Philippa (49 page)

Philippa, however, was determined to reach her mother as quickly as possible. She rode hard, surprising the men with her, who had not thought such a dainty lady could manage such a trip without all the fripperies necessary to a woman’s existence. One day the night caught up with them before they could reach the shelter of an inn or a religious house. They bedded down in a hayfield, sleeping in the haystacks, and there was no complaint from their mistress. At last they crossed into Cumbria, heading even further north. And then late one morning they topped a rise, and the lake lay below them while in the meadows below the vast flocks of Friarsgate browsed contentedly.

“Thank Gawd I can die in my own bed,” Lucy sighed.

“You’ll have to get down the hill first,” Philippa laughed. It was just like she remembered it. Beautiful and peaceful. She pushed her horse forward.

“Your mother may be up at Claven’s Carn,” Lucy said.

“They can fetch her easily if she is,” Philippa said in a determined voice.

But Rosamund was not in Scotland. She was at her own holding, and very surprised to see her eldest child so soon. “It’s almost a month until Banon’s wedding,” she remarked, and then she said, “Welcome home, my darling! Where is this husband of yours of whom Tom speaks so highly? Indeed he gushes so about him that Logan is determined to dislike him.” She hugged her daughter.

Nothing had changed, Philippa thought. Except for the two cradles by the hearth. She walked over to them and looked in. “My new brothers?”

“Aye. Are they not beautiful? Praise God, though they came from my womb at the same time they do not look much alike. There is a woman in our village with sons born as Tommy and Edmund were, but they are as alike as two peas in a pod.” Her eye went past her daughter. “Lucy, you look exhausted. Welcome home. And who is this fine fellow with you?”

Peter stepped forward. “I am Peter, my lady, the earl’s valet.”

Rosamund nodded. “And just why are you here, Peter, but not your master?” she asked.

“I believe that is a question that her ladyship should answer, madame,” the valet said politely, stepping back.

“Philippa?” Rosamund’s face was serious with her concern.

“I warned him if he was not back in seven days that I should start north without him, mama. There is nothing more to it than that,” Philippa answered her mother.

“And just where had your husband gone?” Rosamund persisted.

“To Hampton Court. The cardinal wished to see him,” Philippa said. “Mama, I am tired, and I am filthy. I want my bath, and my bed.”

“You have still not explained to me why you departed Brierewode without your husband. Why did you not wait for him?”

“And miss my sister’s wedding?” Philippa cried. “Please do not treat me like a child, mama. I am a married woman, and the countess of Witton.”

“Banon and Robbie will not be wed for several weeks, Philippa. You might have waited for the earl,” Rosamund murmured calmly. “There was no need to come rushing. When did you get home from France?”

“Over a month ago,” Philippa said.

Her mother nodded. “Go along then, my daughter, and the servants will bring your bath. Lucy, introduce Peter to the other servants, and show him where he may lay his head. Ah, here is Annie. Annie, run and find Maybel. Tell her Philippa is home.” Rosamund looked and saw her daughter was already gone from the hall. “Lucy, attend me. Annie, find Maybel, and take Peter with you. He is the earl’s servant.”

When Annie had gone from the hall with Peter, Rosamund motioned to Lucy to sit down. “Now tell me,” she said, “just what is this all about?”

“I am not certain, my lady. The marriage is a good one. The earl is the kindest of masters, and a good husband to my lady. But no sooner had he departed for Hampton Court than my lady began to fret. She said she was afraid if the cardinal kept the earl too long she would not be with her sister on her wedding day. She fussed, and she fumed, and then nothing would do but that we leave and ride posthaste for Friarsgate. We have no clothing but what we wore, my lady Rosamund. But I do not believe my mistress tells the truth. She thinks she does, but she does not.”

Rosamund nodded. “She has been taking the draft each morning but for the days of her monthly flow?”

Lucy flushed. “Nay, my lady.”

“Then she wants a child sooner than later? Well, I cannot disagree, for it is her duty to provide her husband with an heir. I know I was eager to when I married her father, may God assoil his good soul.” Rosamund crossed herself.

