Rosamund (43 page)

“Why have you been stealing my sheep, you false bitch?” Rosamund demanded.

“Because they was there,” Mavis snapped. “Because all I ever hear from that useless old man who calls himself my husband is how Friarsgate should be his, not yours. Well, he wasn’t man enough to get it from you, so I decided that we would take it from you piece by piece. Otterly is a poor place, and not likely to grow any richer with Henry Bolton’s heavy hand guiding it. I’m tired of being poor! My lads and my daughters deserve better. Why should you have it all? Are we not as worthy?” She glared at Rosamund.

“You have killed two of my shepherds in previous raids,” Rosamund said coldly. “I could hang you for it, but I will not. You will instead pay an indemnity, or rather my uncle will, to the families of the men whose lives you stole. And you will pay for the dogs, too.” She turned to Logan Hepburn. “My lord, will you transport this bitch, her son, and the others back to Otterly Court, and relate to my uncle what has happened? Tell him my people will come for my sheep tomorrow. We will expect him to pay the penalty at that time as well. He and his family are forbidden from ever coming on my land again. I’ll kill any who do.”

“I will be happy to be of service to you, madame,” Logan Hepburn said with a small bow. Then he sent her a wicked look. “I have always fancied being married during the Twelve Days of Christmas, Rosamund Bolton. While I am Logan for my mother’s family, my Christian name is Stephen. I shall come for you on his day, and we will be married.”

“I will not marry you,”
she said, turning her horse and riding off.

“Oh, yes, you will,”
he called after her. “You have three months in which to prepare, Rosamund Bolton.” Then the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn signaled to his men, and gathering up their prisoners, they began to drive them up and over the hills to Otterly.

“S
he is not here, my lord,” Edmund Bolton said apologetically.

Logan Hepburn stood in the hall at Friarsgate, his clansmen behind him, his brothers at his side, his piper at the ready. He sighed deeply, but then he had known marrying her wouldn’t be easy. “Where has she gone?” he asked, noting that her three daughters were in evidence in the hall.

“She has gone to Edinburgh with Sir Thomas,” Edmund replied. “An invitation came for them from Queen Margaret just a few weeks ago. She said that having seen King Henry’s court, she thought she might also see the court of King James, for where else would she be able to wear her fine gowns again? Certainly not in the hall of your lordship’s stone tower.”

Logan Hepburn laughed. “She’s a clever vixen, Edmund. Once again she has slipped my net, but while she may know the Queen of Scotland, I know Jamie Stuart himself. In Edinburgh I will have the advantage. The wily wench will not slip from my grasp again, I promise you.” He turned to his men. “Let’s go, laddies. We’re off to Edinburgh on the morrow.” And with a wave of his hand he turned.

“Good hunting, my lord,” Edmund Bolton called after him, and Maybel smacked her husband on the arm.

Logan Hepburn laughed again, his blue-blue eyes dancing. She was a wife worth having, and as God was his witness, he would wed his fair Rosamund one day.
One day very soon.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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