Sandra Madden (32 page)

Amid the pink and crimson blossoms, he closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance Kate used to wear. And he could pretend for a moment she strolled close by. When he brushed a velvet rose petal, he imagined he was touching her cheek. Being among the roses made Edmund feel closer to Kate.

Times, happy times with Kate, popped into his mind when he least expected. Her excitement when the arrow she aimed hit the bull's eye, or when she caught a fish only a bit bigger than her little finger.

Edmund's spirits lifted when he recalled her laughter, the smile that made his heart pump faster. But then he remembered making love to her, and the silky softness of her skin. And when he remembered lying with her, the ache in him grew fierce.

If it were possible to marry the gardener's daughter himself, he would do it. He would make a far better husband for Kate than any of the candidates he'd introduced her to.

But at the present, he was in for another of his aunt's lectures. She had summoned Edmund to her chamber.

Rather than lying prone in bed as was customary since returning to Rose Hall, Cordelia stood at the window sipping from a silver goblet. Sack, he supposed. Relieved to see she did not appear to be ailing, he greeted his aunt with a kiss on her forehead.

"Good day, Aunt Cordelia."

She blinked up at him. It might have been her eyes adjusting from the bright light of day to the dark room that caused the old woman to blink, but he knew better. 'Twas habit.

"I was taking a last look at the gardens," she said.

"A last look?"

"Edmund, I am leaving for London with or without you, eh? It has become clear to me 'tis the country air that is the cause of my indisposition. Even my physician admits he cannot cure me if I continue at Rose Hall."

What new rub was this?

"How long will you be away, Aunt Cordelia?"

"I will not be returning... except for the occasional visit." She blinked again.

"By your leave. Is it something I've done... or said?"

"Nay. 'Tis my disposition. I am more suited to the city than I am to country living."

"I see." Once Edmund had thought the same. But the longer he resided at Rose Hall the less inclined he was to return to London.

"Jane has invited me to stay with her while I make suitable, permanent arrangements. I believe I could afford a town house."

" ‘Tis likely," he agreed. Despite Cordelia's presence, Edmund had thought of himself as being alone in the country. Now he truly would be, and the thought did not send him into a tailspin as it once might have. "I will miss you, Aunt Cordelia."

"Nay. Nay. You must come with me, eh? Parliament is in session and bull baiting is in season.”

"That's bear baiting, Aunt. A sport I do not relish."

"You do not relish any sport of late."

"I have lost my youth. My vigor is gone," he confessed.

"Nonsense."

"In truth, I have been stricken with a strange malaise ever since returning from Scotland. Methinks I contracted green sickness in that forbidding country."

" 'Tis only unrequited love."

"Love?" he repeated, attempting to sound surprised.

"If you wish to feel yourself again—

Ah, here comes the lecture,
he thought.

"You must see Kate and tell her how you feel," his aunt told him.

Kate? What could Aunt Cordelia possibly know about his feelings for Kate?

Edmund assumed an air of indifference. "What good would that do? Even if it should be love I feel for Kate—and I am not saying it is."

But he knew it to be true. He distinctly remembered the misery of his father and brother when they were in love. Edmund felt their pain now.

Bloody hell, he'd been felled by the very thing he'd struggled to avoid.

"Edmund, 'tis plain to see that Kate has formed an affection for you."

"Aunt, she has made it quite plain that she does not wish to speak to or see me again."

"Poof." Aunt Cordelia sank to her bed. "You cannot believe what a woman says in anger."

" 'Twas more than anger. 'Twas a tempest. Even Percy cowered before her rage."

His aunt stroked the gold pendant at her neck. "Jane's message carried news of Kate."

"Aye?" Edmund's deadened nerves came alive. Still, he masked his curiosity with a feigned casual air. "How so?"

"Kate was presented at court by her father."

"Impossible," he scoffed. "John Beadle has no entry to court."

"John Beadle is not Kate's father. She was a foundling, eh? Do you not remember?"

"Aye." He remembered everything about Kate. Far more than his aunt would ever know.

"Donald Cameron has claimed Kate as his daughter. One of two children taken from him by a rival Scot clan when they were but babes. 'Tis the talk of London."

"God's blood!"

His aunt shot him a withering look. "Pray pardon, Edmund."

"Forgive me. But that must be what Kate meant when she said she had good news to tell me."

"But she did not tell you the news?"

"I fear I did not give her the opportunity."

"Edmund, if you love Kate, go to her and grovel. As the duke's recognized daughter she is quite eligible to marry."

"If I love her..."

"A woman delights in a man going down on bended knee to beg forgiveness. A gift of jewels would be suitable, as well."

"I don't know." He feared Kate would refuse to see him.

"According to Jane, the duke's daughter has many suitors."

Edmund's heart roared in protest. Nay! He would go to her, ride through the night, run off the other suitors with his fists if necessary. And if Kate refused to see him he would break down her door.

What-ho? Edmund slammed his fist into the flat of his other hand. 'Twas the very sort of thinking that put him in this fix.

