Friarsgate Inheritance: Until You Part 28

"Well, for now you will sleep in another chamber," Maybel said firmly.

"Next door," Tom quickly said to his cousin before she might protest. "And I will find a la.s.s among the servants to help you, Maybel. Come, Rosamund," he coaxed her, taking her by the arm and leading her from the bedchamber.

"Well, my lord"-Maybel looked straight at Adam-"what think you of this?"

Adam shook his head. "I do not know," he admitted. "I had hoped he would regain his full faculties by now. The physician says, however, that it is not unusual and that he is making a little progress each day. He believes he will open his eyes shortly."

"And what think you of my lady, Adam Leslie?" Maybel asked directly.

"I think she loves him desperately, Maybel. I pray my father recovers so that they may marry and live their lives together," Adam answered honestly.

Maybel nodded. "You are, I can see, like him. At first I was not certain it was right. I have been with Rosamund since her birth. Her sweet mother was not strong. I have protected her as best I could from those who would harm her. She has been fortunate in her men. Both Hugh and Owein adored her and she them. But her feelings for them were nothing like those for your father. I have never seen the like of such a love. I doubt few have. To see them together was to see magic," she concluded.

"I know only that I have never known my father to be so happy in all of my life," Adam told her. "My mother died birthing me, but it was said he had a fondness for her. He has never remarried, yet when he speaks of your mistress, Maybel, his whole face is alight and shines with his love for her. His happiness is palpable."

Maybel smiled at Adam. "Aye, you are like him," she repeated. "Now, get you gone, and I will watch over your father while my mistress gets a well-deserved rest."

He smiled back at her, and after bowing, he left her alone with his father.

Well, Maybel thought to herself, and isn't this a pretty mess? Patrick Leslie appeared to be sleeping, his breathing even and quiet. Maybel shook her head. The earl had been in an unconscious state for more than a full week. Was it indeed possible he would recover? She had full intentions of questioning the doctor thoroughly when he came in the evening. Maybel sat down by the earl's bed. Poor man, she thought.

Rosamund lay down in her gown, fully expecting to wake in a few hours' time. Instead, she did not open her eyes for almost twenty-four hours. When she did, Lucy was in her bedchamber preparing a bath. The tub had been set before the fireplace, and tendrils of steam arose from the scented water.

"What time is it?" Rosamund asked her sleepily.

"Why 'tis just shortly past the noon hour, my lady," Lucy replied politely.

"How long have I been sleeping?" Rosamund demanded.

"Practically a full day, I believe, my lady. Maybel said to prepare you a bath and wake you now." Lucy curtsied.

"Where is Philippa?"

"Lord Tom has taken her to the castle, my lady. He said it was past time the la.s.s met the queen." Lucy was most chatty.

Rosamund arose quickly, crossing the floor to open the door between her chamber and the sick chamber. Maybel was sitting by the earl's bed, knitting. "Why did you allow me to sleep so long?" Rosamund said half-angrily as she moved into the room. She went to Patrick's bed and felt his forehead. It was perfectly cool to the touch. "I'll sit with him now," she told Maybel.

"Nay. You'll bathe yourself, Rosamund Bolton, for never have I known you to stink, and you do. Wash your hair, too. When you are clean, put on fresh garments, and then you will eat something. After that, you may come and sit by your beloved, but not until then, my la.s.s."

For a moment Rosamund considered arguing with Maybel, but then she saw the futility in it. There was no emergency. Patrick was comfortable. He had no fever; nor was he restless. He had already survived a day without her. An hour more would not matter. "Yes, Maybel," she said meekly.

Maybel barked a sharp laugh. "Well, I am glad to see you still know how to bow to the proper authority," she teased.

Rosamund returned through the door connecting the chambers. With Lucy's aid, she divested herself of the clothing she had been wearing for almost ten days. She had never in her life, she realized, taken so little care of herself and her person. She was surprised that Tom had said nothing, for he was the most fastidious person she had ever known in all her life. She climbed into the oak tub, and the sweet water surrounded her, easing aches she hadn't even realized she had. She sighed.

