This Heart of Mine (36 page)

Angel bloomed beneath this treatment and even happily confided to Velvet, “Robin was so right! I have learned to love him! I love him so much that I cannot imagine what life would be without him!”

Velvet’s own heart warmed at Angel’s words. She loved her brother dearly and was glad of his happiness. “When do you think the babe is due?” she asked.

“Sometime in the ninth month of our marriage,” Angel answered with a charming blush. Then she lowered her voice. “It must have happened on our wedding night. I only wish you the same good fortune, dearest Velvet. You will stand godmother to our son, won’t you?”

“You’re certain ’tis a lad you carry?” teased Velvet.

“Oh, yes!” Angel said positively. “I am most certain!”

Velvet laughed merrily, and Alex asked, “What is it, my love?”

“I cannot help but think of the surprises awaiting Mama upon her return. Our marriage, and a new grandchild from a daughter-in-law she doesn’t even know she has. She will not go away and leave us soon again!”

Since All Hallows’ Eve on the last day of October, London had been celebrating the winter holidays. There had been St. Martin’s Day with its traditional roast goose, St. Catherine’s Day to celebrate the end of the apple harvest, the queen’s Armada thanksgiving, and St. Clement’s Day, and December hadn’t even begun. A Lord of Misrule had been appointed for every Inn of the Court in London, for every wealthy nobleman’s house, and at the Tudor court itself. When Angel’s birthday came as well it seemed as if every day was a feast or a festival of some kind with good food, wine, and merriment of every description.

Since it was to be the first Christmas that the two newly wedded couples had ever celebrated together it was decided that Christmas EVe would be held at Greenwood, and on Christmas Day they would adjourn across the garden to Lynmouth House. The servants employed at Greenwood decorated the house joyously, for it had been many years since one of the family had been in residence on this holiday. Some of the retainers had been there since the time when Skye had lived at Greenwood, others were their children. Happily they
had hung the holly and the ivy, the bay and the laurel, in the hall of Greenwood.

The Yule log had been sent from
Queen’s Malvern
, but Velvet and Alex’s invitation to Dame Cecily had been refused, for, she claimed, she was too old to make the trip, and, besides, her joints would ache with the damp cold from the river.

Velvet thought differently. She is a sentimental old lady. She wants us to have our first Christmas together by ourselves and, besides, I suspect she doesn’t want to leave the servants alone without their Christmas, for the holidays at
Queen’s Malvern
have always been celebrated gaily.

The Yule log was dragged into the hall by the male servants, but even some of the women came boldly forward to help. The fireplace was banked in greens, and upon the mantel great candles in enormous silver holders flickered at their mates on the sideboards and tables. The log was pushed and pulled with much good-natured groaning and grunting into the center of the room. Then each member of the household, master and servants all, were invited to sit on it while singing a song to ward off any evil spirits that would prevent the log from burning. When each person in the room from Alex down to the little potboy had had a turn, ale was served to everyone and they toasted a merry Christmas along with a happy New Year.

The log was then rolled into the great fireplace, and the kindling carefully set about it. Alex took a brand and, handing it to Velvet, said, “ ’Tis yer house, madame. A woman is keeper of the hearth and home. It is therefore up to ye to light our first Christmas fire.” Their eyes met and in his she could already see a fire burning.

Taking the brand from him, she smiled a slow smile. “May it be the first of many fires, my lord!” And then she thrust the brand into the kindling where it caught with a sharp snap.

Within minutes the Yule log was crackling brightly, and as the first orange flames shot up the chimney, the doors to Greenwood were opened to all who would come to share Christmas Eve with the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn. Yule dough and cakes, and bowls of steaming hot frumenty swimming in creamy milk and sweetened with a sugar loaf were served. Musicians hired for the celebration began to play upon pipe and reed, drum and tabor, and soon everyone was singing carols. It was one of the few times of the year that master and servant sat at the same board and ate and drank together.

Curiosity had brought a number of the villagers from Chiswick-on-Strand into Greenwood’s hall that night. They well remembered Velvet’s generous mother and were eager
to see her daughter and to find out if that generosity had been passed on to the child.

Velvet did not disappoint them. The men were all presented with a purse containing six silver pieces; the women with a colorful bolt of cloth; and the children with little bags of brightly colored sugar candy. The poor who entered the hall that night all departed with full bellies, warm cloaks and slippers, and a purse apiece. The health of the lord and lady of Greenwood was drunk again and again.

