They followed the faint track of the road down the hill and then began to climb up the next. At its crest it was as she had said, and she stopped to take it all in. Below them lay Friarsgate, its meadows green in the late spring sun. There were sheep and cattle grazing placidly. The fields were golden with grain, and the orchards, as they rode down the hill and past them, were full of blossoms. The lake beyond the stone house sparkled in the afternoon light. The bell in the church began to peal, and the people came from their work and cottages, running to greet their returning mistress and her party. They reached the house, and Maybel came out, smiling broadly, with Rosamund’s daughters in tow.
The lady of Friarsgate jumped down from her horse and, kneeling, gathered her children into her arms. “Oh, my darling girls!” she cried, covering them with kisses. Bessie, the baby, now four, squirmed protesting, but Banon and Philippa were openly glad to see their mother again.
“I did not expect you to be gone from us so long, mama,” Philippa, age eight, said. “Uncle Thomas is a fine companion, but we missed you.” Her gaze turned to the Earl of Glenkirk, and she quirked an auburn eyebrow.
Rosamund stood. “Philippa, may I present you and your sisters to Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk.” She looked sharply at her daughters, and they curtsied politely. “The earl will be visiting with us for a time,” Rosamund said.
“Do you have a castle, my lord?” Philippa asked boldly.
“I do,” he answered her, smiling down on this smaller version of his love. “One day I hope your mother will come and bring you to see it.”
“Well, and ’tis past time you got home!” Maybel said sternly. “Although from the look of this fine gentleman I can see why you remained in Edinburgh so long. Come into the house now.” Then she stared hard at Annie. “What’s this? What’s this? Do you return home with shame in your belly?”
“I be a respectably married woman,” Annie said, and she pulled Dermid forward. “Yon Scot is my man, Maybel. Mistress has promised us a cot eventually.”
“You’ll have to earn it, girl,” Maybel said sharply. “And just where was you wed, my lass?”
Annie looked to her mistress, and when Rosamund nodded, she said, “In a great cathedral, and by a bishop his-self, Maybel! There isn’t a lass at Friarsgate who ever had a finer wedding, I’ll vow.”
Maybel looked astounded, but Rosamund spoke up, saying, “We have a wonderful tale to tell you. But not here. We have been riding most of the day, and we need food and wine, and most of all, a hot bath! It has been weeks since either of us has had a decent bath. Edmund!” She greeted the gentleman who had just come from the house. “Patrick, this is my uncle, Edmund Bolton. Uncle, Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk.” She led them all into the house now.
The hall was pleasantly cool, and looking about it, Rosamund sighed with pleasure. She had enjoyed her adventures in San Lorenzo and Edinburgh, but by God’s blessed body it was good to be home at last. She settled herself immediately in her favorite chair by the hearth. She saw a fire already laid for the evening and smiled. She could hear the servants bringing in the luggage, and Annie, full of self-importance, directing them as to where it would go. A little maidservant with whom she was not familiar brought a tray with wine and sugar wafers.
“Who are you, child?” Rosamund asked.
“I be Lucy, m’lady. Annie’s sister,” the girl chirped with a small smile.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Rosamund said, and then she turned to the earl. “Shall I begin our tale?”
He nodded. “It is over and done with now, and I doubt it will travel from Cumbria to the ears of King Henry,” he answered her with a smile. Bending down, he lifted Bessie, who was hanging on his leg, up into his lap. The little girl snuggled down in his arms contentedly. For a moment, the Earl of Glenkirk’s face grew sad, but then he sighed and smiled at the child.
“You are thinking of your daughter,” Rosamund said softly.
“Aye,” he admitted. “She was just about this age and size when her brother was born and she came to Glenkirk Castle to live. But tell your tale, Rosamund.”
Rosamund looked about her. Maybel and Edmund were leaning forward. Philippa and Banon had expectant looks upon their faces. Rosamund began. She explained how she had met the earl almost as soon as she had arrived in Edinburgh and how they had fallen in love at first sight. She told them briefly of Patrick’s previous sojourn in San Lorenzo, of how his beloved daughter was taken by slavers and sold into bondage, never to be seen again. She then went on to tell them that King James had called the earl from Glenkirk and asked him to act secretly for him in a certain matter that would require him to go to San Lorenzo after an absence of eighteen years. At this point, the Friarsgate priest, Father Mata, entered the hall and silently took a seat.
“It is good to see you, Father,” Rosamund said. “I am telling the hall of my adventures.”
“What have I missed?” the priest asked, and Rosamund quickly recapped her tale for him before continuing on.
“King James is a man of peace,” she told her listeners, explaining how their own king was attempting to force his brother-in-law into a dishonorable act by betraying old allies or becoming Pope Julius’ enemy.
“He was willful even as lad,” Maybel said, shaking her head. “But go on, lass!”
“King James hoped to weaken the alliance England and the pope were building up against France. By doing that, his refusal to join them would become a moot point. That is why Patrick was sent back secretly to San Lorenzo, to treat with Venice’s and the Emperor Maximilian’s representatives. King James believed this mission was doomed to failure, but he felt he must at least make an attempt to prevent the war that will surely ensue between our countries if King Henry’s mischief is allowed to prevail. Patrick agreed to go as long as I could go with him.”
“You went across the sea, mama?” Philippa asked.
“I did, my daughter. I have seen France and San Lorenzo,” Rosamund told them. “San Lorenzo is so beautiful, and while it was snowy winter here, the winter in San Lorenzo was sunny and warm. There were flowers in bloom, and I swam in the sea.”
“God have mercy!” Maybel exclaimed.
Rosamund laughed. “We lived in a house called a villa that overlooked the sea,” she continued on. “I met the duke who rules that fair duchy and even danced with him. I had my portrait painted by a great artist who had come from Venice to winter in San Lorenzo. When the painting arrives, we will hang it here in the hall. I remember once telling Margaret Tudor that country folk didn’t have such luxuries as their portraits painted.” Rosamund smiled.
“And what of Mistress Meg who is now a queen?” Maybel inquired.
“She was far gone with child at Christmastide, and she delivered a fair son this April. He’s a lovely, strong bonnie lad, Maybel, and the Queen of the Scots is at last a happy woman. She loves the king, and she has done her duty by Scotland,” Rosamund said. “I had to lie to her when I went off with Patrick to San Lorenzo, but she has forgiven me the untruth. That is why I sent Tom back to watch over Friarsgate in my absence. Did he tell you that he is purchasing Otterly from Uncle Henry?”
