2

“You are awake at last, niece!” he said jovially. “Logan has left me instructions for our part in this charade. We must begin today, for the sooner this is over and done with, the better for Friarsgate. I do not relish a winter defending ourselves from not just four-legged wolves, but two-legged ones, as well.”

“He might have said good-bye,” Rosamund said, annoyed.

“I thought you might have said farewell to each other last night,” Edmund murmured innocently.

She threw him an evil look. “I showed him to his chamber and went to my own,” she said. “I assumed he would be here when I returned to the hall and would speak with me himself instead of giving instructions to you, uncle.” She felt her anger beginning to rise, and then the oddest thing happened. She remembered her anger of the previous evening and how he had calmed her. She could almost feel his lips on hers now, and as she did, the anger began to drain away. “He was wise to leave early,” she said suddenly, surprising Edmund. “We must be scrupulous in our execution of this plan, or we will fail miserably. What would the laird have us do, uncle?”

“We must prepare the false gold and transport it in secret to the abbey near Lochmaben. And we must do it without your cousin’s men observing us. To that end, the laird’s men are scouring the few caves in our hillsides where an intruder might secrete himself to spy on us. Others of the Hepburns are posted upon our heights. But we must work quickly, Rosamund, for we do not want to arouse Henry the younger’s suspicions.”

“Have the bricks brought into the house through the kitchen garden door,” she said. “Not all at once, but a few at a time over the day. We cannot be certain we are not being watched, and I would not have anyone’s curiosity aroused by a constant stream of men and women going in and out of the house. At twilight and in the darkness of the evening the rest of the bricks may be carried inside.”

“Where do you want them?” he asked.

“In the hall,” Rosamund said. “We will wrap them here.”

The morning meal was brought and eaten. People came and went throughout the day while Rosamund, Philippa, Maybel, and several of the servingwomen carefully wrapped each brick in a natural-colored felt fabric and then tied the wrappings with wool twine so the contents remained well concealed. The pile of wrapped bricks never grew any larger, for as each brick was covered with felt and tied, it was removed from the hall. Finally all the bricks were wrapped and gone from the hall. They had been taken over the long day and early evening to a barn, where they were loaded in a covered wooden wagon that would be transported first over the border to Claven’s Carn and from there to the deserted abbey where the wagon’s cover would then be removed. A tarpaulin would replace it, being tied down for effect. But the transport would remain in Rosamund’s barn until the laird returned and gave the word it was to be moved.

And he did return several days later. “Twenty of my men are now populating the abbey,” he said. “We will transport our gold over the border tomorrow and from there to Lochmaben. When I return again we will be ready to inform Lord Dacre and Henry the younger of the gold they may steal.” He laughed. “You have done your part well, Rosamund. The bricks make quite a convincing shipment of gold.”

“Aye, we worked hard to be certain there is not the faintest sign of what is really between those wrappings,” she told him.

“In two days Tom will seek out Lord Dacre, and Edmund, Henry the younger. I know where both are now located. Leaving at the same time, they should reach their quarry at approximately the same time. The trick will be to return to us at the same time with the news that they have both taken the bait.”

Two days later Edmund, six men-at-arms with him, rode to where his nephew hid himself between his border forays. Henry the younger was surprised to see his uncle, but he greeted him cordially enough. Edmund did not dismount his horse.

“This is not a social call, nephew,” he said bluntly.

Henry felt at somewhat of a disadvantage standing by his uncle’s mount. “Get down, Edmund Bolton, so we may speak eye to eye,” he said. “Come in and have some wine. I have an excellent keg I relieved a traveling merchant of recently.” And he chuckled as if it were all a jest.

But Edmund remained atop his mount. “Nay. There is something I have come to say, Henry,” he told his nephew. “I want you to cease harassing Friarsgate. I want you to put all thoughts of marrying Philippa Meredith from your head. A match is being arranged for her with the second son of an earl. It is what the family wants. However, in return for your cooperation, we are willing to direct you to a rather large cache of gold, yours for the taking, nephew. Easy pickings, unless, of course, you are afraid of a band of Scottish monks,” he said scornfully. “You have no real love for Friarsgate. Would you not be content instead with gold?”

“Perhaps,” Henry said softly. “Tell me more, uncle.”

“Your word first that you will cease seeking to kidnap little Philippa. She is yet a child, Henry, and would be more troublesome than useful to you. And you could not keep her from her mother for long. Rosamund is a strong-willed woman, as your father learned.”

