This Heart of Mine (31 page)

With a charming blush, Velvet curtsied to James. “Your pardon, my liege. You must think that Alex and I know not how to communicate other than by shouting. I promise you that I am far better bred than that.”

The king was once more charmed by this lovely young girl. “I think my court will be a livelier place for yer presence, Lady Gordon. Will ye join us for the evening meal?”

“I should be honored, sire.”

The dining room at
Holyrood Palace
where James Stewart was in residence was not particularly large. The room was paneled with a coffered oak ceiling. Upon the walls were beautiful
French tapestries, some of which had been brought from France by James’s grandmother, Mary of Guise. Others she had worked during her years in Scotland, and later her daughter, Mary, Queen of Scots had taken them up. The scenes depicted upon the tapestries were pastoral in style. There was a large fireplace in the room, and it now burned with pine and aspen logs.

The king’s high board ran almost the width of the room, the side tables taking up the rest of the floor. There was a small center space between the tables where the servants were able to squeeze in and out with the dishes. It was a great deal less sophisticated than the Tudor court, but there was a warmth about it that was lacking, Velvet decided, at the English court.

Alex and Velvet had been seated with the king as his personal guests and the new Lady Gordon found herself the center of many curious looks. She was a little uncomfortable at being the subject of such close scrutiny. Gentlemen, she knew, were always interested in a pretty face, the ladies in her clothes. She was sorry she had none of her own gowns to wear, for they were the height of fashion. Instead, she had on another borrowed gown from Lord Bothwell’s treasure room, and only that because Francis understood enough about women to know that Velvet would want to wear something attractive when meeting the king for the first time. Alex had argued with her saying that Jamie wouldn’t care if she appeared before him in her riding clothes, but Bothwell had interceded for her, and she was now more grateful than ever. In her tawny orange gown with its heavy gold embroidery she felt the equal of any woman at the Scottish court even if she was bare of jewelry.

“Well, Lady Gordon” said James, turning to her, a haunch of venison in his hand, “what think ye of my court when compared to that of my cousin England?”

“One cannot possibly compare them, sire. I mean no offense, but the queen’s court is possibly the most elegant in the world. Even the French have not such a court! Still, I am not certain that I do not prefer yours, for although it’s not as sophisticated, its informality offers charm and warmth. When we return to Scotland next year, I shall enjoy being a part of your court.”

“Ye’ll be one of its shining stars, madame,” James complimented her.

“We’ll nae be able to come to court until Velvet has borne me several bairns, Jamie,” said Alex. “I would take no chances wi’ her health.”

“My mother bore eight children with no difficulty,” Velvet said sweetly. “She took sea voyages and even rode while she carried my brothers and sisters. I am sure I shall be as hardy.”

“Eight bairns!” The king was impressed. “How many lived to adulthood, Lady Gordon?”

“Seven, sire. My half brother, John Southwood, died before his second birthday in the same epidemic of white throat that took his father, the Earl of Lynmouth.”

“How many sons did yer mother bear?” the king asked.

“Five, sire.”

“Ye’ll be a good breeder, I’ve nae a doubt, Lady Gordon,” the king approved.

“Aye.” Alex smiled. “I’ll see to it with great pleasure, Jamie.”

Velvet also smiled across the king at her husband, but when James’s attention was attracted by someone else, she mouthed the word
beast
at the Earl of BrocCairn. Alex grinned back. He was anxious to leave
Holyrood
and get back to Bothwell’s town house where he might take his wife to bed. She drove him wild with lust, a condition he had never before experienced. He could feel his blood begin to rise at the sight of men like Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk; George Gordon, the Earl of Huntley, who was a kinsman of his; and the handsome Lord Home as they gazed upon his wife with undisguised admiration. He wanted to take her to
Dun Broc
where she would be safe from such hot eyes.

She sensed his jealousy and mischievously set out to enrage him even further. When the meal was over, the tables were cleared from the room, and in the little minstrel’s gallery above the musicians began to play for dancing. The king led Velvet to the floor first and danced a slow and stately pavane with her. This first decorous dance, however, was followed by a galliard, the waltzlike lavolta, and a coranto jig. The Earl of BrocCairn could not get near his bride, for she was clearly the most popular woman in the room. Her cheeks were flushed a soft rose from her exertion, her green eyes sparkled merrily, and her neat chignon had come loose in the middle of the lavolta. Now her auburn hair tumbled in a devilishly attractive fashion about her shoulders as she laughed happily up at Lord Home. Francis’s warning hand on Alex’s arm only just prevented him from challenging Lord Home, for Sandy Home was boldly leaning over the lovely Lady Gordon and ogling her exposed bosom.

