Friarsgate Inheritance: Until You Part 6

"Then, allow me to present my cousin, whose mother, G.o.d a.s.soil her good soul, was a member of your own clan. This is Logan Hepburn, the laird of Claven's Carn, Jean. You will be married to him on Twelfth Night here at Stirling."

"Mistress Jean," Logan said, bowing over the girl's little hand as he took it up and kissed it. The small hand trembled in his, and he immediately felt protective of her.

She blushed again, but she looked directly at him. "My lord."

He smiled at her, thinking the blush charming. Poor little la.s.s, she had no choice in the matter and knew not what she was getting into at all. And then in a flash he understood what Rosamund had been forced to endure. "We have little time in which to get to know each other, Mistress Jean," he said to her.

"We will have a lifetime together, my lord," she answered, surprising him. "Besides, many girls never meet their bridegrooms until they are standing at the altar."

"Which," he remarked, "can often be a shock."

She giggled. "On both sides, my lord," she replied quickly.

In that moment he decided he was going to like her. He could only hope that she would like him.

"I shall leave you two to become acquainted," the Earl of Bothwell said to the pair, and he moved quickly off.

There was a long, awkward silence, and then the laird of Claven's Carn took Jeannie's hand and said, "Let us stroll away from the revelers and talk, mistress."

"I should like that," Jean Logan responded, moving by his side. She was very pet.i.te, and he towered over her.

"I would tell you, Mistress Jean, that I require honesty above all things, and so I must ask you if you are content to make this marriage with me."

"I am, my lord," she said. Her voice was soft, but it did not quiver.

"And your heart is not engaged by any other?" he asked her. "For if it is, I would not force you into a match."

"My heart will be yours, my lord, and no other's," Jean Logan said honestly.

He nodded. "I have two brothers," he began. "Claven's Carn is in the borders. We are not rich, but we are comfortable. The house is snug, and it will be yours to rule."

"Have you ever been wed before, my lord?" she asked.

"Never, Mistress Jean," he answered her.

"Why not?" she wondered.

"It is a long story," he said.

"I like stories," she responded quietly.

He laughed. "I see that I shall be unable to hide anything from you, Mistress Jean. Very well. I have for many years sought the hand of an English neighbor. Her guardian would not consider a match, and after he had seen her wed to two husbands-for she was a child when those marriages were celebrated-I thought to have my chance with her. But the English king matched her with one of his own knights. It was a good marriage. There were children, and then her husband was killed in an accident. I sought her hand, but she would not have me. Since I am past thirty, my family appealed to Lord Bothwell to make a match for me, as we are kin. And so he has."

"I think her a foolish lady, my lord," Jeannie said softly, having stopped so she might look up at him when she said it. "I shall not be unhappy to be your wife at all."

He smiled down at the young girl. It might have been far worse, he thought, and while he would always regret Rosamund, he was going to be a good husband to this sweet la.s.sie. "Then I will certainly be content as well, Mistress Jean, and I think myself fortunate in having found you." He bent down and kissed her lips softly. "To seal our bargain, la.s.sie," he told her.

She blushed again. "I have never been kissed before by a lover," she told him naively.

"And now mine are the only lips your sweet ones shall know, Jean Logan," he said to her. "I shall take you back now, and we will tell Lord Bothwell that we are content with this bargain." He took her hand again, and they reentered the crush of guests in the hall. He sought out Bothwell telling him, "We are agreed, Mistress Jean and I, cousin. You may affix Twelfth Night as our wedding day."

"Excellent!" the Earl of Bothwell declared. "Let us go and speak with the king now." And he led them to where James Stewart sat observing his court.

"Well, my lord, and what have you come to say, for you are looking most arch this night?" the king remarked.

"I do not believe, highness, that you have met my cousin, Logan Hepburn, the laird of Claven's Carn," the earl began, "and this is his betrothed wife, Mistress Jean Logan, who is a relation on his mother's side. They seek your highness' permission to be wed here at Stirling on Twelfth Night Day."

