“Two days,” he said, “and we depart on the third. Will that satisfy you, madame?”

“It is more than generous, my lord,” she assured him.

“I’ll send one of the duke’s men to Calais to see if our ship is awaiting us. He’ll not have time to return to Paris, but he can meet us on the road. The English will be on the lookout for vessels sailing beneath the French or Scots flags.”


The following day Patrick and Rosamund visited the great Cathedral of Notre Dame on the Ile de la Citй. Paris itself was a bustling and noisy city, and to Rosamund’s surprise it was quite different from London, despite the similarity of having a river running through it. The French were colorful and vibrant. They saw gypsy performers in the streets. The taverns overflowed with revelers. No matter the war, Paris was always vibrant and alive.

“It is exhausting,” Rosamund laughed as they returned home the evening before they were to finally depart. “I do not think I could live here. Did you see the fabrics in some of the shops? They are marvelous, but they do not have a wool as fine as we raise at Friarsgate. The wools I saw were heavy and coarse. They were Scots, or Irish, or mayhap even English, some of them. But they were not of the quality of Friarsgate wool. I must speak with my agent in Carlisle and see what can be done about that. The French appreciate quality, and I can offer them that.”

“I have never before seen this side of you,” he marveled. “You are suddenly a woman of commerce.”

“I have not the advantage of your birth, my lord. Friarsgate folk have always been simple people, but we are industrious. I see profit here, and to overlook it would be foolish,” Rosamund told him.

“You are growing restless with this life you have been leading, aren’t you?” he said, reaching out to tip her face up to him.

“Aye,” she admitted, “I am. You have been busy, Patrick, on your mission of diplomacy for your king. I have been an ornament for your pleasure. And mine,” she amended with a small smile. “But I am not used to being so idle.”

“I will have you home by midsummer,” he promised her, and he smiled back. She almost broke his heart with her loveliness, he thought to himself.


They departed Paris the following morning just before dawn. It was Rosamund’s twenty-third birthday, and quite forgotten even by her. They met the duke’s man along their path. A ship was awaiting them. It was a Scots vessel, but it would fly the flag of a Flemish merchant prince. At Calais they boarded their transport in a falling rain, but the seas were relatively calm. Two days out, as they made their way up the North Sea towards Leith, the weather cleared, giving them a brisk and unusual southeast wind. They saw other sails on the sea, but no one challenged them even as they neared the border between England and Scotland. They sailed closer to land now, and the captain pointed out the opening to the river Tyne.

“We’re almost home, my lord,” the captain said. “We’ll be entering the Fifth of Forth shortly. We dock at Leith in the early morning.”

It was early May, and the mists partially obscured the land as they reached their destination. Their luggage was off-loaded and taken to the inn from where they had departed almost six months before. They were settled in a comfortable apartment with several fireplaces all now blazing warmth and taking the chill off the early morning.

“I will have to arrange for transport to Edinburgh, or wherever the king is now,” Patrick told Rosamund.

“Inquire if the queen has been safely delivered,” Rosamund said, and he nodded.

“Aye,” the innkeeper replied to the question asked by the Earl of Glenkirk. “The wee queen did give birth to a fine healthy bairn on the tenth day of April. They say the king does wrap the laddie in a blanket and ride through Edinburgh town wi him so the people may see this next Jamie Stewart.”

“And the queen is well?” the earl inquired.

“Och, aye, she is, my lord,” the innkeeper answered with a smile. “She but needed a bit of seasoning to do it well.”

“The king is in Edinburgh yet?” the earl queried.

“Aye, he be in the town,” the innkeeper said.

“I’ll ride in today,” the earl said.

“I’ll go with you,” Rosamund responded. “I must see Meg, and I did promise to return. The sooner I see her, the sooner I can confess my deception, and then perhaps she will let me go home. It has been nearly five months since I’ve seen my lasses, Patrick.”

“I’ll send a message to Glenkirk,” he said. “Adam will not be unhappy to remain master there for a while longer. I am anxious to see your Friarsgate, lovey.”

“Annie and Dermid can follow tomorrow,” she decided. “We can do without our servants for a night, and heaven only knows if there will even be room for us. Court life is not the most gracious for ordinary folk.”

They rode the few miles between the port of Leith and the capital city of Edinburgh. Once at the castle, the Earl of Glenkirk sought out the king to give him his final report. Rosamund, however, went immediately to the queen’s apartments. Margaret Tudor spied her friend immediately and shrieked a greeting.

