This Heart of Mine (30 page)

“I—I love you, too, Alex,” she admitted finally. “Oh, but please understand how I feel about our wedding! I know now that my fear of you, of the marriage bed, was nothing but maiden foolishness, but I honestly do not feel married to you, and I won’t until we are wed before my family by a priest of our own church. Take me back to England and let us wait until the spring when my parents will return. I am yours, Alex. I am yours now and for always! Do this for me, my lord … husband.”

“Nay, Velvet! Nay! We are home in Scotland. We are far closer to
Dun Broc
than we are to London. By spring ye could be wi’ child, our child!”

“A bastard child!” she flung at him. “Would you bring that shame upon me? You say you love me!”

“He’ll be no bastard, Velvet! We are wed under the laws of Scotland and in the eyes of the new kirk!”

“But not in the eyes of the church in which we were both raised, Alex!”

He had no answer to give her. Angrily he flung himself from their bed and, pulling on his clothes, slammed wordlessly from the room.

Velvet lay silently for a long moment, and then she felt a tear slide down her cheek. “Damn you, Alexander Gordon,” she whispered to herself. “You’re the most impossible man I’ve ever met!

I’ll not be beaten though, my fine love! I’ll get back to England, and you’ll marry me properly before any child of ours is birthed. That I can promise you!” Then, yanking the crumpled covers back up over her naked shoulders, Velvet snuggled down in the bed and fell asleep.

My true Love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven.

—Sir Philip Sidney

J
ames Stewart, the sixth of his name and king of Scotland, glared at his cousin, the Earl of BrocCairn, saying, “Ye’ve got to take her back to England, Alex! What in hell possessed ye, anyway?”

“I do not have to take her back, Jamie. We’re married,” replied the earl sullenly.

The king’s face grew mottled with his anger. They were always arguing with him, these nobles of his! It made no difference that, thanks to his grandfather, he was related to half of Scotland. Even blood ties made no difference here. Scotland’s nobility were headstrong and determined to defy their rulers.

“Dammit, Alex, don’t ye realize the seriousness of what ye’ve done?” he growled. “Ye’ve kidnapped one of Elizabeth Tudor’s Maids of Honor! Her entire family is in an uproar and are demanding her return. More important, my cousin England is demanding that you bring her back.”

“Since when have Scotland’s rulers obeyed England’s orders?” mocked the Earl of BrocCairn.

“Scotland will one day inherit England, Alex, and I would be welcomed by the English when that day comes. I look to my future. I have no desire to engage England in even a small war. Particularly over a wench, however pretty,” he amended with a small smile toward Velvet.

Her green eyes twinkled back at him, and she said, “I am only too happy to obey the queen’s order, Your Majesty, and to return home.”

“Did ye truly marry this rogue, Mistress de Marisco?”

“Nay, sire.”

“Christ’s bones!” The oath exploded forcefully from Alex’s angry mouth. “Ye’re wed wi’ me well and true, Velvet!” He turned back to the king. “She’s twice wed to me. Once by handfast admission, and the second time by a parson of yer new kirk.”

“I most certainly don’t accept your handfast marriage,”
Velvet snapped. “And since we are both members of the holy Catholic church, I do not accept a ceremony performed by a preacher of the Calvinist faith.”

“Just where was the ceremony performed?” demanded the king.

“At
Hermitage,”
replied Bothwell, and he smiled blandly.

“At Hermitage?”
The king looked somewhat surprised. “Why in hell at
Hermitage?”

“Ye could hardly expect me to allow Alex to bed her without the proprieties, Jamie.” drawled Bothwell. “Yer advisors, including yer sour-faced chaplain, are always accusing me of being immoral, but even a reprobate like myself recognizes a respectable virgin.”

The king laughed in spite of himself. “I’m surprised ye were able to get a man of God to step into
Hermitage
, Francis.”

“Only the very ignorant or, worse, the very superstitious, believe the gossip that I’m a warlock, Jamie,” came Francis Stewart-Hepburn’s disconcerting reply. The Earl of Bothwell knew full well that his cousin, the king, was secretly terrified of him and believed everything detrimental that was said about him. On the other hand, James admired the man they called the Border lord, “the Uncrowned King of Scotland,” for Francis Stewart-Hepburn was everything James Stewart wished he could be.

“Ye delight in the damned controversy that always swirls about ye,” muttered the king, and Bothwell smiled, amused by his royal cousin’s sudden astuteness.

James looked at Alex. “Take her back to London, Alex. I will nae accept a refusal from ye in this matter! The Earl of Lynmouth and a party of the queen’s own Gentlemen Pensioners will be waiting for ye just over the border to escort ye back to my cousin England’s court. The queen says that ye’re welcome back despite yer rather wild behavior.” The king chuckled in spite of himself. “Dammit, Alex, ye behaved just like an ancient Scot. Bride-stealing is no longer the fashion.”

“Yer majesty sets the fashion, and I’m told ye seek a bride,” commented Alex. “I only sought to emulate yer good example.”

“Ha!” The king snorted. “Ye sought to have yer own way, cousin. Ye wanted the lass now, and so ye took her! Nay, dinna deny it, for I know ye well! Ye’ve ever been a stubborn man, even when we were lads together.”

Velvet stood quietly watching the three men. For a moment they had forgotten her, and she was frankly relieved. They
were cousins, and there was a definite family resemblance amongst them. The king and BrocCairn had the amber-gold eyes of the Stewarts; Bothwell and James had the auburn hair of their clan. All three had the Stewart nose. There, however, the resemblance ended, for although the king was a total Stewart in face and form, Bothwell was obviously more a Hepburn and Alex more a Gordon. The two earls had strong, determined faces, whereas the king’s features bespoke a weakness that even Velvet could see.

