This Heart of Mine (91 page)

V
elvet’s prayer had been echoed in Alex’s heart a thousand times daily since he had learned of her kidnapping. Unable to gain anything of real value from Ranald Torc, he had returned to Broc Ailien where he sought out Jean Lawrie at her cottage. Her husband, Angus Lawrie, had been one of the six men with Velvet on the day of her kidnapping. Like his companions, he had been ruthlessly cut down by Ranald Torc’s outlaws. The others had been young, unmarried, and untried men left behind due to their lack of experience because the mission to
Huntley
had held more danger than guarding the countess when she rode out. He had first visited the families of the other five paying them an indemnity for their loss, thankful there were no widowed mothers or single-son families amongst them. His visit to Jean Lawrie, however, was much harder, for he had known her since childhood when they had played together like brother and sister. Angus Lawrie had been her one and only love, and he had been, Alex thought with regret, a good man.

For several long moments he held his old friend in a close embrace and then said, “There is nae time now, Jeannie, but I promise ye that Ranald Torc will pay for Angus’s death, and he will pay dearly. He owes us both a large debt.”

She nodded, her eyes swollen from hours of weeping and worrying about her three children, now fatherless. “What of her ladyship, Alex?”

“She seems to hae disappeared off the face of the earth, Jeannie. I’m off to England tomorrow to her parents’ home. Perhaps she fled there wi’ Pansy. Dugald is as frantic as I am, and even Morag has expressed worry.”

“Aye,” said Jean, “ ’tis very possible that she fled to her mother’s house. ’Tis the natural thought of a young woman carrying her first bairn. Ye’ll find her at her mother’s right enough!”

“I hope so, Jeannie,” said Alex feverently, “but now I want to speak wi’ ye about yer future and that of yer bairns. This
cottage is yers now, whatever ye decide. I’d like ye to come up to the castle and be nurse to Sibby and to the bairn Velvet will bear in the spring. Yer children can be brought up wi’ mine, even given an education if they show an aptitude for it. Can ye care for Sibby knowing that her mother is Ranald Torc’s wife?”

“Och!” said Jean Lawrie. “The little lass is nae responsible for who her mother is. Will her ladyship allow the bairn in the castle, however?”

“Aye,” he said. “Ranald Torc told me that she had already fought wi’ Alanna about it, saying she would raise Sibby as her own, and that she’d set the dogs on Alanna if she ever showed her face at
Dun Broc
again. She has a bonny spirit, my lass!”

“Go south to England, Alex, and bring yer wife home,” said Jean Lawrie, patting his arm comfortingly.

Giving her a hug, the Earl of BrocCairn did just that, traveling swiftly with Dugald and but a dozen men-at-arms. Reaching
Queen’s Malvern
in record time, the first person he saw was his mother-in-law.

Surprise was written all over Skye’s face as Alex and his men rode up the drive. She had just returned from a long ride with Adam, who had taken their horses to the stable. “Alex! Where is Velvet? Isn’t she with you?”

He felt his heart sink, and he slid from his mount to take her hand. “Madame,” he said, “I had hoped that you could tell me where Velvet is.”

“What?”
Skye’s blood ran cold in her veins.

“Velvet was kidnapped several weeks ago and taken to Leith. She managed to escape her kidnappers, but we have not be able to find her. She’s disappeared entirely. I had hoped she had come to you.”

“Who in hell kidnapped her?” Adam de Marisco had come from the stables in time to hear his son-in-law’s brief explanation.

“Please, Adam!” Skye put a restraining hand on her angry husband’s arm. “Let us go into the house and hear Alex’s explanation. Can you not see how worried he is?” She led her husband, Alex, and Dugald into the library to settle them down with goblets of dark red wine, all the while moving as if in a dream, though none of the men noticed it. Velvet was her baby, perhaps the dearest of her children, if a mother who has borne eight children can have a favorite. They waited tensely until she had joined them, and then Alex began his tale.

