This Heart of Mine (92 page)

In the night, that heavenly night he had spent in the silken arms of the Countess of BrocCairn, she had told the king of her home, the place in which she had grown up, a manor called
Queen’s Malvern
, near the town of Worcester. She had spoken also of her home in Scotland, a castle with the improbable name of
Dun Broc.
He would send agents with messages to both places. If the earl was at neither abode, then he would simply have to search for him. A royal promise was a royal promise. Then he smiled to himself. The promise was not
royal. It was the promise of Henri de Navarre. Calling his secretary to him, he dictated his instructions, including a simple message that he believed the earl would understand, but if the Scots ambassador had played him false and the message fell into the wrong hands, it would not be easily deciphered by anyone else.

At
Queen’s Malvern
Christmas was bleak despite the presence of Skye and Adam’s large family, who had descended upon them once more despite Skye’s wish to be alone.

“You must not fall into the doldrums over Velvet’s latest misadventure, Mama,” scolded Willow, the Countess of Alcester.

“What Willow means, Mama …” began gentle Deirdre in an attempt to soften her elder sister’s sharp tone.

“I am well aware of what Willow means!” exploded Skye. Then she rounded on her oldest daughter. “Do not talk down to me, madame! I have not reached my dotage yet. I have only just celebrated my fifty-first birthday. I have no need for wooden teeth, a wig, or a cane, and your stepfather and I yet make rather passionate love regularly!”

“Mama!”
shrieked Willow, turning beet red.

Deirdre, however, could not help giggling at her mother’s outrage, and Angel, far bolder, laughed outright at Willow’s mortification. The men in the family were grinning openly, although Adam had only a hint of a smile about his lips.

“Please, Willow,” continued Skye, “don’t be the matriarch with me. That is my place now, though your time will come one day, I am certain. I requested privacy this holiday season because, my dear daughter, I am exhausted and worried sick over Velvet. As for Adam and Alex, neither has slept more than two or three hours a night in the last two months. Your motives are good, but your timing is deplorable. This is my house, Willow. Not yours. It is my place to invite guests, not yours.”

“I only meant to make you happy, Mama,” said Willow, very contrite.

“I know you did,” said her mother with a deep sigh, “but will you please go home tomorrow?”

Willow nodded. “I thought the children would please you.”

“They did,” said Skye, softening. Dear Heaven, what would this proper English born-and-bred countess think if she knew that her deceased father had been known as the “Great Whoremaster of Algiers,” thought Skye. She wanted to laugh, but she dared not, for she would have to explain her laughter,
and Willow, overproud though good-hearted, would not like the explanation at all.

Robin put an arm about his mother. “Angel and I have to return to London anyway to oversee the preparations for the Twelfth Night masque. Come with us, Mama. You would enjoy seeing the queen, and she you. So many of her old friends have died lately. Walsingham last year, and Hatton this.”

“She will outlive them all,” said Skye. “Even that old spider, Cecil.”

“Probably,” agreed Robin, “but will you come?”

“Nay, love. If Velvet wants to get in touch with us, she will send to
Dun Broc
or
Queen’s Malvern.
We must be here.”

They departed the next day: the Earl and Countess of Alcester and their six children; Joan Southwood O’Flaherty and her five children; the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth and their brood of five; Lord and Lady Blackthorn and their three. Skye’s oldest child and his family were on their estates in Ireland. It was unwise for the Irish gentry to leave their lands, for many returned to find they no longer possessed those lands. As for Padraic, Lord Burke of
Clearfields Manor
, he was at sea with his elder half brother, Captain Murrough O’Flaherty, for Skye had thought it was time that Niall Burke’s only son have some experiences other than the quiet life he led on his small estate in Devon. And Velvet. Where was Velvet this Christmas season? Before Skye could dwell too deeply on this great worry, however, Daisy hurried into the hall where Skye sat before the fire enjoying the renewed quiet.

“A message for Lord Gordon, m’lady. Do you know where he be?”

“Here, Daisy,” said Alex from the depths of the settle on the other side of the fireplace. “Who brought it?”