“Easy, man! Ye’ll make a fool of yerself,” Bothwell cautioned.
“Sandy means no harm. The lass seeks to provoke ye, or don’t ye see it?”

“I know she does it deliberately, Francis, but I canna help it! I love the wench, and, worse, she knows it.”

“She’s still young, Alex, and like any thoroughbred she is headstrong. Be gentle wi’ her. Women like a man who is gentle.”

“How can I be gentle when I want to strangle her?” Alex asked.

Bothwell laughed. “I’ve never met a woman who could drive me that far,” he said.

“I dinna know whether to hope ye will, so ye’ll know my agony, or hope ye never do, so ye won’t know such pain, Francis.”

For a moment a sad look passed over the Earl of Bothwell’s handsome face. He had a wretchedly unhappy marriage, and he and his wife did not live together. It had been a match of powerful families, not one of love. He sighed. “I have already met a woman who makes me feel hungry wi’ love, Alex,” he said, “but she is a decent woman and does not suspect the depth of my feelings. She must not, for she is happy in her own marriage.”

The Earl of BrocCairn stared, surprised by his cousin’s words. Then Bothwell shook himself as a wet dog might, and Alex realized that the Border lord was embarrassed to have confided in anyone something so personal. To ease Francis’s chagrin he changed the subject. “What do I do to reclaim my wayward lass without causing a scene?”

Bothwell’s good humor restored, he grinned and said, “Let me aid ye, Alex.” Then, stepping out onto the floor, he intercepted George Gordon, the powerful Earl of Huntley, who was dancing with Velvet.

“Gi’e over, Geordie,” he said good-naturedly. “Alex wants to take his lass home to bed now, and who can blame him, eh?” He grinned engagingly.

George Gordon chuckled. “Aye, I see yer point, Francis.” He let his eyes run boldly and approvingly over Velvet. “We Gordons are a hot-blooded bunch.” Kissing Velvet on the cheek, he said graciously, “Good night, fair cousin. Ye’re a lovely addition to the family!” Then he handed her over to Lord Bothwell, who led her off toward her husband.

“But I don’t want to go,” she protested softly.

“Aye,” Bothwell drawled, and his blue eyes danced with mischief. “Ye’d much rather stay here and drive poor Alex wild wi’ jealousy. Ah, ye’re a wicked lass, Velvet, but ye’re
still an innocent. A little more whiskey, another hour or two, and half the men in the hall would brave Alex for a taste of yer pretty lips. Do ye really want to cause a brawl, lass?”

Velvet shook her head. “Nay,” she admitted.

“Then smile prettily at the poor, besotted man ye’ve wed, and he’ll be yer slave, I promise,” Bothwell teased her.

She made a little moue with her mouth. “He’s worse than a mule,” she muttered.

“And ye’re no better!” he said quickly.

“Francis! ’Tis not so!” She pouted prettily, and he chuckled.

“Aye, Velvet, it is. Both ye and Alex are determined to have yer own way. Ye’re selfish. One of ye has to grow up if the other is going to.”

She sighed. “I know you’re right, but, dammit, Francis, why must it always be the woman who gives in?”

“Because possibly women are a gentler and more patient sex.”

Velvet laughed. “I’m not sure that I’m either, Francis. All I know is that when Alex grows stubborn and pompous with me, I want to smack him! He simply infuriates me with his old-fashioned ideas. He refuses to even consider change.”

“Gi’e him time, Velvet. He expected a sweet, young thing who was anxiously awaiting his arrival; a lass who would come meekly back to Scotland glad that he wed wi’ her, who would eagerly bear his bairns without complaint.”

She looked at him, amused. “I know, and instead he got a wench who ran
from
him instead of
to
him. If I was such a disappointment, why was he so determined to marry me, Francis?”

“Pride for one thing,” came Bothwell’s reply. Then he stopped and looked down at her. “Love for another, Velvet. Do ye doubt it, lass?”

“Nay.”

“And ye love him.” It was a flat statement.