When he had finished, Adam exploded with rage. “You
entertained James Stewart’s sworn enemy in your house, you damned fool? What in hell ever possessed you to consort with a traitor? If anything has happened to my daughter, my lord, I’ll settle with you myself!”

“Lord Bothwell is nae a traitor, Adam!” rejoined Alex. “None of us can help it that the king is and always has been both envious and afraid of Francis. Oh, ’tis true that Francis sometimes deliberately bedevils Jamie, but it has always been that way between them, and a more loyal subject James Stewart never had than his cousin, Francis Stewart-Hepburn!”

“Where did you look in Leith?” Skye interrupted, finally beginning to regain her wits.

“Where could we look, Skye? She was gone from the lodging. There was no place else.”

“Leith is a port, Alex. Did it ever occur to you that she might have taken passage on a ship?” Skye asked.

“But why?” he said, surprised.

“I don’t know why, Alex. We will have to find Velvet to learn that, but if she did, then she had a very good explanation, you may be sure, unless you are not telling me everything. Were you both happy? Truly happy? Or did you still hold her responsible for the separation that you both suffered?”

“Nay, madame!” he cried. “We had long reconciled our differences. We were both happy. She loved
Dun Broc
, and everyone there loved her.”

“Aye,” chimed in Dugald. “The countess is beloved by our people, for she is kind and loving. She had nae enemies but for the English whore.”

“Your …” Skye hesitated.
“That woman
, the silversmith’s daughter, was still in the castle?” Her look was one of outrage.

“I hae not been involved with Alanna Wythe for three years,” Alex said quietly. “When Velvet was to return, Alanna was yet living at
Dun Broc
although I had not slept wi’ her for many months. I offered to send her back to London or to gie her a cottage in Broc Ailien. I dinna expect her to stay, for she hated Scotland, or so she claimed. When she took the cottage, I could not go back on my word. She was naught to Velvet but a nuisance, but that is all, I swear it!”

“She had your child,” said Skye quietly.

“Aye, she did, and I will always care for the little lass,” Alex answered honestly, “but Sibby is my bastard. The child Velvet carries is my heir.”

“Velvet is with child?” Both Skye and Adam spoke in unison.
“The bairn is due in early spring as near as Velvet could decide. Had she not written ye? But nay. She wouldna had the time, would she?”

“If my daughter was happy with you,” said Skye, “then I cannot understand why she has left you, but before we can know for sure we must find her. I will send one of my own people to Leith. They will know the questions to ask and the places to ask them, Alex. Will you stay with us until we know something? If Velvet returns to
Dun Broc
on her own, your people will send for you.”

“Aye,” he answered her gratefully, “I’ll stay, Skye, and I thank ye.”

“My poor child, alone and friendless,” muttered Adam.

“She isna alone!” snapped Dugald. “My wife is wi’ her, and Pansy practically due again of a bairn. Yer daughter has the damndest sense of timing, if ye’11 excuse me, m’lord, for each time my wife is to gie me a bairn, off goes m’lady, and Pansy wi’ her!”

Skye couldn’t help but laugh, and even Adam and Alex were forced to smile. “I’m sure that Velvet doesn’t do it deliberately, Dugald,” Skye said.

Dugald sniffed, sounding as if he wasn’t too convinced.

“Will you go and explain this all to Daisy?” asked Skye of Alex’s man. “She’ll know you’re here and will be anxious for word of her daughter.”

“Thank ye, m’lady, and I will,” said Dugald, rising from the bench where he had been sitting and hurrying from the room.

“It is too late in the day,” Skye said, “to send my messenger out now, but he shall have his instructions tonight and leave in the morning for Leith.”

“I’ll send my men wi’ him,” replied Alex. “They can help him through any rough spots once he’s over the border.”

