“When do you want me to leave?” the earl asked.

“Not until after the Twelve Days of Christmas are over and done with,” the king answered. “I want it to appear as if I have just lured you back to court for the Christmas season for old time’s sake. And you came because it had been many years since you had paid your respects to me. The fact that you have involved yourself with a lady is all to the good. After the holidays have ended, you will disappear, and all will assume you have returned to Glenkirk. You know that there are spies here at my court, Patrick, and should they know my plans they would report back to England or Spain or even the pope himself. Your mission must be secret. I realize there is little chance of its success, but I do not want the waters muddied before I have at least attempted to stop this madness. Three years ago the Holy See formed an alliance with France to humble Venice. Now France is the enemy. I despair, Patrick, of this chess game my fellow monarchs play. And no one ever really wins! These politicians will be the ruin of the world.”

“So, what you actually desire of me is to convince some of the players of the foolishness of this matter,” the earl said. “Which ones, Jamie? Which are the weak links?”

“Venice, who is suspicious of everyone, and possibly the Holy Roman Empire, who never quite trusts Spain. Spain will side with the pope no matter, especially as the English queen is Spanish born and bred. If I can but weaken the league, the pressure will be off of me to join it and betray the auld alliance we honor with France. And learning of this new coalition, the Turks are bound to make some hostile move that should turn the pope’s attention in other directions. After all, he is the father of the Christian church.” The king chuckled wickedly.

“So, Venice’s and the emperor’s representatives will be in San Lorenzo?” the earl said.

The king nodded.

“Well,” Patrick said, “my son, Adam, is a grown man and can manage our lands without me for a short time. And while I do not imagine my trip across a winter’s sea will be a pleasant one, January and February in San Lorenzo, as I recall it, are most benign. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a mild winter.”

“And you will not regret leaving your lady?” the king queried.

“Leave her? Nay, Jamie, I shall not leave her. I intend to take her with me to San Lorenzo. You are correct when you say I am a man in love. I am. I adored my daughter’s mother. I married my son’s mother, a sweet and gentle girl whom I came to care for most deeply, because I needed a legitimate son and heir. Her sudden death broke my heart. It was not fair that Agnes die as Janet’s mother had. She was so damned good, even making me promise to legitimatize Janet when our son was born. But I have never, never until this moment in time, been truly and deeply in love. I am a man long grown. I have grandchildren. But nonetheless I am in love. I feel like a young man again, Jamie.”

“Will her absence from this court be noted?” the king asked his friend.

The Earl of Glenkirk considered a long moment, and then he said, “Mayhap. She is the queen’s friend.”

“Does she have a husband we should be concerned about?” the king wondered aloud. “Is her family an important one?”

“She is widowed and of unimportant lineage,” the earl said. “It will be said that she has returned to her own home.”

“Unless,” the king responded, suddenly knowing of whom the Earl of Glenkirk spoke, “my wife wants her here for the birth of our child in the spring.”

“You know? That damned lang eey of yours, Jamie,” the earl said with a small smile. “Or are you merely guessing?”

“You have fallen in love with the little lady of Friarsgate, Patrick, haven’t you?” was the king’s answer.

The earl nodded. “We met two nights ago,” he began.

“But two nights ago?” the king exclaimed, surprised.

“Hear me out, Jamie. It was the oddest experience I have ever had. I saw her across the chamber. Suddenly I had the most overwhelming urge to meet her. Lord Grey managed the introductions through his friend Elsbeth Hume. Our eyes met, and we both knew in that instant that we had known each other in some other time and place and that we were meant to be together for the here and now. I cannot explain it any more plainly than that. There are many who would think me mad, but I know you do not, Jamie Stewart.”

“Nay,” the king agreed, “for it was the same with Margaret Drummond and me. Rosamund Bolton is lovely, I will concur. But she is English, Patrick. And she was, according to my information, briefly mistress to my brother-in-law.”

“Was she?” The earl was intrigued. Rosamund had not told him that, but why would she? “Nonetheless, Jamie, I do not believe the lady is politically involved, whatever her past,” he said. “You cannot believe she seeks to curry favor with her king. I do not believe that of her. She need not know why I go to San Lorenzo, just that I would take her there that we might be lovers in peace, far from the prying eyes of your court and our friends. Arcobaleno, the capital, is a most romantic place. I am certain that Rosamund, having never until she entered Scotland been out of England, will find it delightful.”

