“She is fortunate having you for a brother, Adam Leslie,” Rosamund said. “My brother died when I was three. I do not remember him or my parents.”
“My father has told me your history and of how you met,” he replied.
“Does your wife know about me yet?” Rosamund inquired.
A small smile touched Adam’s lips. “My father has told you of Anne?”
Rosamund nodded but said nothing, for she did not think it would be polite to say she had heard Adam Leslie’s wife was a shrew.
He laughed a short laugh. “She is difficult,” he admitted, “but it is just because she wants everything right. I have a fair mistress who keeps me happy. But Anne keeps Glenkirk in perfect order, and she has given me three children. I will ask no more of her. Nay, she does not know of you, madame, for my father was not of a mind to spend a winter locked up with her carping at him about his age and the foolishness of a man of his years thinking he was in love like some green youth. And of how a young woman would be interested only in his small wealth and title. And how if he managed to give her a child, another child would but lessen her children’s inheritance. My father is, as you know, madame, a wise man. Better my wife learn of you after the marriage is celebrated.”
Rosamund could not help but giggle at his recitation. “Aye, Patrick is a wise man, Adam, and I am certain he would want you to call me by my Christian name. Will you please do so?”
“I will, Rosamund, and gladly,” he told her.
Tom had told Philippa of Lord Leslie’s tragedy, and nothing would do but that Philippa come to her mother. The little girl could not refrain from weeping, but Rosamund calmed her daughter.
“Will you remain in Edinburgh with me, child?” she asked her daughter. “Your company will be a great comfort to me.”
“Oh, yes, mama!” Philippa cried. “I shall not leave your side.”
Rosamund smiled softly. “Nay. I will nurse the earl alone, Philippa. But Uncle Tom would take you to court to meet the king and the queen. It is important that you make that connection, for one day Queen Margaret could aid you. She is my oldest friend. Friarsgate needs friends on both sides of the border, given its location. You are my heiress. It is your duty to make the most of this first visit to Edinburgh. I will be content by Lord Leslie’s bedside, helping him regain his health. When he is able, child, we will move to your uncle Tom’s house here in town.”
Philippa nodded. “Mayhap we will be there for my birthday,” she said.
“I think we will,” Rosamund agreed. “We are sending to Friarsgate for Maybel.”
“She will not be happy to have to travel, mama,” Philippa remarked.
Rosamund laughed. “Nay, she will not be. But she will come because I call her.”
“I hope Uncle Patrick gets well soon, mama,” Philippa said.
“So do I, my angel,” her mother concurred.
But Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk, lay in a stupor for three days. The crisis would come sooner than later, the physician told Rosamund. In his unconscious state he was unable to swallow, and his body was drying out for lack of liquid. Halfway through the fourth day, the earl began to stir restlessly. Rosamund held a cup of water to his lips, and while his eyes did not open and he did not give any other sign of consciousness, he drank greedily until he fell back upon his pillows.
“He will live,” Master Achmet pronounced upon learning of this new development.
“But he is not awake,” Rosamund said.
“He is attempting to wake himself, madame. It may take another few days. Keep him comfortable and feed him watered wine.”
Rosamund followed the physician’s instructions. With Adam’s help, she kept the earl’s large body bathed and clean. She saw that he was put in a freshly laundered linen shirt each morning and again each evening. She changed his bedding daily. Patiently she held the pewter cup to his lips and coaxed him to drink a dozen times a day. She slept by his side at night in case he should awaken or otherwise need her. Her devotion was commendable. Adam began to see what kind of woman his father had fallen in love with and desired to wed. He found himself admiring Rosamund.
At first Adam had been concerned when his father had confided to him that he had fallen in love. Patrick had arrived home to celebrate his fifty-second birthday. Adam was more concerned when he learned that Rosamund was only twenty-three. It was true that marriages between many people of their class had a disparity of age between the bride and the groom. But his father had been widowed for twenty-nine years. While he certainly had a healthy appetite for female flesh, he had never evinced the slightest desire to marry again. But now his father’s face lit up each time he spoke to his son of Rosamund. Each day during the winter Adam’s father had written to his beloved. These letters were now in a leather pouch that the earl had brought with them. He wanted to share his winter’s loneliness with this woman he adored. Adam was finally convinced that his father was not in his dotage and that spending the remainder of his life with Rosamund Bolton was the right thing for the Earl of Glenkirk to do. Now he gave her the packet of letters, but Rosamund, concerned with Patrick’s health, put them aside to read another time.
When Adam met Rosamund he knew instantly that his instincts had been sound. She loved his father every bit as much as he loved her. Her concern for the earl and her tender care of him were real. Not once did she complain. Not once did she whine that now her wedding was to be delayed. Her sole reason for being, it seemed to Adam, was his father’s well-being and eventual recovery. And then Master Achmet said they might move the earl to Lord Cambridge’s house. While he was not fully conscious yet, he did appear stronger and able to make the short journey.
Tom had purchased a house off the High Street with a large garden in the rear that was now beginning to come into bloom. The earl was carried in a litter from the bedchamber in which he had been residing into a covered cart. Rosamund was by his side and rode in the cart with him. At Lord Cambridge’s house, servingmen hurried forth to carry the litter inside and upstairs to the bedchamber where the earl would now rest. He seemed none the worse for the transfer between the inn and the house. Rosamund was beginning to show her exhaustion, but they could not convince her to leave Patrick’s side.
And then Maybel arrived from Friarsgate. “As if my poor child hasn’t had enough difficulty in life,” she announced as she entered the house. “Where is she?”
Tom chuckled, and even Adam was forced to smile at the older woman’s words. His sister’s grandmother, Mary MacKay, had been much like Maybel.
“What, Maybel, no greeting for me?” Lord Cambridge teased her.
“Good day to you, Thomas Bolton,” Maybel said. “And this fine fellow, from the look of him, is the earl’s son.” She curtsied. “My lord. Now, where is Rosamund?”
“She is upstairs, and we are both glad you are here, Maybel,” Tom said. “Come, before you see her, and let us tell you what has transpired. Will you have a bit of ale?”
“I might, if it’s good ale,” Maybel considered as he led her into the house’s small hall and settled her. “Ah, at last a seat that does not rock back and forth. I am not a good traveler, my lords,” she told them. “Now, tell me all.”
Adam Leslie explained what had happened though Rosamund had given Maybel some idea in her message to Friarsgate. Maybel listened and nodded as the tale unfolded.
“Has there been any improvement?” she asked when Adam had finished.
“He hasn’t opened his eyes yet,” Adam said, “but he is awakening. You can tell it. And he is able to drink. Rosamund has been feeding him like an infant. She makes him a drink with wine, eggs, a bit of cream, sugar, and a bit of grated cinnamon stick or vanilla bean. He seems to enjoy it, for he drinks it all each time she gives it to him. She also makes him egg custard, and she gives him milk toast.”
“He is growing stronger?” Maybel said.
“Every day,” came the hopeful reply.
Maybel nodded. “Is the physician bleeding him?”
“Nay. He said it is not necessary and would but weaken my father,” Adam responded.
“I never heard of not bleeding a patient,” Maybel remarked. “Is this a good physician? Have you consulted others?”
“He is the king’s physician,” Tom said. “And so you are not taken unawares, he is a Moor.”
“What is that?” Maybel demanded suspiciously. “Some foreigner, I’ll vow.”
