Chapter 5

J ames Stewart, the sixth of his name and king of Scotland, glared at his cousin, the Earl of BrocCairn, saying, "Ye've got to take her back to England, Alex! What in hell possessed ye, anyway?"

"I do not have to take her back, Jamie. We're married," replied the earl sullenly.

The king's face grew mottled with his anger. They were always arguing with him, these nobles of his! It made no difference that, thanks to his grandfather, he was related to half of Scotland. Even blood ties made no difference here. Scotland's nobility were headstrong and determined to defy their rulers.

"Dammit, Alex, don't ye realize the seriousness of what ye've done?" he growled. "Ye've kidnapped one of Elizabeth Tudor's Maids of Honor! Her entire family is in an uproar and are demanding her return. More important, my cousin England is demanding that you bring her back."

"Since when have Scotland's rulers obeyed England's orders?" mocked the Earl of BrocCairn.

"Scotland will one day inherit England, Alex, and I would be welcomed by the English when that day comes. I look to my future. I have no desire to engage England in even a small war. Particularly over a wench, however pretty," he amended with a small smile toward Velvet.

Her green eyes twinkled back at him, and she said, "I am only too happy to obey the queen's order, Your Majesty, and to return home."

"Did ye truly marry this rogue, Mistress de Marisco?"

"Nay, sire."

"Christ's bones!" The oath exploded forcefully from Alex's angry mouth. "Ye're wed wi' me well and true, Velvet!" He turned back to the king. "She's twice wed to me. Once by handfast admission, and the second time by a parson of yer new kirk."

"I most certainly don't accept your handfast marriage," Velvet snapped. "And since we are both members of the holy Catholic church, I do not accept a ceremony performed by a preacher of the Calvinist faith."

"Just where was the ceremony performed?" demanded the king.

"At Hermitage," replied Bothwell, and he smiled blandly.

"At Hermitage?" The king looked somewhat surprised. "Why in hell at Hermitage?"

"Ye could hardly expect me to allow Alex to bed her without the proprieties, Jamie." drawled Bothwell. "Yer advisors, including yer sour-faced chaplain, are always accusing me of being immoral, but even a reprobate like myself recognizes a respectable virgin."

The king laughed in spite of himself. "I'm surprised ye were able to get a man of God to step into Hermitage , Francis."

"Only the very ignorant or, worse, the very superstitious, believe the gossip that I'm a warlock, Jamie," came Francis Stewart-Hepburn's disconcerting reply. The Earl of Bothwell knew full well that his cousin, the king, was secretly terrified of him and believed everything detrimental that was said about him. On the other hand, James admired the man they called the Border lord, "the Uncrowned King of Scotland," for Francis Stewart-Hepburn was everything James Stewart wished he could be.

"Ye delight in the damned controversy that always swirls about ye," muttered the king, and Bothwell smiled, amused by his royal cousin's sudden astuteness.

James looked at Alex. "Take her back to London, Alex. I will nae accept a refusal from ye in this matter! The Earl of Lynmouth and a party of the queen's own Gentlemen Pensioners will be waiting for ye just over the border to escort ye back to my cousin England's court. The queen says that ye're welcome back despite yer rather wild behavior." The king chuckled in spite of himself. "Dammit, Alex, ye behaved just like an ancient Scot. Bride-stealing is no longer the fashion."

"Yer majesty sets the fashion, and I'm told ye seek a bride," commented Alex. "I only sought to emulate yer good example."

"Ha!" The king snorted. "Ye sought to have yer own way, cousin. Ye wanted the lass now, and so ye took her! Nay, dinna deny it, for I know ye well! Ye've ever been a stubborn man, even when we were lads together."

Velvet stood quietly watching the three men. For a moment they had forgotten her, and she was frankly relieved. They were cousins, and there was a definite family resemblance amongst them. The king and BrocCairn had the amber-gold eyes of the Stewarts; Bothwell and James had the auburn hair of their clan. All three had the Stewart nose. There, however, the resemblance ended, for although the king was a total Stewart in face and form, Bothwell was obviously more a Hepburn and Alex more a Gordon. The two earls had strong, determined faces, whereas the king's features bespoke a weakness that even Velvet could see.

"Let us stay a few days here at court, Jamie," Alex pleaded. "Velvet is exhausted wi' all our traveling."

"And would ye like that, Mistress de Marisco?" The king looked sharply at her.

To refuse would have been ungracious and Velvet knew it. She smiled sweetly at James Stewart and replied, "Aye, Your Majesty. I should very much like to stay for a few days before my return to England."

"Very well, Mistress de Marisco, ye shall have yer visit wi' us." Having gotten his way, the king was feeling more gracious now.

"Dammit, Jamie, she's Lady Gordon now. Whether she is willing to recognize it or not, surely ye must. Unless, of course, ye're saying that the new kirk is nae Scotland's church. I am certain some of the earls would be quite fascinated by this recent change of heart of yers. Do ye lean back toward the old and true faith then?" Alex smiled wolfishly at the king.

Bothwell hid a grin. Here was a man after his own heart! He suspected that whatever church Alex had been raised in made no difference to him at all, but he would play on the king's fears in order to get his own way. He smothered his laughter for he had done exactly the same thing on many an occasion when dealing with their cousin James. Fear was Jamie Stewart's sharp spur.

The king shot Bothwell an angry look, for he had heard his low chuckle. Then he looked to his cousin of BrocCairn, saying, "Ye've developed unpleasant habits the few days ye've been in Francis's company, Alex. Remember that I am yer king."

"I nae forget it, Jamie, but ye canna have it both ways. If ye're to have any credibility wi' yer English cousin, ye'll have to tell her that Velvet and I were married legally and lawfully, else ye deny yer own church and a law that goes back centuries. I dinna think ye will want to do that, cousin. If ye do, ye'll have all the ranting preachers of fire and brimstone tearing yer kingdom apart with the earls joining in as they did in yer mother's time."

"You're not married to me until we are wed in our own church," Velvet interrupted.

Alex shot her a quelling look. "Hush yer mouth, lass! This is politics we're talking of, nae religion. Ye can rest assured that I'll wed ye a third time in our own church. Yer family will hae it no other way, I've nae a doubt. In the meantime, however, ye're my wife in the eyes of both Scotland's church and Scotland's law, and ye'll behave as such."

"Indeed, my lord? Am I to suppose you'll use force if I do not?" Her glance was pure defiance.

"If ye do not, I will take great pleasure in beating yer bottom, fetching as I find it, until sitting is the farthest thing from yer clever mind. Mark me well, Velvet! I dinna jest wi' ye." Alex's black look matched her own in spirit.

The king and Bothwell looked at one another, their previous disagreements momentarily forgotten in light of the battle between the bride and groom. Each was delighted in his own way by BrocCairn and Velvet.

