“The tallest one is your heiress?” he asked.
“Philippa, aye. She will be nine in April,” Rosamund responded.
He nodded once more, then fell silent, the gnarled hand reaching out to stroke one of the hall dogs, a greyhound, which had come to his side.
Rosamund moved away from her uncle. She had thought that Maybel exaggerated Henry Bolton’s state, but the older woman had not. Her uncle was pitiful, though she still sensed he could be dangerous if permitted. They would see he did not have any opportunity to cause difficulty.
Tom now hugged his cousin. “My dear, dear girl!” he exclaimed. “It is so good to see you once again and to return to Friarsgate. My business in the south is concluded. My Cambridge estate is sold to a newly knighted gentleman who paid quite a premium to gain it. Otterly is now mine. I did stop at court to pay my respects to his majesty. The queen strives for another child now that Scotland’s queen is delivered of a fine laddie. King Henry is not pleased by his sister’s successful accomplishment. He speaks of her as if she had betrayed him personally, and worse, as treasonous to England.”
“When Queen Katherine gives him a son, he will consider differently,” Rosamund said. “Remember, Hal never enjoyed being beaten at nursery games.”
Tom chuckled. “Too true, cousin. But he would have Spain to marry when many advised against it. They have been wed several years now, and no living heir or heiress to show for it. A stillborn daughter, and wee Henry of Cornwall, born and died in the same year. There has been no sign of a child in two years. And there is his brother-in-law, Scotland, with six healthy bastards and a legitimate fair son for his heir. Nay, our King Henry is not a happy fellow.”
“How fortunate, then, that we do not have to have anything to do with his court,” Rosamund said.
Tom nodded. “Now, dear girl, what of your handsome Scots earl?” he asked.
“Patrick has returned to Glenkirk, but we are to meet in Edinburgh on the first day of April, Tom. We have decided that we will wed. We will spend part of the spring, the summer, and the autumn here at Friarsgate, and the winters at Glenkirk. That way neither of us deserts our responsibilities,” Rosamund explained. “Patrick was most pleased with the way his son, Adam, managed Glenkirk in his absence. I can hardly wait until the spring, cousin. And I shall bring Philippa with me.”
“With us, dear girl. I do not intend you wed again without me in attendance,” he told her with a smile. “And what news from Claven’s Carn? Has Lady Jean done what was expected of her?” And Tom grinned wickedly at his cousin.
“She birthed a healthy son in early October,” Rosamund answered him. “A peddler returning to England brought word some weeks ago.”
“But Logan Hepburn has not communicated with you,” Tom noted.
“I would not expect Logan to do so,” Rosamund replied. “We did not part on the best of terms, Tom. The night Patrick and I were forced to seek shelter at Claven’s Carn, he fought with me and then drank himself into a stupor. We did not see him the following morning before we left, for which I was most grateful.”
“Uncle Tom! Uncle Tom!” Rosamund’s three daughters were surrounding him. “What have you brought us?” Their small faces were eager with anticipation.
Tom swept Banon up into his arms and kissed her rosy cheek. She giggled happily, glad to know she was still a favorite. “Now, my little lasses,” he said. “I have one gift for each of the Twelve Days of Christmas for each of you.”
“But uncle,” Philippa responded, “Christ’s Mass is not for another four days.”
“I know,” he replied, eyes twinkling, “and so my little poppets, you will have to possess your wee souls of great patience until then.”
“ ’Tis not fair,” Banon, who was six, protested.
“Shame on you all,” Rosamund scolded her daughters. “I cannot believe you are so greedy. Run along, now, and have your suppers. Philippa, you will remain.”
Tom put Banon down, but not before giving her another kiss. Then he watched fondly as the two younger girls made their way from the hall. “They have grown even in the few months I was away,” he said.
Rosamund nodded. “I know,” she said. “In the months I was away, the same thing happened. I don’t ever want to leave my lasses again.”
He took her hand, and they sat together on a settle by the fire. Opposite them, Henry Bolton dozed, the greyhound now lying across his feet. “Your uncle has found a friend,” Tom observed. “God help the man, for he has no others.”
Rosamund sighed. “I must forgive him his treatment of me as a child,” she said. “He is to be pitied. I have not feared him since I was six and Hugh took my care upon himself. Poor Uncle Henry. Arranging my marriage to Hugh Cabot was his downfall.”
“More your salvation,” Tom chuckled, and Rosamund smiled.
“Aye,” she agreed.
“So you are to be the Countess of Glenkirk, dear girl. He loves you deeply, but you know that, for you love him every bit as much,” Tom said.
“It seems so strange,” Rosamund replied, “to have found such love as I have found with Patrick. How I wish he were here now, Tom! God’s blood, I miss him more with each passing day. I do not know if I can wait until April to see him again, to marry him, and be his wife. His title I care naught for, but I know I have never loved anyone as much as I love him.”
Tom shook his head. “I will admit that I have never seen such passion as I saw between you two. I am glad you changed your mind, cousin, and decided to wed him. You would never again be happy otherwise.”
“He will not live forever,” Rosamund noted. “I will one day have to be without him, but I care not! I can think only of the months we have had together and the years we will have together. We met just a year ago on the eve of Christ’s Mass, Tom.”