"Warm the drying sheets by the fire, Lucy," she instructed the girl, and then she began washing her long auburn hair with the perfumed soap. Lucy rinsed her mistress' tresses after each washing, and then wrung the water from the hair and pinned it up for her mistress. Rosamund now began a serious cleansing of her person. She was shocked to see how much dirt she had collected, but then she realized that, from the moment she had arrived, there had been no time to remove the dust of her travels. She climbed from the tub at last, Lucy wrapping her in a drying sheet. Then, sitting by the fire, she let the girl wipe the water from her arms, her legs, and her shoulders. "Give me my hairbrush, Lucy."

"It's here, my lady," Lucy answered her, handing the brush to her mistress.

Rosamund unpinned her hair and began to brush her long locks free of the remaining water, her head turned to the fire to aid in the drying process. And when her hair was dry again, with Lucy's help she dressed in clean garments, almost embarra.s.sed at how she had let herself go. What if Patrick had awakened and seen her looking no better than some dirty s.l.u.t from the streets? Her fingers smoothed the orange tawny velvet of her gown. She braided her hair up and tucked it beneath a matching cap with a pretty gold trim, then adjusted her tapestried girdle about her waist.

"Mistress Maybel says you are to eat now, my lady," Lucy said. "I've already instructed the kitchen for you. I have but to pull this bell cord, and the meal will be delivered." She yanked on the cord. " 'Tis a marvelous invention, my lady, ain't it?"

"Indeed it is, Lucy," Rosamund agreed. "Perhaps we should see if we can install such a device at Friarsgate. Then perhaps you wouldn't linger in the kitchens so long."

"Oh, my lady!" Lucy blushed.

A servingman knocked upon the chamber door and entered with a tray. After handing it to Lucy, he moved the tub away from before the fire, drawing forth a small table from its place against the wall. Setting it before the chair, he took the tray back from Lucy and put it down upon the table. Then, with a short bow, he exited the room.

Rosamund sat at the table and began to eat. She was not surprised by her good appet.i.te, for she had scarcely eaten since they had arrived in Edinburgh. The cook had sent her up a dish of four fat prawns that had been steamed in white wine. She devoured them before they cooled. On her plate was a thick slice of beef, a slice of rabbit pie with a wonderfully flaky crust, a breast of roasted capon, a slice of ham, an artichoke, and some new peas. Rosamund ate it all, mopping the gravy and juices on her plate with pieces of freshly baked bread that she tore from the small loaf on the tray. She finished the bread, smearing it with b.u.t.ter as she did. Lucy watched wide-eyed, and when her mistress had eaten everything on the tray, she removed it to the sideboard, and refilled her lady's cup with more wine.

Rosamund sat silently for several minutes, and then she arose. "I am going to the earl now," she said, and she crossed her chamber to enter his room.

Maybel looked up. "Ah," she said with a smile. "You do look rested and clean now. He has been restless today, but he seems well otherwise." She arose. "I will now take a bit of ease for myself. I am not as young as I once was, my child."

Rosamund put her arms about Maybel and embraced her. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?" Maybel demanded. "You are my lady, my child. You needed me, and I came. I will always come, Rosamund."

"But I know how you dislike travel even as I once did," Rosamund responded.

Maybel chuckled. " 'Tis true, la.s.s, but this trip was not as bad as going down to London. And I've always wanted to see this city." Then she patted the younger woman.

Rosamund moved to the earl's bedside and leaned over to feel his forehead. He had no fever. She caressed his dark hair lovingly, and as she did, his nose began to twitch. He sniffed quite distinctly several times. He had never before done that. Then, suddenly, his eyes opened. They were not at first focused, but they were open. His hand reached up to fasten about her wrist. Rosamund gave a little cry of surprise. Then she said, "Maybel! Get Adam Leslie! The earl is awakening!"

Maybel rushed from the bedchamber calling to Adam as she went. "My lord! My lord! Your father is awakening! Come quickly!"

Adam had been in the hall below. He took the stairs two at a time, almost knocking over the older woman as he dashed into the bedchamber to join Rosamund at his father's side.