At midnight the church bells all over England began to ring, a symbol to the devil that Christ was born and Satan was vanquished.

It had been a long evening. The villagers departed to their homes and the servants to their beds for a short rest before they must be up again to see to the running of the house. The two young couples walked through the gardens that separated Greenwood from Lynmouth House. Velvet, Robin, and Alex each carried in their arms one of Robin’s little daughters who had been brought up from Devon for the holiday season. Since it was not advisable that Angel travel in her condition, she had sent for her three young stepdaughters rather than leave them alone in the care of the servants at
Lynmouth Castle.

Angel was proving to be a doting mother. She remembered too well her own motherless childhood, and she intended that Elsbeth, Cecily, and Catherine should have a loving and caring mother in her. This new side of her sister-in-law was proving to be a revelation to Velvet, for she herself felt no such maternal longings. In time she and Alex would have children, and she would love them, but not yet.

On the terrace of Lynmouth House servants materialized to take the children, and Velvet and Alex bid Angel and Robin a good night.

As they walked back across the garden, their hands entwined, Alex spoke with longing. “They’re bonny wee lasses, aren’t they?”

“Aye,” she answered him, for there was no doubt her nieces were pretty children.

He stopped just past their side of the low wall with its little wicket gate and, pulling her into his arms, murmured against her mouth, “Are ye certain ye’re not wi’ child yet, lovey?” Then his lips brushed her brow.

“Aye, Alex. Not yet. With some ’tis quick, and with others it takes time,” she said feeling just the tiniest twinge of guilt for she knew well that there would be no babes just yet.

Just before the wedding ceremony at
Queen’s Malvern
Daisy had spoken to her in private, and although at first her words had shocked Velvet, she had listened, fascinated.

For the first time in many years Daisy had felt at a loss as to whether or not she was doing the right thing, but thinking how upset her Mistress Skye would be upon learning of her daughter’s marriage, she decided a grandchild in addition would be far too much to tolerate, and so she spoke out. “I know that this is something that your mama would tell you if she were here,” she began, “but she ain’t, and so I feel it my duty to do so. Years ago your Aunt Eiblin, your mother’s sister that’s the doctoring nun in Ireland, gave your mama the recipe for a potion that prevents you from having babes. I know you ain’t too happy about this marriage—not that you don’t love the earl,” she hastily amended, “but I know you hoped to wait until your parents returned. I know you also wanted to be courted like a princess in a story, and I know you’re far too young to be a mother right now even though your mama had your brother, Ewan, at sixteen. She was too young herself, and many’s the time she’s said it, though she’d not wish Master Ewan away.” Daisy held out a small crystal goblet. “Drink it,” she said, “and you’ll be safe this night.” Then she pulled back her hand. “You’re not already with child, are you?”

“Nay,” said Velvet, her eyes round with surprise.

“Then drink this,” replied Daisy, holding the goblet out again. “I’ve a vial of it already made up for you and I’ve entrusted the recipe to Pansy with careful instructions. As long as you don’t want babes, take it daily and you’ll be safe. When you’re ready to start your family, stop the potion and let nature take its course.”

“Would Père Jean-Paul approve?” Velvet queried nervously. “I cannot think it is permitted by the holy church.”

“Father Jean-Paul is a good man, but he’s never borne a babe, nor is he likely to. Remember this potion was given your mama by her own sister, a holy woman. Would the good nun go against God’s law, child?” Daisy counted on Velvet’s innocence to win her over. If Mistress Skye disapproved when she returned, it was Pansy who had the recipe, not Velvet, and on her mother’s orders Pansy would destroy the formula.

For only the briefest moment Velvet hesitated. She wanted children, but not so quickly like Angel. Marriage to Alex could be delightful if only she could be sure there would be no baby right away. So she reached out and, taking the little goblet from Daisy, drained it. Each day since then she had taken a small dose of the golden-green potion that smelled of angelica,
and it had obviously worked, for her monthly flows came regularly.

“I want to put a bairn in yer belly,” Alex Whispered. “When I see how rich with life Angel is, and Rob’s three wee girlies, I ache for a child of our own.”

