Bertrice Small - Until You

“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.

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.

They rode past the gypsies, turning into Barley Lane, where the Unicorn and Crown Inn was located. In the courtyard, stablemen ran forth to take their horses, and Tom paid the armed escort that had escorted them from Friarsgate, counting out the coins each man was to have and then buying them all a round of ale. The men-at-arms thanked him, then clattered out of the inn’s stone courtyard. There were less expensive inns where they might spend their earnings.

Rosamund’s heart was racing. Was he here? God’s boots! She was like a virgin with her first lovelorn swain, but the truth was she longed for the sight of his handsome face. They entered the Unicorn and Crown to be greeted by the innkeeper, a tall, thin man with a dignified stance.

“Welcome, my lord, and my ladies!” he greeted them, bowing as he spoke.

“Has the Earl of Glenkirk’s party arrived yet?” Lord Cambridge asked.

“They are waiting for you, my lord. Allow me to escort you,” the innkeeper said, his face impassive. He led them down a narrow hallway, opening the door at the end of it and ushering them inside. “I will fetch Lord Leslie at once,” he told them. “There is wine on the sideboard. Would the ladies desire anything special now?”

“Please escort my daughter and my servant to our apartment, Master Innkeeper,” Rosamund said quietly. She knelt a moment, putting her arms about Philippa. “I would greet Patrick alone, sweeting,” she told the child. “You understand.”

“Yes, mama,” Philippa said dutifully, following Lucy and the innkeeper from the chamber.

“I need some wine,” Tom said. “It becomes chilly as the afternoon wanes.” He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a goblet from the pewter pitcher. Sipping it, he noted, “Why, ’tis not half-bad, dear girl. Will you have some?”

“And greet Patrick with wine on my breath?” she said. “I think not, cousin.”

She arose and seated herself by the fireplace where a good fire was burning. “I shall warm myself this way.”

For some minutes they waited in silence, and then the door to the room opened and a gentleman stepped inside. He went immediately to Rosamund, taking her two hands in his and kissing them. “I am Adam Leslie,” he said, “and you are my father’s Rosamund.” He was tall and big, as his father was. His hair was a dark russet brown where Patrick’s was a deep auburn. But he had not his father’s deep green eyes. Adam Leslie was blue-eyed. “You are every bit as lovely as he claimed, madame.” Then he turned to greet Tom. “You will be Lord Cambridge,” he said, bowing.

Tom bowed back, his facile mind already asking the question he saw forming on Rosamund’s lips.

“Where is your father, Adam Leslie? Why is he not here to greet me?” she asked.

“He is here, madame,” came the reply, “and you must be brave now for his sake.”

“What has happened?” Her voice was shaking as she spoke.

Adam sat down heavily in the chair opposite Rosamund. “We arrived late yesterday,” he began. “I have never seen my father so eager to get to Edinburgh. He was like a lad. We might have stayed the night several miles from the city, yet nothing would do but my father reach the Unicorn and Crown so if you arrived early today you would not think he had not come. The landlord served us an excellent dinner, and then we retired for the night. This morning my father awakened complaining of a sharp pain in his head. He arose from his bed, gave a loud cry, and collapsed. The physician is with him now.”

Rosamund jumped from her chair. “Where is he? I must go to him! Take me at once, Adam Leslie!” She was pale and trembling with fear.

Adam did not argue with her. He stood and took her by the arm, saying to Lord Cambridge, “Will you come with us, too, my lord?”

Tom nodded, following as Adam Leslie led them from the chamber where they had been seated, down the corridor, and up a flight of stairs. Opening the door to one of the inn’s guest apartments, he ushered them inside. Almost immediately a very tall, dark-skinned gentleman in long white robes came forth from another room.

“Ah, my lord, you have returned.” He looked curiously at Rosamund and Tom. “This is the lady?” he queried.

“Aye, this is my father’s betrothed wife, Master Achmet,” Adam replied. “This physician was sent by the king,” he explained to Rosamund and Tom.

“How is the earl?” Rosamund asked anxiously. She was still very pale and could not contain the trembling that continued to afflict her.

Seeing it, the physician took her by the arm and seated her near the fire, sitting next to her. He took her hand in his, his fingers wrapped lightly about her wrist, his gaze thoughtful. “Calm yourself, madame,” he said in a quiet voice. “What has happened has happened. Your heart is racing too quickly, and that is not good for you. My lord, would you pour the lady some of that wine? When you have drunk a bit of it, madame, we will speak on the earl’s condition.”

Adam quickly filled a goblet and handed it to Rosamund, who drank deeply and then, as she felt calmer, turned her amber gaze to Master Achmet.

“The earl,” the physician said, “has suffered a seizure of the brain. He is yet unconscious. He may awaken with no ill affects at all. There seems to be no harm done to his limbs, for they are quite supple. He may awaken, the ability to speak gone from him. I have seen that in many cases. He may awaken with his memory impaired. Or he may not awaken at all. This is my prognosis, madame.”

“Have you bled him yet?” she asked.

“Bleeding would not be advisable in this particular case, madame,” the physician said. “The earl will need all his strength to recover.”

Rosamund nodded. “When do you think he will awaken?” she asked.

“I do not know, madame,” was the honest answer.

“I will nurse him myself,” Rosamund said.

“That would be best for his lordship. The quality of women who purport to do nursing in this city is not at all good,” the physician agreed.

“Tom, send a message to Friarsgate. Maybel must come!” Rosamund decided. “And we cannot remain here at the inn. You have a house in Edinburgh, don’t you?”

“I sent ahead to have it opened and aired,” Lord Cambridge replied. “I thought to let you and Patrick have a few days to yourselves there after your marriage, while I took young Philippa to court and showed her the sights of the city.”

“When can the earl be moved?” Rosamund asked Master Achmet.

“I think it best he regain consciousness first,” the physician responded.

“Adam”-Rosamund turned to Patrick’s son-“forgive me for giving orders without consulting you. I am not yet your father’s wife. Will these arrangements suit you?”

Adam came and knelt down next to Rosamund. “I know how much he loves you, madame, and I am content in the knowledge that you will take the best of care of him.” He took her small, cold hand and kissed it gently.

“Thank you,” Rosamund said simply. She turned back to the physician. “What am I to do?” she asked him.

“You must keep him comfortable and quiet. Moisten his lips regularly with water or wine. If he is able to swallow, give him wine to drink. I will come twice daily to check on my patient, madame. If there is an emergency, I can be reached either at the castle or at my house in the High Street.” Master Achmet arose from his place by her side. “I will leave you now,” he said, bowing before he departed.

Rosamund was still wearing her cloak. She stood and unfastened it, laying it aside. “I want to see him now,” she said and walked past them into the earl’s bedchamber.

Patrick lay upon the bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, his skin pale. Yet he looked no different than when they had parted last October.

“Oh, my love,” Rosamund whispered softly as she sat upon the edge of the bed and took his hand into hers. His hand was clammy, and the limp fingers did not squeeze hers back. “Patrick, can you hear me?” she begged him. “Oh, God, this cannot be! Do not take him from me. From his son. From Glenkirk.”