“Nay, my lady, she wanted to wait so she could go back to court,” Lucy said. “There was no opportunity for my mistress and her husband to cohabit in France. Our quarters were very close, and there was no privacy at all. She had to bathe in a chemise just like the queen. I didn’t think it was necessary to give her your potion while we were there, but I gave her a drink of water mixed with celery seeds each morning so she would believe she had had the draft. And then when we returned from France my mistress began talking about perhaps having a child, and not going back to court since the queen had dismissed her from her service. I thought that there would be no need for the preventative then.”

“But you continued to feed her the celery seed and water,” Rosamund said softly.

“Yes, my lady Rosamund,” Lucy responded. “When my mistress makes up her mind to something there is no reasoning with her. She is very stubborn. I thought, let God decide the matter, and I will not have to argue with her, or be a disobedient servant.”

Rosamund laughed softly. “When did my daughter have her last bloody flux, Lucy? I will wager she has not had one since her return from France.”

Lucy thought a moment, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, my lady, you are correct! She had her flow in Calais, but none since. Oh, my lady, what have I done?”

Rosamund nodded. “I will wager that Philippa is with child, Lucy, and the charming little fool is so wrapped up in herself and her husband that it has not occurred to her yet.” She shook her head. “Tell me how angry the earl will be when he gets here?”

“You would have to ask Peter that,” Lucy said. “All I’ve ever seen of him is goodness to my mistress, although she has sorely tried him at times.”

Rosamund laughed again. “Do not tell her what I suspect, Lucy, nor anyone else either.” She arose from her seat. “Watch my two bairns. I must go upstairs and deal with my oldest.”

“Mama!” A young girl had come into the hall. She was tall and willowy, with long dark blond hair. “I am told Philippa is back.”

“Aye, Bessie, she is. Come, and Lucy will tell you all. I must go upstairs and see your sister.” She hurried from the hall.

“Well, she’s home early for Banie’s wedding,” Elizabeth Meredith said. “What’s her husband like, Lucy? Is he handsome and gallant? Is he rich?”

“How old are you now?” Lucy asked.

“I’ll be thirteen my next birthday,” Bessie said. “Now tell me everything, Lucy!”

“I thought you wasn’t interested in all the goings-on of the fine ladies and gentlemen,” Lucy teased.

“Well, I don’t want to be one of them,” Bessie said, “but it cannot harm me to learn about them. I’m not like my older sisters. I have no need to go to court and kneel to the high and the mighty. But hearing about them is like listening to a fairy tale.”

“Going to court ain’t no easy life, I can tell you,” Lucy began.

Upstairs, Rosamund had gone to Philippa’s bedchamber. Her daughter had finished her bath and was drying herself off as Rosamund entered the room. “I always felt better getting the dirt of the road off of me,” she said. “Where is your hairbrush? I’ll brush you dry, darling child.”

“Here it is.” Philippa handed the requested item to her mother. “Just let me get into a clean chemise. I left some from my last visit.” She pulled out a silky garment from the chest at the foot of her bed, and drew it on. Then sitting next to her mother she let Rosamund brush and towel her long hair dry.

“Now tell me, Philippa,” her mother said quietly as she brushed. “What is troubling you? And do not say naught. You did not dash pell-mell to Friarsgate because of Banon’s wedding.”

“What is love?” Philippa burst out. “And how do you know you are in love? And why will he not say it to me after all these months?” She began to cry. “Oh, mama, I cannot explain it in a way which I understand, but I love him! Yet he does not love me! He is passionate, and tender, but he says nothing to me that would indicate that he loves me. Yet how can he make love to me the way he does, and not love me?”

“I. don’t believe he can,” Rosamund responded calmly. “What is love, Philippa? It is the most elusive emotion in the world. It defies a rational explanation, but the very fact that you don’t understand it, yet know in your heart that you love him, is your answer. As for your husband, I suspect if he is gentle and tender with you that he does indeed love you. But men are most reticent to say it aloud. More often than not it is up to the woman, but she must be very certain before she voices her emotions that they will be reciprocated. Consequently a woman is loath to cry love, and a man is no better. It is an age-old conundrum, Philippa.”

“When we were in France I overheard a plot against the king, and I told Crispin. At first he was angry, and then I realized that his anger wasn’t directed at me, but at himself. He was afraid for me, and that he had not been with me when I escaped the assassins,” Philippa said.

Rosamund smiled, and put her daughter’s hairbrush aside. “Aye, he loves you,” she said.

