“Not if Henry believes the shipment will be unguarded for only the first five miles of its trek. That it will meet up with the king’s men where the abbey road and the Edinburgh road join. That means he must attack before the gold reaches it guardians. If he is clever, he will wait until the shipment is halfway between the junction of the two roads. We will make certain he does this and then we will make certain Lord Dacre knows it,” Logan said. “Your cousin is basically a coward. He is not looking for a fight, but rather easy pickings.”
“How do we do this?” Rosamund asked him.
“I will go to Lord Dacre,” Tom said. “I am English, and he will believe me, particularly as I will bleat about this bandit who threatens my estates at Otterly and those of my cousin the lady of Friarsgate, who is the queen’s dear friend, just back from court, you know, where her daughter was chosen to be a maid of honor in two years’ time and may be matched with the Earl of Renfrew’s son. His lordship is a snob. He will listen carefully to what I have to say and think to gain greater favor with the king by stealing this gold for him and protecting the queen’s friend in the bargain.”
“And who will tell Henry the younger of the gold?” Rosamund asked.
“I will,” Edmund spoke up.
“You, old man? Are you mad?” Maybel demanded. “Am I to be widowed in my old age, then? You will do no such thing, Edmund Bolton!”
They all laughed, but Edmund replied to his wife, “Nay, old woman. I will go to my nephew and tell him this tale of gold. I will say I heard it from our neighbor, the laird of Claven’s Carn. That I have come to him in hopes that by telling him of this bounty that can be his, he will leave Friarsgate and Philippa Meredith in peace. That the gold he may steal will give him the opportunity to begin a new life somewhere else. I am his uncle, his blood kin. He knows how much I love Friarsgate and our family. He will believe me, for he could never conceive that I would be duplicitous with him where the safety of Friarsgate and its inhabitants are concerned.”
“He is right,” Tom said.
“Aye, and brave, too,” the laird remarked. “You’ll take an armed guard with you, Edmund, for without them your nephew might be tempted to do something foolish.”
“And just where is this gold going to come from?” Maybel demanded. “And how will you gain the monks’ cooperation in this charade?”
“Remember, the abbey is deserted, Maybel. But neither Lord Dacre nor Henry the younger will know that,” the priest said. “Monks’ robes are easily available, and some of the laird’s men can don them to make it appear to anyone watching that the abbey is populated. Two monks will drive the cart up the abbey trail towards the road. At the first sign of trouble, the drivers will leap from the cart and flee into the woods. No one will chase after them, for it is the gold they want, not a pair of cowardly monks.”
“You still have not said where the gold will come from,” Maybel insisted.
“There is a supply of bricks stored away from when we made the new bake ovens,” Edmund said. “They can be wrapped in cloth and tied with yarn. Piled in the cart, they will appear to be just what Lord Dacre and my nephew have been told. Gold.”
“It must all be done with perfect precision if we are to succeed,” the laird said. “Tomorrow we will set up the steps to follow.”
“What will Lord Dacre think when he discovers the bricks?” Rosamund wondered.
“He will undoubtedly head for the abbey, and discovering it empty, realize he has been duped. I suspect he will believe there was indeed gold but that it was transported earlier in some secret manner to foil the English,” Tom said. He stood up, stretching and yawning broadly. “Oh, I believe I am ready for my bed,” he said. “All this plotting is absolutely exhausting, dear girl.” He bent, and kissed Rosamund upon her forehead. “Good night, and sweet dreams, cousin. Logan. Maybel. Edmund.” And then he was gone from the hall.
Edmund arose quickly, and taking his wife’s hand, bid Rosamund and Logan good night as he hurried his wife from the hall. Maybel, who had opened her mouth to protest their swift departure, suddenly realized what her husband was all about, and her jaw snapped shut as their eyes met in understanding.
“Where am I to sleep, lady?” the laird asked his hostess.
