reached up and pulled her down. "I want ye, lass," he said thickly, and then he was kissing her.

She had no fear of the unknown this time, and her body softened against him. She felt his hands smoothing down her back to cup and caress her buttocks, and then he turned her onto her back, finding her breasts once more and loving them with both his hands and his mouth. Velvet found his touch delicious and murmured her approval of his actions. Her lovely young breasts grew swollen with her longing as the nipples began to ache, becoming tiny and tight.

His hand slipped down her body, sliding between her legs, and she tensed slightly, but he kissed her ear and whispered, "Nay, sweetheart, but trust me." His fingers were incredibly gentle, and for a moment she hardly realized that he was stroking her soft secret. Then without warning that little jewel began to tingle with such an intense feeling that very quickly the only thing she was conscious of was the fierce throbbing.

"Oh." She gasped softly. "Oh! Oh!"

Twisting his big body, Alex swung over Velvet and, in one smooth motion, drove into her. Again she gasped, but the sound was one of pleasure. His hands rested on her hips, holding her firmly as he moved upon her, and this time it was far different than it had been the night before. Her senses were awash with pleasure, and behind her closed eyes images whirled in a pinwheel of kaleidoscopic colors.

Velvet met passion head-on for the very first time, her head thrashing wildly. She was lost in a blazing world, and, sure now of her pleasure, Alex took his own.

When afterward she became aware of herself and her surroundings again, Velvet lay quietly next to Alex, waiting for her breathing to even and her heart to stop pounding wildly. Finally she said, " 'Twas more like an explosion than a melting, my lord."

Reaching out, he took her hand in his and squeezed it. "I love ye, my Velvet Gordon, Countess of BrocCairn. I love ye very much."

"I—I love you, too, Alex," she admitted finally. "Oh, but please understand how I feel about our wedding! I know now that my fear of you, of the marriage bed, was nothing but maiden foolishness, but I honestly do not feel married to you, and I won't until we are wed before my family by a priest of our own church. Take me back to England and let us wait until the spring when my parents will return. I am yours, Alex. I am yours now and for always! Do this for me, my lord … husband."

"Nay, Velvet! Nay! We are home in Scotland. We are far closer to Dun Broc than we are to London. By spring ye could be wi' child, our child!"

"A bastard child!" she flung at him. "Would you bring that shame upon me? You say you love me!"

"He'll be no bastard, Velvet! We are wed under the laws of Scotland and in the eyes of the new kirk!"

"But not in the eyes of the church in which we were both raised, Alex!"

He had no answer to give her. Angrily he flung himself from their bed and, pulling on his clothes, slammed wordlessly from the room.

Velvet lay silently for a long moment, and then she felt a tear slide down her cheek. "Damn you, Alexander Gordon," she whispered to herself. "You're the most impossible man I've ever met!

I'll not be beaten though, my fine love! I'll get back to England, and you'll marry me properly before any child of ours is birthed. That I can promise you!" Then, yanking the crumpled covers back up over her naked shoulders, Velvet snuggled down in the bed and fell asleep.