This Heart of Mine (4 page)

Ian Grant looked mightily uncomfortable, as Alex had known he would. Alex often wondered what it was about him that bound his ambitious sister to this rather cowardly fellow. He shrugged.

Annabella glared at her brother, and he smiled back at her. She was a pretty woman with dark brown hair and sharp gray-blue eyes. In face, form, and coloring she reminded him of their mother though she had not their mother’s sweetness of
nature. “So,” she said archly, “so yer off to claim yer bride. I can only hope the lass is willing, brother dear.”

“Willing?”
He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “She’s betrothed to me, Bella. Her father is willing, and that is the important thing. The lass has no choice in this matter.”

His sister began to laugh softly. “Oh, Alex,” she said to him, “how much ye’ve got to learn. How the lass feels is most important. This is the sixteenth century, brother! She may be betrothed to ye, but if she’s nae willing …” Bella laughed again. “What’s her name?” she asked.

“Velvet,” he replied, still puzzled by his sister’s laughter as well as her mocking words.

“Velvet,” repeated Bella. “ ’Tis a soft cloth, a most biddable fabric. I can only hope yer lass is the same, brother.”

“What is it ye hint at, sister?” he demanded irritably.

“I don’t hint, Alex, I say it plainly. Ye know nothing of women!
Nothing at all!”

“Christ’s bloody bones, woman!” he exploded at her, and Ian Grant sat back so hard he came near to tipping his chair over. “Christ! I bedded my first wench when I was barely twelve! Not know women, indeed! Ye’re daft, Bella! Pure daft!”

“Oh, ye know how to bed a lass, ’tis true, Alex,” she shouted back at him, “but bedding a woman and knowing how to love one are two very different things! I just hope that yer Velvet is a patient lass and can teach ye that!” Bella stood up, her dark skirts swirling about her legs. “Come, Ian! We’ve a great deal of packing to do over the next few days!” Then she strode from the room, her husband following quickly in her wake.

With an impatient snort, Alex got up and stamped from the hall. Behind him the servants smiled conspiratorily at each other. They could barely wait to spread the news that the young earl was going to get married at long, long last. Oh, they, too, might have wished the bride to be a good Scots lass, but then new blood was always good for an old family like the
Gordons of Dun Broc.
Still, there would be many a broken heart in the district, for Alexander Gordon had always been generous with his favors as the many bairns with Gordon features attested to. The servants wondered if he’d continue that custom or if he’d be true to his wife. Only time would tell, but none of them thought that the earl was the sort of man to confine himself to one woman.

Alex hurried to his library to open the box containing the miniatures. He was eager to see what the girl looked like.
Though he had been bold in his speech to Annabella with regard to marrying the little English lass, what did he actually know about her? And whose fault was that, for he’d not given the child a thought in ten years’ time. It discomfited him to realize that he was nervous. He hoped that the miniatures would give him some small advantage.

With clumsy fingers he yanked the lid open to reveal a tray lined in heavy black silk and fitted with oval indentations. Within each oval was a small miniature enclosed in a gilt frame. He picked up the first of the tiny paintings and, turning it over, saw written upon its back the words:
Velvet de Marisco, aged 5, 1578 A.D.
Turning the miniature back over, he stared at the child’s face. It was an adorable one, still baby-round, with dimples at either corner of the mouth.

Alex smiled suddenly, remembering how the child had shyly hidden behind her beautiful mother’s skirts until he had lured her out to sit upon his lap, his bait a fat sugarplum. She had thanked him in a soft, lisping voice, her eyes round and curious, before slipping from his knee and hurrying back to her mother. Later, however, he remembered seeing her playing with her cousins, ruling them all with a mixture of charm and temper, stamping her little kid-shod feet, her curls flying. A curious little minx, he had thought, amused.

Returning the miniature to its place, he picked up the next one in line and read the legend on the back.
Velvet de Marisco, aged 6, 1579 A.D.
The tiny paintings were obviously arranged by Velvet’s age and the year. The last miniature in the top tray showed Velvet at age nine, and it was here he could note the beginning of a difference. The infant plumpness was fully gone from her face, and her hair, which had been so dark when she had been a wee girl, was somewhat lighter, as were her eyes.