James Stewart's dark eyebrows quirked. Was this not the man who desired the lovely lady of Friarsgate for a wife? He considered asking, but realized that if this was the man of whom he had heard, the sweet-faced la.s.s by his side might not have known of her future husband's l.u.s.t for Rosamund Bolton. It mattered not. The Englishwoman was enamored of the Earl of Glenkirk, and this border lord was to wed another. "They have our permission," the king said, "and the marriage may be celebrated in my chapel. The queen and I will serve as witness to this union." Then he smiled at them, delighting in Jean Logan's blue eyes, which grew round with her excitement. "Come here, la.s.sie," he said, "and give your king a kiss, now." He held out his hand to her.

"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, rosy with her blushes. "Oh, sir!" And catching up the outstretched hand, she kissed it fervently. Then, releasing the hand, she curtsied deeply. "Thank you, my lord, for this great honor."

"And you, Logan Hepburn? Are you satisfied with this matter?" the king probed. His look was sharp and very direct.

"I am advised by my cousin, the earl, and the rest of my small clan branch that it is past time for me to wed, my lord. Mistress Jean should make me a fine wife," the laird of Claven's Carn said politically.

The king smiled cynically. "May G.o.d and his Holy Mother bless you both, then, and give you many bairns," he said. The impulsive laird had obviously seen the truth of Rosamund's infatuation with Lord Leslie and given in to his family's pleas. Well, the little la.s.s was pretty and obviously well bred. She would probably suit Logan Hepburn far better than the lovely Englishwoman, although right now he undoubtedly did not realize it.

They were dismissed, and the trio made a final obeisance to the king and moved back into the crowd of courtiers.

James Stewart leaned over and murmured to his queen, "The laird of Claven's Carn will be wed in our chapel Twelfth Night Day to a young cousin."

"Who?" Margaret Tudor asked her husband.

"A little la.s.s called Jean Logan," the king replied quietly.

"I know her," the queen said. "She has been among the women in my household for a fortnight. Bothwell brought her to me. A sweet child."

"You will want your fair English friend to know," the king advised softly.

"Aye, I will tell her. I wonder if she will care. She is so wrapped up in her pa.s.sion for Lord Leslie that I doubt it," Margaret Tudor said. "How she has changed from our days at my father's court. She was so young and ingenuous then. Now she is proud and fierce in her determination to have her own way."

"I imagine that you are not the girl you once were either, my queen," the king said, amused by his wife's astute observation of her old friend. "Many years have pa.s.sed since you were together, Meg. A great deal has happened in each of your lives since that time."

The queen nodded. "Aye, she has borne three daughters and lost another husband, while I have lost four bairns. But I will not lose this child, Jamie! I feel different this time! This bairn is strong. It virtually leaps in my womb." She looked up at him, her pretty face both sure and hopeful.

"Aye," the king told his wife. "This child will live, Meg. I know it."

Relief flooded the queen's face as she understood what he was saying to her. She took his hand up and kissed it ardently. "Thank you, Jamie! Thank you!"

"Now, la.s.s, you will have the whole court saying that the queen is in love with her husband if you go on like that," he said, gently disengaging himself from her grasp.

"But I do love you!" she protested. "I do, Jamie!"

"I know, Meg," he replied. "And I love you, too." He patted her cheek, then turned away to speak with a courtier who had been attempting to catch his royal eye.

The evening was coming to an end. The queen signaled to her little page, and he was immediately at her side. "Find the lady of Friarsgate and tell her that I would speak with her now in my privy chamber."

"Aye, highness," the child answered, and he hurried off.

The queen arose, and her ladies were instantly cl.u.s.tered about her. "Nay," she said to them. "Stay and enjoy yourselves. I will be in my privy chamber and am not yet ready for bed. Remain here." Then she glided off, moving silently across the chamber and down the corridor to her own apartments. Entering, she told her servingwoman, "The Lady of Friarsgate is coming. Send her to me when she arrives."

"Aye, highness," the servant said, curtsying.

Margaret Tudor entered her privy chamber, and after sitting down by the blazing fire in the fireplace, kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes with pleasure. The door opened, and Rosamund entered. "Fetch us some wine," the queen said, "and then come sit with me. I have some rather interesting news to impart."

