This Heart of Mine (82 page)

“Perhaps Ian was simply a bit rough in his loving, sweetheart. Dinna worry about Bella. She’s nae been shy about voicing her displeasure over anything.”

The winter deepened, Velvet’s first winter in the north, and it was a ferocious one. Careful planning on their chief’s part, however, kept the people of Broc Ailien from starvation and freezing. The granaries of
Dun Broc
doled out careful measures of grain to all on a weekly basis, and the earl permitted firewood to be harvested from his forests.

It was fortunate that the lovers enjoyed each other’s company, for the heavy snows precluded visits from even the master of
Grantholm
and his wife, which was no loss in Velvet’s mind. She liked her sister-in-law, but Ian Grant was another matter. He made her uncomfortable, and she could see nothing about him that should have attracted Bella to him.

Velvet was growing to love this land of her husband’s. It was lonely, and God only knew it could be bleak on gray days, but even then the Highlands had a beauty all their own; the green pine forests sweeping down the snowy mountainsides, the deciduous trees bare and black against the flat skies. On clear nights the stars were big and bright, offering the illusion of nearness so that one was tempted to reach up and pluck them down. And somewhere in the forests below the wolves hunted, the packs stopping occasionally to howl triumphantly at the white winter moon.

Then as suddenly as winter had come it was gone, and the snows began to melt away during the longer days of spring. They were able to ride out again over the hills together, much to Velvet’s joy; she would accompany Alex when he went to check on his cattle herds, which had grown enormous this spring with all the births. Together they watched as the calves gamboled awkwardly with their mothers in the glen pastures.

She sighed deeply, so deeply that her mount grew restive beneath her. “They make me feel so guilty that I am not yet with child,” she mourned.

“We’ll just hae to try harder,” he teased her.

Secretly, Velvet was worried. She had become pregnant so quickly with Akbar’s child. Why was it taking so long with Alex? His seed was not barren, as Sybilla and the Gordon faces upon a number of older children in the glen told her. Why could she not conceive his child? It did not help to have anxious faces peering at her each time she entered the village, nor did she like the fact that Alanna Wythe was spreading the rumor that it was her witchcraft that was keeping Velvet from conceiving.

“If I believed that for one minute,” muttered Alex when he heard it, “I should strangle the bitch myself.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” said Velvet grimly, “for I’d have already done it!”

The word coming from the south where the king and Lord Bothwell were still at odds boded ill for Francis Stewart-Hepburn. In late May the parliament under the orders of the king, no doubt encouraged by Maitland, ratified the sentence of total forfeiture against the Earl of Bothwell. Francis Stewart-Hepburn, claimed the king, aspired to Scotland’s throne, and that was treason.

It was a ridiculous charge, and everyone knew it. The Scots nobility, usually at odds with each other as well as the throne, now saw John Maitland behind the king’s actions. Maitland wanted to destroy them in an effort to take their power for his own and thereby rule the king. Without a moment’s hesitation, they rallied behind the Earl of Bothwell in an effort to reconcile him to the king.

Francis Stewart-Hepburn wanted peace with his cousin, James Stewart. A brilliant intellectual, a man whose mind was far in advance of the time in which he lived, the one thing he did not want was to be king of Scotland or of any other land. The painful example of his late uncle, James Hepburn, the
fifth Earl of Bothwell and the last husband of Mary, Queen of Scots haunted him.

When a proclamation for the raising of a levy to pursue the Earl of Bothwell was issued in early July, it was ignored by all. The king retired sulkily to his palace at Dalkeith for the remainder of the summer. On August first the earl was smuggled into the palace where the queen was to attempt to effect a meeting between the two. The king, however, suspecting something of this sort, sent his wife a message saying that he would punish
anyone
who attempted to introduce his outlawed cousin into his presence. Disappointed, Bothwell retired, returning to
Hermitage
in despair.

All of this was duly reported to the chiefs of the various powerful families in the Highlands. The Earl of Huntley, George Gordon, head of Clan Gordon, arranged for a secret meeting with Bothwell. If the Border lord fell, Huntley knew that Maitland would come after him next, for George Gordon was the most powerful man in the Highlands, the so-called “Cock of the North.” Bothwell slipped away from
Hermitage
alone while his Borderers, led by his half brother, Hercules, and his mistress, the Countess of Glenkirk, continued to raid along the border giving the illusion that he was still there.