"When I tell my brothers how you've abused me, Alex Gordon …" she began.

"They'll undoubtedly either cheer me or challenge me, Velvet, but I think the former rather than the latter," he replied dryly.

"Now, lass," said Lord Bothwell, grinning, "I think ye've certainly won this round in yer ongoing battle wi' Alex. However, ye're going to go back to England in a few days' time. Be gracious in victory. Ye two are going to have to learn how to get along sooner or later."

"When she accepts the fact that I am the master," blustered Alex.

"Master, is it?" Velvet shrieked. "Why, you pompous idiot! Do I look like a horse or a dog to you that you would master me? I am a woman, Alexander Gordon! I have a damned good brain and I am as well educated as you are for all your French university. I will be respected by you for my intelligence or, believe me, your life will be one long hell, I promise you!" Her eyes blazed green fire at him.

"Is this how yer mother speaks to yer father?" he demanded, outraged. Both had again forgotten the king and Bothwell.

"My father respects my mother as well as loves her. Their marriage has been a partnership of love, trust, and mutual admiration. I will accept no less in my own marriage. If you had waited until my parents returned home from India, you would have understood that by knowing me better. But no! You had to carry me off like some Border plunderer!" She glowered at him. "Now, having taken my innocence, you're bound to wed with me in our own faith, but mark me, Alex. I will be no man's slave or brood mare!" She drew herself up to her full height and, with an unflinching gaze, stared proudly at him.

"Christ almighty!" swore the king. "I can only hope the lass I wed is not as fiery as ye are, Lady Gordon! I am of a mind to have a quieter life than my cousin Alex is likely to have."

"Your Majesty appears to me to be a gentleman of breeding and sensibility," Velvet said softly. "I doubt were I your wife that I should have to resort to violence as I very well may have to do with my wild Highland husband." She gave him a dazzling smile, and James was again enchanted by her.

Bothwell laughed, shaking his head, and remarked, "Well, Alex, I suspect that the next move is going to be up to ye. Think well first is my advice. Dinna act rashly wi' such a hot-tempered lass."

Realizing that he had been bested in this bout with Velvet, Alex smiled good-naturedly, saying, "I'm not of a mind to hae my brains bashed in today, Francis, and I can see that her ladyship has a dangerous look in her eye."

"Why, my lord," said Velvet sweetly, "violence is not my habit at all. Is not the Gordon motto ‘By Courage Not Craft'?"

"That is the motto of the main branch of the family, the Gordons of Huntley," he answered her, "but we Gordons of BrocCairn have our own motto. It is ‘Defend or Die.' We keep what we take, Velvet." His meaning was boldly plain.

"Enough!" said the king, whose head was beginning to ache with the argument between these two.

With a charming blush, Velvet curtsied to James. "Your pardon, my liege. You must think that Alex and I know not how to communicate other than by shouting. I promise you that I am far better bred than that."

The king was once more charmed by this lovely young girl. "I think my court will be a livelier place for yer presence, Lady Gordon. Will ye join us for the evening meal?"

"I should be honored, sire."

The dining room at Holyrood Palace where James Stewart was in residence was not particularly large. The room was paneled with a coffered oak ceiling. Upon the walls were beautiful French tapestries, some of which had been brought from France by James's grandmother, Mary of Guise. Others she had worked during her years in Scotland, and later her daughter, Mary, Queen of Scots had taken them up. The scenes depicted upon the tapestries were pastoral in style. There was a large fireplace in the room, and it now burned with pine and aspen logs.

The king's high board ran almost the width of the room, the side tables taking up the rest of the floor. There was a small center space between the tables where the servants were able to squeeze in and out with the dishes. It was a great deal less sophisticated than the Tudor court, but there was a warmth about it that was lacking, Velvet decided, at the English court.

Alex and Velvet had been seated with the king as his personal guests and the new Lady Gordon found herself the center of many curious looks. She was a little uncomfortable at being the subject of such close scrutiny. Gentlemen, she knew, were always interested in a pretty face, the ladies in her clothes. She was sorry she had none of her own gowns to wear, for they were the height of fashion. Instead, she had on another borrowed gown from Lord Bothwell's treasure room, and only that because Francis understood enough about women to know that Velvet would want to wear something attractive when meeting the king for the first time. Alex had argued with her saying that Jamie wouldn't care if she appeared before him in her riding clothes, but Bothwell had interceded for her, and she was now more grateful than ever. In her tawny orange gown with its heavy gold embroidery she felt the equal of any woman at the Scottish court even if she was bare of jewelry.

"Well, Lady Gordon" said James, turning to her, a haunch of venison in his hand, "what think ye of my court when compared to that of my cousin England?"

"One cannot possibly compare them, sire. I mean no offense, but the queen's court is possibly the most elegant in the world. Even the French have not such a court! Still, I am not certain that I do not prefer yours, for although it's not as sophisticated, its informality offers charm and warmth. When we return to Scotland next year, I shall enjoy being a part of your court."

"Ye'll be one of its shining stars, madame," James complimented her.

"We'll nae be able to come to court until Velvet has borne me several bairns, Jamie," said Alex. "I would take no chances wi' her health."

"My mother bore eight children with no difficulty," Velvet said sweetly. "She took sea voyages and even rode while she carried my brothers and sisters. I am sure I shall be as hardy."

"Eight bairns!" The king was impressed. "How many lived to adulthood, Lady Gordon?"

"Seven, sire. My half brother, John Southwood, died before his second birthday in the same epidemic of white throat that took his father, the Earl of Lynmouth."

"How many sons did yer mother bear?" the king asked.

"Five, sire."

"Ye'll be a good breeder, I've nae a doubt, Lady Gordon," the king approved.

"Aye." Alex smiled. "I'll see to it with great pleasure, Jamie."

Velvet also smiled across the king at her husband, but when James's attention was attracted by someone else, she mouthed the word beast at the Earl of BrocCairn. Alex grinned back. He was anxious to leave Holyrood and get back to Bothwell's town house where he might take his wife to bed. She drove him wild with lust, a condition he had never before experienced. He could feel his blood begin to rise at the sight of men like Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk; George Gordon, the Earl of Huntley, who was a kinsman of his; and the handsome Lord Home as they gazed upon his wife with undisguised admiration. He wanted to take her to Dun Broc where she would be safe from such hot eyes.