“I don’t know, my lord. One of the stableboys brought it to the kitchen door. He said a stranger gave him a penny to deliver it to the house.”

Skye sat up in her chair. “A stranger?”

“A man on horseback with a funny accent, the boy said, but you know that to these local lads any speech other than Worcester bred sounds foreign.” Daisy handed the message to Alex.

“What does it say?” Skye demanded eagerly as Alex broke the thick wax seal and opened the heavy parchment to scan it quickly.

“I’m nae sure I understand it, Skye, for ’tis but one sentence.”

“What does it say?”
Skye had now risen from her seat.

“It says,” Alex read slowly,
“ ‘The treasure that you seek is at Belle Fleurs,’
but I dinna know what it means.”

To his surprise Skye cried out, “Thank God! Thank God! Our prayers have been answered! Velvet is at
Belle Fleurs
, Alex! Velvet is safe in France at our chateau!
Belle Fleurs
is our home in the Loire. Velvet is the treasure! Who has signed the message?”

“There is no signature,” he answered her, stunned. “Ye’re sure that is what the message means?”

“Yes! Yes! It can mean nothing else, my dear Alex! Do you recognize the seal on the parchment?”

Turning the letter over, he looked down at the red wax, which was imprinted only with an N. “Nay,” he said, handing it to her.

Skye looked down at the seal, but it was not familiar to her either. Clutching the message in her hand, she said, “We are going to France, Alex! I must find Adam! We are going to France!”

They sailed from Dover four days later bound for the port of Calais. Neither Skye nor Adam chose to chance an early January storm in the winter seas by sailing all the way to Nantes. They took with them their own coach with all its elegant comforts, but the horses would be waiting for them after their short passage in Calais and at various posting places along their route from the coast into the Loire. They skirted Paris, for the civil war yet raged within the city.

“It will not be long,” Skye promised. “Just a few more days, Alex!”

Adam squeezed his wife’s hand tightly. “We will be there by Twelfth Night with luck, and providing it doesn’t snow!”

Alex said nothing. His heart was beating too quickly. Why had Velvet fled to France instead of returning home to
Dun Broc
when she had escaped Ian’s clutches? Now he began to worry. Did she still love him, or had her weeks in captivity made her think twice about raising a child in such a wild land as Scotland? Knowing of his mother-in-law’s ferocity with regard to her children’s welfare, he expected Velvet to be no less fierce. Had she not threatened Alanna with bodily harm for being a bad mother to his bastard? Had she not said she would raise Sibby herself rather than allow Alanna to have the bairn back? That, however, was before she had fled. What
had frightened her? The best Twelfth Night gift, he thought to himself, would be his reunion with his wife.

On Twelfth Night Velvet planned a small celebration for her little household. She even had gifts for them all, having raided the storeroom of the chateau. For old Mignon she had found a silver broach, which she had personally polished, removing years of black tarnish to reveal an engraving of raised flowers, each with a tiny ruby in its center. For Guillaume she had cut silver buckles off a pair of her father’s old boots and polished them knowing that he would enjoy them greatly. For young Matthieu there was a puppy, for to everyone’s surprise the old bitch in the kennels had given birth to a litter of two in mid-November. The boy had coveted a puppy, but dogs of breeding were usually reserved for the nobility. Since, however, the puppy’s paternity was dubious, Velvet could see no harm in giving one to the lad. For Pansy, however, the best gift was saved. Velvet had been wearing a small pearl ring when they had been kidnapped. This she planned to present to her faithful tiring woman.

Mignon had prepared a little feast. There was a larded duck, a rabbit pie, and a small pink ham placed upon the sideboard along with a bowl of tiny white onions, a platter of mussels with Dijon mustard, artichokes that had been braised in white wine, a fat loaf of fresh bread, a crock of salted butter, and a hard yellow cheese. Velvet had insisted that Mignon and Guillaume eat with her on this occasion, and Mignon had accepted for her family with one provision. Matthieu would serve them, for his manners were not delicate enough to be seen at her ladyship’s table.

The little hall had been trimmed with greenery, the fires burned merrily, and they were sitting down to their meal when the sound of a horse was heard outside. Old Guillaume hobbled to the door, opening it to admit the king.