Why was he in such a hurry? she wondered. Had he met another woman while she was down in England? “Bide with me a while, my lord,” Rosamund said, and she arose to pour him a goblet of her best wine. After all these years of his alleged devotion, he was going to desert her for some other woman? Most certainly not until she decided if he was worth marrying! She swallowed her temper, and smiling, handed him the wine. “This is my favorite time of day, or rather, evening,” she told him as she brought her own goblet back to her seat by the fire. “Everything is quiet, and there seems to be a peace on the land as at no other time.” She sipped her wine.
He couldn’t resist. He enjoyed it better when she fought him openly. “Are you attempting to ply me with good wine and then seduce me, madame?” He cocked a black eyebrow questioningly at her.
“Have you always had such a fine opinion of yourself, Logan?” she demanded with a show of her old spirit. The beast! Could he read her mind?
“Always, my darling,” he told her with a brash grin. He saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her goblet. “You are contemplating hurling the contents of your vessel at me, aren’t you?” he said.
“Yes,” she admitted through clenched teeth. “Oh, yes!”
“I have a better idea, and it will save my doublet and not waste your good wine,” he told her with a grin. Then, setting his own goblet aside, he stood up. “Get up, Rosamund, and I will help you calm your temper,” Logan said. “But let us put your wine aside first,” and he took the goblet from her hand and set it upon a table. He drew her to a standing position. “From now on,” he said, “when you wish to do violence to me, you will instead kiss me.”
“What?” Surely she had not heard him aright, but then he was folding her arms behind her as he pulled her into his arms. His head was descending to meet hers. His lips were pressing themselves to her lips. With the touch of his flesh on hers, Rosamund’s knees gave way, but he was holding her so firmly that she did not fall. Her eyes had closed of their own volition, and her head began to spin.
Then he raised his mouth from hers and said, “Kissing is much nicer, Rosamund, than quarreling. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
“I have never quarreled with anyone the way I do with you,” she said as her head cleared. “You are the most annoying man.”
“You are no longer angry at me,” he teased her.
“Nay,” she said. “I do not think I am.”
“You see?” he said as he released her from his embrace.
“Will I have to fight with you in order for you to kiss me?” Rosamund asked him provocatively.
“For now, aye,” he told her. “You are not an easy woman, and I must bring you to reason if we are ever to marry, my darling.”
“Bring me to reason?” Her outrage was more than evident. Her little balled fist hit him a blow on his arm. “Not an easy woman? Who the hell are you to criticize me, Logan Hepburn? Do you think you are some paragon of perfection? Even Jeannie, God assoil her sweet soul, knew better than that!”
He wanted to laugh, but he did not. Instead, he yanked her back into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless and half-swooning. “I will master you, you impossible wench, if I must spend the rest of my life doing it,” he said to her. Then he kissed her again and again and again until she was whimpering with pleasure. Finally he set her back on her feet, holding her arm lightly as she swayed for a moment. “There,” he said. “You should be calm again. Now, show me where I am to sleep this night, Rosamund Bolton.”
She shook her head to clear it, saying nothing. He was irritating! He was impossible! He was overbearing! But God’s wounds! His kisses were divine. She was surprised to discover that she could move her legs now, and so she led him upstairs to the guest chamber. Opening the door, she stepped back to allow him through. “Good night, my lord,” she said softly. More softly than she had intended, but at least she could speak, Rosamund thought.
He stepped past her, and then turning, said low, “Not tonight, Rosamund, but another night, we will share this bed together.”
“I have not said I should marry you, Logan,” she replied quickly.
“I have not said I should ask you, Rosamund,” he told her. “I have simply said that one night soon we will share this bed, you and I. Good night, madame.”
Astounded, she stepped away from the door as he reached to close it. Her heart was beating madly. She began to consider what it might be like in his arms, and then she thought of the last time she had lain in a man’s arms. “Patrick,” she whispered, but even as she said his name she knew that the Earl of Glenkirk would never deny her
