“Aye, I imagine Hal would enjoy having Scotland in his custody,” Tom said when he learned the news. Then he chuckled. “He cannot get his own son so he would have James Stewart’s lad to father.”
Rosamund could not help but laugh herself. “Living in the north has caused you to become careless in your speech, cousin,” she said. “You should not dare say such a thing in London.”
“You never did answer the king’s summons, did you?” he said.
“Edmund answered it for me,” she replied. “Besides Henry Tudor has more important things to consider than a widow in Cumbria whom he once knew. He is a player now upon the world’s stage, Tom. Whatever he imagines I was doing with the Earl of Glenkirk has now been overlooked because of the great and terrible victory at Flodden.”
“What news from Claven’s Carn? Did the sweet Jeannie deliver her lord a second son, or a daughter?” Tom asked her.
Rosamund shook her head. “I have no idea. I have heard naught, but then, given the times, I am not in the least surprised. Besides, I can hardly believe that Logan Hepburn would have wanted me for that child’s godmother. Do you?”
“Perhaps I shall take a few of my men and ride over the border,” Tom said. “I am curious, and whatever you may say, cousin, so are you.”
“Go, then,” she told him. “The weather will hold for another few days. But beware of getting caught at Claven’s Carn for the winter, Tom. I do not believe that you would like it at all. Jeannie has certainly done her best, but it is still an uncivilized place.”
He laughed. “I remember you once said you should never get to wear your fine gowns if you inhabited such a place.”
“And it is still so,” Rosamund noted dryly.
The next morning being dry and mild for December, Lord Cambridge departed his cousin’s house with the half-dozen men-at-arms he now traveled with when he left Otterly. They reached Claven’s Carn in late afternoon, riding through its gate easily as they were recognized by the clansmen guarding the little castle’s entry. Tom dismounted, and upon entering the house, went directly to its hall. It was empty but for a servant girl rocking the cradle by the fire. Lord Cambridge walked over and looked into it, surprised to find not a new infant, but the laird’s fourteen-month-old heir.
“Where is your mistress?” he asked the servant.
The girl’s eyes grew large with her fright. Nervously, she arose from her place. “The mistress be dead, good sir.”
“And the bairn she carried?” he inquired, surprised and not just a little saddened by the news.
“With its mam, sir,” the girl said.
“Go and fetch your master, lass. Your charge is sleeping and does not need you.”
The girl ran off, leaving Tom to ponder the knowledge he had just obtained. So little Jeannie had died and her child with her. It was a tragedy, yet Logan still had one son to follow him. Widowed, would he now seek out Rosamund again? And would she have him in her grief over Patrick? The winter to come might be dull, he thought, but certainly not the spring and summer to follow. A small smile touched his lips. Already this little journey had provided him with enough information to give him several months’ amusement teasing his cousin.
“Tom!” Logan entered his hall. “What brings you to Claven’s Carn? We are supposed to be enemies again, England and Scotland.” But he smiled.
“I rarely pay heed to the politics of kings and queens, dear boy,” Tom answered. “And particularly when the church is involved. I have only just learned from your son’s little nursemaid of your great tragedy. What happened?”
A shadow passed over Logan’s handsome face. “You have, if I remember, a fondness for my whiskey. Sit down, Tom Bolton, and I will tell you what happened to my poor little wife.” He poured them two pewter dram cups of an amber liquid from a carafe on the sideboard. Bringing them to his guest, he offered him one, and they sat before the fire, the cradle holding Johnnie Hepburn between them. “I got the call to arms. She did not want me to go. I had to send my brothers and most of my men on ahead while I calmed her. When I caught up with them the battle was almost over. Its outcome obvious, and the king dead. When I reached Claven’s Carn again I learned she had died in childbed with the bairn, another son. She was already buried, of course, poor lass. ’Twas just as well. I later learned her father and brothers had all perished in the battle. Her mother has entered the convent where Jeannie was educated to live out her life in prayer and mourning. I sent to her regarding her daughter.”
Tom nodded sympathetically. “ ’Twas a great tragedy for Scotland, but, then, the history between our countries has never been peaceful for long.”
A long silence ensued, and then Logan said, “How is Rosamund?”
Lord Cambridge’s face was impassive as he answered, but he thought immediately, Ah, he still wants her. “She yet mourns her own tragedy, Logan.”
“Did the Leslies go to Flodden?” he wondered.
“I do not know, but I do know that Adam would not let his father answer the call. I suspect he never even told him of the summons. And he wisely remained put at Glenkirk himself. He may have sent a troop, but I know not. He wrote to Rosamund that it was not likely they were missed. He is right, I think. The first earl, like you, was but the laird of his people before he became James IV’s ambassador years ago.”
“Did you like him?” Logan asked.
“Aye, I did. He was a good man, and he loved Rosamund deeply. The misfortune that befell him last spring was indeed tragic. Yet he knows it not, as his memories of the last two years have vanished for good, it would appear.”
“Is her heart broken?” Logan queried Lord Cambridge.
“Aye, it is. But hearts can be mended, or so I am told,” was the reply.
“I have been given another chance with her,” Logan said softly.
“Perhaps,” Tom answered him. “But go slowly, Logan Hepburn. Do not attempt to overwhelm my cousin this time by being forceful with her. She needs a strong man, but that man must also respect that she is a strong woman. You need not break her spirit to bend her to your will.”
The laird of Claven’s Carn nodded, understanding. “You will tell her of my wife’s demise?”
“I will. But do not come courting until midsummer. She liked Jeannie and would not approve of any disrespect shown towards her. And in the name of all that is holy, Logan Hepburn, do not mention the bairns you desire of her! If you can coax her to the altar, the bairns will come as a natural result of your passions for each other. Now, tell me, what is for dinner, dear boy, for I am absolutely ravenous?”
The laird laughed aloud. He had forgotten how amusing Tom Bolton could be. Laughing felt good. It had been a long time since he had laughed. Hearing a small noise coming from the cradle, he saw his son was awake. Lifting the lad from his bed, he displayed him to his guest. “Is this not a fine lad, Tom Bolton? Do I not have a fine son?”
“Indeed, Logan Hepburn, you do!” Lord Cambridge agreed.
The boy squirmed in his father’s arms, anxious to get down. The laird set him upon the floor, and the little fellow toddled over to one of the great wolfhounds in the hall, climbing upon its back and crowing with delight. The two men laughed as the dog turned its massive head and licked the child’s face lovingly.
“I’ll have him on his first pony come the spring,” the laird boasted. “He’s a braw little laddie, Tom Bolton.”
“Aye,” Tom agreed. “I can see that he is.” And I can see you are a good and doting father, which will not harm you in my cousin’s eyes.