Rosamund did as she was bid, and then after seating herself opposite her old friend, she, too, kicked off her shoes. "Ahh, that is much better," she said, and she took a sip of wine.

"Do you have any feelings for Logan Hepburn?" the queen queried her friend.

"Nay. What on earth do you mean, Meg? I still find him as arrogant and as irritating as I ever have. He is here at Stirling, you know. I saw him at Bothwell's insistence. I told him I would not wed him. That I loved Patrick Leslie."

"He is to be married Twelfth Night Day!" the queen exclaimed.

"Who is to be married?" Rosamund asked, puzzled.

"Logan Hepburn! He is to marry that sweet little Jean Logan who has been in my household these past few weeks."

"That quiet little la.s.s with the big blue eyes who hardly says a word?" Rosamund asked. "G.o.d's blood! Bothwell did not wait long to propose that, although I suspect he had it planned all along."

"Then you do not mind?" Margaret Tudor sounded disappointed.

"Nay, Meg, I do not mind. It is past time Logan Hepburn gave up this childish fantasy about me, and married. He needs an heir, and he has a duty to his family. Nay, I am pleased he has seen reason at long last."

"You really are in love with Patrick Leslie, then?" the queen asked.

"I really am in love with him," Rosamund replied.

"I hold myself responsible for what has happened to you," the queen said. "If I had not invited you to visit me, you should never have met Patrick Leslie. Logan Hepburn might have even forced you to the altar, Rosamund! I have saved you once again, as I saved you from my brother all those years ago!"

Rosamund laughed. "It is true, Meg! Though until now I never thought of it that way. If I had not come to see you at this moment in time, I should not have met Patrick Leslie. But believe me when I tell you, Logan Hepburn would have never forced me to the altar. If I ever marry again, it will be for love alone, and the choice will be mine to make and no one else's."

"You remember Grandmother's advice," the queen chuckled.

"I do indeed, Meg. The Venerable Margaret was a great woman, and I admired her muchly."

"I wonder what she would think of us today. I think she would approve of your exchanging Logan Hepburn for the Earl of Glenkirk, no matter he is an old man. She always considered a woman advancing her status in life a good thing. Will you marry Lord Leslie?"

"Nay," Rosamund said quietly. "And before you ask, Meg, or attempt to interfere, let me explain. Patrick has a duty to Glenkirk. I have a duty to Friarsgate. Neither of us will eschew our duty. We both comprehend that, and we are content. This is the way it must be between us. I know you will not understand, but you must not meddle, Meg. Promise me that you will not involve yourself in this matter."

The queen sighed. "I just want you to be happy," she said.

"We are happy," Rosamund told her.

"But one day you will part from each other," Meg replied.

"I know," Rosamund said. "That is what makes whatever time we have together all the sweeter, Meg. No one is ever happy constantly. I should rather have these days with the Earl of Glenkirk than with any other man. I should rather know this perfect happiness for even a short span in my life than to never know it at all. What memories we are making together. What dreams of the past we shall cherish when we are no longer with each other in the years to come."

"You are far braver than I am, Rosamund, and I should have never thought it of you," the queen said softly. She sighed. "I need the security of a marriage. I need to know that my husband is there for me even if he does stray now and again. You are really alone, and you are not afraid."

"I think I have been alone my entire life until now," Rosamund answered.

"But you wrote that Owein loved you," the queen protested.

"Oh, he did, Meg, and I was so fortunate to have him as my husband. But Owein was raised to a life of service to his betters. He always stood slightly in awe of me as the lady of Friarsgate. He always deferred to me, bless him. Not once did he ever corrupt my authority. And he loved Friarsgate."

"Did you love him, too?" the queen wondered. "He seemed like the right match for you back then when we were girls at my father's court."

"Aye, I learned to loved him, which is why I know what I have with Patrick Leslie is so much more. My love for the lord of Glenkirk is something that comes only rarely, Meg. That is why I will not let it go until I have to let it go." She smiled. "What a serious conversation we are having, and all because you wanted to tell me that Logan Hepburn is to be wed in a few days. I wish him good fortune."

