They were dismissed, and the trio made a final obeisance to the king and moved back into the crowd of courtiers.
James Stewart leaned over and murmured to his queen, “The laird of Claven’s Carn will be wed in our chapel Twelfth Night Day to a young cousin.”
“Who?” Margaret Tudor asked her husband.
“A little lass called Jean Logan,” the king replied quietly.
“I know her,” the queen said. “She has been among the women in my household for a fortnight. Bothwell brought her to me. A sweet child.”
“You will want your fair English friend to know,” the king advised softly.
“Aye, I will tell her. I wonder if she will care. She is so wrapped up in her passion for Lord Leslie that I doubt it,” Margaret Tudor said. “How she has changed from our days at my father’s court. She was so young and ingenuous then. Now she is proud and fierce in her determination to have her own way.”
“I imagine that you are not the girl you once were either, my queen,” the king said, amused by his wife’s astute observation of her old friend. “Many years have passed since you were together, Meg. A great deal has happened in each of your lives since that time.”
The queen nodded. “Aye, she has borne three daughters and lost another husband, while I have lost four bairns. But I will not lose this child, Jamie! I feel different this time! This bairn is strong. It virtually leaps in my womb.” She looked up at him, her pretty face both sure and hopeful.
“Aye,” the king told his wife. “This child will live, Meg. I know it.”
Relief flooded the queen’s face as she understood what he was saying to her. She took his hand up and kissed it ardently. “Thank you, Jamie! Thank you!”
“Now, lass, you will have the whole court saying that the queen is in love with her husband if you go on like that,” he said, gently disengaging himself from her grasp.
“But I do love you!” she protested. “I do, Jamie!”
“I know, Meg,” he replied. “And I love you, too.” He patted her cheek, then turned away to speak with a courtier who had been attempting to catch his royal eye.
The evening was coming to an end. The queen signaled to her little page, and he was immediately at her side. “Find the lady of Friarsgate and tell her that I would speak with her now in my privy chamber.”
“Aye, highness,” the child answered, and he hurried off.
The queen arose, and her ladies were instantly clustered about her. “Nay,” she said to them. “Stay and enjoy yourselves. I will be in my privy chamber and am not yet ready for bed. Remain here.” Then she glided off, moving silently across the chamber and down the corridor to her own apartments. Entering, she told her servingwoman, “The Lady of Friarsgate is coming. Send her to me when she arrives.”
“Aye, highness,” the servant said, curtsying.
Margaret Tudor entered her privy chamber, and after sitting down by the blazing fire in the fireplace, kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes with pleasure. The door opened, and Rosamund entered. “Fetch us some wine,” the queen said, “and then come sit with me. I have some rather interesting news to impart.”
Rosamund did as she was bid, and then after seating herself opposite her old friend, she, too, kicked off her shoes. “Ahh, that is much better,” she said, and she took a sip of wine.
“Do you have any feelings for Logan Hepburn?” the queen queried her friend.
“Nay. What on earth do you mean, Meg? I still find him as arrogant and as irritating as I ever have. He is here at Stirling, you know. I saw him at Bothwell’s insistence. I told him I would not wed him. That I loved Patrick Leslie.”
“He is to be married Twelfth Night Day!” the queen exclaimed.
“Who is to be married?” Rosamund asked, puzzled.
“Logan Hepburn! He is to marry that sweet little Jean Logan who has been in my household these past few weeks.”
“That quiet little lass with the big blue eyes who hardly says a word?” Rosamund asked. “God’s blood! Bothwell did not wait long to propose that, although I suspect he had it planned all along.”
“Then you do not mind?” Margaret Tudor sounded disappointed.
“Nay, Meg, I do not mind. It is past time Logan Hepburn gave up this childish fantasy about me, and married. He needs an heir, and he has a duty to his family. Nay, I am pleased he has seen reason at long last.”
“You really are in love with Patrick Leslie, then?” the queen asked.
“I really am in love with him,” Rosamund replied.
“I hold myself responsible for what has happened to you,” the queen said. “If I had not invited you to visit me, you should never have met Patrick Leslie. Logan Hepburn might have even forced you to the altar, Rosamund! I have saved you once again, as I saved you from my brother all those years ago!”
Rosamund laughed. “It is true, Meg! Though until now I never thought of it that way. If I had not come to see you at this moment in time, I should not have met Patrick Leslie. But believe me when I tell you, Logan Hepburn would have never forced me to the altar. If I ever marry again, it will be for love alone, and the choice will be mine to make and no one else’s.”
“You remember Grandmother’s advice,” the queen chuckled.
“I do indeed, Meg. The Venerable Margaret was a great woman, and I admired her muchly.”
“I wonder what she would think of us today. I think she would approve of your exchanging Logan Hepburn for the Earl of Glenkirk, no matter he is an old man. She always considered a woman advancing her status in life a good thing. Will you marry Lord Leslie?”
“Nay,” Rosamund said quietly. “And before you ask, Meg, or attempt to interfere, let me explain. Patrick has a duty to Glenkirk. I have a duty to Friarsgate. Neither of us will eschew our duty. We both comprehend that, and we are content. This is the way it must be between us. I know you will not understand, but you must not meddle, Meg. Promise me that you will not involve yourself in this matter.”
The queen sighed. “I just want you to be happy,” she said.
“We are happy,” Rosamund told her.
“But one day you will part from each other,” Meg replied.
“I know,” Rosamund said. “That is what makes whatever time we have together all the sweeter, Meg. No one is ever happy constantly. I should rather have these days with the Earl of Glenkirk than with any other man. I should rather know this perfect happiness for even a short span in my life than to never know it at all. What memories we are making together. What dreams of the past we shall cherish when we are no longer with each other in the years to come.”
“You are far braver than I am, Rosamund, and I should have never thought it of you,” the queen said softly. She sighed. “I need the security of a marriage. I need to know that my husband is there for me even if he does stray now and again. You are really alone, and you are not afraid.”
“I think I have been alone my entire life until now,” Rosamund answered.
“But you wrote that Owein loved you,” the queen protested.
“Oh, he did, Meg, and I was so fortunate to have him as my husband. But Owein was raised to a life of service to his betters. He always stood slightly in awe of me as the lady of Friarsgate. He always deferred to me, bless him. Not once did he ever corrupt my authority. And he loved Friarsgate.”
“Did you love him, too?” the queen wondered. “He seemed like the right match for you back then when we were girls at my father’s court.”
“Aye, I learned to loved him, which is why I know what I have with Patrick Leslie is so much more. My love for the lord of Glenkirk is something that comes only rarely, Meg. That is why I will not let it go until I have to let it go.” She smiled. “What a serious conversation we are having, and all because you wanted to tell me that Logan Hepburn is to be wed in a few days. I wish him good fortune.”