The Earl of Glenkirk's eyes were beginning to focus, and seeing his son, he said, "Adam! What has happened?"

"You have been ill, father," the young man answered him. "I think now you will get well, thanks to Rosamund. She has barely left your side these ten days."

"Rosamund?" The earl looked confused.

"Yes, Patrick, my love, it is I," Rosamund said, almost weeping with her joy.

The confusion on Patrick's face deepened. Finally he said, "Do I know you, madame?"

It was as if an icy hand had plunged into her chest and gripped her heart. Unable to help herself, she let the tears roll down her cheeks. She pulled free, moving away from the bed, for she could not bear the sight of the confusion on his handsome face. "He does not know me," she whispered softly to no one in particular.

Maybel grasped her hand. "The Moor said his memory would come back slowly when he regained his senses, my baby. He has just woken up. Lord Adam is his son. He would remember his son first. Be brave!"

"I cannot bear it if he doesn't remember me!" Rosamund cried.

"You will bear what you must!" Maybel replied. "You cannot run from this, my child. And you have never been a coward. Now, the earl had just opened his eyes. Give him a chance to a.s.semble his memories. Surely the ones he made with you are so precious that he will not have forgotten them."

Rosamund drew a long, deep breath. Then she said, "We must send for Master Achmet."

"I agree," Adam said, coming to her side. "He's tired and yet confused. Let him rest a bit now that his consciousness is restored to him. It will be all right, Rosamund." He took her in his arms to comfort her.

The feel of those strong arms about her broke her control. Rosamund began to weep as if she would never stop. "I shall die if he does not remember me," she sobbed.

Adam said nothing. There was nothing he could say that would possibly comfort Rosamund. He recalled what Master Achmet had said that first day. That his father might regain all of his memory, part of it, or none of it, if he did not die. He was himself anxious to know how much his father recalled, but at least his father had remembered him. Adam knew he would himself have been devastated had his father not remembered him. He could feel Rosamund's anguish in not being recognized. His arms tightened about her. Certainly his father would eventually remember this woman he loved.

For a brief moment it was, she thought, like being in Patrick's arms again. She sighed softly, thinking if she but raised her head it would be he, and he would smile down into her eyes and kiss her. "Patrick," she murmured.

"You must cease this caterwauling at once!" Maybel's strong voice said.

Rosamund was immediately yanked back to reality. She was not in Patrick Leslie's arms. She was in Adam's. He was doing his best to comfort her. She was to be his stepmother. She sniffled several times and was able at last to bring about an end to her weeping. She straightened herself, moving gently from his embrace. "I am sorry," she said quietly. "I did not mean to cause such a fuss, Adam." Reaching up, she patted his cheek. "Thank you for your kindness." Then pivoting, she went back through the connecting door into her chamber. She turned before closing the door. "Will you let me know when the physician arrives?"

Wordlessly he nodded. He found himself a bit shocked by the reaction he had experienced when holding her in his arms. Had Maybel not been in the chamber, he realized, he would have been tempted to raise her lovely tearstained face and kiss it.

"It is a natural reaction, my lord," Maybel said. "How can a man not want to comfort a beautiful woman when she cries so piteously?"

"I wanted to kiss her," he said quietly.

"Well, of course you did!" Maybel answered him. " 'Twas the most natural thing in the world. A pretty woman in distress. What man wouldn't want to kiss away her sorrow?" Maybel patted his arm.

"She is to marry my father!" he groaned.

"All the more reason to want to comfort her," Maybel reasoned. "Now, Adam Leslie, send for the physician and put this innocent lapse from your mind." She pushed him from the room and went back to sit by the Earl of Glenkirk's bedside. He lay sleeping a most natural sleep now. Pray G.o.d he remembered Rosamund when he next awoke. Had the la.s.s not had enough misery in her life?

The physician came, and the earl was awakened. "He is still weak," Master Achmet said, "but he is most a.s.suredly past the worst of it. The king will be well pleased when I tell him."

"And his memory?" Adam asked. "He does not seem to recall everything."

"It may come, or not," the Moor said inscrutably.

"He does not remember me!" Rosamund said, desperation in her voice.

