This Heart of Mine (32 page)

“I think I
may
learn to love you forever,” she answered him mischievously, her heart soaring with her small victory.

He saw the triumph in her eyes, and, still needing to be master, he thrust into her very soft and very willing body almost harshly. Surprised, Velvet gasped once again, but suddenly in a burst of clarity she understood him. Instead of challenging him further, she pushed her hips up to meet his downward movements, at the same time taking his head between
her two hands and whispering, “Aye, Alex Gordon, my lord of BrocCairn,
forever!”

His mouth covered hers in a blazing kiss of such incredible intensity that it left them both breathless. Hungrily he moved on her, drawing her forward with him into a web of passion that he wove about them both so tightly that for Velvet there was no beginning and no end to this lovely moment. She felt her own identity slipping away as her emotions became all, and then she could no longer prevent her descent into the fiercely throbbing vortex that reached up to claim her. With a little cry of sweet surrender, she offered herself completely into his keeping.

Afterwards they lay together talking, her back against his chest, his hands playing lazily over her breasts. A bond had been formed between them now. He kissed the top of her tousled head, saying as he did so, “Dare we disobey yer queen and my king and go home to
Dun Broc
, lass?”

She sighed. “Oh, Alex, please understand,” she begged him gently. “I must go home to England. We must be wed with my family about us. I shall never be happy with you if we do not.” She turned her head up to him. “You know that you can be sure of me now, my wild Scots lord!”

“I had hoped to have our first child born at
Dun Broc
, as all its lords have been born in past memory.” Then he sighed. “If we obey our rulers and return to England, it is very likely that our son will be born in England.”

“My lord, you have yet to give me a wedding gift. If I could choose anything I desired it would be that we would return to England. If I bear a child for you in the next year, Alex, at least my mother would be with me. As you have stolen her right to be at our wedding, you owe us both that much, my lord.”

He knew that she was right. She had been angered to learn that her brother’s friend was actually her dreaded betrothed, but never had she really considered refusing his suit, and he knew it. He had been the one who had stolen her from London and tricked her into her marriage vows. If his first son was not born at
Dun Broc
he had no one to blame but himself. “We’ll be wed in England in our own church with yer family about us, Velvet. How can I refuse ye now, lass? I love ye so very much!”

Her face lit up, and she twisted about so that she was facing him. “Thank you, Alex! Oh, thank you!”

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life, this thorny English rose. With a helpless groan he
kissed her, feeling his desire begin to rise once more. She melted against him, her lips parting, her little tongue teasing his in a surprisingly bold action. “Tell me ye love me,” he murmured against her mouth. “Tell me!”

“I love you, my wild Scot!” she whispered back, and then he swept her away into a world of exquisite sensation, their passions being their only guide.

Two days later they left Edinburgh on their way south, this time traveling with a large party made up of Bothwell’s Borderers and Alex’s Gordon retainers, who had arrived the following day from
Dun Broc.
They broke their journey again at
Hermitage
but only stayed a night. The next day the Earl of Bothwell, at his cousin the king’s orders, escorted the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn over the border to meet with the Earl of Lynmouth and his party of the queen’s Gentlemen Pensioners.

Robert Southwood did not seem happy, his sister noted as they rode toward him. He sat upon a white stallion that danced nervously as he held it tightly in check. Lord Bothwell’s midnight-colored Valentine whinnied a challenge and was also reined in tightly by his master.

Velvet winced delicately. “Robin looks angry,” she whispered to Alex. “Which one of us do you think he is angry at?”

“I suspect both of us,” came his answer, “but as long as we stand together I have no fears, lass.”

“Greetings, my lord!” Bothwell called as they came abreast of the English party. Technically they were now over the border, but in the Cheviots national boundaries were extremely fluid. “I am Francis Stewart-Hepburn, His Majesty’s most loyal cousin. Which one of ye is the Earl of Lynmouth?”

Robin moved his mount forward. “I am, my lord Bothwell. I am Robert Southwood, Mistress de Marisco’s brother.”