“Ah,
chèrie
, you are ready to eat, and I am starving!” He kissed her heartily on both cheeks, holding her away from him to gaze at her. “Ah.” He smiled warmly. “The little one is now showing! You are well?”

“Yes, monseigneur, I am very well.” She looked helplessly at her servants, but the king quickly ascertained the cause of her distress.

“Sit,
mes amis!”
he commanded them. “Your mistress planned to share this meal with you, and now with your permission I will join you also. Madame Mignon! You have prepared another veritable feast. Your pretty mistress thinks I
have come to see her, but you will note that I have arrived at the dinner hour! Who do you think I really came to see, eh?” He laughed uproariously.

Within minutes he had them all at their ease, though young Matthieu was goggle-eyed at serving the king. To his grandparents’ nods of approval he did himself proud, so much so that Guillaume later promised to speak to the Comte de Cher about a place as a footman for the boy.

“What are you doing here?” asked Velvet as they ate.

“I came to wish Queen Louise a happy New Year,” said the king. I am at
Chenonceaux
but one night. I also wanted you to know that my investigations of your difficulties reveal that if you had any cause for fear, it is now gone. I do not believe that your captor ever reached the chancellor, Maitland. I have sent word to both your home in Scotland and your parents’ home in England on the chance that your husband is there, that you were to be found at
Belle Fleurs.
My agents have not yet said if the messages were delivered, but then they have not said that they were not. I suspect you will hear from your husband long before I hear from my messengers,
chèrie!”

Velvet could feel the relief wash over her. “I can go home!” she said, and the smile on her face was the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

“You cannot travel in your state,
chèrie.
You will have to wait for your husband to come to you. He would not thank you if you endangered either yourself or the child.”

“How can I thank you?” Velvet said with genuine feeling.

“You did,” he said softly, so that only she could hear, “and most magnificently, madame la comtesse. It will be a long time before I forget that stormy night in November. I did not even plan to see you again, for I did not see how I could and not desire you. I am weak where women are concerned, however, and being so near at
Chenonceaux
it was impossible to spend the evening with Queen Louise, her carp, and boiled vegetables when you were nearby.”

Before Velvet could answer the king, however, there came the sounds of a coach outside. “Who can that be?” she wondered out loud as Guillaume haltingly hurried to open the door again.

“Madame!” Velvet heard him say. “Welcome home!”

She leaped to her feet as her mother came into the hall. “Mama!”

Skye caught her daughter in a fervent embrace. “Oh, my
darling child! You have had us all so terribly, terribly worried!”

“Alex?” Velvet begged. “Is he with you?”

The king looked past the women to see the two men who had entered the hall. The elder he assumed was Velvet’s father, the younger her husband. Skye released her daughter and stepped aside. For a long moment no one in the hall moved. It was as if they had been frozen in time. The Earl and Countess of BrocCairn had eyes for no one but each other, and the deep, passionate look that passed between them told Henri de Navarre that they were that most fortunate of married couples—one who loved each other. Then suddenly they moved toward one another: Velvet, a trifle ungainly, running; Alex closing the space between them in several long leaps, catching his wife into a fierce embrace, his mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss that left her somewhat speechless.

His amber eyes blazed down into her face. “Why did ye leave me, lass?” he said. “Why didn’t ye come home to
Dun Broc
when ye escaped from Ian?”

She clung to him, weakened by his embrace, her heart pounding wildly. “I fought with Ian that day, and he slammed from the rooms where we were held captive saying that he was going immediately to Maitland and would turn me over to the king that very day. When Pansy and I realized that we were alone, we escaped. I didn’t dare go home to
Dun Broc
for fear that the king would find me and use me to entrap Francis. I would have sooner died than been the cause of his downfall! I didn’t dare go to my parents for the same reason. I feared the king would send to England for me. The only place that I knew Jamie wouldn’t think to look for me was here at
Belle Fleurs
, Alex, and once I was here I couldn’t even send you word that I was safe for fear my message would be intercepted; that the king would prevail upon his French allies to return me to Scotland. I could only wait and hope that James and Francis would resolve their differences so that I might return to you.”