Bothwell was passed from safe house to safe house until he finally arrived at
Dun Broc
, his last stop before reaching
Huntley.
The Gordons of BrocCairn greeted him joyously, and as Bothwell swung Velvet up in an embrace she squealed to him, “Careful, Francis! I am with child! At long last I am to be a mother!” Lowering her carefully, he kissed her on both cheeks.

“Congratulations, sweetheart!” he said.

“Ye might at least hae told me first,” grumbled Alex, looking somewhat aggrieved.

“I planned to tell you today, but when Francis swept me up I had to say something. Oh, Alex”—she hugged him—“I am so happy!”

Her delight was so infectious that he couldn’t help but grin like a fool at her. It suddenly dawned on him that he was going to be a father! Velvet was to have a baby! He startled them all with a loud Highland whoop. Then, picking his wife up in his arms, he carried her into the castle.

“Put me down, you great fool!” Velvet protested. “I am not made of some delicate stuff that breaks easily. My mother bore eight children successfully. My sisters have never lost a child. Put me down!”

“I dinna want anything to happen to my son,” he protested, but he gently set her upon her feet.

“I intend to take good care of
our
child, Alex,” came her pert reply.

Bothwell grinned at them delightedly. Marriage had not changed Alex and Velvet at all. In an increasingly confused world he found that a comforting fact. “Madame,” he said, looking at Velvet, “I stink of four days’ hard riding, and I am ravenous! What do ye intend to do about it?”

“Why, Francis,” she replied sweetly, “I intend to bathe you with my very own hands just like the good chatelaines of old bathed their honored guests. Then you will find that Mistress Geddes has prepared you a fine feast. Since I count Cat among my friends, however, you will have to make do with hot bricks between your sheets to warm your bed tonight.”

“Let’s start wi’ my bath,” Bothwell said wickedly.

“Come along, my lord,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him upstairs to a guest apartment. There in the bedchamber a large oak tub had been set up and filled with steaming hot water. Velvet whirled, hands upon her hips. “Well, sir, remove your clothing. I cannot bathe you with your garments on.”

Bothwell tossed his cloak to a manservant and, removing his jerkin and belt, slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Velvet’s face remained impassive as the shirt was removed, and he sat to have his boots taken off. He was beginning to grow nervous, for she showed no signs of leaving.

“Shall I help you with your kilt, Francis?” she asked him innocently.

A slow grin lit his face. “Ye would, too, wouldn’t ye?” he demanded of her.

“Aye,” she answered him. “You haven’t anything I haven’t already seen, my lord, or do you?”

The Earl of Bothwell howled with glee. “God’s cock, Velvet! Ye’re a wicked wench! I’ve always suspected it, but until now I wasna certain. Now get the hell out of here, madame, so I may bathe myself and regain my dignity.”

With a wink and a chuckle, Velvet left the room and hurried off to see that the evening meal would be ready on time for her guest. Francis Stewart-Hepburn’s laughter warmed her as she went. She did like him so very much, and it broke her heart that the king was being so cruel to him.

It was decided that night that Alex and a troop of his men would accompany Bothwell to Huntley the next day. Velvet wanted to go along, for she had not yet met Henrietta Gordon,
the Countess of Huntley, who was a Frenchwoman and knew Velvet’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins at
Archambault.
Alex, however, anxious about his wife’s newly announced pregnancy, forbade it.

“Are you telling me I can’t ride?” she exploded at him.

“Nay!” he quickly replied. “I simply dinna want ye riding such a distance as it is to
Huntley.
Besides, there’ll be nae women there but for Henrietta. George has called together all the chiefs of the most important families in the Highlands to discuss a plan of action against the King. If we dinna aid Francis, then Maitland will pick us off one by one.”

“Dinna underestimate Jamie,” said Bothwell. “He plays the fool, and ’tis true he can be slow in some matters, but he is nae really stupid, and he is very wise about certain things. I believe he uses Maitland even as Maitland believes he uses the king.”

“Are ye saying ’tis Jamie who wishes to take the earls’ power from them?”