She sensed his jealousy and mischievously set out to enrage him even further. When the meal was over, the tables were cleared from the room, and in the little minstrel's gallery above the musicians began to play for dancing. The king led Velvet to the floor first and danced a slow and stately pavane with her. This first decorous dance, however, was followed by a galliard, the waltzlike lavolta, and a coranto jig. The Earl of BrocCairn could not get near his bride, for she was clearly the most popular woman in the room. Her cheeks were flushed a soft rose from her exertion, her green eyes sparkled merrily, and her neat chignon had come loose in the middle of the lavolta. Now her auburn hair tumbled in a devilishly attractive fashion about her shoulders as she laughed happily up at Lord Home. Francis's warning hand on Alex's arm only just prevented him from challenging Lord Home, for Sandy Home was boldly leaning over the lovely Lady Gordon and ogling her exposed bosom.

"Easy, man! Ye'll make a fool of yerself," Bothwell cautioned. "Sandy means no harm. The lass seeks to provoke ye, or don't ye see it?"

"I know she does it deliberately, Francis, but I canna help it! I love the wench, and, worse, she knows it."

"She's still young, Alex, and like any thoroughbred she is headstrong. Be gentle wi' her. Women like a man who is gentle."

"How can I be gentle when I want to strangle her?" Alex asked.

Bothwell laughed. "I've never met a woman who could drive me that far," he said.

"I dinna know whether to hope ye will, so ye'll know my agony, or hope ye never do, so ye won't know such pain, Francis."

For a moment a sad look passed over the Earl of Bothwell's handsome face. He had a wretchedly unhappy marriage, and he and his wife did not live together. It had been a match of powerful families, not one of love. He sighed. "I have already met a woman who makes me feel hungry wi' love, Alex," he said, "but she is a decent woman and does not suspect the depth of my feelings. She must not, for she is happy in her own marriage."

The Earl of BrocCairn stared, surprised by his cousin's words. Then Bothwell shook himself as a wet dog might, and Alex realized that the Border lord was embarrassed to have confided in anyone something so personal. To ease Francis's chagrin he changed the subject. "What do I do to reclaim my wayward lass without causing a scene?"

Bothwell's good humor restored, he grinned and said, "Let me aid ye, Alex." Then, stepping out onto the floor, he intercepted George Gordon, the powerful Earl of Huntley, who was dancing with Velvet.

"Gi'e over, Geordie," he said good-naturedly. "Alex wants to take his lass home to bed now, and who can blame him, eh?" He grinned engagingly.

George Gordon chuckled. "Aye, I see yer point, Francis." He let his eyes run boldly and approvingly over Velvet. "We Gordons are a hot-blooded bunch." Kissing Velvet on the cheek, he said graciously, "Good night, fair cousin. Ye're a lovely addition to the family!" Then he handed her over to Lord Bothwell, who led her off toward her husband.

"But I don't want to go," she protested softly.

"Aye," Bothwell drawled, and his blue eyes danced with mischief. "Ye'd much rather stay here and drive poor Alex wild wi' jealousy. Ah, ye're a wicked lass, Velvet, but ye're still an innocent. A little more whiskey, another hour or two, and half the men in the hall would brave Alex for a taste of yer pretty lips. Do ye really want to cause a brawl, lass?"

Velvet shook her head. "Nay," she admitted.

"Then smile prettily at the poor, besotted man ye've wed, and he'll be yer slave, I promise," Bothwell teased her.

She made a little moue with her mouth. "He's worse than a mule," she muttered.

"And ye're no better!" he said quickly.

"Francis! 'Tis not so!" She pouted prettily, and he chuckled.

"Aye, Velvet, it is. Both ye and Alex are determined to have yer own way. Ye're selfish. One of ye has to grow up if the other is going to."

She sighed. "I know you're right, but, dammit, Francis, why must it always be the woman who gives in?"

"Because possibly women are a gentler and more patient sex."

Velvet laughed. "I'm not sure that I'm either, Francis. All I know is that when Alex grows stubborn and pompous with me, I want to smack him! He simply infuriates me with his old-fashioned ideas. He refuses to even consider change."

"Gi'e him time, Velvet. He expected a sweet, young thing who was anxiously awaiting his arrival; a lass who would come meekly back to Scotland glad that he wed wi' her, who would eagerly bear his bairns without complaint."

She looked at him, amused. "I know, and instead he got a wench who ran from him instead of to him. If I was such a disappointment, why was he so determined to marry me, Francis?"

"Pride for one thing," came Bothwell's reply. Then he stopped and looked down at her. "Love for another, Velvet. Do ye doubt it, lass?"

"Nay."

"And ye love him." It was a flat statement.

"Aye," she answered shortly. "I do love him, but we'll have no peace until he can treat me fairly as my father treats my mother, and not as a possession, Francis. Is that so hard a thing?"

"Velvet, my sweet," said the Earl of Bothwell, "ye suffer from the same ailment that I do. Ye were born in advance of yer time. Yes, it is a hard thing for Alex to accept! Who ever gave ye such ideas?"

"My mother."

"Jesu, I should like to meet her! She must be a fascinating lady."

"She is." Velvet smiled. "I wish she would come home."

Alex leaned over as they reached him and slipped a possessive arm about her waist. With a sigh Velvet leaned against him. "Ye're tired, hinny," he said, concerned. "Let us go home."

"Aye," she answered him. "I am tired, my lord."

Bothwell smiled. For the moment there would be peace between the battling BrocCairns. Velvet even dozed in the coach that took them from Holyrood to Bothwell's house in the Highgate. His eyes met those of Alex as they rode, and he nodded his approval of his cousin's calm behavior.

When they reached Lord Bothwell's mansion, Alex carried his wife into the house and up to their chamber. There he expertly played lady's maid to her as she stood sleepily before him. His hands fumbled with the laces of her gown, undoing the beautiful bodice and the skirt. Carefully he laid them over a chair. Yawning, she helped him to undo her petticoats and her chemise, to slide from her silken undergarments. Kneeling, he peeled off her stockings as she kicked off her shoes.

He caught his breath as she stretched lazily, yawning again. He could feel himself hardening as his eyes swept her slender form. "Jesu, Velvet, ye could tempt a saint!" he muttered huskily.

For some reason she felt more relaxed with him now than ever before. It did not even bother her that she stood naked before him. She suspected that her little talk with Francis had acted as some sort of catharsis. Her eyelids were heavy, but she smiled softly at him. "Come to bed, my lord," she said. And, turning, she held out her hand to him.

He stood rooted to the floor, completely surprised by her sudden softness. He was even more surprised when with a smile she moved to undo his kilt. "Velvet," he managed to murmur, tongue-tied and feeling like an idiot. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as her eyes caught his for a brief moment. Then she went back to her task of disrobing him. Within a very short time he was as naked as she, and his desire was obvious. He almost blushed for she had actually made him feel shy.

Reaching out, he caressed one of her lovely breasts. "Ye're so beautiful," he whispered reverently.

Stretching her hand out to stroke his swollen manhood gently, she whispered back, "So are you, Alex."