“The affair was most discreet. Neither my wife nor Queen Katherine knew of it,” the king said. “Brother Henry had attempted to seduce the lady when she was a young girl at court. He was prevented from doing so, and she was wed to her husband on the king’s orders. He obviously sought her out when she returned to court a grieving widow, to correct his previous failure. He does not like losing at games, I am told.”

“You are extremely well informed, Jamie,” the earl noted admiringly.

“Almost nothing a king does is truly secret,” James Stewart replied. “There is always someone, in this case a servant of her cousin Lord Cambridge, with information to sell to the appropriate buyer. I think this fellow thought I might be interested in bedding the lady myself. I have at the moment, however, a perfectly satisfactory mistress in Isabel Stewart, the daughter of my cousin, the Earl of Buchan. And my wife is again with child. I would not distress Meg, as I know that this child she delivers in the spring will be a son, and he will survive-unlike the other wee, frail bairns she has borne me.”

“The queen does not really need Rosamund, but I do,” the earl said. “I am your most loyal servant, Jamie, and well you know it, but I will not go to San Lorenzo without my lass. I will speak with Rosamund when the time is right, and she will convince the queen that she must return home to her beloved Friarsgate, but that she will return in the spring when the queen has her bairn. A lad, you say? The lang eey again, eh, Jamie?”

“Aye, a lad!” He sighed. “I can but hope I live to see him grown, but I will not.”

The earl did not argue, for he did not want to know what the king knew. James Stewart was known for having incredible intuition and sensitivity to supernatural forces. Patrick knew if the king was concerned, then this mission was of great importance. “I’ll be an old man, Jamie, before I serve your son,” he said comfortingly.

The king laughed, his mood now suddenly lightened. “You’ve already bedded her!” It was a statement, not a question.

“Within hours of our meeting. Jesu, Jamie! I feel like a man of thirty again when I am with her. God knows I have had mistresses aplenty in my lifetime, but none of them ever captured my heart as this girl has.”

“They say she has a suitor,” the king replied.

“Aye, the Earl of Bothwell’s cousin, the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn. She told me,” he chuckled. “He told her he would come on St. Stephen’s Day to wed her. I think he will be most surprised not to find her waiting meekly and eagerly for his arrival.”

“St. Stephen’s? That’s today,” the king exclaimed, laughing. “What a wench she is, Patrick. Are you certain you would have her?”

“As long as it is meant to be, Jamie,” the earl said.

“Ah, then,” the king remarked, “you do not believe it is forever. You will not wed her.”

“I would wed her if she would have me. But though she will have me as a lover, she will not have me as a husband,” the earl explained. “She has no wish to remarry, and I know she would not leave her beloved Friarsgate any more than I would depart Glenkirk forever. But one day I will ask her,” he finished with a small smile. “So we may both be satisfied that I truly love her. That is why she has rejected the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn. She believes his only interest in her is getting a son. I pity the lad. For what can he possibly do to convince her otherwise that he loves her? If he does.”

The king nodded. “You may expect him here at court, Patrick, when he finds the lass gone, I have not a doubt. Hepburns are not noted for giving up easily. And he will have his cousin Bothwell plead his case for him, as well.”

“Rosamund is English, and you cannot order her to wed with this man,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly. “Can you?”

“Such will be my defense, but Meg will undoubtedly become involved in the matter. My wee English wife is a romantic, a discovery I find astounding in a Tudor. Rosamund will have to confide in my queen or Meg will not be silent or rest in her quest to gain her dear friend another husband. The queen believes that no woman can be truly happy, or even content, without a lawful mate. In that mood she becomes dangerous, Patrick. Your affair may become public knowledge.”

“Perhaps it will be better if it does,” the earl said thoughtfully. “The better to deter the queen, the Earl of Bothwell, and this Hepburn of Claven’s Carn. But I must consult with Rosamund first. She is not a woman to be surprised in matters that are important to her.”

“Ah, to be in love once again,” the king chuckled. “You are a fortunate man! I have not felt that way since Margaret Drummond.”