Master Achmet's dark eyes were sympathetic as he spoke with her. "I cannot imagine forgetting a lady such as yourself, madame, but it is possible he will not remember. Still, he has just now awakened. Give him a little time." Then he turned to Adam. "I believe, my lord, that I can confine my visits to this house now to once daily." He bowed himself from the room as he said it.

When Tom returned from his visit to court with Philippa, the young girl was filled with excitement for what she had seen and whom she had met.

"The queen says I look like you when she first knew you, mama!" Philippa said.

Rosamund smiled wanly. "Indeed, my daughter," she replied spiritlessly.

"Run along now, poppet, and tell Lucy of your adventures," Tom said. He had seen at once his cousin's malaise. When Philippa had skipped off, he said, "What has happened, dear girl? You look positively half-dead."

"Patrick has awakened," she told him.

"That is wonderful news!" he exclaimed.

"He does not remember me," Rosamund said.

"That is not wonderful news," Lord Cambridge said.

"What am I to do, Tom? I cannot marry a man who does not know me!" Rosamund was positively distraught.

"I saw the physician departing as we returned," Lord Cambridge said. "What has he to say about the matter?"

"He says that Patrick may or may not regain all of his memories, Tom. G.o.d in heaven, I cannot bear it if he has forgotten me! I will die! I will die without him!"

Tom sighed. He remembered that both Rosamund and Patrick had said when they had first met that while their love would endure, they would eventually be separated. He had thought at the time that Rosamund was being rather dramatic, but now he considered that they both might have had a premonition. Still, their pa.s.sion for each other had led them to believe they might remain together. And now this. It was eerie, and there was nothing he might do to comfort her. "The queen wants to see you," he said.

"I cannot see her now!" Rosamund cried.

"You cannot leave Edinburgh without paying your respects. She has been patient with you because of Patrick's illness, but the physician will tell the king that the earl is now awake. The queen will therefore decide you must come to her soon, and you must, cousin. Philippa charmed them both. She sat on the floor of the queen's privy chamber and played with the little prince, who has begun to toddle. Today was his first birthday. Your daughter, when she was told it, immediately took off the little gold chain she was wearing and placed it about Prince James' neck. It was a gracious gesture and much appreciated by both their majesties. Philippa has all the right instincts to please the high and the mighty. I think we may have to take her to Henry Tudor's court in another few years. I do believe, dear girl, we may snag a n.o.ble husband for her."

Rosamund looked at him bleakly. "He does not know me," she said again.

"Be patient," Tom counseled her gently. He could almost feel the pain she was experiencing. "Be brave. You have always been."

"I know," Rosamund answered him, "but I love him, Tom. I have never before really loved anyone like this. I do not expect to love again, if ever, like this. If he does not remember me, remember us, what am I to do?"

"We will cross that water when we come to it, cousin," he replied. "It is all we can do in this situation."

She nodded slowly.

At first Rosamund was unable to go back to nursing the earl. But then Tom and Adam convinced her that if Patrick's memory was to be jogged, she must be with him as much as she could. It was difficult, however, for he treated her like a complete stranger. He was polite, but distant.

"You had us all quite frightened," she told him one afternoon in late April. "I wonder what made you finally open your eyes, my lord. We had almost given up hope."

"I smelled white heather," he told her.

And Rosamund remembered that she had bathed and washed her hair that day with her scented oils and soaps, which were all perfumed with white heather. "Did you?"

"You wear it," he noted.

"Aye, I do," she said. Remembering how he had always loved the scent, even bathing in it when they were in San Lorenzo.

"But that afternoon it was particularly strong," he replied.

"I had just bathed," she responded.

"My son tells me we are to marry," he told her.

"We were," she said.

"You do not wish to marry me now, madame?" His look was curious.

"How can I marry a man who does not remember who I am?" Rosamund asked him. "If your memory does not revive itself, my lord, there will be no marriage."

"You do not wish to be a countess?" he asked.

Rosamund laughed almost bitterly. "I was not marrying you to become a countess, my lord. And before you ask it, I was not marrying you for wealth. I have wealth of my own. Nor were you wedding me for my wealth."