They came together, their bodies touching lightly while their lips kissed tenderly. With a soft cry of triumph, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the large bed with its red silk hangings. The sheets, scented with lavender, had already been drawn back by the maidservant. They felt cool and silken against her back and buttocks. Kneeling next to her, he bent his head to kiss her delicate rose-colored nipples. The touch of his mouth rendered them rigid with rising desire. Lovingly he teased each one in its turn, kissing it, licking at it, sucking sweetly and strongly upon it until she moaned low, an almost sobbing sound. His hand smoothed down her quivering torso, his fingers seeking eagerly for the tiny jewel of her womanhood, finding it, taunting it with delicate little touches until her head began to thrash upon the plump down pillows. How his slender fingers sought to take the edge off her passion, thrusting into her softness while his thumb continued to rub against her sensitivity.

Velvet gasped with each new sensation. They had been wed but four days, and tonight was the first time she had willingly participated with him in this marvelous sport called lovemaking. She realized that by not fighting him she was allowing him to give her the most incredible pleasure. Why had she not thought to ask her sisters about all this?

His lips moved with fiery kisses down the slender column of her neck to her shoulder, where the kisses turned to gentle nibbles of his sharp teeth. Velvet shivered with delight, and he moved his head up again to kiss her ear, growling softly into it, "I like my English rose without her thorns, lass."

She wound her fingers into his thick dark hair and tugged playfully at it, answering, "I love you best when you are gentle, my lord husband."

He swung himself over her, imprisoning her between his two thighs, and his hands moved upward to cup both of her breasts. He handled them like prized possessions until he felt Velvet's eyes upon him, and then he bent to kiss each nipple tenderly. She laughed softly, and Alex flushed guiltily, muttering, "Ye canna expect me to change much in four days, if I can change at all."

"I think I may learn to love you forever," she answered him mischievously, her heart soaring with her small victory.

He saw the triumph in her eyes, and, still needing to be master, he thrust into her very soft and very willing body almost harshly. Surprised, Velvet gasped once again, but suddenly in a burst of clarity she understood him. Instead of challenging him further, she pushed her hips up to meet his downward movements, at the same time taking his head between her two hands and whispering, "Aye, Alex Gordon, my lord of BrocCairn, forever!"

His mouth covered hers in a blazing kiss of such incredible intensity that it left them both breathless. Hungrily he moved on her, drawing her forward with him into a web of passion that he wove about them both so tightly that for Velvet there was no beginning and no end to this lovely moment. She felt her own identity slipping away as her emotions became all, and then she could no longer prevent her descent into the fiercely throbbing vortex that reached up to claim her. With a little cry of sweet surrender, she offered herself completely into his keeping.

Afterwards they lay together talking, her back against his chest, his hands playing lazily over her breasts. A bond had been formed between them now. He kissed the top of her tousled head, saying as he did so, "Dare we disobey yer queen and my king and go home to Dun Broc , lass?"

She sighed. "Oh, Alex, please understand," she begged him gently. "I must go home to England. We must be wed with my family about us. I shall never be happy with you if we do not." She turned her head up to him. "You know that you can be sure of me now, my wild Scots lord!"

"I had hoped to have our first child born at Dun Broc , as all its lords have been born in past memory." Then he sighed. "If we obey our rulers and return to England, it is very likely that our son will be born in England."

"My lord, you have yet to give me a wedding gift. If I could choose anything I desired it would be that we would return to England. If I bear a child for you in the next year, Alex, at least my mother would be with me. As you have stolen her right to be at our wedding, you owe us both that much, my lord."

He knew that she was right. She had been angered to learn that her brother's friend was actually her dreaded betrothed, but never had she really considered refusing his suit, and he knew it. He had been the one who had stolen her from London and tricked her into her marriage vows. If his first son was not born at Dun Broc he had no one to blame but himself. "We'll be wed in England in our own church with yer family about us, Velvet. How can I refuse ye now, lass? I love ye so very much!"

Her face lit up, and she twisted about so that she was facing him. "Thank you, Alex! Oh, thank you!"

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life, this thorny English rose. With a helpless groan he kissed her, feeling his desire begin to rise once more. She melted against him, her lips parting, her little tongue teasing his in a surprisingly bold action. "Tell me ye love me," he murmured against her mouth. "Tell me!"

"I love you, my wild Scot!" she whispered back, and then he swept her away into a world of exquisite sensation, their passions being their only guide.

Two days later they left Edinburgh on their way south, this time traveling with a large party made up of Bothwell's Borderers and Alex's Gordon retainers, who had arrived the following day from Dun Broc. They broke their journey again at Hermitage but only stayed a night. The next day the Earl of Bothwell, at his cousin the king's orders, escorted the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn over the border to meet with the Earl of Lynmouth and his party of the queen's Gentlemen Pensioners.

Robert Southwood did not seem happy, his sister noted as they rode toward him. He sat upon a white stallion that danced nervously as he held it tightly in check. Lord Bothwell's midnight-colored Valentine whinnied a challenge and was also reined in tightly by his master.

Velvet winced delicately. "Robin looks angry," she whispered to Alex. "Which one of us do you think he is angry at?"

"I suspect both of us," came his answer, "but as long as we stand together I have no fears, lass."

"Greetings, my lord!" Bothwell called as they came abreast of the English party. Technically they were now over the border, but in the Cheviots national boundaries were extremely fluid. "I am Francis Stewart-Hepburn, His Majesty's most loyal cousin. Which one of ye is the Earl of Lynmouth?"

Robin moved his mount forward. "I am, my lord Bothwell. I am Robert Southwood, Mistress de Marisco's brother."

Bothwell grinned lazily. The young man reminded him of the angels he had seen portrayed in the stained-glass windows of French cathedrals. He was absolutely gorgeous, and yet Francis noted the hard line of the Englishman's mouth and his wary, lime-green eyes. "Then 'tis to ye I am instructed to turn over Lord and Lady Gordon, for I am bound to tell ye that yer sister and Lord Gordon were legally wed at my own castle of Hermitage. His Majesty, King James, expects to see the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn returned safely within a reasonable time, y'understand, my lord?"

"I am not privy to any agreements made between Her Majesty and your own king, my lord. I only know I am instructed to bring my sister and Lord Gordon back to London with dispatch," came Robin's cool reply.

Bothwell turned to Velvet. "Does he ever smile, this brother of yers, m'lady?"

"Often, but, Francis, I suspect he is angered at me now for taking him from his own bride of but two months," Velvet replied.

"You're damned right I'm angry!" snapped Robin. "There is a chance that Angel is breeding already, and I've had to leave her down at Lynmouth to come tearing after you two!"

"How are my nieces?" Velvet queried sweetly, hoping that her concern for Robin's daughters would soften his wrath.

