“Let us see how your son likes me first, darling,” she advised. “I will drive no wedge between you two. Return to me in the springtime, Patrick, and if we are both of the same mind then, I shall come back with you to Glenkirk next winter with my girls.”
“And we can be wed then,” he told her.
She nodded. “But we must say naught to any right now, my lord. It will be our secret. There can be no marriage between us unless your son approves. Let Adam know me before you speak with him. Please.”
“Very well, my darling. It shall be as you desire, for I cannot refuse you anything, it would seem.”
In early September a carter arrived requesting payment for the great crate that he had transported from the port of Newcastle-on-Tyne to Friarsgate. Going into her strong-box, Rosamund counted out the coins, but she said, “Open the crate for me first that I may make certain your cargo is not damaged. Be careful!” she warned as the carter and his helper began to pull the crate apart.
Shortly, the painting as done by Maestro Loredano was revealed. The two carters lifted it from its packaging and held it up for all to see. There were great
“ ’Tis beautiful, lass,” Edmund said. “I have never seen the like before.”
“It would have traveled easier had he just sent the canvas,” Rosamund noted dryly, “but I suspect that the maestro would trust no one but himself to see to the framing.” Her eyes met the earl’s. “I wonder what happened to the other painting.”
Patrick laughed. “I suspect we shall never know, Madonna.” Then he explained to Edmund and Maybel about the two paintings.
“He don’t sound very respectable to me, this painter fellow,” Maybel said.
“He was not respectable as we would have it,” the earl answered her, “but you will agree that the fellow is talented. His rendition of Rosamund is masterful.”
“Aye,” Edmund agreed. “He has her so lifelike that I would expect her to step from the painting, my lord.”
The harvest was now gathered in, and Friarsgate began to prepare for the winter to come. The anniversary of Sir Owein Meredith’s death was celebrated in the little estate church. It was now three years since he had fallen from a tree in the orchard and broken his neck. The days were growing noticeably shorter, and the nights were now cold. Both Rosamund and Patrick were avoiding the inevitable.
“I can remain no longer or I shall have to spend the winter here,” he told her one evening as they lay abed.
“Do not leave me,” she begged him. “I am so fearful that if we break the spell that has surrounded us these past months I shall never see you again.”
“Then come with me,” he said, and he caressed her beautiful auburn hair.
She shook her head. “You know I cannot, Patrick. I am amazed at all I have done in this past year and the places I have been in that time, thanks to you. Promise me that you will return in the spring when the snows have left your Highlands. Oh, I wish you could at least remain until your birthday!”
“December is too late a time for me to travel. It is already October, and I should have gone two weeks ago,” he said. “Rosamund, I am leaving tomorrow.”
She cried out as if he had struck her, but then, turning a brave face to him, she said, “Then you must love me tonight, Patrick, as if you will not love me ever again!” She pulled his head to hers, and their lips met in a fierce kiss, each of them drawing from the other. She ran her tongue over his mouth, tasting him hungrily. His hands cupped her bottom, drawing her closer. “I love you!” she sobbed.
“And I love you as I have never loved another, Rosamund Bolton!” he declared. He caressed her, meaning it to be tender, but instead his touch aroused her passions. His mouth closed over a nipple, and he drew upon it even as he fondled the round soft flesh of her breasts. His fingers played between her thighs, and then she surprised him by turning herself about so she might take his manhood between her hands and suckle upon it. Her facile little tongue ran up and down the length of him. It encircled the ruby knob, and he moaned with pleasure as he experienced a delight he had not imagined her capable of giving. But before she unmanned him, he forced her away and onto her back once more. He mounted her and pushed into her welcoming heat, taking her face between his two big hands as he did, watching the subtle play of passion upon her lovely face as he thrust slowly back and forth until she was half-sobbing with her own pleasure. He bent his body now and gave her a long, slow kiss. “How is it that you make me young again, my sweet border lover? In what time and what place have we been before? I have never understood, Rosamund, but I do not care any longer, as long as I have your love for now and always!” His movements on her became more demanding.
The taste of him had been the most stimulating aphrodisiac she had ever known. She had not wanted to release him from between her lips, but she had also been developing a terrible need for him between her thighs, which he had quickly filled. Rosamund reveled in the feel of his manhood, thick and hard inside her. He taunted and teased her with his prowess as he moved back and forth, back and forth. For a long moment she believed that nothing would give her release, and then the delicious tingling began, and she was dizzy with the pleasure Patrick offered. “I love you!” she cried, and his lips met hers as her body began to experience spasms of passionate fulfillment as he released his love juices within her.
Rosamund wept afterwards. “I cannot bear it that we will be parted these next months,” she sobbed.
He said nothing, for there was nothing left for him to say. Instead, he held her within the shelter of his arms and stroked her auburn head tenderly. Eventually, Rosamund fell asleep, but Patrick remained awake for some time. Was this the last time they would be together? Nay, he did not feel that at all. He would return in the springtime, and they would love again. His instincts had proven correct so far. He had no reason to doubt them now, and he would not. Still, he regretted that he must go. The winter would seem very long without his Rosamund.
In the morning he bid them all farewell. Bessie, who had become the earl’s special pet, cried to see him go. Dermid would accompany his master, but he would return in time for the birth of his first child in December. Edmund and Maybel were genuinely sorry to see Patrick depart. Rosamund put on a brave face, but Annie howled and cried until Maybel threatened to smack her.
“He’ll be back, you foolish lass,” she told the girl. “Were you not wed by a bishop in a cathedral? And is it not his child you carry?”
“Be brave, lass,” Dermid said. “I have to go home and tell my ma, now, don’t I?”
The two men mounted their horses, and Rosamund, standing by the earl’s stirrup, looked up with a tearstained face and whispered, “Remember I love you, Patrick.”
He leaned down, lifted her up enough to kiss her lips, and replied, “And remember that I love you, Rosamund Bolton.” Then he set her down again.
The others dispersed, returning to their duties, but Rosamund remained, watching until nothing of Patrick Leslie, Earl of Glenkirk, was visible but a faint cloud of golden dust. Returning to her bedchamber, she flung herself on the bed they had shared and wept wildly. The scent of him was yet on the pillows. I cannot bear it, she thought desperately. I cannot live without him for six months. Oh, God! Why did I not have Mata marry us now? Why did I not at least go with him? But she knew the answers to her questions even as she silently voiced them. The earl’s son must approve a match between his long-widowed father and the lady of Friarsgate. Nor could she leave her girls again. Since their father’s tragic death she had spent too much time away from them. Rosamund wished her cousin Tom were here now to comfort her. Then she sighed, and rising from her bed, she washed the tears from her face. She had duties to complete, and if she did not return to the hall soon, her daughters would be frightened. Taking a deep breath, the lady of Friarsgate walked from her bedchamber and down the staircase to where they all awaited her anxiously.
Chapter 11