Bothwell grinned lazily. The young man reminded him of the angels he had seen portrayed in the stained-glass windows of French cathedrals. He was absolutely gorgeous, and yet Francis noted the hard line of the Englishman’s mouth and his wary, lime-green eyes. “Then ’tis to ye I am instructed to turn over Lord and Lady Gordon, for I am bound to tell ye that yer sister and Lord Gordon were legally wed at my own castle of Hermitage. His Majesty, King James, expects to see the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn returned safely within a reasonable time, y’understand, my lord?”

“I am not privy to any agreements made between Her Majesty
and your own king, my lord. I only know I am instructed to bring my sister and Lord Gordon back to London with dispatch,” came Robin’s cool reply.

Bothwell turned to Velvet. “Does he ever smile, this brother of yers, m’lady?”

“Often, but, Francis, I suspect he is angered at me now for taking him from his own bride of but two months,” Velvet replied.

“You’re damned right I’m angry!” snapped Robin. “There is a chance that Angel is breeding already, and I’ve had to leave her down at
Lynmouth
to come tearing after you two!”

“How are my nieces?” Velvet queried sweetly, hoping that her concern for Robin’s daughters would soften his wrath.

“A bloody false alarm! They had eaten green apples was all, the little gluttons! We hurried all the way from London, and they were as merry as drunks when we arrived! One cannot follow the court and raise children successfully. After you and Alex are settled, I shall retire to Devon again.”

“Then we are to be
settled!”
She looked anxiously at him.

“Aye, you baggage! I’d have let you go to
Dun Broc
, Velvet, believe me, but the queen would have none of it. She has planned your wedding herself, and the ceremony will be performed the day after the Armada thanksgiving, on November eighteenth. Then you and Alex are to remain at court until Mother returns in the spring. After that you’re free to go your own way.”

“Then having safely delivered ye, lassie, I shall return to
Hermitage
,” Lord Bothwell said. “I regret I cannot be at yer grand English wedding, but I shall think of ye on that day and remember that I had the privilege of being at yer first wedding. Break yer journey next spring at
Hermitage.
I shall happily welcome ye both.” Then, leaning from his saddle, he kissed her cheek. “Godspeed, fair Velvet.”

She returned the kiss graciously. “Thank you, Francis.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “For everything!” He alone would understand what she meant.

Alex and his cousin shook hands, their eyes meeting in a look of understanding, and then Bothwell whirled Valentine about and galloped off, his men riding behind him, shouting, “A Bothwell! A Bothwell!”

“So that was the famous Wizard Earl,” said Robin. “Impressive chap! Far more so than King Jamie himself, I’m told. What think you, Alex?”

“James was born a king,” he said, “but our cousin Francis is more a king born. Still, the Bothwells make enemies as
history has proven. They could no more rule Scotland than the Stewarts can.”

Robin nodded. “Let’s go!” he replied. “We have a long way to ride. Once we get farther south I can arrange for a coach for Velvet.”

“Nay! You’ll not stuff me in one of those swaying, hard-sprung vehicles,” she protested. “I’d sooner ride!”

“What of Pansy?” came her brother’s answer.

“Not to worry, m’lord. My bottom’s tough as leather now anyhow,” was Pansy’s saucy reply.

“Pansy!” Velvet attempted to look shocked, but she was as amused as her brother and her husband were.

“It’s almost like being with Mother, isn’t it, Pansy?” teased Robin.

“Aye, m’lord, but then me mum did warn me what life was like with Mistress Skye. They say a daughter is most like her mum, and if me lady is like Lady de Marisco, then I hope I am like me own mum and can keep up with her.” She smiled her gap-toothed grin, and Lord Lynmouth chuckled, for she was so very much like a young Daisy, and he remembered Pansy’s mother when she was not much older than Pansy herself right now.

They rode south into the heartland of England, and Velvet suddenly noticed that the days were growing shorter and the air cooler. The trees were almost bereft of their leaves now, and the land was beginning to have a wintry look about it. For two days they rode in freezing rain, and the road was awash in a sea of mud that eventually froze into deep, hard ruts that would undoubtedly remain until spring, thawing and refreezing over and over again. Velvet did not know which was worse, the mud or the dust they had encountered on their earlier journey to Scotland.