"A bloody false alarm! They had eaten green apples was all, the little gluttons! We hurried all the way from London, and they were as merry as drunks when we arrived! One cannot follow the court and raise children successfully. After you and Alex are settled, I shall retire to Devon again."

"Then we are to be settled!" She looked anxiously at him.

"Aye, you baggage! I'd have let you go to Dun Broc , Velvet, believe me, but the queen would have none of it. She has planned your wedding herself, and the ceremony will be performed the day after the Armada thanksgiving, on November eighteenth. Then you and Alex are to remain at court until Mother returns in the spring. After that you're free to go your own way."

"Then having safely delivered ye, lassie, I shall return to Hermitage ," Lord Bothwell said. "I regret I cannot be at yer grand English wedding, but I shall think of ye on that day and remember that I had the privilege of being at yer first wedding. Break yer journey next spring at Hermitage. I shall happily welcome ye both." Then, leaning from his saddle, he kissed her cheek. "Godspeed, fair Velvet."

She returned the kiss graciously. "Thank you, Francis." She hesitated a moment, then said, "For everything!" He alone would understand what she meant.

Alex and his cousin shook hands, their eyes meeting in a look of understanding, and then Bothwell whirled Valentine about and galloped off, his men riding behind him, shouting, "A Bothwell! A Bothwell!"

"So that was the famous Wizard Earl," said Robin. "Impressive chap! Far more so than King Jamie himself, I'm told. What think you, Alex?"

"James was born a king," he said, "but our cousin Francis is more a king born. Still, the Bothwells make enemies as history has proven. They could no more rule Scotland than the Stewarts can."

Robin nodded. "Let's go!" he replied. "We have a long way to ride. Once we get farther south I can arrange for a coach for Velvet."

"Nay! You'll not stuff me in one of those swaying, hard-sprung vehicles," she protested. "I'd sooner ride!"

"What of Pansy?" came her brother's answer.

"Not to worry, m'lord. My bottom's tough as leather now anyhow," was Pansy's saucy reply.

"Pansy!" Velvet attempted to look shocked, but she was as amused as her brother and her husband were.

"It's almost like being with Mother, isn't it, Pansy?" teased Robin.

"Aye, m'lord, but then me mum did warn me what life was like with Mistress Skye. They say a daughter is most like her mum, and if me lady is like Lady de Marisco, then I hope I am like me own mum and can keep up with her." She smiled her gap-toothed grin, and Lord Lynmouth chuckled, for she was so very much like a young Daisy, and he remembered Pansy's mother when she was not much older than Pansy herself right now.

They rode south into the heartland of England, and Velvet suddenly noticed that the days were growing shorter and the air cooler. The trees were almost bereft of their leaves now, and the land was beginning to have a wintry look about it. For two days they rode in freezing rain, and the road was awash in a sea of mud that eventually froze into deep, hard ruts that would undoubtedly remain until spring, thawing and refreezing over and over again. Velvet did not know which was worse, the mud or the dust they had encountered on their earlier journey to Scotland.

Although the pace was quick, they stopped each evening in a suitable place, either a respectable inn or the house of one of Robin's many friends whose homes were scattered throughout England. There the horses were rested and well fed, as were their riders. The queen had sent twenty-five Gentlemen Pensioners along with Southwood to escort Velvet and Alex back to London. There were also the fifty clansmen who had come from Dun Broc to be with their chief. Such an enormous party was certainly safe upon the darkest and loneliest of roads, but it was not easy to house them all.

Several days after they had left Scotland Velvet suddenly began to recognize the landscape about her. "We are near Queen's Malvern!" she cried.

"We're going to stop there tonight," said Robin. "Father Jean-Paul will marry you and Alex there."

"But I thought we were to be married in London on the eighteenth in the queen's presence," Velvet protested.

"By the archbishop of Canterbury," replied her brother. "If, however, you are to be married in the faith in which you were raised, little sister, it will be at Queen's Malvern by your old confessor. I sent word to him before I came to fetch you, and by now the banns have been properly published."

"Jesu!" said Alex. "Two marriages in Scotland and two in England! Surely we'll be the most married couple of all time, Rob."

"It all could have been avoided if you had but waited for our mother to return in the spring, instead of taking matters into your own clumsy hands, Alex," replied Robin sharply.

"Ye're three years younger than I am, Rob, and ye've three children already, and the possibility of another on the way. I have no bairns to bear my name."

"I have three daughters," came Robin's grim answer, "and the possibility of more. My father's first wife bore him six girls before she died and he married my mother who gave him sons."

"There was a son from the first marriage, too," Velvet reminded her brother. "Mama told me that he died in the same epidemic that killed your father's first wife and three of his daughters."

"Are you defending this plunderer of your virtue?" Robin demanded. "I thought you hated him."

"He is to be my husband," Velvet answered primly, although her green eyes were dancing with mischief. "Is it not proper for a wife to cleave to her lord, brother?"

"Dammit, Velvet, make up your foolish female mind! Either you love him or you don't."

"Of course I love Alex. How could you even think otherwise?"

Robin glowered at her. "I wish to heaven Mother had not left England leaving me charge of our damn difficult family."

"Ah, but she's in my charge now," said Alex.

"I am my own mistress," countered Velvet.

The two men glanced at each other across the distance that separated them. Then they both looked at Velvet, who rode between them, her eyes straight ahead, her hands light on her reins. She raised her head, turned first to Alex and smiled sweetly, and then turned her face to her brother, smiling again. Both gentlemen burst out laughing and laughed until the tears ran down their faces.

"God help you!" Robin chortled.

"Aye, God help me, brother, for no one else will!" wheezed Alex.

In that moment their old relationship was completely restored, and by late afternoon when they sighted the chimneys of Queen's Malvern it was as if they had never quarreled. Riding up to the door of her childhood home, Velvet felt a lump insinuate itself into her throat, and then the door was flung open and dear old Dame Cecily came hurrying out. Several quick tears slid down her cheeks, which she swiftly wiped away. Slipping from her saddle without waiting for aid, Velvet wordlessly flung herself into the old woman's open arms. Dame Cecily hugged her tightly, tears running down her worn face as well. Velvet pulled away at last and wiped the old lady's face gently with her hand.

Dame Cecily finally mustered a smile and, regaining control of herself, said briskly, "Well, now, you bad thing, you're home again!" Her eyes moved to Alex, who had dismounted with Robin and stood waiting to be introduced. "And is this great craggy man your husband?" she demanded, and Velvet nodded. "He doesn't look at all like a devil to run from, child, but then you always were willful and would have your own way."

"I haven't had it this time." Velvet chuckled. "He kidnapped me off to Scotland and tricked me into marriage before I knew what was happening."

"You don't look any the worse for wear," remarked Dame Cecily. Then she looked with snapping eyes at Robin. "Introduce me, you mannerless scamp, fine milord though you may be!"