“Rosamund should have been my wife,” Henry the younger said. “It could be my son who inherited Friarsgate, and not another girl, uncle.”

Edmund’s laughter was brittle. “What are you now, nephew? Seventeen? Rosamund is twenty-five, and she would kill you before she would marry you. You do not want Friarsgate, lad. That was your father’s dream, and where did it get him but a narrow plot in the family’s burial ground? His lust for what was not his drove your mother away. It turned her from a vapid but decent girl into . . . well, lad, you know what Mavis became. And you? You are hunted and will be one day caught and hung.” He paused for a long moment. “Unless you decide to change your fate, Henry. Give me your word that you will leave the Boltons of Friarsgate alone, and I will make you rich, so rich you may leave here and begin your life anew. You were not meant to be a bandit in the borders, nephew. Do you really want your mother to come upon you one day, hanging at the side of the road? Would you break her heart that way? With the gold I offer you, you can rescue her from her shame and let her live out her life peaceably.”

For a brief moment Henry the younger’s face softened. Then his eyes narrowed, and he said, “Tell me!”

“Your promise first,” Edmund replied.

“You would accept my word?” Henry the younger sounded surprised, but he was also flattered. No one had ever agreed to accept his word before. “You have my hand on it, uncle. If you will tell me where this gold is, and if I can obtain it, I will leave Friarsgate and its inhabitants in peace. I will go south, as Thomas Bolton’s antecedent did. Perhaps I will have the same good fortune as he did.” That is not to say I will not return one day, Henry the younger thought silently. But Friarsgate was not for him, and he knew it. Besides, he hated the stink of sheep.

Edmund took his nephew’s hand and shook it. “The gold is at an abbey in the borders near Lochmaben. I learned of its existence from a Hepburn clansman. The laird’s cousin, the now-deceased Earl of Bothwell, had stored it there for King James before the war. Now it is needed to support the little king, and the queen regent has sent for it to be brought to Stirling. There is but one place where it may be safely taken, nephew. The vehicle bearing the gold will travel from the abbey down to the Edinburgh road. It is a distance of but a few miles. Midway between the abbey and that junction in the road is the ideal place to snatch it. The wagon will be driven by two monks. It is hoped such an equipage will not attract any attention,” Edmund said.

“You have remarkably good information, uncle,” Henry the younger said suspiciously.

“Of course I do,” Edmund agreed. “We hired out Hepburn clansmen to watch over Friarsgate. We pay them, and house and feed them. We are borderers no matter which allegiance we espouse when our kings go to war, nephew. The Scots have become comfortable with us, and they talk a great deal, for they are lonely for their families. They are also proud of their family connections, and the Earl of Bothwell, Patrick Hepburn, was responsible for hiding this gold at Lochmaben. I am sure that if Lord Dacre learns of this transport of gold he will want it, too. But that is unlikely, nephew. So there it is for the taking, if you are not afraid.”

“I am not afraid!” Henry the younger said quickly. “Do you know when this gold will be moved, uncle?”

“They say in three days’ time, nephew, but if I were you, I should go to Lochmaben as soon as possible and wait in hiding so you do not miss its departure.” Edmund turned his horse’s head as he prepared to leave his nephew’s encampment.

“Uncle,” Henry the younger called after him.

Edmund twisted in his saddle. “Yes, nephew?” he asked.

“If you have lied to me, I will come back and kill you,” Henry the younger said.

Edmund laughed harshly. “You are surely your father’s son,” he said, and then he rode off with his escort of clansmen to return to Friarsgate, where he found Tom just returned from his visit to Lord Dacre.

The two men entered the hall of the house, where Rosamund awaited them anxiously. “Well?” she said.

“Your cousin said as I was departing his camp that he would kill me if I lied to him,” Edmund chuckled. “He has taken the bait, niece.”

Rosamund turned to her cousin. “Tom?”

Lord Cambridge nodded. “At first Dacre was not certain that I knew what I was talking about. ‘Dear boy,’ I told him, ‘I have not ridden across half of England for my own amusement. The information I have practically comes from the source.’ Then I went on to tell him he had really been quite naughty continuing his raids in the borders. I happen to know, I said, for haven’t I just returned from court, that the king has told you it must stop! You are endangering all of us who live here. My cousin, Lady Rosamund Bolton, Queen Katherine’s dear, dear friend from their shared childhoods at court, has a large estate, Friarsgate, nearby. Then I lowered my voice and became quite chummy with Dacre. ‘Her daughter has just been chosen to be a maid of honor in two years’ time. If you do not stop, dear boy, you endanger Friarsgate, for the Scots will surely retaliate and come marauding. Now,’ I continued, ‘one of the men who guards Friarsgate has a sister married to a Scot over the border. And he has told her that a large shipment of gold that has been hidden at Lochmaben in an abbey is to be transported across the country to the queen regent for the support of her son, the little king. Now, if you seized that shipment of gold, our king would be very pleased. His sister, the Queen of Scotland, is being most difficult with him right now. If our dear King Henry had her gold, then she would have to be more amenable, wouldn’t she? Of course, if you are fearful of that band of renegades that have been about of late, well, I might understand, dear boy, but would King Henry?’ ”

