“I understand, Alex,” she replied softly, and he looked sharply at her. It was the first time since they had left London that she had called him by name.
He smiled a quick, encouraging smile back at her. “Good girl!”
They moved forward at a slower pace, allowing the large party of riders ahead of them to come toward them. As the troop came nearer, Alex’s tense face relaxed as he realized that they indeed wore the plaid and the badge of the Earl of Bothwell. As the two parties came abreast of each other, the Earl of BrocCairn saw Francis Stewart-Hepburn’s bastard half brother, Hercules Stewart, riding in the forefront. Hercules, like the hero he was named for, was a huge man with a shock of black hair. He also had a handsome Stewart face.
“Hercules, my friend,” called Alex.
Hercules Stewart’s face broke into a friendly smile. “My lord Gordon! What brings ye into the Cheviots?”
Alex reined his horse in, facing Hercules. “I’m just over the border after several months spent in England. Is Francis atHermitage?I would ask his hospitality for several nights. We have ridden hard from London these last ten days and my lady is weary.”
Hercules let his gaze roam to Velvet, and his eyes widened with approval at what he saw. “Aye, my lord Bothwell is in residence and will welcome ye. We’ll escort ye there now. Have ye come all this way without any escort? Christ, man! Ye’re braver than I!”
Alex laughed, saying, “When did any Scotsman need an armed escort among the English? However, I dinna think it safe to continue north without my own men. Dugald will leave tomorrow forDun Broc.”
Hercules nodded. “Aye, ’tis best. The northern clans have been roused to a fever pitch pillaging the Spanish ships driven ashore in the late-summer storms. Travel is even worse than usual.”
“ ’Twas a great victory for the English,” Alex remarked.
“ ’Twas God’s own luck,” rejoined Hercules. “They were badly outnumbered, though I’ll grant they’re better sailors than King Philip’s men.” At this point his band had moved around and behind Alex’s party. “Come along now, my lord, and I’ll take ye toHermitage.Yon bonny lass looks as if she’d welcome a bath and a soft bed.”
“She’s my betrothed wife, Hercules,” Alex said quietly.
“I congratulate ye, my lord,” was Hercules’ reply, then he raised his hand as a signal, and they moved forward.
Within the hour they had reachedHermitage, the favorite residence of the Earl of Bothwell. A thirteenth-century castle, it was the strongest of the Border strongholds and sat atop a hill, allowing its inhabitants a view of the land below and for miles around. Above its main entry were the Hepburn lions, and Velvet noticed as they rode in thatHermitage’sheights were well patroled.
Dismounting within the castle courtyard, they followed Hercules into the building. It was late in the day now, near to sunset, and the Great Hall of the castle was alive with activity as the dinner hour approached. The four fireplaces were already blazing with hearty fires that took the chill from the large room. There wasn’t a woman in sight except for a few serving wenches, but the hall was filled with Lord Bothwell’s male retainers who lounged about chatting, drinking, and dicing while they awaited the arrival of their master for the meal.
“I’ll get my brother,” Hercules said. “Ye’ll be comfortable here.” And then he was gone up a flight of steps.
“I’ve heard of the Earl of Bothwell,” Velvet said. “Wasn’t he wed to the late Queen Mary?”
“ ’Twas his uncle,” Alex replied. “It was James Hepburn who tried to be king. Sadly, he left no legitimate heirs, and so the title passed to his sister’s son, my cousin Francis. He added the Hepburn to his own Stewart name in honor of his mother’s family. He’s an interesting man, Velvet. Educated and highly intelligent. The king is terrified of him.” Alex chuckled. “But, then, Jamie Stewart is terrified of his own shadow.”
“How are you related to the earl?” she asked, curious.
“I’m afraid ye’ll be shocked, Velvet, but we are all related through a common grandfather, King James V of Scotland. The Stewarts are a loving family, but they’ve nae been known to confine their loving to their legal spouses. Both my grandmother, Alexandra Gordon, and Francis’s grandmother were mistresses to the king at one time. My father was the result of my grandmother’s liaison with James, and Francis’s father, John Stewart, the prior of Coldingham, was the result of his grandmother’s passion.”
“Aye,” said a deep, amused voice. “We Stewarts have always been a passionate clan, and generous with our favors. Good day, my cousin of BrocCairn, and who is this fair creature ye bring into my castle?”
Velvet turned and saw before her one of the handsomest men she had ever laid eyes upon. He stood well over six feet in height, and had the lean, hard body of a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors. He had a sculpted, sensitive face with bright blue eyes. His hair was a deep auburn like hers, his short, barbered beard the same. His smile was quick and extended as far as his eyes.
Alex laughed, “Ye never change, Francis! Always an eye for the wenches, but this one is mine, and I’ve brought her all the way from England. My betrothed wife, Velvet de Marisco. Velvet, this is my cousin, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stewart-Hepburn.”
Bothwell bowed low over Velvet’s hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it. “Madame, if I had known that England held such an exquisite treasure, I should have long ago stolen ye away like the Border raider I am,” he said.
She blushed, yet she was delighted by his words, and he knew it.
“My lord,” she returned, “if all Scots earls were as charming as you are, I should have come to Scotland long since.” She cocked her head at him and asked mischievously, “May I please have my hand back now?”
Bothwell laughed, delighted by her quick tongue. This was certainly no silly miss. “I return yer hand wi’ regret, sweetheart,” he told her. “When is the wedding, Alex?”
“As soon as we return toDun Broc,”came his answer.
“In the spring,” came hers.
“What is this? A reluctant bride?” demanded Bothwell.