Robin laughed warmly. "Alexander Gordon, may I present to you Dame Cecily Small, sister to our mother's trading partner, Sir Robert, and adoptive grandmother of all the children of Skye O'Malley. Dearest Dame Cecily, the Earl of BrocCairn, Velvet's husband."

Dame Cecily curtsied as low as her stiff joints would allow her to, but Alex put out his hand and raised her up. Kissing the old, gnarled hand with its beautiful diamond and sapphire rings, he said, "I can see ye're one of the few good influences my wife has had, madame. I hope that even though we will live in Scotland ye'll continue to be a part of our lives."

Dame Cecily's eyes sparkled with delight. "You're a rogue, my fine Scot! That I can certainly see! Nevertheless, I suspect you're well matched with my girl. Come in now! Come in! 'Tis far too cold out here, and I've several warm fires going in the house."

Her eyes lit on Pansy. "You, girl! Your mother wants to see you, and then hurry and draw a hot bath for your mistress. There'll be time enough later on to flirt with that evil-looking Scot with the naked knees you keep eyeing!"

With a mumbled "Yes, ma'am!," Pansy scrambled from her pony and hurried around the side of the house, out of sight.

"Take your animals to the stable," Dame Cecily commanded the waiting horsemen. "Then come into the house. It will be crowded, but there's ale and meat for all." Then she led Velvet and the gentlemen into Queen's Malvern.

Inside, the house was toasty and fragrant with the smell of applewood fires. From the small family hall came a tall man, and Velvet ran toward him, her arms outstretched. "Uncle Conn!"

Lord Bliss hugged his wayward niece, muttering, "You get more like your mother in temperament every day!"

"Have you come for my wedding?"

"Aye, and your aunt Aiden, too, and all your little cousins."

"All my cousins? How lovely," Velvet replied, but her tone of voice lacked sincerity. " 'Tis only to be small ceremony! Alex and I have already been wed twice."

"Surely you don't consider what happened in Scotland as a true marriage, Velvet?" Conn asked.

"I will not be happy until I have been wed in my own church, Uncle Conn, but perhaps we had best consider the Scots ceremonies, should I already be carrying a child." Her eyes danced merrily.

"Velvet!" He was shocked. She was far too young to be saying such things, wasn't she? Then he realized that she was quite shamelessly teasing him. "You're impossible!" he grumbled.

Velvet laughed while Conn St. Michael looked at her closely. The half-grown girl who had left Queen's Malvern six months ago was gone. This was an incredibly beautiful and headstrong woman. He looked at the Earl of BrocCairn and was startled to see in the amber eyes of that craggy-faced Scot a look of pure love and devotion directed toward his niece. God help Alex Gordon, Conn St. Michael thought to himself. Velvet has her mother's magical allure.

"Come along, come along!" Dame Cecily fussed at them all. "If there is to be a wedding here tonight, then we must all work together. Robin, my lad, take your Scots friend to the Tapestry Room, and I'll send his man and a bath along." She fixed Alex with a sharp gaze. "You've something respectable to wear, I trust?"

"My kilt, madame," he replied soberly.

For a moment they all thought that she would argue with him, but Dame Cecily finally nodded, saying, " 'Twill serve quite nicely, my boy. Get along with Robin now."

Alex's eyes were dancing with delight. It was plain that he liked the tart-tongued Dame Cecily mightily. He bowed elegantly and then, turning, followed Robin upstairs.

"Now as for you, Velvet de Marisco, go directly to your room. Pansy should be there by now. Daisy and I have a surprise for you," Dame Cecily said.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Nay, child. I have a great deal to do before Father Jean-Paul weds you and your Alex in the chapel."

"Will you give me away, Uncle Conn?" Velvet asked.

"Aye, sweetheart," came his heartfelt reply. "If Adam cannot be here to do it, then I'll be proud to stand in his place."

Velvet felt tears start, and Dame Cecily snapped at Conn, "You've no sense, Conn St. Michael! No sense whatsoever!" Then she gathered Velvet to her bosom. "There, child. I know you wish your parents were here, but your wild Scot has taken that choice away from us. Don't cry. There, there!" She held Velvet close as she waved Lord Bliss away with her other hand.

"I'm all right." Velvet sniffed. "Just for a moment I had the most terrible longing for Mama and Papa. Oh, Dame Cecily, what would I do without you?"

"A pity you didn't think about that before you went running off to court, Mistress Willful! Go along now and get ready for your wedding!"

The old lady released Velvet and hurried off down the hall toward the kitchens. With a little sigh, Velvet climbed the stairs and followed the familiar route to her bedchamber. As she drew near she could smell the lovely fragrance of her gillyflower bath oil and knew that Pansy was awaiting her. Entering the room, she found both Daisy and her daughter bustling about.

"Welcome home, Mistress Velvet," said Daisy, coming forward to give her a hug. "I have a lovely bath ready for you, but before you bathe come and see our surprise." Taking Velvet's hand, she led her into the dressing room. There spread out in magnificent array on a pair of chairs were two of the most exquisite dresses Velvet had ever seen.

One was an apple-green silk, with a low bodice embroidered with gold thread and tiny pearls that matched the panel of the slightly darker underskirt. The leg-of-mutton sleeves were held by a profusion of tiny gold ribbons, the wristbands turned back to form cuffs with gold lace ruffs. The bodice of the gown had a long, wasp waist that ended in a pronounced peak, and the bell-shaped skirt separated in front to reveal the elegant undergown.

The second gown was of a rich, heavy, candlelight satin that was mellowed with age. Its simple bodice was cut low and embroidered with seed pearls. The puffed sleeves, which ended just below the elbows, were slashed and the openings filled with delicate cream-colored lace. Below the elbows the sleeves hugged the arms in alternating bands of satin and lace, and the wrists were ruffled with wide bands of lace. The underskirt was embroidered with delicate seed pearls and tiny diamond flowers. The dress had a small, starched, heart-shaped lace collar edged in tiny diamonds that rose up behind the neck, and the skirt shape was that of a bell.

"Daisy! Where did you find such marvelous gowns?" Velvet demanded.

"The green was your mother's wedding dress when she married your father. I thought perhaps you'd like to wear it tonight. There's gold roses for your lovely hair. As for the cream, your mother wore it when she wed Lord Southwood at Greenwich Palace twenty-five years ago! Dame Cecily and I hoped that you would take it with you to London when you marry before the queen."

"Oh, Daisy!" Velvet was astounded. "My sisters never wore mother's dresses. Do you think she'd mind if I did?"