They laughed, and Rosamund said, “You really are quite wicked, Tom. He listened to you, then?”

“I told him exactly where and when, dear girl, and suggested he would not be amiss leaving sooner than later. Like Edmund, I left behind a man to observe, who will return to us when both of our unsuspecting victims reach Lochmaben, when the battle is over and done with. Lord Dacre and his men are really quite well armed.”

“Henry the younger will fight harder,” Edmund said.

“Perhaps, but he will be overcome,” Tom told them.

“Then we have but to wait for news,” Rosamund responded.

“Where is your brazen Scot, dear girl?” Tom asked her.

“He is not mine, Tom!” Rosamund exclaimed.

“Of course he is,” Lord Cambridge replied with a grin. “Now, where is he?”

“He has gone to Lochmaben,” Rosamund said. “I will not believe that Henry the younger is dead unless I see his body and bury it.”

“God’s wounds, dear girl!” Tom exclaimed. “I am quite relieved not to be your enemy.”

“I do not do it out of vindictiveness, Tom, but I must be certain that Philippa is safe,” Rosamund told him. “And he is my cousin. Our blood. He should be interred here. Like his father, it is all he will ever have of Friarsgate.”

So they waited, and ten days later Logan came riding over the border and down the hill to Friarsgate with his men. Among their number was a riderless horse that carried a body. The body had already begun to stink, but in anticipation that he would not fail her, Rosamund had seen the grave already dug and the shroud ready. The body was put into its burial cloth. Rosamund looked upon Henry the younger’s face. In death he was a pleasant-looking young man who did not seem in the least dangerous. She nodded silently, and then she sewed the top of the shroud closed herself before they buried her young cousin.

“It is over at last,” she said as they all sat together in the hall that evening. “For my whole life I have battled Henry the elder and Henry the younger. Thank God it is finished.” She looked at the three men with her. “Thank you.” she said simply.

“Was it as you planned it?” Maybel demanded, wanting to know all the details.

“Exactly,” Logan said. “I have never in my life known any plan to be so flawless in its execution. Both parties of men arrived unknown to the other. They secreted themselves on opposite sides of the path. They were silent and determined. Your cousin struck first. At his attack the drivers leaped from the wagon and fled into the woods. And then Lord Dacre swooped down on Henry the younger and his men. He thought them Scots, and he was savage in battle. There were no survivors among your cousin’s men.

“Dacre then undid the covering on the wagon and pulled forth one of the bricks. He felt its weight and grinned, delighted. He unwrapped the brick, and seeing what was inside, he swore an oath. Then he began, with all his men, unwrapping the bricks until there wasn’t a one left. He spoke some of the most colorful language that I have ever heard,” Logan said, smiling.

“What happened then?” Maybel asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“He and his men galloped down the path to the abbey. They found it deserted, of course. They came back up the path, and dismounting, examined the wagon most carefully. I was near enough to hear the English milord. He decided that the monks had run away to hide in the woods knowing the wagon was empty of gold, but that the gold must assuredly have been there at one time because of the renegades who attempted to steal it before he attempted to steal it. He came to the conclusion that somewhere between there and Stirling there was a wagonload of gold, and he would attempt to find it before it became too dangerous for him and his men. He had his men unhitch the horses and then rode off with his troop.”

“So you lost two horses. I am sorry,” Rosamund said. “I will replace them.”

“There is no need,” Logan said. “We stole them back that night.”

They all laughed, and then the servants began bringing in the meal. It has been agreed that the laird would spend the night at Friarsgate.

“And you will return my daughters tomorrow?” Rosamund said.

“If you want Banon and Bessie back,” he told her wickedly, “you must come to Claven’s Carn and fetch them, Rosamund Bolton.” The blue-blue eyes were dancing.