Adam de Marisco said nothing. Rather, he slouched in his big chair, his large hand gripping his goblet tightly, his eyes smoldering with anger. He was regretting ever having given his precious daughter to this Scot, for her life had been one crisis after another since the day Alex Gordon had come into it. All Adam wanted was for her to be happy. Why was it, he thought, that parents having learned from their own mistakes, could not make life perfection for their children? The autumn was almost over. Winter was near. Was Velvet safe? Was she warm and decently clothed? Was she hungry or thirsty? A thousand unanswered questions plagued Adam, and for the time being it appeared that there were no answers.

* * *

Upon his return to
Chenonceaux
, Henri de Navarre had smiled mysteriously at the jovial teasing of his hunting companions. Had he been successful in his hunt? they asked. Had he managed in one night to bring the pretty auburn doe to ground? Henri said nothing, but his gentlemen, many of whom had been close friends since his youth, knew that the king’s look of satisfaction meant that he had gotten precisely what he wanted. They genuinely admired his great capacity for loving women, and they equally envied his tremendous success with the fairer sex, which strangely had little to do with his rank. When he had been a carefree boy in Navarre running barefoot like a goat over the hillsides, there wasn’t a woman he couldn’t have. So they teased him good-naturedly, and though he said nothing, they knew his night had been a far pleasanter one than theirs.

Now the king called his close friend, Robert, the Marquis de la Victoire, to him and instructed him to engage the Scots ambassador in conversation and told him what to say to him. The matter was to be one held in the strictest secrecy. The ambassador was not to know why the king was interested in the Countess of BrocCairn, or even that it was the king who was interested. And it was important that the information be extracted as quickly as possible.

The marquis, an old friend of Navarre’s, asked no questions himself, but rather he did as he was bid, and, to the king’s surprise, the answers he sought were quickly forthcoming.

“The Earl of BrocCairn is a cousin of the king’s,” said the marquis. “He lives in a castle in the Highlands. He is a Gordon by blood, but a small lordling. His wife is said to be a young Englishwoman, but the ambassador does not know either of them.”

“That is all?” the king said.

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“And what of my old friend François Stewart-Hepburn, Robert?”

“Ah, now that is a different story. Although the king has outlawed him and taken everything from him, he remains at his Border stronghold with, it is rumored, his mistress, a beautiful Scots noblewoman. The king fumes but is helpless to march on Lord Bothwell, for none of his earls will support him in this matter, and the common people adore the man. There the affair stands. The Earl of Bothwell cannot be caught, and the king will not make his peace with him though even the Scots ambassador admits that the earl is a loyal servant
of James Stewart, and is very anxious to settle their differences.”

“And nowhere in this situation is the Countess of BrocCairn mentioned?” demanded the king. “You are absolutely certain she is not involved in this tangle?”

“Monseigneur, I am as certain as I can be without asking the ambassador directly. He is a plain-spoken man, and we are friends. I helped him only recently with a rather delicate matter involving a lady of circumstance who had taken his fancy; but, alas, the ambassador’s French is not of the courting variety. I interceded for him, and when the lady saw that the language this diplomat spoke was a universal one, she agreed to tutor him herself.

“I did ask him if the BrocCairns were involved with Lord Bothwell, saying that I had heard they were cousins. The ambassador laughed and said that most of the nobility are cousins of one degree or another in Scotland, thanks to James V, but that to his knowledge BrocCairn is a king’s man even to the extent of taking an English wife so that he may one day follow James Stewart into England when he comes into his inheritance.”

Henri nodded, satisfied, and dismissed the marquis. The lovely Velvet’s fears were groundless. If at one point James Stewart had intended to use her as a pawn to bring Lord Bothwell down, that time was past and she was safe. He contemplated returning to
Belle Fleurs
and bringing her the news himself, but he quickly cast that thought aside. He did not really have the time, and, besides, if he saw her again, he would want to make love to her again, for she had been a most delicious armful. Velvet had been gracious enough to admit to his skill as a lover, to admit that she had taken pleasure from their coupling; but he knew that with the pleasure she had felt guilt as well, though she had yielded to him without complaint. The king would keep his promise to her and send for her husband, though the Earl of BrocCairn should never know from whence his summons had come.