“You must,” Edmund responded. “He has agreed to hire out his clansmen to us at a most reasonable rate, but it is his offer to shelter Banon and Bessie that pleases me greatly. They will be far safer from my nephew Henry at Claven’s Carn than here. At Friarsgate they could be kidnapped as they walked to the church, or played in a meadow or by the lake. If they are constantly guarded by men-at-arms it will frighten them, niece. Now, tell me why you will not face Logan Hepburn.” He took her hand and looked into her lovely face.
Rosamund blushed. “Now he is a widower, I fear he will begin again to importune me to marry him,” she said. “If I offend him, he could withdraw his offer of support.”
Edmund smiled. “Would it be so dreadful, niece, if a handsome man sought to pay you court? Forgive me, but Patrick Leslie is as dead to you now as Owein Meredith. You are fortunate in your memories, but you are yet young. Philippa is ten, and in a few years, too few I might add, she will be ready for marriage. You were willing to spend part of your year at Glenkirk as the earl’s wife. Would it be any different should you wed Logan Hepburn one day, Rosamund? At least he has an heir, and you know he has no designs on Friarsgate,” Edmund concluded.
She was silent for a long moment, and then she said, “I will come to the high board, uncle. More than that, however, I will not promise you.”
“Try not to fight with him, niece,” Edmund said with some humor.
Rosamund laughed. She could not help herself. “Very well, uncle,” she promised him.
Logan tried not to stare when she came into the hall. She wore a gown that matched her amber eyes. It was a simple dress that fell in graceful folds. Its neckline was low and square, but made modest by its soft linen pleating. The tight sleeves had little fur cuffs. The bodice was close-fitting as well. An embroidered girdle hung from her waist. Her auburn head was bare, and she wore her hair in two simple plaits.
“Good evening, Logan Hepburn,” she greeted him. “Thank you for coming to our aid once again.”
“Henry the younger is ever a trial to Friarsgate, isn’t he?” the laird teased her.
She smiled. “I can but hope I do not have to spend my life quarreling with him as I did his father,” Rosamund said. “Please sit down, here on my right hand,” she invited.
He obliged her, seating her first before taking his own place.
“I am sorry about your wife,” Rosamund told him. “And to lose a bairn, as well. If I had but known she was alone, I should have gone to her aid, Logan. I liked Jeannie muchly. How is your little Johnnie?”
“He thrives,” the laird answered. “She was a good wife, Rosamund, and I respected her greatly.” Then, after a pause, he said, “I am sorry for your loss, as well, lass.”
A spasm passed over her visage, but then she said, “Thank you.” Nothing more.
“I bring you happy news,” Logan told her. “Queen Margaret was delivered of a fine son, Alexander, Duke of Ross, on the thirtieth day of April.”
“How wonderful for her, and yet how sad,” Rosamund said.
“That is your birthday, isn’t it, lady?” he inquired.
“Aye,” she said softly, wondering how he had known it.
The meal was served. Of Rosamund’s three daughters, only Philippa sat at table.
“I am to go to court to meet the queen,” Philippa said. “I am now ten.”
“A perfect age to meet a queen,” he said with a small smile. She was a charming miniature of Rosamund, he thought.
“I was nine when I met Queen Margaret and King James, he who was slain at Flodden,” Philippa replied. “My mother says he was a good king.”
“God’s blood!” Tom swore, and then he said to Philippa, “You must not say that when we visit the English court, dear child. Speak of the king’s sister, the Regent of Scotland, if you must, but say naught about Jamie Stewart.”
“Why not?” Philippa demanded to know.
“Because,” her mother said, “these two kings were enemies. It is ill-advised to praise a man’s enemy before him, Philippa. Do you understand?”
“Why were they enemies?” Philippa answered her mother with another question.
“England and Scotland have been enemies since time immemorial,” Rosamund responded.
“Why?” Philippa persisted.
“I am not really certain,” Rosamund said honestly.
“But you visited King James’ court, and I know you did not think him your enemy. And if the Scots are our enemies, why is the lord of Claven’s Carn at our table this night, mama? And why is he protecting Banon and Bessie when we are away if he is our enemy?”