“ ’Twill be in God’s own good time, my lord,” she answered, hoping her guilt did not show. Dammit, must he harp so on babies?

“Aye, in God’s own good time, but think of the fun we will have in the meantime trying to execute the Lord’s will,” he teased her, and Velvet giggled.

“Fie, my lord! Do not be sacrilegious!” she scolded him, but he heard the laughter in her voice. While she spoke she surreptitiously scooped up a handful of snow from the stone balustrade that flanked the steps to the terrace of Greenwood, and, whirling about, she pelted him with a downy snowball.

With a roar of mock outrage he fought back, pulling her back down the steps and chasing her through the garden. With a shriek, Velvet fled him, stopping every few seconds to toss handfuls of snow at him. They raced about the garden like a pair of unruly children until, attempting to make a run for the steps to the house, Velvet was caught and pulled down into the snow by her husband, who rolled her onto her back and tickled her until, giggling uncontrollably, she begged him to stop.

“Stop? Impudent wench, ye deserve much more punishment for this disrespect of yer lord and master!” Straddling her, he bent to kiss her, but Velvet turned her head aside.

“Master?” She pretended outrage. “Master, is it? Are we back to horses and dogs again? Which am I, pray, sir?”

“A kitten!” he answered quickly. “A hissing, spitting, ferocious kitten!”

“Meooow! Fssst! Kittens respond best to warmth and affection.” Her emerald eyes sparkled mischievously.

“Indeed, madame?” Swinging himself off her, he pulled her up. “Then let me take this small, bedraggled kitten into the house,” he murmured. “Into my bed to cuddle it and make it more amenable.”

She shook her skirts free of the snow. “Purrrr!” she responded, and then she darted away from him and up the steps into the house.

With a burst of laughter he was after her, chasing her through the library, into the main hall of Greenwood, up the stairs, and down the passageway to their apartments. They burst into the rooms, startling Pansy, who had been dozing
by the anteroom fire. Seated by her side upon the floor, his head in her lap, was Dugald, who leaped to his feet.

“M’lord! M’lady!” He poked at the sleepy Pansy, hissing, “Get up, lass!”

Bleary-eyed, Pansy stumbled to her feet, and Velvet realized the lateness of the hour. “Just undo me, Pansy,” she said, “and then find your own bed.”

Pansy nodded but said, “I’ll put your gown away, m’lady. ’Twill only take a minute.” She followed her mistress into her bedchamber.

The gown removed, Velvet stood in her silken undergarments thinking dreamily back on the lovely evening. Pansy fumbled at her neck and removed first her necklace and then her earbobs. Clutching the gown and the jewelry, she departed for the dressing room, to return a few moments later.

“Good night, m’lady,” she said, bobbing a curtsy, “and a Merry Christmas to you!”

“Merry Christmas, Pansy!” came Velvet’s reply. The door shut behind the young tiring woman, and slowly Velvet began to remove her petticoats, underblouse, shoes, and stockings, which she flung upon a chair. Naked, she walked to the small silver ewer holding the warm water that Pansy had prepared and, taking up a little cake of fragrant soap, washed her face and hands and then rinsed her teeth. In the bedroom fireplace the red-orange flames crackled sharply as a log slipped in the grate, sending up a shower of golden sparks. Velvet stretched lazily in the warmth of the room.

“Jesu, ye’re beautiful!” Alex stood in the doorway that connected their two bedchambers. “I never tire of seeing ye this way, as God has created ye. Yer creamy skin, yer eyes, yer hair! ’Tis all pure perfection, lovey.” He moved up behind her and, sliding his hands around her, cupped her breasts in his two hands.

The pier glass was before them, and, fascinated, Velvet watched as he caressed her. Her breasts were in perfect proportion to her size, yet as she watched him play with her it seemed as if his big hands made her appear smaller. Her nipples began to tingle with sharp sensations and shriveled into tight little love knots. The rounds of her breasts swelled under his soft, mesmerizing touch.

Velvet sighed deeply and said softly, “Don’t stop, my love. I adore it when you touch me so!”

He smiled at her over her shoulder in the glass. “I’m glad ye’re not one of those icy wenches who undresses in the dark and must have all the candles out,” he said. “I love to pet
my kitten and see her purr with pleasure.” He bent his head and dropped a kiss on her smooth shoulder.