This Heart of Mine (27 page)

“I’ll get my brother,” Hercules said. “Ye’ll be comfortable here.” And then he was gone up a flight of steps.

“I’ve heard of the Earl of Bothwell,” Velvet said. “Wasn’t he wed to the late Queen Mary?”

“ ’Twas his uncle,” Alex replied. “It was James Hepburn who tried to be king. Sadly, he left no legitimate heirs, and so the title passed to his sister’s son, my cousin Francis. He added the Hepburn to his own Stewart name in honor of his mother’s family. He’s an interesting man, Velvet. Educated and highly intelligent. The king is terrified of him.” Alex chuckled. “But, then, Jamie Stewart is terrified of his own shadow.”

“How are you related to the earl?” she asked, curious.

“I’m afraid ye’ll be shocked, Velvet, but we are all related through a common grandfather, King James V of Scotland. The Stewarts are a loving family, but they’ve nae been known to confine their loving to their legal spouses. Both my grandmother, Alexandra Gordon, and Francis’s grandmother were mistresses to the king at one time. My father was the result of my grandmother’s liaison with James, and Francis’s father, John Stewart, the prior of Coldingham, was the result of his grandmother’s passion.”

“Aye,” said a deep, amused voice. “We Stewarts have always been a passionate clan, and generous with our favors. Good day, my cousin of BrocCairn, and who is this fair creature ye bring into my castle?”

Velvet turned and saw before her one of the handsomest men she had ever laid eyes upon. He stood well over six feet in height, and had the lean, hard body of a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors. He had a sculpted, sensitive face with bright blue eyes. His hair was a deep auburn like hers, his short, barbered beard the same. His smile was quick and extended as far as his eyes.

Alex laughed, “Ye never change, Francis! Always an eye for
the wenches, but this one is mine, and I’ve brought her all the way from England. My betrothed wife, Velvet de Marisco. Velvet, this is my cousin, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stewart-Hepburn.”

Bothwell bowed low over Velvet’s hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it. “Madame, if I had known that England held such an exquisite treasure, I should have long ago stolen ye away like the Border raider I am,” he said.

She blushed, yet she was delighted by his words, and he knew it.

“My lord,” she returned, “if all Scots earls were as charming as you are, I should have come to Scotland long since.” She cocked her head at him and asked mischievously, “May I please have my hand back now?”

Bothwell laughed, delighted by her quick tongue. This was certainly no silly miss. “I return yer hand wi’ regret, sweetheart,” he told her. “When is the wedding, Alex?”

“As soon as we return to
Dun Broc,”
came his answer.

“In the spring,” came hers.

“What is this? A reluctant bride?” demanded Bothwell.

“Velvet, dammit! When will ye learn that I will be master in my own house?”

“ ’Twas you who kidnapped me from court and stole me away to Scotland, my lord of BrocCairn! I have told you a hundred times: There will be no wedding until my parents return home!”

About them the men in the hall had grown quiet, listening with keen interest. Here was something that might prove to be amusing.

“Velvet de Marisco, are ye or are ye not my legally betrothed wife? Do ye mean to wed wi’ me or nae?” Alex asked her, and Francis Stewart-Hepburn suddenly realized just what his cousin was doing. He looked to the English beauty.

“Aye, Alex, I am your betrothed wife,” she answered him angrily. “And well you know it! You infuriate me beyond all, but, aye, I will wed with you. Not, however, until my parents return home to England!”

“Ye heard her?” Alex looked to his cousin.

“Aye,” came Bothwell’s level reply.

“And ye?” Alex looked to Pansy, Dugald, and Hercules Stewart. “Did ye hear her?”

“Aye,” they chorused.

The Earl of BrocCairn turned to Velvet and said quietly, “Under the laws of Scotland, Velvet, we are now married. Ye’re now my wife.”

She paled, then shrieked at him,
“What?
What trick is this you play on me, Alex?”

“No trick, sweetheart. The law of handfast requires only that a man and woman publicly state their intentions to wed in order to be wed. We have done that in the presence of a hall full of witnesses and are therefore married.”

“Never!”
she hissed, and then, with a speed that surprised them all, she snatched his jeweled dirk from his belt. “I’ll carve your heart out before I’ll let you do this to me, Alex Gordon!” She held the dirk in a distinctly threatening position toward him.

“God in His heaven!” roared Bothwell. Then he turned to Velvet. “Gie me the dirk, lass. ’Tis no use really, ye know.”