"Mistress Willow wanted her own gown so that she could pass it on down to her daughters one day. She puts great store by tradition as you know, particularly those she starts herself. As for Mistress Deirdre, she was so relieved when your parents allowed her to marry Lord Blackthorn that she cared not what she wore. Your mother didn't feel that these gowns were suitable for Lord Burke's daughter. Besides, she's not as tall as your mama, and has more bosom than my lady did at her age. Mistress Skye wanted Mistress Deirdre to have everything new. I know, however, that she would fully approve of Dame Cecily's and my choices. You, however, may not want to wear them."

"Oh, yes, I do! If I have Master Hilliard paint my miniature in each gown, Mama and Papa will know how I looked on my wedding day! If Robin doesn't mind my wearing the cream-colored gown, I should love to take it to London, but tonight for the ceremony with Father Jean-Paul I want to wear the gown in which Mama married Papa."

Daisy smiled. "Then let us hurry and get you ready, though I never thought I'd see the day I'd be preparing your mother's youngest child for her wedding!"

Velvet hadn't had a bath in several days, and the hot, scented water was wonderful. She loved the hard-milled soap, perfumed with the elusive gillyflowers scent, that Daisy and Pansy used with the boar's-bristle brushes when they scrubbed her back and with which they lavishly lathered her dusty auburn hair. Velvet regretted that there was no time to soak, but it had been close to sunset when they had ridden into Queen's Malvern. The evening meal was being held up until after the wedding ceremony.

Stepping from her tub, Velvet stood quietly while she was first dried, then perfumed and powdered. Her beautiful long hair was toweled with warm linen, then brushed and rubbed with silk. Pansy held out a pair of green silk stockings with vine leaves embroidered on them with gold thread.

"I made them for you using your mother's originals for models," Daisy said, "and I had Bonnie lower the hem on the green gown. We weren't sure whether or not we would have to edge it in fur to give you enough length, but it turned out there was enough material. 'Twas French made, the gown, and there's no doubt they're fine seamstresses. Bonnie did have to edge the cream satin with a bit of lace though to lengthen it enough, you being taller than your mama."

Pansy held out Velvet's silken undergarments and a pair of gold garters. Velvet was beginning to feel better than she had in days. It was amazing, she thought, what good a hot bath could accomplish. Daisy then slid the apple-green silk gown over Velvet's head. It fell gracefully, and as the tiring woman laced it up, Velvet was astounded by the perfect fit. It molded her waist and made her young breasts more sensual than she had ever believed they could be. Her eyes widened with surprise.

Then Daisy's voice broke her thoughts. "I had Bonnie take the silk in, for your mother was a trifle thicker in the waist than you are when she finally married your father. The cream satin, however, should fit you perfectly, but we'll try it on tomorrow and have Bonnie make any alterations necessary. Now sit and let Pansy do your hair."

Carefully adjusting her dress, Velvet sat down. Behind her Pansy took up the boar's-bristle brush, and parting her mistress's hair in the center she drew it back carefully over Velvet's ears. Then, working swiftly with the brush and a mouthful of gold hairpins, she fashioned the thick, rich auburn hair with its coppery-gold lights into an elegant chignon. Looking critically for any wisps of hair that might have escaped her vigilance, she nodded, satisfied to find none and affixed the cloth-of-gold and silk roses upon the top of the chignon.

In the mirror Velvet could see Daisy bobbing her head in approval. "Lovely!" she pronounced. "I never saw your mother in this dress, for I wasn't in France when she and your father were wed, but she couldn't have looked any more beautiful than you do, Mistress Velvet. The apple-green suits you with your gorgeous hair."

There was a knock on the door, and when Pansy answered it the de Mariscos' chaplain, Father Jean-Paul, entered the room. With a smile he said, "Good evening, ma petite cousine."

With an answering smile, Velvet arose and went to him with her hands outstretched. "Père Jean-Paul! How happy I am to see you!"

Jean-Paul St. Justine was the second son of Adam's younger sister, Clarice, and her husband, Henri, Comte de St. Justine. From childhood he had known that he wanted to be a priest, and he had entered the seminary on his thirteenth birthday. He had done brilliantly in his studies, and upon his ordination he had, to his family's pride, been appointed to the staff of a prestigious bishop. Eight years ago, however, he had taken the part of a young peasant girl cruelly raped by her master's sons. She had sought sanctuary in the village church, but the nobleman's sons had broken into the church and dragged the hysterical girl from her refuge at the feet of the shocked old priest. It had been at that moment that Père Jean-Paul had ridden by, and using the weight of his office he had managed to rescue the girl.

The noble father of the miscreants had complained to the bishop, to the cardinal, and finally to the king himself. Père Jean-Paul St. Justine had been relieved of his post and sent to England to act as family chaplain to his uncle Adam. He had arrived at Queen's Malvern the year Velvet had been six. Among all people in the rural region in which Queen's Malvern was located, he was most beloved, for he had a strong sense of justice and used his own personal wealth to ease the sufferings of many, be they Catholic or Protestant. He was that rarest of men, a true Christian, and he possessed a wonderful sense of humor.

Father Jean-Paul took the two lovely hands presented to him and kissed them warmly. "You are absolutely radiant, ma petite," he said. "I am pleased that you have come home to be married. I have already heard your betrothed's confession, Velvet, and I am quite shocked." The priest's blue eyes danced with mischief. "I expect your confession shall shock me equally."

Used to his teasing, she countered quickly, "But, mon cousin , what can I possibly have to confess, for was it not I who was wronged by this wild Scot my parents chose to husband me?"

"And you have not enjoyed one moment of your carnal encounters?" he said innocently.

"As a good daughter of the church, mon père , how could I?" she returned demurely. "Such things are but for the procreation of the faith only, I have been taught."

"Strange," he mused. " 'Twas not what Lord Gordon believed. He was most contrite for having compromised your virtue without benefit of clergy, yet he soothed his conscience with the thought that he gave you pleasure."

"Then he was mistaken, and most ungentlemanly to boot!" replied Velvet, but her lips were twitching with amusement.

The priest tucked Velvet's hand through his arm. "I have never seen you look so beautiful, ma petite. I would not make you sad, but I truly regret that your parents cannot be here. Sometimes it is difficult to understand God's will, eh?" He patted her hand. "Come, ma petite , and we will go to the chapel where I will listen to your confession. I have taught you that marriage is a sacrament, and you must purge yourself of your sins before a holy sacrament."

"Oui, mon père," Velvet said quietly, and she allowed him to lead her from her chamber.

The family chapel was a small, square room in the northeast corner of the house. Jean-Paul St. Justine had consecrated it upon his arrival from France. It was a beautiful room with a coffered oak ceiling and a polished oak floor. The small double doors were carved with twin archangels with outspread wings in raised relief, painted and gilded in bright colors and gold leaf. Facing the doors was a creamy marble altar with a lace cloth. Upon the altar sat a beautiful gold crucifix set with precious stones flanked by candlesticks. Above it was a small round window stained in rich shades of red, blue, gold, rose, and green. To the left of the altar were three tall arched windows, the first of which depicted the temptation of Eve, the second the baptism of Jesus, and the third the Resurrection. Only red, blue, and gold had been used in these windows.