Bothwell nodded. “Aye, I do. Jamie has learned his lessons well, Alex. Look at the history of the Stewart family, man. Nae one of the Stewart kings has lived to reach old age, being either killed off by their rebellious nobles in wars or by assassination. They have not even been safe from their own sons in many instances as ye well know. James is the only logical choice to succeed Elizabeth Tudor. Who else has she got? Oh, there’s Arabella Stewart, Jamie’s English cousin, but after Elizabeth I will wager the English will want a king! Jamie intends to be that king, and he intends to live to come into his inheritance. English nobles are far easier to cope wi’ than us Scots.” Bothwell smiled ruefully.

“This land is always roiling wi’ some turmoil or another,” he continued. “Jamie knows he must control the nobility in order to live long enough to inherit England. What better way to control them than to destroy, or at least cripple, the more powerful earls both in the Border and in the Highlands? Our downfall would set a forceful example for the smaller clans. Hell, if the royal bairn can take on both Huntley and me,
and can win
, the others will believe that God Himself is on his side. In this, however, he hides behind Maitland, for though Jamie be clever he is nae too brave. Maitland, poor fool, is expendable, for chancellors are a groat a dozen. If Jamie fails in his efforts, he can blame the whole thing on Master Maitland, who, as we all know, is nae popular wi’ the earls.”

“Then we ride at dawn,” said Alex quietly. “The king may have his power, but he canna hae ours, too.”

Velvet was up to see them go, kissing Francis Stewart-Hepburn on the cheek and bidding him Godspeed. “When you return to
Hermitage
, give my love to Cat. I’m praying for you both that this thing will soon be settled.”

He nodded his appreciation. “Keep well, sweetheart. Tis a precious burden ye’re carrying for BrocCairn now.”

Alex kissed his wife. “I’ll be gone only five or six days, lass. Ye need hae no fear. We hae no near enemies, and the castle is impregnable against simple raids, and besides, we’ve hae no problems in recent years.”

“Dugald can advise me,” she said, and then kissed him back. “Go carefully, my lord.”

She watched from the drawbridge as Alex’s party made their way down the narrow road into the glen. It was the first time since their reunion a year ago that they had been separated. A year ago, she thought. Her daughter would be two years of age now. Velvet wondered what she looked like. She would be walking now. Her vocabulary would be increasing. Did she speak Persian or Hindi? Probably both. For a moment Velvet felt pain in the region of her heart, but she firmly pushed aside the temptation to feel sorry for herself. Yasaman was lost to her, but within her body a new child was growing. By the time another year had passed she would have another baby to love and worry over.

In the village below the people of Broc Ailien had come out of their houses to see Francis Stewart-Hepburn, for as careful as Alex had been to keep Bothwell’s visit a secret, it was known that he would be passing. To the villagers he was a hero, and, knowing the danger in which he stood, they would not gossip about his presence or betray him to strangers. They would, however, enjoy this event amongst themselves.

Watching the earl pass, Alanna Wythe spoke to her lover, who stood hidden behind the doorway. “There is a reward on his head. God’s nightshirt, how I wish it were within our power to collect it!”

“Dinna be foolish, Alanna. How could we possibly capture Lord Bothwell and get him to Edinburgh?”

“I know a way if only you had the retainers to accomplish it,” she said, “but you don’t, and so we can’t. ’Tis a pity, Ian. I should like to go away with you as we have talked.”

She had piqued his interest. “How?” he asked.

“Bothwell and BrocCairn are cousins, are they not?”

“Aye, they are. Cousins of the king as well,” Ian replied.

“What is dearest to Alex in all this world, Ian? His wife!
His precious Velvet Gordon!” Her voice was tinged with bitterness. “What if her ladyship were kidnapped, Ian, and the ransom for her safe return was the delivery of Lord Bothwell into the king’s hands? Had we the men, we could arrange such a thing
and
bargain with Master Maitland for payment of the reward upon delivery of Lord Bothwell. We don’t have the men, however, and so it is useless to even speak of it.”

“Perhaps it could be arranged,” he said slowly, “perhaps if I could find him it could be managed.”

“Find who?”
Alanna pounced on him. “We don’t want to have to share the reward equally, Ian. There would be little left for us.”