“Wish the bride good fortune,” the queen said, and she chuckled. “She is certain to tell him if you do so, and you will have your own back on him for teasing you the day you wed with Owein. I am certain that he still loves you, Rosamund. This marriage is for his family’s sake.”
“All he could talk about was his need for an heir when he was with me. I felt like a prize mare or heifer. Yet when I spoke with him in Lord Bothwell’s apartments he said I should have understood that he loved me even if he didn’t say so,” Rosamund replied. She shook her head.
“How just like a man!” the queen exclaimed, and she laughed.
“Aye,” Rosamund agreed. “How just like a man.” Then she sipped her wine thoughtfully. “I hope he will be happy, for I am so happy myself I can but wish him the same.”
“You always had a good heart,” the queen said. “I am glad to have you with me again, Rosamund. Do you miss your Friarsgate as much as you ever did?” She smiled.
“Not as I did when I was a young girl,” Rosamund answered the queen. “It is my lasses, Meg, that I miss the most. Kate insisted after Owein’s death that I come to their court, and I could not disobey, but it was hard. Philippa, the eldest, knew that I was gone and missed me the most, though Maybel says she is like me, and is a good child. The two little ones, however, did not understand. I was almost a stranger to them when I returned.”
“And then my invitation came,” Margaret Tudor said.
“I might have refused you, Meg, but we were such good friends I could not. Besides, it is not as long a journey as going down into England,” Rosamund replied with a small smile.
“And my invitation was a convenient excuse to escape the laird of Claven’s Carn,” the queen said, laughing mischievously.
“Aye, it was,” Rosamund agreed, grinning. “The priest at Friarsgate is his kinsman, but he would not have forced the issue if I said nay. Still in all, it would have been difficult. Here at Stirling, Logan is overruled in his intentions by the Earl of Bothwell. I do not think Patrick Hepburn was pleased with the idea his cousin might marry an Englishwoman. When I told him he need not fear I would wed his cousin, I asked if he had a lass for Logan. He told me one or two, the devil, when all along he had the little Mistress Jean in mind.”
“He’s a clever man, this particular Hepburn,” Margaret Tudor noted. “He supported my husband even before the breach with the late king. Jamie never forgets those who are loyal to him. He was simply the Hepburn of Hailes until Jamie created him the first Hepburn Earl of Bothwell. He has risen high in the hierarchy of this kingdom, and he brings his family along with him, as is right and proper. My husband has a good friend in him. If he had asked Jamie for you for Logan Hepburn, Rosamund, you would have been wedded and bedded whether you would or nay.”
“But I am English!” Rosamund cried, shocked.
“That would have made no matter,” the queen told her. “If the Earl of Bothwell had desired it, it would have been so. Had you not fallen so publicly and passionately in love, Rosamund, you would not have escaped Logan Hepburn here at Stirling. Indeed, you would have been shoved directly into his arms.” She laughed softly. “But fate did indeed intervene to save you. I have never particularly believed in fate, but perhaps in light of all that has happened to you, I will now.”
Rosamund had gone pale, but now she laughed weakly. “Mayhap I, too, will believe in fate, as well, from now on, Meg.”
There was a discreet knock upon the door of the queen’s privy chamber.
“Come in,” the queen called, and the door opened to reveal one of the queen’s chamber women. “Yes, Jane, what is it?” Margaret Tudor asked.
“Little Mistress Logan would speak with you, madame. She says she will not take a great deal of your time,” Jane said.
Margaret Tudor’s blue eyes twinkled wickedly as she looked to Rosamund. “Tell Mistress Logan that she may come in, Jane,” she replied.
The chamber woman stepped aside, and Jean Logan entered the room. She curtsied deeply to the queen, but her eyes were surprised to see the queen’s companion.
“Madame, I have come to tell you that the king has given his permission for my marriage to Logan Hepburn, the laird of Claven’s Carn, to be celebrated on Twelfth Night Day. I hope that we may also have your highness’ permission and blessing.” Jeannie Logan stood before Margaret Tudor, her head modestly lowered, her hands folded neatly.
“This is sudden, child, isn’t it?” the queen said. “Tell me how this has all come about so quickly. I hope that you have not been forced to any imprudent decision.”
“Oh, nay, madame! I am more than content to marry the laird. I was to enter the convent, where I had been schooled, but Uncle Patrick… the Earl of Bothwell, madame… was seeking a good wife for his kinsman and asked my father for me. While I venerate our dear Lord and his Blessed Mother, I have no calling to the church. But my dower portion is not large, and none had asked for me. My father thought in that light that perhaps the convent was the place for me. When my father said my dower was slight, Uncle Patrick added a purse to it. At first my father protested, but Uncle Patrick said since I was his god-daughter and he had scarce seen me in the last few years, it seemed only right that he do it. Then he told my father what a fine man his kinsman was and how he had put his family and their welfare ahead of his own needs, but now he was ready to wed. My father could not refuse under such circumstances. Then Uncle Patrick told my father that his kinsman’s mother had been a member of the Clan Logan, but we are not closely related or within the forbidden bonds of consanguinity, and so the church has given us a dispensation to marry.”
“You already have the dispensation, my child?” the queen purred solicitously.
“Oh, yes! Uncle Patrick said his kinsman was eager to wed and so the sooner the better,” Jeannie Logan confided ingenuously.
“How fortunate you are to have your uncle Patrick,” the queen murmured. “The Earl of Bothwell has always been known for his kindness. But, my child, how rude of me. This is my friend, Lady Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate.”
“Oh, I know who she is,” Jeannie said innocently.
“Do you?” Rosamund answered her. “And who am I, Mistress Logan?”
“You are Lord Leslie’s-friend, my lady,” the girl replied.
“I am,” Rosamund admitted.
“And you shall be neighbors,” the queen said wickedly. “Friarsgate is just over the border in England. It is practically a stone’s throw from Claven’s Carn. Do you not know Logan Hepburn, Rosamund?”
“Slightly,” Rosamund responded through gritted teeth. “I believe he and his brothers were guests when my late husband and I were wed.” Had Meg not been a queen, Rosamund thought, she would have smacked her. “But, madame, it is late and in your delicate condition you need your rest.” She arose. “I shall leave you, taking Mistress Logan with me. Do give her your permission and blessing, for that is what she came for-didn’t you, Mistress Logan?”
“Aye, my lady,” Jeannie said.
“You have both, then, my child. My husband and I shall come and bear witness to your vows on Twelfth Night Day. And, Rosamund, you will come, too, with Lord Leslie?” The queen’s eyes were dancing with mischief.
“If you so command, madame,” Rosamund responded. “But your chapel is small, and Mistress Logan will want her family there.”
“Oh, no, my lady. My family is in the north and will not be here. I think it would be lovely to have a neighbor with us on our happy day. Please come!”
“Make your curtsy to the queen, Mistress Logan,” Rosamund said. “I will speak with Lord Leslie.” She practically pushed the girl from the queen’s little privy chamber, murmuring softly to Meg as she did, “I shall repay you in kind for this, you bad creature!”
“God bless you, my child,” the queen called, and grinning from ear to ear she closed the door into her anteroom behind them.