In the morning the laird of Claven’s Carn prepared to take Rosamund’s daughters with him over the border into Scotland. They met unexpectedly in the Great Hall before the others had assembled. She had just come from the mass.

“I am glad we are alone,” he said. “I wanted to assure you that I will guard the lasses as if they were my own, Rosamund.”

“I know you will,” she said. Her insides were melting at the sight of those blue-blue eyes as he looked at her.

“When will you return?” he asked softly.

“I do not know,” she responded honestly. “I do not really enjoy King Henry’s court, but I cannot refuse my own queen’s call. I suspect the king has learned of my sojourn in San Lorenzo and wants an explanation. Henry Tudor is a suspicious man, always seeing demons where there are none to be found.”

Logan nodded, understanding. Then he said, “Rosamund, I do not always speak with delicacy, but might I humbly request that you contract no alliances while you are away. I should like, nay, I should enjoy, the opportunity to become your friend when you return.”

“My friend?” She looked at him askance.

He flushed, realizing what he had said might easily be misconstrued. “Your friend,” he repeated. “And perhaps a friendship between us could lead to a…” he hesitated, afraid to say the word lest he frighten her off for good.

“You wish to court me with an eye towards marriage?” she asked frankly.

“Aye!” And his look was one of such relief that she laughed.

“Then I will contract no unions while I am away, Logan, but other than that I make you no promises. Do you understand me? I am still not certain that I will marry again.” The smile she gave him was tremulous and brief.

He wanted to say that she had shown no hesitation with Lord Leslie, but he did not. He remembered seeing them together at Stirling. He had never in his life beheld such raw and unbounded love as they had exhibited for each other. He had never imagined love like that existed. But even if she never loved him like that, he knew he wanted her as he had always wanted her. He would accept what she had to give, if indeed there was anything left in her heart. “I understand,” he told her. “I ask nothing, and you render me no promise. We shall begin anew, and perhaps something good may come of it, Rosamund.”

The hall began to be peopled now with servants, and the children came, eager and excited, running to Logan and bidding him a good morning. Rosamund was touched by the sight of it. Her daughters obviously liked the Scotsman, and that was to the good.

“My lord! My lord!” Bessie was tugging at his sleeve. She was the daughter most like Owein Meredith with her soft blond hair and gray-blue eyes.

“Yes, Bessie,” he asked her, “what is it, lass?”

“May I take my puppy with me, my lord? The terrier that Uncle Tom gave me for my natal day celebration?” She was holding a small black and tan pup in her arms.

Logan leaned down, saying as he did, “He doesn’t look very big, Bessie. I suspect he won’t take up a great deal of room, and he would be very lonely without you. Aye, we must take him. Does he have a name yet?” His big hand stroked the pup’s head, and the puppy’s tongue licked at his fingers.

“He is Tam for my Uncle Tom,” Bessie answered.

“We’ll put him in a small basket, lass, and you will carry him yourself on your pony,” the laird told her with a smile.

“He is a very kind man, mama,” Philippa murmured, coming to her mother’s side. “I do believe Banon and Bessie will have a fine time with him.”

“Yes,” her mother said. Nothing more. She was suddenly seeing Logan in a new light. Perhaps Jeannie, God assoil her soul, had indeed civilized him.


After the morning meal they prepared for the laird’s departure. In the courtyard, the girls already mounted upon their ponies, Logan said to Rosamund, “I will return tomorrow with the men I intend to watch over Friarsgate, as well as those I choose to escort you south.”

“I would leave tomorrow, but I will travel only as far as my uncle’s monastery.”

“ ’Tis a good plan. Young Mistress Philippa should not be tired her first day on the road,” he answered.

She nodded in agreement and, looking about, said, “I see no one upon the hills spying on us yet.”

“Nay. I sent my men early to see what was happening, and as we suspected, your cousin hasn’t gotten himself together yet. I think we may both make our getaways before he is aware you and your daughters are gone,” Logan said. “I thank you for your hospitality, Rosamund Bolton.” Then he mounted his stallion and moved to the front of his men, and they moved off, Rosamund’s daughters in their midst, the cart with the children’s belongings and two servant girls following.

Rosamund waved to Banon and Bessie, but after a cursory salute the two little girls were more intent on what they perceived as the adventure ahead than their mother behind. Rosamund felt tears coming. “Oh dear,” she said, brushing them impatiently away.