"Wish the bride good fortune," the queen said, and she chuckled. "She is certain to tell him if you do so, and you will have your own back on him for teasing you the day you wed with Owein. I am certain that he still loves you, Rosamund. This marriage is for his family's sake."

"All he could talk about was his need for an heir when he was with me. I felt like a prize mare or heifer. Yet when I spoke with him in Lord Bothwell's apartments he said I should have understood that he loved me even if he didn't say so," Rosamund replied. She shook her head.

"How just like a man!" the queen exclaimed, and she laughed.

"Aye," Rosamund agreed. "How just like a man." Then she sipped her wine thoughtfully. "I hope he will be happy, for I am so happy myself I can but wish him the same."

"You always had a good heart," the queen said. "I am glad to have you with me again, Rosamund. Do you miss your Friarsgate as much as you ever did?" She smiled.

"Not as I did when I was a young girl," Rosamund answered the queen. "It is my la.s.ses, Meg, that I miss the most. Kate insisted after Owein's death that I come to their court, and I could not disobey, but it was hard. Philippa, the eldest, knew that I was gone and missed me the most, though Maybel says she is like me, and is a good child. The two little ones, however, did not understand. I was almost a stranger to them when I returned."

"And then my invitation came," Margaret Tudor said.

"I might have refused you, Meg, but we were such good friends I could not. Besides, it is not as long a journey as going down into England," Rosamund replied with a small smile.

"And my invitation was a convenient excuse to escape the laird of Claven's Carn," the queen said, laughing mischievously.

"Aye, it was," Rosamund agreed, grinning. "The priest at Friarsgate is his kinsman, but he would not have forced the issue if I said nay. Still in all, it would have been difficult. Here at Stirling, Logan is overruled in his intentions by the Earl of Bothwell. I do not think Patrick Hepburn was pleased with the idea his cousin might marry an Englishwoman. When I told him he need not fear I would wed his cousin, I asked if he had a la.s.s for Logan. He told me one or two, the devil, when all along he had the little Mistress Jean in mind."

"He's a clever man, this particular Hepburn," Margaret Tudor noted. "He supported my husband even before the breach with the late king. Jamie never forgets those who are loyal to him. He was simply the Hepburn of Hailes until Jamie created him the first Hepburn Earl of Bothwell. He has risen high in the hierarchy of this kingdom, and he brings his family along with him, as is right and proper. My husband has a good friend in him. If he had asked Jamie for you for Logan Hepburn, Rosamund, you would have been wedded and bedded whether you would or nay."

"But I am English!" Rosamund cried, shocked.

"That would have made no matter," the queen told her. "If the Earl of Bothwell had desired it, it would have been so. Had you not fallen so publicly and pa.s.sionately in love, Rosamund, you would not have escaped Logan Hepburn here at Stirling. Indeed, you would have been shoved directly into his arms." She laughed softly. "But fate did indeed intervene to save you. I have never particularly believed in fate, but perhaps in light of all that has happened to you, I will now."

Rosamund had gone pale, but now she laughed weakly. "Mayhap I, too, will believe in fate, as well, from now on, Meg."

There was a discreet knock upon the door of the queen's privy chamber.

"Come in," the queen called, and the door opened to reveal one of the queen's chamber women. "Yes, Jane, what is it?" Margaret Tudor asked.

"Little Mistress Logan would speak with you, madame. She says she will not take a great deal of your time," Jane said.

Margaret Tudor's blue eyes twinkled wickedly as she looked to Rosamund. "Tell Mistress Logan that she may come in, Jane," she replied.

The chamber woman stepped aside, and Jean Logan entered the room. She curtsied deeply to the queen, but her eyes were surprised to see the queen's companion.

"Madame, I have come to tell you that the king has given his permission for my marriage to Logan Hepburn, the laird of Claven's Carn, to be celebrated on Twelfth Night Day. I hope that we may also have your highness' permission and blessing." Jeannie Logan stood before Margaret Tudor, her head modestly lowered, her hands folded neatly.