The altar rail was carved round with grape vines, and upon either side of the single altar step were long red velvet cushions. At the back of the chapel, and to the right of the doors, was a small carved oak confessional. To the left of the entrance stood a marble baptismal font with a silver ewer. There were but four carved oak benches with high backs in the chapel, two on the right and two on the left side of the room. The chapel was not really large enough to contain the entire family of Lord and Lady de Marisco, but on the occasions when they all came together, they had somehow managed.

Velvet entered the confessional, and after offering her cousin the traditional salutation she began to speak. Her confession, however, consisted mostly of small wrongs and uncharitable thoughts she had had while she had served the queen at court. Jean-Paul St. Justine was amused when he realized that she felt not one moment of remorse for having tried to hold off Lord Gordon for so long. Her main concern seemed to be for her parents.

He offered her absolution and a mild penance, for her sins were small if, in fact they existed at all. Then he left her to say her prayers before the marriage ceremony and went to his own quarters to change into more splendid and festive priestly garments.

When Father Jean-Paul returned to the chapel a half an hour later, the gold-and-jeweled candlesticks flanking the matching crucifix had fresh beeswax tapers in them and were already alight. The young boy from the nearby village who served as his altar boy was dressed in his red cassock and embroidered white lace surplice.

"The earl says we're ready to begin, Father," the boy piped.

"Open the doors then, lad, and let the family come into God's house," the priest said quietly.

The altar boy hurried to do the cleric's bidding and flung open the two doors to admit first Dame Cecily and Aiden St. Michael, and her children who were followed by Lord and Lady Blackthorn, Daisy, Pansy, and Dugald. Next came all the servants belonging to Queen's Malvern , many of whom had been there ever since Skye and Adam de Marisco had first made the house their home. Velvet's old nurse, Violet, sniffed audibly. They had all seen the young mistress grow from child to woman, and they felt a strong sense of personal attachment to Velvet, as if she had been one of their own. In fact most of the servants considered that she was. When the four pews were all filled to overflowing with the de Marisco retainers, the Earl of BrocCairn's clansmen entered the chapel and lined the walls of the small room.

Lord Gordon, with Lord Southwood acting as his groomsman, entered and came forward to stand just below the altar step. Robin was garbed in an elegant velvet suit of sapphire blue; Alex was dressed as he had been in Scotland, in his dark blue, green, and yellow plaid kilt and dark velvet jacket.

Now came the bride, radiant on her uncle's proud arm. With great dignity Lord Bliss led his niece down the center of the chapel to where the Earl of BrocCairn awaited her. He put her hand into Alex's, and Father Jean-Paul began to intone the ages-old Latin words of the marriage ceremony. Mentally Velvet sighed with relief. She loved Alex Gordon, of that she had no doubt, but in her heart and her mind she had needed this ancient ceremony in order to feel truly wed. Her only regret, of course, was that Alex had not waited for her parents to return home.

How often had Velvet and her mother spoken of, and planned for, the day when she would marry. Each detail had been gone over and over again, from exactly what she would wear, down to the very wines to be served at the bridal banquet. The wines would come from Archambault , her French grandparents' great chateau and vineyard in the Loire Valley. Grandmère and Grandpère! Here was another regret, for they, too, were absent on this her day of days. They and all the tantes and oncles , and not to be forgotten, all her wonderfully voluble and fashionable French cousins and cousines , were woefully absent, except, of course, for Père Jean-Paul. He, she knew, would write to his parents and grandparents in France announcing her marriage. He would leave out no detail, though they would think it a poor affair, she thought, with no bridal cake or guests other than Dame Cecily and the St. Michaels, and only one brother, one sister, and one brother-in-law. There had been neither the time nor the opportunity to invite Alex's sister and her husband, as well as Velvet's own far-flung relatives.

She forced her mind back to the ceremony and was surprised to find that Père Jean-Paul was to the point where they would take their vows. Paying closer attention, she played her part, answering in a clear, calm voice. She had waited all her life for this, even if it wasn't quite right. The vows spoken, the priest moved on to the mass, and Velvet's mind wandered once more.

She wondered where her mother and father were at this exact minute. Were they still in India, or had they already embarked upon the long voyage back to England? She wished that there was a way in which she might communicate with them so that even if they couldn't be here with her at this time, they might at least know she was wed and share in her happiness. Mama. Papa. She tried to reach out to them in her mind. Mama, Papa! I love you both! She felt Alex tug gently on her hand, and, following his lead, she knelt before Père Jean-Paul to receive the host on her tongue.

In the instant that the consecrated wafer touched her mouth the thought came to her: I am no longer a child. I am no longer Adam de Marisco's daughter. I am Alex Gordon's wife. No—I am no longer Velvet de Marisco. I am Velvet Gordon. I may love my parents, but I can depend upon them no more for my every need. I must now depend upon myself and upon Alex, and soon we shall have the responsibility of our own children. This is what growing up means.

The enormity of her thoughts stunned her briefly, and for a frightened moment she wanted to flee. Was she really ready for all of this? Was she ready to grow old? Where had her youth gone? Why had she not appreciated her freedom when she had had it?

Then Alex's arm slipped about her, and she felt his warm breath in her ear as he whispered softly to her, "Dinna fear, lass. Suddenly I'm nae sure I'm ready for all of this myself."

She cast him a startled look and swallowed back a bubble of laughter in her throat. " 'Tis what you wanted, my lord," she whispered back, "and 'tis now too late to back out, for the deed is done!"

He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and Velvet squeezed his back. Life was never going to be easy with this man, her husband, but neither was it going to be dull! Forcing her mind back to the here and now, she tried to follow the service.

In short order Père Jean-Paul had given them his blessing, and with a smile he half-turned the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn about to present them to the congregation of the chapel. With another smile to Alex, he said, "I think you might kiss your wife, my lord."

Alex gladly complied, sweeping Velvet into a bear hug of an embrace, his mouth molding against hers in a warm kiss that left her weak-kneed, while about them the Gordon clansmen and the de Marisco retainers cheered lustily.

Velvet felt marvelously happy, and then Alex took his mouth from hers and looked down into her face with an equally happy smile. With a burst of joyous laughter, her green eyes sparkling with mischief, she smiled back at him and said, "Now , my lord husband, now we are most truly wed!"

"Ye're sure?" he teased back.

"Very sure!"

"I love ye, Velvet," he said.

"You're sure?"

"Aye," he drawled, "very sure." Then before the delighted spectators he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her once again, lifting his head but a moment to murmur against her trembling mouth, "Very, very sure!"