“I did,” Patrick Hepburn said.
“What if Rosamund had agreed to marry me? What then, cousin?” Logan demanded.
“Come now, cousin. It is time for us to depart for the chapel,” the earl replied, ignoring the question. He took the younger man by the arm, and together they walked from the earl’s apartments.
The queen and her women had kindly seen to the young bride, Margaret Tudor giving the girl one of her own gowns, which had been quickly altered to fit the reed-slim girl. It was peach-colored velvet with an underskirt embroidered and quilted with large gold flowers. The neckline was low and square and fitted tightly. The long, tight sleeves had fur cuffs. An embroidered hanging girdle was wrapped about the bride’s waist.
“Gracious,” Rosamund murmured so that only the queen might hear her. “There is enough material here for another gown, I’ll vow. I do not remember you this plump, Meg.” She smiled sweetly.
“Jamie likes a woman with meat on her bones,” the queen murmured back. “Besides, this girl is very slim. Still, her husband will put a bairn in her belly no matter. Do you think Logan Hepburn is a good lover?”
“I wouldn’t know, Meg,” Rosamund said softly. “Do watch your tongue, else poor Jeannie will hear you.”
“Then take back what you said about my being plump,” the queen muttered.
“My memory of our youth grows faulty, madame,” Rosamund said.
The queen giggled. “I accept your apology,” she whispered. “Now, what shall our bride wear on her head, ladies?”
“Oh, madame,” said Tillie, the queen’s chief tiring woman, “do you not remember? A virgin going to her wedding wears her hair loose to indicate her virtue. You did on your wedding day, and I will wager that Mistress Rosamund did, too.”
“I did indeed, Tillie,” Rosamund replied.
“Where is your jewelry?” the queen asked Jeannie Logan.
“I have none, madame,” the bride answered.
“Here, take these pearls,” Rosamund said generously, removing a strand from about her neck. “They are a wedding present, Jeannie Logan, from your neighbor, the lady of Friarsgate.” She slipped the long strand about the girl’s neck. “There! They make the gown even lovelier.”
“Oh, Lady Rosamund, I could not!” the girl cried, but she was already fingering the pearls longingly.
“Of course you can,” Rosamund replied. “They are perfect, as are you. Logan Hepburn is a fortunate man. Make certain he knows it, Jeannie.”
“Thank you, my lady! I shall tell him how kind you have been to me,” the girl said ingenuously.
“Yes,” Rosamund agreed, “do tell him, and say I wish you both much happiness, Jeannie. Perhaps you will allow me to entertain you when I return to Friarsgate.” She smiled at the girl.
As they escorted the bride to the royal chapel, Margaret Tudor leaned over and whispered to her old friend, “You do have a bit of the bitch in you, Rosamund. This is another revelation.”
“I have naught against the lass, Meg. It is her arrogant mate my words were for, and I know she will repeat them as I have said them, and they will sting him. This is repayment for what he did on my wedding day to Owein.”
At the chapel door, the Earl of Bothwell was waiting to escort the bride. They left her with him and entered. The queen moved swiftly to the front of the room where her husband awaited her. They would formally witness the vows. Rosamund slipped into her seat next to Patrick. He took her hand immediately in his.
“No regrets, my darling?” he asked softly.
“None,” she told him, smiling.
The bridegroom came forth, and the bride was led to him by the Earl of Bothwell. The priest shook his censer of incense over them while the candles on the altar flickered and the storm outside moaned mournfully. The mass began. Logan’s eye went just once to Rosamund. She was standing next to the Earl of Glenkirk, gazing up at him adoringly. It was as if a hand had reached out and squeezed his heart to half its size. Then he felt the small hand slipping into his, and he looked down into the sweet face of his bride. She gave him a tremulous smile, and unable to help himself, he smiled back at her. Poor lassie. She wasn’t responsible for his heartbreak. Nay! ’Twas that brazen, false bitch boldly standing with her lover! He would put her from his heart and give what was left of it to this sweet lass who was about to become his wife.
The bride spoke her vows in a soft but clear voice. The bridegroom spoke his in a loud, almost defiant voice. The ceremony over, the wedding party adjourned to the Great Hall of Stirling Castle to join the rest of the court in the Twelfth Night celebration. The long holiday was about to come to an end, and the winter was setting in with a vengeance. The entire court drank to the health and long life of the newly wed couple. There was much jesting, and the bride was soon rosy with her blushes.
Patrick took Rosamund aside. “We must depart in two days,” he said in a low voice. “Remember, you can take but a few necessaries, my love.”
“I know. But Annie must pack for me as if I am leaving court for home,” she answered. “I can but hope the weather clears.”
“It may be better if it doesn’t,” Glenkirk told her. “We’re less apt to encounter the English at sea if the weather remains foul. They have no real navy, although the king’s brother-in-law, seeing our Jamie’s success in building ships, is embarking on the same course. You’re sure you would come?”
“Absolutely,” Rosamund told him. “Are you having second thoughts, my lord?”
“Nay! I cannot imagine my life without you now, Rosamund,” he told her.
“One day…” she began.
He stopped her lips with his fingers. “But not now.”
She nodded. “I hope the queen believes me,” she said. “I had best speak with her now, while I can.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss upon the lips, then rose from the board where she had been seated with him and other guests. Finding her way to the High Board, Rosamund caught the queen’s eye. Margaret Tudor beckoned her forward, and Rosamund hurried to her side.
“I have just received word, highness, that Philippa, my eldest daughter, is dangerously ill. How the messenger got through in this storm is a miracle, but I must depart for Friarsgate as soon as the storm clears,” Rosamund said.
“One of your own people came?” the queen said. “I would see him and commend him for his diligence.”
“Nay, madame, not one of my people. They are simple folk and would not know how to travel to Edinburgh and then on to Stirling. It was a messenger hired by my uncle Edmund. I didn’t even see him. He asked for me and was directed to Annie. She took the message and came to find me immediately after the mass,” Rosamund said.
“Ah,” the queen said, disappointed. “Must you leave me, Rosamund? I did so want you here for this birth. I have missed you, and we have had such fun these last few weeks.”
“You have had fun teasing me,” Rosamund said with a smile. “I will try to return in time for the prince’s birth, Meg.” She felt guilty lying to her old friend, especially in light of how good Margaret Tudor had always been to her. But the queen could not know the truth about the Earl of Glenkirk’s mission to San Lorenzo, and Rosamund knew she could not allow her lover to leave her at this point.
The queen nodded. “You are a good mother, Rosamund. Go home and tend to your daughter, but please come back when you can.”
“We will speak again before I leave you,” Rosamund responded. Then she curtsied and moved off.
The festivities went on the day long and into the evening. There was food and drink in abundance. There was music and dancing. A troupe of entertainers was allowed into the hall. They had a bear with a polished brass collar on a chain that danced to flute and drum. There were several men who juggled shiny balls and pastries from the tables. There was a blind girl who sang like an angel while accompanying herself on a small harp. And finally there were acrobats who tumbled and leapt across the hall, causing the spectators to
“It is as good a time as any for us to make our escape,” Patrick whispered to her with a smile.
Rosamund nodded. “I cannot imagine what poor Logan would think if he found me among the women who prepared his wife for the bridal bed,” she chuckled. “I gave the lass my pearls as a wedding gift, which should prick him enough.”
“Revenge for your own wedding day, my sweet?” Lord Cambridge said as he came to her side. “You are