Although the pace was quick, they stopped each evening in a suitable place, either a respectable inn or the house of one of Robin’s many friends whose homes were scattered throughout England. There the horses were rested and well fed, as were their riders. The queen had sent twenty-five Gentlemen Pensioners along with Southwood to escort Velvet and Alex back to London. There were also the fifty clansmen who had come from
Dun Broc
to be with their chief. Such an enormous party was certainly safe upon the darkest and loneliest of roads, but it was not easy to house them all.

Several days after they had left Scotland Velvet suddenly began to recognize the landscape about her. “We are near
Queen’s Malvern!”
she cried.

“We’re going to stop there tonight,” said Robin. “Father Jean-Paul will marry you and Alex there.”

“But I thought we were to be married in London on the eighteenth in the queen’s presence,” Velvet protested.

“By the archbishop of Canterbury,” replied her brother. “If, however, you are to be married in the faith in which you were raised, little sister, it will be at
Queen’s Malvern
by your old confessor. I sent word to him before I came to fetch you, and by now the banns have been properly published.”

“Jesu!” said Alex. “Two marriages in Scotland and two in England! Surely we’ll be the most married couple of all time, Rob.”

“It all could have been avoided if you had but waited for our mother to return in the spring, instead of taking matters into your own clumsy hands, Alex,” replied Robin sharply.

“Ye’re three years younger than I am, Rob, and ye’ve three children already, and the possibility of another on the way. I have no bairns to bear my name.”

“I have three daughters,” came Robin’s grim answer, “and the possibility of more. My father’s first wife bore him six girls before she died and he married my mother who gave him sons.”

“There was a son from the first marriage, too,” Velvet reminded her brother. “Mama told me that he died in the same epidemic that killed your father’s first wife and three of his daughters.”

“Are you defending this plunderer of your virtue?” Robin demanded. “I thought you hated him.”

“He is to be my husband,” Velvet answered primly, although her green eyes were dancing with mischief. “Is it not proper for a wife to cleave to her lord, brother?”

“Dammit, Velvet, make up your foolish female mind! Either you love him or you don’t.”

“Of course I love Alex. How could you even think otherwise?”

Robin glowered at her. “I wish to heaven Mother had not left England leaving me charge of our damn difficult family.”

“Ah, but she’s in my charge now,” said Alex.

“I am my own mistress,” countered Velvet.

The two men glanced at each other across the distance that separated them. Then they both looked at Velvet, who rode between them, her eyes straight ahead, her hands light on her reins. She raised her head, turned first to Alex and smiled sweetly, and then turned her face to her brother, smiling again.
Both gentlemen burst out laughing and laughed until the tears ran down their faces.

“God help you!” Robin chortled.

“Aye, God help me, brother, for no one else will!” wheezed Alex.

In that moment their old relationship was completely restored, and by late afternoon when they sighted the chimneys of
Queen’s Malvern
it was as if they had never quarreled. Riding up to the door of her childhood home, Velvet felt a lump insinuate itself into her throat, and then the door was flung open and dear old Dame Cecily came hurrying out. Several quick tears slid down her cheeks, which she swiftly wiped away. Slipping from her saddle without waiting for aid, Velvet wordlessly flung herself into the old woman’s open arms. Dame Cecily hugged her tightly, tears running down her worn face as well. Velvet pulled away at last and wiped the old lady’s face gently with her hand.

Dame Cecily finally mustered a smile and, regaining control of herself, said briskly, “Well, now, you bad thing, you’re home again!” Her eyes moved to Alex, who had dismounted with Robin and stood waiting to be introduced. “And is this great craggy man your husband?” she demanded, and Velvet nodded. “He doesn’t look at all like a devil to run from, child, but then you always were willful and would have your own way.”

“I haven’t had it this time.” Velvet chuckled. “He kidnapped me off to Scotland and tricked me into marriage before I knew what was happening.”

“You don’t look any the worse for wear,” remarked Dame Cecily. Then she looked with snapping eyes at Robin. “Introduce me, you mannerless scamp, fine milord though you may be!”

Robin laughed warmly. “Alexander Gordon, may I present to you Dame Cecily Small, sister to our mother’s trading partner, Sir Robert, and adoptive grandmother of all the children of Skye O’Malley. Dearest Dame Cecily, the Earl of BrocCairn, Velvet’s husband.”