Rosamund felt her temper rising. But when she glared down the high board at him, he pursed his lips in a kiss to her. For a moment her head spun at the memory of the last time he had cooled her tantrum. She was, to her family’s surprise, silent, and she could see he knew exactly what she was thinking and was restraining his laughter. I will not let him make me angry, she decided, and then she lifted her goblet to him in a taunting gesture and drank deeply. She heard his chuckle as she set the goblet back down on the high board.

Edmund and Tom played a game of chess before the fire afterwards. Maybel dozed, her feet turned towards the warmth of the hearth. Several dogs sprawled about them, and a single cat lay dozing in Philippa’s lap.

“Am I really safe now, mama?” Philippa asked. “And Friarsgate, too?”

“We are all safe now, poppet,” Rosamund told her daughter. “One day you will inherit Friarsgate, and your descendants after you. With me, the Boltons die. There will be none afterwards to harm you or yours.” She put an arm about her child, and Philippa dropped her head for a moment upon her mother’s shoulder as she had done when she was younger, seeking security and solace.

“I do not think I could ever be as brave as you have been, mama,” Philippa said.

“I wanted you and your sisters to have a happier time in your childhoods than I did,” Rosamund told her daughter. “But you have had your share of sadness, too, my child. I know how hard it was for you to lose your father.”

“But if you married again, mama, we could have another father,” Philippa said.

“We will see,” Rosamund murmured, not noticing her cousin Tom wince.

“When will my sisters come home, mama?” Philippa asked.

“Soon,” Rosamund said. “Now find your bed, my daughter.”

Curtsying to her elders, Philippa left the hall. And soon Maybel and Edmund were gone. And Tom, after pouring himself a goblet of wine, swiftly sought his own chamber.

Rosamund arose from her place on the settle where she had sat with Philippa. “Come, my lord. I am certain you remember the way, but I shall lead you.” She glided from the hall, the laird of Claven’s Carn’s footsteps behind her. Reaching the guest chamber, she opened the door for him, gasping as he drew her inside and shut the door behind them firmly. “My lord!”

He stopped her mouth with a hard kiss. “Tonight, madame,” he told her, “we will begin to get to know each other as we should have years ago but that you kept marrying other men. We are getting too old for these games, Rosamund, my darling.” His arms tightened about her.

“I have not said I would marry you,” she whispered breathlessly.

He took an index finger and ran it from the top of her head down her nose and over her lips and chin in a tender gesture. “I have not asked you to marry me, Rosamund,” he told her softly. “I have just said it is past time we got to know each other, my darling.”

“You want to make love to me,” she answered him.

“Aye, I do,” he told her.

“Logan . . . oh, Logan, I do not know if I can ever love you as you love me,” Rosamund despaired.

“So you finally see that I love you,” he replied. “ ’Tis a start, my darling.” He kissed her face gently, moving his lips from her forehead to her eyelids to her nose and finally to her sweet mouth. Then the blue-blue eyes met her amber ones. His big hand caressed her cheek. “You will never love me as you loved Patrick Leslie, Rosamund, but you will love me. I promise you.”

Tears slipped down her face, and he kissed them away. Then, turning her about, he began to unlace the bodice of her plain brown velvet gown. His lips found the soft nape of her neck and pressed a kiss upon it. Rosamund sighed, wondering as she did why she had this sudden feeling of relief. He removed the bodice, laying it aside on a nearby chair. He undid the tapes of her skirts and lifted her from the puddle of material that slipped to the floor.

“You seem to be quite expert at this, Logan Hepburn,” Rosamund told him, beginning to regain her equilibrium. She was facing him now, and her fingers were undoing his doublet unimpeded.

He smiled a slow smile down at her. “I am,” he admitted modestly. Then he lifted her up and set her down upon the bed. Kneeling, he removed her slippers and stockings.

“I haven’t finished undressing you,” Rosamund said boldly.

“I can do it quicker,” he told her. “And I think it necessary tonight, my darling.” His hands undid his breeks. He removed his sherte and then sat to remove his shoes and his wool stockings from his big feet. He stood again, pulling his breeks off, then got into the bed with her. For modesty’s sake, he had left her in her chemise, but he was as naked as God had made him.

“You are a very big man,” she said, eyeing him.

“I am,” he agreed, untying the ribbons that held her chemise closed. He drew back the folds of fabric and stared. “God’s wounds, madame, you are incredibly beautiful,” he said admiringly. He did not touch her.

“Would you like me to remove my chemise now?” she asked softly. He was such a handsome man with his blue-blue eyes and his unruly black hair. Unable to help herself, she reached up and ran her hand through that hair.