“They are only going to Claven’s Carn, mama,” Philippa said. “You are not losing them forever, you know.”

Rosamund laughed a watery laugh. “Philippa, you have such common sense. I do not know where you got it from, but I am glad.”

“Edmund says I am like my great-grandmother,” Philippa told her mother.

They spent the day completing the arrangements for their journey. Several of Rosamund’s gowns had been altered and remade at Tom’s direction, so she would not appear unfashionable at court. Philippa’s gowns from the previous year at the Scots court were also remade, and a third gown was added to her wardrobe. The proper accoutrements and jewelry were chosen and packed.

“I wish I could go with you this time, my lady,” Annie said wistfully. She was again with child, and her son was not yet weaned.

“Lucy suits me,” Rosamund told her tiring woman. “You have trained her well, and you can be proud of your little sister.”

“But she gets to go to court,” Annie bemoaned her fate. “I should like to go again.”

Rosamund laughed. “There is no pleasure in all that traveling, as you well know, Annie, or have you forgotten so quickly?” her mistress teased her.

“Aye, I’ve forgotten the trial of travel, but I remember San Lorenzo in the winter sunlight, my lady,” Annie said wistfully.

“You have had the best of it, Annie. San Lorenzo and King Henry’s court, and King James’ court, God assoil his good soul,” Rosamund told her

Annie nodded. “I have,” she agreed. “Still, I should like to see Great Harry in all his glory. Will you remain long?”

“No longer than I must,” Rosamund said.

Annie closed the trunk holding her mistress’ gowns, which she had packed very carefully. “They say the lord of Claven’s Carn would court you if you would allow it.”

Rosamund shook her head. Why was it the servants always knew what you did not want them to know? “I am on my way to London, Annie. I have scarce time for a lovelorn Scot now, do I?”

Annie grinned at her mistress. “You was always one for keeping secrets,” she said.

“No one can keep anything secret at Friarsgate,” Rosamund replied with a laugh.


Logan returned the following morning bringing with him thirty men. “The younglings will remain at Friarsgate to keep it safe. The more experienced men I am sending with you,” he said.

“How are Banon and Bessie?” she asked him anxiously.

“Tired after their ride yesterday, but God’s blood, Rosamund! You have bonnie daughters. They’ve charmed my housekeeper already, and Johnnie is enchanted with them. He’s never had playmates before.”

“Is he like you?” she asked him.

“It’s like your Bessie. He looks like me, but he is his mother’s son, with Jeannie’s sweet manner about him. He may change as he grows older, but having never raised a lad myself, I don’t know.”

“If the girls become too much, send for Maybel. She will keep them in order. I thought it better she remain here, as her absence would be more quickly noted than my younger daughters’,” Rosamund told him. Then she said, “I thank you again, Logan Hepburn, for the hire of your men and your care of my girls.”

“I will anxiously await your return,” he said.

“I think I may miss your arrogance just a little,” Rosamund said to him. “You are so polite with me, it is if you are walking on eggs, Logan Hepburn.”

“I am,” he replied. “I am attempting to prove to you that I am not a rough borderer, a Scots scoundrel, as you once called me, Rosamund, that I am indeed worthy of your hand. If I allowed myself to revert to my former self, I should seriously consider preventing your going. I should sweep you into my arms and kiss you until you were weak. Then I should carry you to the church and have Mata marry us.” He smiled just a trifle wolfishly. “But you prefer a more civilized lover, so if I am to have any chance of winning you, I must be the man you desire. When we are at last wed-if you will have me,” he amended, “then I shall become the man you need, Rosamund Bolton.” He bowed, then bent, cupping his hands together to boost her into her saddle.

Rosamund settled herself, but her heart was hammering nervously. Yet when she looked down at him, her amber eyes were grave. “Yes,” she considered, “I do miss the arrogance.” And she smiled wickedly at him, gathering her reins in her gloved hand.

“Golden brown velvet suits you,” he murmured, taking her other hand and kissing it. “Give my regards to your uncle Richard, madame.”

“Be assured, I will,” she responded, and then she kicked her mount, moving away.

They traveled as far as St. Cuthbert’s Monastery, where Rosamund’s other uncle, Richard Bolton, was prior. They were welcomed into St. Cuthbert’s and settled into the guesthouse for the night. Prior Richard invited them to dine with him in his private dining chamber. She had not seen this uncle, Edmund’s younger brother, in well over a year.