“Aye,” she answered shortly. “I do love him, but we’ll have no peace until he can treat me fairly as my father treats my mother, and not as a possession, Francis. Is that so hard a thing?”

“Velvet, my sweet,” said the Earl of Bothwell, “ye suffer from the same ailment that I do. Ye were born in advance of yer time. Yes, it is a hard thing for Alex to accept! Who ever gave ye such ideas?”

“My mother.”

“Jesu, I should like to meet her! She must be a fascinating lady.”

“She is.” Velvet smiled. “I wish she would come home.”

Alex leaned over as they reached him and slipped a possessive arm about her waist. With a sigh Velvet leaned against him. “Ye’re tired, hinny,” he said, concerned. “Let us go home.”

“Aye,” she answered him. “I am tired, my lord.”

Bothwell smiled. For the moment there would be peace between the battling BrocCairns. Velvet even dozed in the coach that took them from
Holyrood
to Bothwell’s house in the Highgate. His eyes met those of Alex as they rode, and he nodded his approval of his cousin’s calm behavior.

When they reached Lord Bothwell’s mansion, Alex carried his wife into the house and up to their chamber. There he expertly played lady’s maid to her as she stood sleepily before him. His hands fumbled with the laces of her gown, undoing the beautiful bodice and the skirt. Carefully he laid them over a chair. Yawning, she helped him to undo her petticoats and her chemise, to slide from her silken undergarments. Kneeling, he peeled off her stockings as she kicked off her shoes.

He caught his breath as she stretched lazily, yawning again. He could feel himself hardening as his eyes swept her slender form. “Jesu, Velvet, ye could tempt a saint!” he muttered huskily.

For some reason she felt more relaxed with him now than ever before. It did not even bother her that she stood naked before him. She suspected that her little talk with Francis had acted as some sort of catharsis. Her eyelids were heavy, but she smiled softly at him. “Come to bed, my lord,” she said. And, turning, she held out her hand to him.

He stood rooted to the floor, completely surprised by her sudden softness. He was even more surprised when with a smile she moved to undo his kilt. “Velvet,” he managed to murmur, tongue-tied and feeling like an idiot. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as her eyes caught his for a brief moment. Then she went back to her task of disrobing him. Within a very short time he was as naked as she, and his desire was obvious. He almost blushed for she had actually made him feel shy.

Reaching out, he caressed one of her lovely breasts. “Ye’re so beautiful,” he whispered reverently.

Stretching her hand out to stroke his swollen manhood gently, she whispered back, “So are you, Alex.”

They came together, their bodies touching lightly while their
lips kissed tenderly. With a soft cry of triumph, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the large bed with its red silk hangings. The sheets, scented with lavender, had already been drawn back by the maidservant. They felt cool and silken against her back and buttocks. Kneeling next to her, he bent his head to kiss her delicate rose-colored nipples. The touch of his mouth rendered them rigid with rising desire. Lovingly he teased each one in its turn, kissing it, licking at it, sucking sweetly and strongly upon it until she moaned low, an almost sobbing sound. His hand smoothed down her quivering torso, his fingers seeking eagerly for the tiny jewel of her womanhood, finding it, taunting it with delicate little touches until her head began to thrash upon the plump down pillows. How his slender fingers sought to take the edge off her passion, thrusting into her softness while his thumb continued to rub against her sensitivity.

Velvet gasped with each new sensation. They had been wed but four days, and tonight was the first time she had willingly participated with him in this marvelous sport called lovemaking. She realized that by not fighting him she was allowing him to give her the most incredible pleasure. Why had she not thought to ask her sisters about all this?

His lips moved with fiery kisses down the slender column of her neck to her shoulder, where the kisses turned to gentle nibbles of his sharp teeth. Velvet shivered with delight, and he moved his head up again to kiss her ear, growling softly into it, “I like my English rose without her thorns, lass.”

She wound her fingers into his thick dark hair and tugged playfully at it, answering, “I love you best when you are gentle, my lord husband.”

He swung himself over her, imprisoning her between his two thighs, and his hands moved upward to cup both of her breasts. He handled them like prized possessions until he felt Velvet’s eyes upon him, and then he bent to kiss each nipple tenderly. She laughed softly, and Alex flushed guiltily, muttering, “Ye canna expect me to change much in four days, if I can change at all.”