Alex lifted the first tray out of the box, suddenly impatient to view the last miniature, painted almost a full year ago after the girl’s fourteenth birthday. Seeing it, his mouth dropped open and he caught his breath, though not so much from surprise, for it had been obvious from the beginning that Velvet de Marisco would be a beauty. What he found so marvelous was the strong character in her face. It was a proud young face that clearly stated:
I
know who I am;
and when her natural beauty was added—the fair skin with the wild-rose cheeks, the auburn hair, the clear, unwavering green eyes—the effect was somewhat overwhelming!

What kind of a lass was this? Alex wondered. He longed
to hear her voice in speech and raised in laughter—and, he was startled to realize, in passion too. Was she educated? Was she a good rider? Did she enjoy music? He found he was anxious to know all these things and more, things that he could not even put into words yet. The correspondence between his father and Adam de Marisco had told him little, for once the two men had accomplished their goal of matching their children, they seemed to have lost interest in the entire situation. Here and there was a mention of Velvet, but not enough for Alex to learn the sort of person she might be.

He groaned to himself. Why had he not visited England since their betrothal? He might have taken the opportunity to get to know Velvet gradually, and she might even have fallen in love with him, or, at the very least, learned to like him.

Alex shook his head to clear it. The girl was betrothed to him and would be his wife whether they liked each other or not. It was proper that a father matched his daughter to suit himself, and that the daughter did her parent’s bidding unquestioningly. Once she was his wife Velvet would bear his children uncomplainingly, and do his bidding without question as she had done her father’s. That was a woman’s lot. Women needed a tight rein or else they ran wild. God only knew his sister, Annabella, was proof of that. He need have no regrets that he had neglected Velvet. It was enough they were betrothed.

Oh, he had visited Italy and France where the men often made fools of themselves over the women they loved; but that was not a Scotsman’s way. A woman was made for a man’s comfort: to bear his bairns so that his name might not die, to give him pleasure, and to warm his backside on a frosty night. His own mother had been a sweet and biddable woman who had openly adored his father and willingly done all that Angus Gordon had asked. With such an example to follow Alex wondered why Bella was so headstrong, but then that was Ian Grant’s fault. If his brother-in-law had taken a switch to Bella’s backside at the beginning of their marriage, she’d not be so forward today.

Alex didn’t intend to make that mistake with his young wife once they were wed. He didn’t actually hold with beating a woman, for he considered himself a civilized man; but he fully intended to impress upon his bride immediately at the start of their union that it was he would be master here at
Dun Broc, and
in every other aspect of their married life. He would never be ruled by his woman.

His amber-gold eyes strayed to the miniature he now held
in his hand. Damn, but she was a beauty! This latest portrait showed dark auburn curls tumbling about soft shoulders and a budding young bosom. He smiled to himself. Her beauty was just another advantage to be enjoyed. He would write to Adam de Marisco tonight and send the message south tomorrow with one of his own people. He would follow his own messenger within the next few weeks since there was no use in delaying. The lass would be fifteen on the first of May, and although at the time of the betrothal the wedding had been set for the summer of Velvet’s sixteenth year, that would now have to be changed. His father’s untimely death made it imperative that he marry immediately. He needed a son and heir now! It was past time to claim that which had been promised to him that sunny English summer of 1578. Alex smiled with self-satisfaction at the thought of the lovely girl who would soon grace his house, while about the towers of
Dun Broc
the last snowflakes of winter capered madly in the wild wind in silent celebration of what was to come.

The prospective bride was not nearly so welcoming of her proposed future. To begin with she could not even remember having a betrothed husband, since she had been so young when the match was formally made, the contracts signed, and the event celebrated. Staring at her beleaguered Uncle Conn, her mother’s youngest brother, she angrily shouted her frustration with the topsy-turvy muddle her complacent life had suddenly become when the messenger from
Dun Broc
had arrived.

“Betrothed husband?
What betrothed husband? I do not understand this at all, Uncle! I have no betrothed husband!” Velvet de Marisco looked furiously at Lord Bliss as if he were personally responsible for her high dudgeon.