“Rosamund! Oh, come and see my beautiful boy, Rosamund! I am so glad that you are back! How are your girls? Come! Come!”

Rosamund laughed and crossed the room to peer into the ornate cradle by the queen’s side. The month-old boy stared up at her. He was plump and alert. Waving his little fists at her, he made small noises, and Rosamund laughed again. “Oh, Meg, he is a fine laddie! The king must be so pleased!” She curtsied and blushed slightly, realizing that she had slipped back into a familiarity she should not, but the queen waved her hand, dismissing the breach.

“Come and sit with me, and tell me all about Friarsgate,” the queen said.

“We must speak privily about that,” Rosamund said quietly.

Immediately the queen’s curiosity was piqued. “Get out! All of you! I would speak confidentially with the lady of Friarsgate. You, also,” she said to the cradle rocker. “My son will survive without being in constant motion.” And when the queen’s chamber had been emptied, she turned again to her childhood friend and said, “Tell me.”

“I have not been at Friarsgate, Meg. I have been with the Earl of Glenkirk in the duchy of San Lorenzo.” Then she went on to explain the mission the king had sent Patrick on, and of how he would not go without her, and of how she loved him so desperately that she had lied to Margaret Tudor and gone. “Will you forgive me?” she asked the queen as she concluded her tale.

“Of course I forgive you!” the queen said sincerely. “So, you love him. But does he love you? And if he does, why does he not offer marriage?”

“He does love me, but I choose not to marry again, Meg. At least not now. I have a duty to Friarsgate, and Patrick has his duty to Glenkirk, although his son is able to carry on in his absence. With your permission I am now going to go home to Friarsgate, and Patrick will come with me for a time.”

“You must bide with me for a brief while,” the queen pleaded prettily.

“Agreed,” Rosamund said, laughing once more, “though you really do not need me. You have all your women to keep you company.”

“They are not my friends,” the queen replied. “You know that queens have few friends, Rosamund.” Then a sly smile touched her lips, and she asked, “Is he a very good lover? My Jamie certainly is, despite the years that separate us, but the Earl of Glenkirk is really old. Can he still make love? Or is this the kind of love you bore for your second husband, Hugh Cabot?”

“He is a magnificent lover and frequently exhausts me, Meg,” Rosamund replied candidly. “I love him, you know, and my passion for him is not in the least as it was for Hugh, who was more father to me than any.”

“How strange that this love should come to you at this time and in this place,” the queen noted. “I love the king, you know. And he is very good to me, although I suspect he believes I am not the cleverest of women. He often treats me as he would a favored animal. So he sent your earl to try to weaken this alliance the pope has now formed. He knew it would not work, of course.” The queen’s foot was absently rocking her son’s cradle as she spoke, and the baby was now falling asleep.

“King James is an honorable man. He will not betray this old alliance that Scotland has with France. There is no need for him to do so,” Rosamund said. “I think we both know that your brother, King Henry, seeks an excuse to make war on Scotland. He cannot be pleased that you have given your husband a son when poor Kate cannot give him one. It must frustrate him that Scotland holds the balance of power here. England cannot invade France with France’s ally on his northern border. So he seeks to isolate Scotland from the rest of Europe. Your husband, Meg, is a man of peace. He sees what peace has brought Scotland. This country is prosperous and content, no matter your easily insulted earls and lairds.” She smiled. “Now Scotland has an heir. There is even more at stake.”

“Yet Jamie builds a navy,” the queen noted.

“To protect Scotland, Meg. He seeks to defend his sea borders. His navy is a bulwark against foreigners,” Rosamund explained. It had always been difficult for Meg to see the large picture.

“Henry is jealous of Jamie’s ships. He is now building a navy, too, Kate writes me,” the queen responded.

“Kate is well?” It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her of Katherine of Aragon, now England’s queen.

“But that she cannot seem to give my brother a living heir,” Meg said. “Henry will be patient just so long, and then who knows what he will do. The fault lies with Kate, I fear, for my brother has his share of bastards, and he has impregnated her several times. But her children die. I wonder if it is not God’s judgment. Perhaps my father should have sent her back to Spain. Perhaps she should not have wed Arthur’s younger brother. But, then, what is done is done. Have they found you a place to rest your head?”