“Nay,” he told her. “I want to absorb your beauty a little bit at a time, Rosamund. I am not a greedy man.” The dark head bent, and he kissed a single nipple.

She shivered with the pleasure that small touch offered her. It had been almost two years since she had lain in a man’s arms and received the homage of his love for her. “That was nice,” she told him.

“Good,” he said. “I want to know what pleases you, and then you shall learn what pleases me, Rosamund.”

“What if we discover that we do not enjoy each other?” she asked him.

“Why, then we shall go our separate ways, madame,” he replied blandly.

“What?” she cried. “You would seduce me and then desert me, you Scots scoundrel!” She pushed him away.

“Madame, ’twas you who introduced doubt into our passion,” he returned.

Rosamund sat up. What was she doing? She jumped from the bed, looking to gather up her other garments. “You shall not have me, you monster!”

“Oh, but I shall, my darling,” he said, rising and following her, drawing her back into his arms, drawing the chemise off of her. Her breasts were crushed against his lightly furred chest. Her belly pressed against his.

“Dammit, Logan! Would you commit rape?” she demanded of him. God’s blood! She had never felt so very naked before. She hammered against him with her fists. He enclosed her face between his big hands and kissed her, his mouth insistent, demanding, and moist against her lips, her face. He would not be denied, and the truth was, she realized, she didn’t want to be denied, either. She needed him as much as he needed her.

“If you truly want to go,” he said, suddenly releasing her, “then go, damn you! But if you remain, Rosamund, these fevered bodies of ours will shortly be one.” The blue-blue eyes looked straight at her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Yes, you do!” he said fiercely.

“Do you really love me, Logan Hepburn?” she asked him.

“For as long as I can remember, Rosamund Bolton. Forever! And I always will,” he told her in a sure and quiet voice.

“Please God that I am not a fool,” she said.

He smiled at her. “We will talk about that on the morrow, my darling,” he told her, holding out his hand in silent invitation.

She took it, and he brought her back into the comfort of his embrace. Then they walked back to the bed. They lay together, slowly and tenderly exploring each other’s bodies. He caressed her breasts. She pressed kisses on his flat belly. Their mouths met again and again as their limbs intertwined, rolling this way and then that. Finally she lay beneath him, and with the most infinite care, indeed as if she were a virgin, he entered her body, pushing his thick length slowly, slowly and filling her full with his long-pent-up desire for her. Moving with a leisurely rhythm until she was whimpering softly and her head began to thrash with her rising pleasure. And when their need for each other reached its peak, they rose together, their fingers intertwined, until with great joy they fell back together into the abyss of warm and soothing release, fulfilled.

And afterwards he told her that on the morrow she would return with him to Claven’s Carn and they would be married. “If, of course, my darling, that is your wish, too,” he said smiling into her face, devouring her with his love until she could no longer bear it, for it was simply too sweet.

“I cannot live at Claven’s Carn always,” she said. “I am the lady of Friarsgate.”

“I cannot live at Friarsgate always,” he said. “I am the lord of Claven’s Carn.”

“Then we must be like the wealthy nobles who go back and forth between their homes and estates, Logan,” she told him. “Sometimes we will live in your house, and sometimes we will live in mine.”

“And if our countries continue to war?” he asked her.

“Then you must stay on your side of the border, and I will remain on mine,” Rosamund teased him with a smile.

“Of course,” he told her, “if we remain free of political entanglements and know nothing of the world outside of Friarsgate and Claven’s Carn, we shall never be separated.” Then he kissed the tip of her nose.

“What a clever man you are,” Rosamund told him. “I think I will marry you after all, Logan Hepburn.”

“And one day you will come to love me?” he said hopefully.

“I think some small part of me has always loved you, Logan,” she admitted. “And I will be a good wife to you and a good stepmother to your son. I promise.”

“And I will be a good father to your girls,” he vowed. “I remember their father, and he was an honorable man. I can be no less to you, or to them.”

“And if we should have bairns, Logan?” she asked.

“They will belong to Claven’s Carn,” he told her firmly.

She nodded. “Then it is settled, my lord. But if we are indeed to have bairns, you will have to pay more attention to me than you have been,” she teased him.

He grinned down at her. “Madame, I have already put a bairn in your belly, but until he objects, Rosamund, you and I will enjoy our bed sport.”

And Rosamund laughed aloud, her heart soaring with her happiness. Aye! She was indeed happy again, and she knew that with Logan Hepburn by her side she would be happy forever, no matter the world about them.