“Two like beings-a perfect partnership, dear girl!” Tom insisted.
“We shall see,” Rosamund said again, as she had been saying all the way home.
Lord Cambridge clamped his lips together. If he heard her utter those three words again he was simply going to scream. Or shake her until she got some common sense. He would remain overnight, and then he had to get home to Otterly. This whole situation was beginning to wear on his nerves. He did not wish to be around while his cousin and Logan Hepburn sparred with each other. He did not envy the laird of Claven’s Carn, and as much as Tom loved his cousin, she could sometimes be very difficult.
Reaching the house, Philippa was off her horse before her elders, throwing herself into Maybel’s arms and chattering a mile a minute about all her adventures and her best friend, Cecily FitzHugh. Maybel hugged and kissed the girl, then set her aside firmly, looking to Rosamund. Rosamund dismounted and went wordlessly into Maybel’s outstretched arms.
“God’s blood, old woman, it is good to be home again!” she said, hugging Maybel. “Has all been well while I have been away? The sheep are looking fat enough.”
“Edmund will tell you everything you need to know and some things that you don’t, but I can’t stop him,” Maybel replied. “You look better than I have ever seen you returning from court, lass.”
“That is because I stayed but a brief time, and having made my peace with the king and his queen, took little part in the activities of the court. I was able to eat and sleep enough, which my daughter was not, for she loves the court, I fear.” She linked her arm with Maybel’s, and the two women strolled into the house, seating themselves in the hall together on a settle by the fireplace. “Philippa’s good manners, more your doing surely than mine, have won her the queen’s favor. She is to return in two years to take her place among Kate’s maids of honor,” Rosamund told Maybel.
“What an honor!” Maybel said, but then she fretted, “She will yet be a child, Rosamund. How can we let her go?”
“There is no choice in the matter, Maybel. But I would trust my daughter with the queen, for her household is orderly and chaste. Her maids are the most virtuous girls in the kingdom, I am certain. And Philippa has made a good friend in Cecily FitzHugh, who will serve the queen with her. She is the daughter of the Earl of Renfrew. The younger of her two brothers may be a possible match for Philippa. He is fourteen, and having served in the queen’s household is now being sent to France and Italy for more studious pursuits.”
Maybel listened, nodding as Rosamund spoke. “Does Philippa know of this lad?” she finally asked. “What does she say?”
“I have not spoken to her about it, for it is too soon, but you can be certain that she knows. These little girls at court know more gossip than even the servants do,” Rosamund laughed. “Besides, they may grow acquainted and decide they do not like each other. Nothing has been formally discussed or settled. There may be another boy better suited to Philippa. I have time, but Tom frets like an old lady.”
“And with good cause, dear girl,” he said, joining them. “She does not understand the necessity of looking about now and winnowing the possible from the impossible.”
“That’s all right, Tom,” Maybel said calmly. “As long as our Rosamund has you to rely upon, she’ll not go wrong. Of course, she may take another husband one day, and then your influence would certainly wane.”
“His influence will never ebb with me, Maybel,” Rosamund said. “And as for marriage, we shall see.”
Lord Cambridge gritted his teeth so hard they hurt.
Edmund and Father Mata joined them at the high board late in the day as the meal was served.
“Has all been well, uncle, in my absence?” Rosamund asked him.
He nodded slowly. “But I have been grateful for the laird’s clansmen, lass, for there have been strangers on the heights, of late, observing Friarsgate.”
“Who are they?” she wanted to know. “I saw one as I rode in and assumed it was a Hepburn.”
“I cannot be certain, for each time we have attempted to approach them, they run,” he said. “I suspect they may be of your cousin’s ilk.”
“Damn him!” Rosamund swore softly. “He is after Philippa, the devil! I will catch him and hang him myself!”
Father Mata crossed himself at her words, saying, “Lady, there must be another way to solve this matter.”
“Tell me, then, good priest,” she answered him. “I have said plainly that my daughter will not marry Henry Bolton the younger. I have said it more than once. What else can I do if he will not listen?”
“Young Philippa must be guarded closely at all times,” the priest agreed. “You must be frank with her and explain the dangers involved.”
“It is time,” Edmund agreed, and the others about the high board nodded.
“What must I be told?” Philippa asked them. She had been bored the entire ride home from Windsor. Her mother and her uncle had paid little attention to her.
“My cousin Henry wants to steal you away and force you to marriage so he may get his hands on Friarsgate, Philippa,” Rosamund told the girl. “So you must be protected.”
“But I am to marry Giles FitzHugh someday,” Philippa said.
“That is not so!” her mother said quickly. “Who told you such a thing?”
“Cecily did. She said she overheard her father and mother discussing it when they did not realize she was nearby. Giles is very handsome, mama.”
Rosamund shook her head wearily. “There has been no discussion between the Earl of Renfrew and me, Philippa. Giles FitzHugh might make you a good husband one day, or he might not. And there are other possibilities to consider before any decision regarding your future is decided.”
“But I like Giles FitzHugh,” Philippa said stubbornly. “He is so handsome.”
“So you have said, Philippa,” her mother remarked dryly, “but there are other requirements in a husband that are more important than just his features. And besides, you are much too young to be thinking of marriage. I will not even consider a match for you until you are fourteen.”
“Oh, mama! You were wed three times by the time you were fourteen,” Philippa countered.
“We are not discussing me, Philippa. We are speaking of your future,” Rosamund said in a steely voice. “Now, if you have finished your meal, you may be excused.”
Philippa slipped from her place, and as she did so, one of the laird’s clansmen arose to follow her. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Rosamund wondered. She looked to the priest.
“Mata, send to the laird on the morrow,” was all she said.
“Very good, my lady,” the priest answered her, but they both knew he had already done so.
“Now,” Rosamund said, turning back to her uncle, “other than strangers looking down on us, all was well?”
He nodded. “We’re beginning the harvest now, niece. It will prove to be a good one, as the fields are lush with their crops. The orchards, too, will give us a bounty, but the fruits will be a bit smaller this year, for we have not had quite the rains we have in most summers. Still, the apples and pears will be the sweeter for it.”
“The wool?” she asked him.
“Of excellent quality,” he said. “The sheep are fat and content this year. The cloth woven will be the best we have had yet. We’ll be ready for next year. We’ve withheld enough this year that the merchants in Carlisle are complaining already,” he chuckled. “I’ve noised about what we intend to do, and they are not happy.”
Lord Cambridge smiled and nodded. “Have you begun the dyeing yet?”
“We will once the harvest is in,” Edmund replied. “The dyeing and the weaving make for good winter work for the Friarsgate folk, Tom. But by springtime, I promise you, we will fill your ship’s hole with fine cargo.”