Tom nodded. “I know that,” he said. “But fate has given you a good wife, and God knows she is doing her duty by you. Two bairns in two years. You can ask no more of the lass. She is a gracious hostess, and she is devoted to you. I have never seen your hall look so fine. Be content. None of us ever gets all that we want in this life.”
“Haven’t you?” came the query.
Tom laughed. “Nay, not until recently,” he admitted. “You mean to live at Otterly?”
“I do, indeed. I sold my home in Cambridge. Finding my family here has made a new man of me, Logan Hepburn.”
The laird nodded glumly. “Family is important,” he agreed. “When is the wedding?”
“We will meet the earl and his son on the first of April at the Unicorn and Crown. Rosamund and Patrick are hoping that the king will allow their marriage to be performed in his chapel by the bishop of St. Andrews. The ceremony should be celebrated sometime in April. When is your new bairn due?”
“In early autumn,” came the reply.
“Yon laddie is a fine boy,” Tom noted.
For the first time Logan’s face grew cheerful. “Aye, he is!” he replied enthusiastically. “He is very strong, my lord. Why, when he grips my finger I fear he will bend it. And he smiles all the time. He has obviously gotten his mother’s sweet nature.”
“You are fortunate,” Tom said quietly. Then he arose. “Where am I to lay my head, Logan Hepburn?”
The laird arose. “ ’Tis a small chamber, but one wall is against the chimney. You’ll not be cold this night, my lord.” And when he had settled his guest, Logan returned to the hall to sit before the fire. His son was gone from his cradle. A servant had obviously carried the lad to his mother for nursing. He sighed deeply. What the hell was the matter with him? There was peace. His lands prospered. He had a sweet wife who was as fertile as a rabbit and already one son to follow him. Why could he not be content with his life? But he knew the answer to his unspoken question.
He loved Rosamund Bolton. He had always loved her and always would. Nothing else mattered to him. It was a secret he must take to his grave, for he would not hurt Jeannie with his perfidy. She was a good lass. She was not the problem. He was. He asked himself again why it was he had not understood Rosamund enough to know she needed to hear the words “I really love you.” Pressed by his family, he had babbled about heirs instead of telling her that the very sight of her set his pulses racing. That he could not sleep for the yearning he had for her. And now she would wed once again. Yet she had told him once that she would never wed again. What had changed her mind? There could be only one answer, and he knew it. She really did love Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. Loved him enough to leave Friarsgate for part of each year. The knowledge felt like a great weight on his heart. Why was it that she had loved Patrick Leslie at first sight, but she would not love Logan Hepburn? He had no answers to that question.
In the morning Rosamund and her party departed Claven’s Carn after breaking their fast and thanking their hostess.
“Let us know when you are returning, and break your journey with us,” Jeannie said graciously. “I shall look forward to seeing that handsome earl of yours again, lady.”
“We will,” Rosamund promised. She could do nothing else. She smiled and waved as they rode down the hill back onto the Edinburgh road.
“I do like the lady of Claven’s Carn,” Philippa said. “She was so nice to me. She said when we come back I may hold the baby.”
Rosamund smiled at her daughter. Everything was so new and exciting for Philippa. “I like the lady of Claven’s Carn, too,” she told her child.
“The laird is very solemn, isn’t he?” Philippa remarked. “I don’t remember him very well, mama. Was he always so grave?”
“I would not know, Philippa,” her mother said. “I do not know Logan Hepburn that well.”
“I can’t wait to see Uncle Patrick, mama. I am so glad he is going to be our new father. Banon and Bessie are, too, you know,” Philippa confided.
“You have discussed it amongst yourselves?” Rosamund was surprised.
“We are young, mama, but who you wed affects us, as well,” Philippa said wisely.
“Her mother’s daughter,” Tom murmured with a chuckle.
“When will we get to Edinburgh, mama? Will we get there today?” Philippa shifted in her saddle.
“Nay, tomorrow. Tonight we will shelter at Lord Grey’s home. He lives near the city, but not quite near enough,” Rosamund told her daughter.
“Scotland doesn’t look much different from England,” Philippa noted, looking about them as they rode. “I’m glad we are not fighting them, mama. But what will happen if King Henry does fight King James?”
“We will pray that that does not happen, my child,” Rosamund said, but a shiver ran down her back. She shook it off. “Come on, Philippa! I’ll race you to the top of the next hill!” And kicking her mount, Rosamund raced off, her daughter in hot pursuit.
Chapter 12
They reached Edinburgh on a chilly spring day. Philippa was wide-eyed with this sight of her first city, as was Lucy, who had traveled with them. Philippa’s mouth fell open as a boy with a tray of buns on his head raced past them. There were women selling the first of the spring flowers and herbs. There were women selling milk, cream, and eggs as well as freshly churned butter, which was cut into chunks as their patrons desired. There was a man offering cups of water for sale, a poulterer with his crates of chickens, a fishmonger pushing his barrow as he shouted his wares. Philippa Meredith had never seen their like, and she didn’t know where to look next. Rosamund watched her daughter, smiling at the child’s amazement.
“Oh, mistress, look there!” Lucy pointed at a group of gypsies who were performing acrobatics on the street for whatever coins they might garner or steal.