Aiden St. Michael put a restraining hand on her husband’s velvet-clad arm. “Let me, Conn,” she pleaded softly.

He was openly relieved to have her take over. Velvet in a temper was far too much for him to handle.

“Velvet dearest,” said Lady Bliss quietly, “perhaps you do not remember the incident, but I want you to think back. Think hard. When you were barely five years old, your parents betrothed you to the heir of the Earl of BrocCairn. The earl was an old friend of your papa’s from his childhood, and the two of them thought it would be a wonderful thing if their families could be joined by blood. It was the summer that your grandparents came from France with practically all of your French relatives. Willow went into premature labor during the
celebration and delivered your nephew, Henry, right here at
Queen’s Malvern.
A few days later at the christening the Earl of BrocCairn was the baby’s godfather, and you were allowed to carry the holy oil. Don’t you remember? They say it was such a lovely family party!”

“Were you and Uncle Conn married then?” said Velvet. “Were you at this party?”

A shadow passed over Aiden’s face for a moment, but then smiling, she said, “Yes, Velvet, Conn and I were married then, but we were not able to come to your betrothal party. Your mother often spoke of it, however. Try and remember.”

Velvet furrowed her brow in genuine concentration. “I do remember Henry being born and carrying the oil, and that Grandmère and Grandpère were here. But, Aunt Aiden, I remember no betrothal! It cannot be true! Mama has always said that I should never marry without love!”

“I am quite sure the new earl will love you, Velvet,” said her uncle helpfully, and his wife bit her lip to prevent her laughter.

“But I may not love him!”
came the explosion. “Oh, why are Mama and Papa not here now? They have been gone over two years! They
must
come home soon, Uncle! I shall marry no one until they do! And even then I shall marry no one unless I am in love!” With a flounce of her silk skirts, Velvet stamped from the room.

“Oh, Lord.” Aiden St. Michael sighed, “Your sister Skye
would
be away. What are we to do, Conn? I don’t have to tell you what your niece is like when she sets her mind against something. Why did Adam and Skye plan such a long voyage, before Velvet was settled in her own home?”

“They didn’t
plan
the trip, my love. They were asked by Her Majesty to undertake this voyage in order to ascertain the possibility of England’s opening trade with the Grand Mughal. The Portuguese have a very strong grip on India right now, and its riches are beyond belief. Why should only the Portuguese, and the Spanish, who control them, profit? They are rich enough!”

“But why not send one of the large trading companies? Why the O’Malley-Small fleet?” Aiden was curious for she was descended from a family of London merchants.

“There were several reasons, I suspect,” Conn replied. “For one thing the O’Malley-Small shipping company is small and wealthy, but holds no official position with Her Majesty, so they won’t arouse the Portuguese’s suspicions. Also, the fact that Skye is a member of the old faith may be an advantage
since the Jesuits are strongly involved in the Portuguese colony in India and have even insinuated themselves in the Grand Mughal’s court.”

“I still don’t understand why Skye and Adam had to go. Robbie Small has been doing all the voyaging for years now.”

Conn smiled at his sweet wife. “Robbie is growing old, and my sister had been landlocked since her return to England,” he said. “Up until they came home from France, Skye always lived near the sea, but a condition of her return was that she must live here in the heartland of England. The queen, wily wench that she is, would never again allow my sister to be a threat to her. Still, when this voyage was proposed, Her Majesty insisted that Skye go. Bess must have needed her badly,” Conn chuckled.

“More than likely the queen felt such a voyage with a beautiful noblewoman in evidence wouldn’t be considered threatening by the Portuguese, or even taken seriously,” Aiden remarked wisely.

“By God, you could be right!” Conn said. “Ah, William Cecil and the queen are a clever pair. But then Skye probably knew their motives but cared not as long as she could feel a deck beneath her feet again and smell the salt breeze in her nostrils. Besides, my sister always loved a good adventure, O’Malley that she is.”

“Her absence, however,” noted Lady Bliss, “leaves us with the problem of her wayward daughter. What are we to do, Conn?”