“Let us stay a few days here at court, Jamie,” Alex pleaded. “Velvet is exhausted wi’ all our traveling.”

“And would ye like that, Mistress de Marisco?” The king looked sharply at her.

To refuse would have been ungracious and Velvet knew it. She smiled sweetly at James Stewart and replied, “Aye, Your Majesty. I should very much like to stay for a few days before my return to England.”

“Very well, Mistress de Marisco, ye shall have yer visit wi’ us.” Having gotten his way, the king was feeling more gracious now.

“Dammit, Jamie, she’s Lady Gordon now. Whether she is willing to recognize it or not, surely ye must. Unless, of course, ye’re saying that the new kirk is nae Scotland’s church. I am certain some of the earls would be quite fascinated by this recent change of heart of yers. Do ye lean back toward the old and true faith then?” Alex smiled wolfishly at the king.

Bothwell hid a grin. Here was a man after his own heart! He suspected that whatever church Alex had been raised in made no difference to him at all, but he would play on the king’s fears in order to get his own way. He smothered his laughter for he had done exactly the same thing on many an occasion when dealing with their cousin James. Fear was Jamie Stewart’s sharp spur.

The king shot Bothwell an angry look, for he had heard his low chuckle. Then he looked to his cousin of BrocCairn, saying, “Ye’ve developed unpleasant habits the few days ye’ve been in Francis’s company, Alex. Remember that I am yer king.”

“I nae forget it, Jamie, but ye canna have it both ways. If ye’re to have any credibility wi’ yer English cousin, ye’ll have to tell her that Velvet and I were married legally and lawfully, else ye deny yer own church and a law that goes back centuries. I dinna think ye will want to do that, cousin. If ye do, ye’ll have all the ranting preachers of fire and brimstone tearing
yer kingdom apart with the earls joining in as they did in yer mother’s time.”

“You’re not married to me until we are wed in our own church,” Velvet interrupted.

Alex shot her a quelling look. “Hush yer mouth, lass! This is politics we’re talking of, nae religion. Ye can rest assured that I’ll wed ye a third time in our own church. Yer family will hae it no other way, I’ve nae a doubt. In the meantime, however, ye’re my wife in the eyes of both Scotland’s church and Scotland’s law, and ye’ll behave as such.”

“Indeed, my lord? Am I to suppose you’ll use force if I do not?” Her glance was pure defiance.

“If ye do not, I will take great pleasure in beating yer bottom, fetching as I find it, until sitting is the farthest thing from yer clever mind. Mark me well, Velvet! I dinna jest wi’ ye.” Alex’s black look matched her own in spirit.

The king and Bothwell looked at one another, their previous disagreements momentarily forgotten in light of the battle between the bride and groom. Each was delighted in his own way by BrocCairn and Velvet.

“When I tell my brothers how you’ve abused me, Alex Gordon …” she began.

“They’ll undoubtedly either cheer me or challenge me, Velvet, but I think the former rather than the latter,” he replied dryly.

“Now, lass,” said Lord Bothwell, grinning, “I think ye’ve certainly won this round in yer ongoing battle wi’ Alex. However, ye’re going to go back to England in a few days’ time. Be gracious in victory. Ye two are going to have to learn how to get along sooner or later.”

“When she accepts the fact that I am the master,” blustered Alex.

“Master, is it?” Velvet shrieked. “Why, you pompous idiot! Do I look like a horse or a dog to you that you would
master
me? I am a woman, Alexander Gordon! I have a damned good brain and I am as well educated as you are for all your French university. I will be respected by you for my intelligence or, believe me, your life will be one long hell, I promise you!” Her eyes blazed green fire at him.

“Is this how yer mother speaks to yer father?” he demanded, outraged. Both had again forgotten the king and Bothwell.

“My father respects my mother as well as loves her. Their marriage has been a partnership of love, trust, and mutual admiration. I will accept no less in my own marriage. If you
had waited until my parents returned home from India, you would have understood that by knowing me better. But no! You had to carry me off like some Border plunderer!” She glowered at him. “Now, having taken my innocence, you’re bound to wed with me in our own faith, but mark me, Alex. I will be no man’s slave or brood mare!” She drew herself up to her full height and, with an unflinching gaze, stared proudly at him.

“Christ almighty!” swore the king. “I can only hope the lass I wed is not as fiery as ye are,
Lady Gordon!
I am of a mind to have a quieter life than my cousin Alex is likely to have.”

“Your Majesty appears to me to be a gentleman of breeding and sensibility,” Velvet said softly. “I doubt were I your wife that I should have to resort to violence as I very well may have to do with my wild Highland husband.” She gave him a dazzling smile, and James was again enchanted by her.

Bothwell laughed, shaking his head, and remarked, “Well, Alex, I suspect that the next move is going to be up to ye. Think well first is my advice. Dinna act rashly wi’ such a hot-tempered lass.”

Realizing that he had been bested in this bout with Velvet, Alex smiled good-naturedly, saying, “I’m not of a mind to hae my brains bashed in today, Francis, and I can see that her ladyship has a dangerous look in her eye.”

“Why, my lord,” said Velvet sweetly, “violence is not my habit at all. Is not the Gordon motto ‘By Courage Not Craft’?”

“That is the motto of the main branch of the family, the Gordons of Huntley,” he answered her, “but we Gordons of BrocCairn have our own motto. It is ‘Defend or Die.’ We keep what we take, Velvet.” His meaning was boldly plain.

“Enough!” said the king, whose head was beginning to ache with the argument between these two.