Her mouth trembled. “Nay,” she whispered.

It was a mouth meant for kissing, Bothwell thought, and he sighed. “Lassie, be reasonable. Do ye intend to hold us all here forever, for that is the only choice I can see ye have. Gie me yer weapon, and we will discuss this privately. I am the law here and along the entire border, nae my cousin of BrocCairn.”

Two bright tears rolled down her cheeks, and, reaching out gently, Bothwell took the dirk from her. “Trust me, lass,” he said softly.

“I ought to beat ye black and blue for that,” Alex snarled. “Touch me, and I’ll kill you, I swear it!” Velvet retaliated, her tears gone.

Bothwell was forced to laugh. The lass reminded him of a small, spitting kitten, while his cousin was as belligerent as a large dog. “How long have ye two been betrothed?” he asked.

“I was matched with him when I was five, but he was a man grown and couldn’t be bothered with me in these last ten years!” Velvet said indignantly. “Then his father and brother died, and suddenly he must hurry to England, for he
must
marry and have an heir.”

“It’s a reasonable request!” shouted Alex. “I am the only male left in my direct line!”

“I told you we would be wed in the spring when my parents return from the Indies, but nay! Nothing would do but that you kidnap me and drag me to Scotland, and attempt this mockery of a marriage!”

“I love ye, dammit! I don’t want to wait!”

“You love me?”
She looked surprised.

“Aye, ye stubborn jade! I love ye though I don’t understand it myself.” He turned to Bothwell. “Dammit, man, isn’t there somewhere private where we might speak?”

The Border lord hid a smile. Love was a powerful emotion. With a nod of his head he led Velvet and Alex to his library. “If I leave ye alone, can I trust ye nae to kill each other?” he asked,
but they didn’t hear him, for they were already too involved in their argument. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Velvet, I adore ye, but I can’t wait any longer,” Alex said. “I lay awake nights aching for want of ye. What difference does it make if yer parents are here to see us wed if we love each other? ’Tis a match they planned themselves.”

“I love my parents, Alex.”

“ ’Tis good that ye do, sweetheart, but ye’re no longer a child. All that sweet love ye possess should now be directed toward a man, toward me.” He moved next to her and slipped his arm about her tiny waist. She quivered and tried to pull away, but he would not allow it. “Sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear, kissing it. “I mean to have my way in this, Velvet. Ye love me. I know ye do, though ye will nae say it.”

“Without a priest there is no real marriage between us in my mind and heart, Alex.”

“We dinna need a priest, sweetheart. We are already wed by law, and I mean to bed ye this night.”

“Your sons will be bastards then, my lord of BrocCairn, for whatever anyone may say, I will deny that any marriage ever took place between us. I can imagine how that will delight your sister and her husband, for I suspect they look to your lands for their own sons.”

“Very well, ye damned little hellcat, I’ll find us a priest, but ye’ll wed wi’ me before him tonight or I swear I’ll gie yer pretty little maid servant to Bothwell’s Borderers for their evening’s amusement! Do ye understand me?”

“Aye,” she snarled back bitterly at him.

Alex slammed from the room, leaving her alone and not a little frightened. She had never in all her dreams of her wedding day imagined that the event would take place in a gray Border fortress filled with men, without any of her beloved family about her, or that she would be forced to marry in a travel-stained riding skirt. “I’ll never forgive him for this!” she muttered mutinously.

She didn’t hear the door open, but turned, startled, as Lord Bothwell said, “I’m afraid there isn’t a priest of the old kirk to be found in these parts, lass, but I’ve sent for a parson of the new kirk.”

“ ’Twill be no true marriage for me then,” she said sadly.

He came into her line of view and, tipping her face up with gentle fingers, said, “A marriage isn’t made by words spoken by any man, be he holy or not, lass. A marriage is in the heart and in the soul. I know, for I had a proper marriage in every sense of the word, and yet my wife and I haven’t lived together in years.”

There was a sadness in his eyes that Velvet saw, though he quickly masked it.

“Is there no one you love, my lord?” she said shyly, yet curiously.

“Aye, there is someone I love, though she knows it not. I canna speak of it for she is the loveliest and most virtuous of women.” Again there was a sadness that touched Velvet, but then Bothwell sighed deeply and said, “Ye canna be wed without a proper dress, lass. I’ve asked one of the serving wenches to help ye prepare.”

“But, my lord,” Velvet protested, “I’ve nothing suitable. Alex really did kidnap me from London, and I’ve nothing but what I am wearing and an old velvet skirt that is no better.”