“He must say it without my prompting or I shall never be certain,” Philippa cried, and then she flung herself in Rosamund’s arms and sobbed.

Rosamund held her daughter and caressed her tenderly. She was going to be a grandmother. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Philippa was with child. The wild emotional outbursts made her certain. Her elegant and sophisticated Philippa had fallen in love, and was going to have a baby. “Are you hungry?” she asked her daughter. “We’re having rabbit stew for supper tonight.”

“Nay, mama, I am just so tired. I needed to get here, find you, and now I feel better, but I am exhausted. I want to go to bed.”

“Then you shall,” her mother answered her soothingly. Standing, she helped Philippa into the bed and drew the coverlet over her. “Sleep well, my darling. You are safe home now. And your earl will be here soon, I am quite certain.”

Two days later the earl of Witton arrived at Friarsgate. Lord Cambridge had been summoned from Otterly the day of Philippa’s arrival, and Logan Hepburn had come over the border from Claven’s Carn. Rosamund had decided that she would need every bit of help her family could give her to bring Philippa and Crispin to an understanding. At her first sight of her son-in-law Rosamund knew she was going to like him. And she could also see he was perfect for Philippa.

“How did you know, you old dear?” she whispered to Thomas Bolton.

“It’s an instinct,” he murmured softly, and then he moved forward, his hands outstretched to greet the earl of Witton. “My dear boy, how delightful to see you once again. May I present your mother-in-law, the lady of Friarsgate. Cousin, this is Philippa’s husband.”

The earl took Rosamund’s hand, and bowing, kissed it. “Madame,” he said.

“You are most welcome to Friarsgate, my lord,” Rosamund told him.

“And Rosamund’s husband, Logan Hepburn, the laird of Claven’s Carn,” Lord Cambridge continued smoothly.

The two men eyed each other warily, and shook hands.

“Come into the hall,” Rosamund invited Crispin St. Claire, and she took his arm to lead him into the house.

“Where is my wife?” he asked her.

“In her chamber,” Rosamund said with a hint of laughter in her voice. “Please don’t be too angry with her, my lord. She had a sudden urge to see her mother. Young wives can be like that. I sent her sister up to fetch her when we saw you coming.”

“I returned to Brierewode just two days after she had gone,” he said. “I forbade her to travel without me. Yet she deliberately disobeyed me.”

Rosamund shook her head. “You have not a great deal of experience with women, my lord, do you? You must never forbid a woman, for if you do, she is certain to do exactly what you told her not to do.” She laughed softly. “You love her very much, don’t you? Sit down. Sit down.”

“How is it that you can see that but your daughter cannot, madame?” he asked her despairingly. “And I question if she is even capable of love herself.”

“She loves you very much,” Rosamund told him quietly, and handed him a goblet of sweet red wine. “We have spoken more these past two days, Philippa and I, than we have in many years.”

“Then why will she not say it?” he asked her.

“Why will you not say it?” Rosamund countered, smiling.

“Why, madame, I am a man,” he replied with all seriousness.

“And she a courtier who has been taught never to admit to her emotions unless the gentleman in question does first,” Rosamund explained to him.

“God’s bloody wounds!” the earl swore.

“I could not say it better myself, my lord,” Rosamund told him.

“Mama.” Elizabeth Meredith was by her mother’s side. “Philippa says she will not come down. As usual she is being a mutton-headed little fool. My stepfather has gone to fetch her for you,” the young girl finished with a grin.

“Oh, Bessie, you bad thing!” Maybel, who had joined them, said laughing.

“What is it?” asked Lord Cambridge.

“Bessie sent Logan up to fetch Philippa down, for she will not come,” Rosamund told him.

“Oh lord!” Thomas Bolton said, but he was grinning.

A shriek pierced the hall, and then another, and another.

“It sounds like a murder is being committed,” the earl said.

“Nay, ’tis just Philippa’s stepfather bringing her down into the hall,” Rosamund said, still laughing.

The laird of Claven’s Carn entered the room, Philippa slung over his shoulder. Walking up to the earl, he dumped the girl down into Crispin’s lap. With a yelp like that of a scalded cat Philippa was on her feet. She swung on the laird, her fist making contact with his shoulder. Logan Hepburn burst out laughing, and Philippa turned, raging at her husband.