Bothwell smiled. “But, lassie, ye’re in a Border brigand’s castle. I’ve all sorts of booty available if ye dinna mind choosing a gown from amongst such stuff. Come along, and I’ll take ye to yer rooms.”

He led her from his library and up a narrow, curving flight of stone stairs to a spacious apartment. There they found a woman waiting, and the Border lord said, “Maggie, this is Mistress de Marisco, who will very shortly be the Countess of BrocCairn. Find her something suitable and lovely to wear to her wedding, and have the men bring a tub, for I’ll wager the lass wants a bath.”

“Oh.” Velvet sighed with pleasure. “You’re an intuitive man, Francis Stewart-Hepburn!”

“Aye, ’tis what all the lasses tell him.” Maggie laughed, and then she was gone from the room before he could reach out to swat her bottom.

Bothwell chuckled. “I think that my cousin is a very lucky man, sweet Velvet. Damn me, if I dinna think ye’re a lass made to love!” Then to his surprise Velvet suddenly began to cry softly. “Why, lassie,” Bothwell protested, and found himself taking her into his arms, “what is it?”

“My lord,” she said, sobbing, “I do not know how to love a man!”

“Why, lass, there is no crime in that. In fact I suspect that Alex will far prefer it that way, for a man likes to school his own wife in matters of that sort.” He reached for the silken handkerchief that was tucked into his sleeve and tried to wipe her tears away.

“My brother wed
put
a little while back, and I slept in the room next to his and his bride’s on their wedding night,” Velvet said. “She cried with pain when he made love to her, and Alex said it was because he had pierced her maidenhead, that it would only hurt once. Did he tell me true, my lord, or did he say it to calm me? What did my brother do that hurt his bride? I do not understand, and my mother never spoke on it, for she believed me too
young before she went away. Do a man and a woman mate like the animals do? I have seen the stallions in my father’s stables mated with the mares. I have seen his hounds with the bitches. I can’t believe it, but is it the same?”

She nestled against him, and Bothwell wondered how he had gotten himself into this predicament. He had always thought of himself as an elegant and debonair man. He saw nothing about himself that should remind an attractive young woman of a mother hen, and yet here was this adorable female who, on the barest of acquaintances, was asking him questions that her mother was far more suited to answer than he. Then she trembled against him, and Bothwell, ever a gallant where the ladies were concerned, began to speak.

“ ’Tis something like the animals, lass, but nae really. The beasts feel a need to mate while a man and a woman feel something entirely different. For a man and a woman, the mating is nae simply a physical act but an emotional one as well, though a man can take a woman physically simply because he desires her body. There is pain the first time a maiden is mounted, but the amount of the pain depends upon how tightly the maidenhead is lodged. ’Tis over in an instant, though, and then there is naught but sweetness. Alex has never been known to mistreat a lass, Velvet. He loves ye and will be gentle wi’ ye, I’ve nae a doubt.” He stroked her hair and said, “Now dry yer eyes, lass. There is naught to fear, I promise ye.”

She took his handkerchief and wiped her face. “I have no other choice, do I?” she said softly, realizing he had actually told her nothing.

“Nay, lass, ye don’t,” he agreed.

The door to the room opened and several sturdy, kilted Borderers came in carrying a huge oak tub, followed by others bearing steaming buckets of water. The tub was quickly filled, and Bothwell followed his men from the room, saying as he went, “We’ll have to fill the other tub in the kitchen, lads, for if the lass bathes, then so should the bridegroom.” The door slammed noisily behind them, and for a minute Velvet found herself alone. Then the door burst open again, and Pansy ran into the room.

“Oh, Mistress Velvet! A tub, and ’tis hot, too! Here, let me help you. That Maggie is bringing the loveliest dress you’ve ever seen for you to wear. She’s just behind me now.”

“Och, good! The men filled the tub,” said Maggie as she reentered the room carrying a gown. With a smile she held it up for the bride’s inspection.

Velvet’s eyes widened, for when Bothwell had offered her a dress, she had not expected it would be something as incredibly lovely as what Maggie now proffered. The gown was of a heavy
candlelight-colored satin, its bodice and underskirt embroidered with pearls and crystal beads. The leg-of-mutton sleeves were tied by many small, pearl-encrusted ribbons; the cuffs, which were turned back, were of rich antique lace. The neckline was shockingly low but totally fashionable. It was the most beautiful dress Velvet had ever seen, and it was obviously brand new.