Kate did not belong to him. She belonged to no man. Unless she came to him, Edmund could not claim her.

"Edmund?" Cordelia prompted.

"Aye, I am certain Kate is much sought after," he said. No woman he'd ever met could offer as much to a man.

"Come with me to London and speak with her."

"I am the last person in the world she wants to see."

Cordelia blinked at him as if he were a blinding light. "I leave at dawn tomorrow. I hope you have the good sense to travel with me."

* * * *

Kate dismounted and walked her mare into the wooded copse. She could find her way blindfolded. The fallen leaves, varying shades of crimson and gold, crunched beneath her feet. Her heart thudded heavily against her chest.

She caught sight of Edmund's gelding first, tethered by the stream. His fishing pole leaned against a tree trunk. She could hear his low whistle, see patches of his black garments through the oak leaves. He lay in his tree castle, daydreaming.

It was as if no time had passed. Edmund was a boy again, and Kate the small girl who adored him, who longed to climb into his tree house and be with him. She did not know 'twas a castle at the time.

"Edmund!" Kate called softly.

"Kate?"

He must have jumped up at the sound of her voice. With the sudden, jolting movement, the last of the rotting tree-house boards gave way with a terrible splintering sound. The boards plunged to the ground. Edmund with them. He fell at Kate's feet.

"Oh, fie!" she exclaimed and sank to her knees beside him. "Are you hurt?"

He opened his eyes. Wide. And wider.

"Am I dead?"

"Nay, nay, Edmund.”

"I am seeing visions."

"Hush now. Hush." In swift, light movements, Kate pushed and probed Edmund's body, examining him for broken bones.

Smiling weakly, he rubbed his head but did not speak. His lips quirked at the corner; his gaze swept over her in bemused pleasure.

Kate found no broken bones, only a warm, hard, muscled male body beneath her trembling fingertips. Edmund was not only not broken, he was magnificently all in one piece. She let out a whooshing puff of air, a heavy sigh of relief.

"Supplication is not necessary, Edmund. A simple apology will do."

He laughed, a deep belly laugh that echoed in the copse, that drowned out the merry splash of the stream. And when his laughter died, he pulled her down beside him.

"I have missed you, Mistress Kate," he murmured in a husky timbre. "I have sorely missed you."

"And I have been bereft without you, Edmund. I said things I should not have said when last we met. I know you only sought to protect me."

His burning gaze raked Kate from the top of her head to the tip of her slippers, which peaked out from beneath her gown. Lifting his gaze, his eyes focused on her ears. "You wear the amber earrings still. I should have given you sapphires and rubies. I will."

Kate touched a finger to one ear. "I am verily pleased with these."

Edmund inclined his head, staring at her hand. "Where is your ring?"

" Tis with my mother. And that is a long story for another time."

"Can you ever forgive me, Kate?" Edmund asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I was a jealous fool."

"No, never a fool..."

Edmund's eyes never left hers as he trailed the back of his hand gently along her neck. Goose bumps rose on Kate's skin.

"Never a fool..." she murmured once more as he nuzzled his lips in the hollow of her throat. Kate's mouth went dry.

"I did not know that love could make a man mad," he said, when at last he raised his head. "Fearing I would lose you, I thought I must possess you."

"But you do. I have always been yours, Edmund. You own my heart and soul for all time."

He pulled the pins from her caul, from her hair, and ran his fingers through the unleashed mass, gently combing it to Kate's shoulders.

"I am forgiven, then?"

"Aye," Kate whispered. She felt light-headed, as if she were floating away. Her heart drummed.

Framing her face in his hands, Edmund brought his mouth down on hers, and Kate knew with certainty she did not dream. 'Twas a searing, passionate kiss that left her shaken. And when he raised his lips, his sparkling, evergreen gaze locked on hers. His voice was deep and hoarse. "I love you, Kate."

Hey-ho! He loved her!

"And I love you," said a breathless voice that was her own. "I have loved you for the longest time."

Edmund loved her!

The depth and width of his smile warmed Kate as she traced his jaw with her fingertip, pressed her finger gently in the cleft of his chin.

Bracing himself above Kate, Edmund lowered his head to kiss her with a passion that left no doubt of his love. The beating of her heart blocked all other sound as his lips next found the small heart above her breast.

At once Kate's gown felt too warm, too restricting. The smoldering ache curling through her forbade waiting for the comfort of a feather bed.

Beside the stream where they had fished in their youth, Edmund and Kate made love.

Her body hummed beneath his gentle touch. His whispered words of endearment tickled her neck and stoked the fire within her. Freed from hampering garments, Kate's palms caressed Edmund's arms, his broad chest. She marveled in his manhood, his strength and beauty.

And then they were one as they always had been meant to be. She knew no greater joy.

Later, as they lay silently folded in each other's arms, Kate listened to the falling leaves, the bubbling stream.

Edmund spoke quietly, a rich warm tone that wrapped around Kate like a gossamer blanket. "I saw stars, Kate,"

"Lady Katherine, to you," she teased.

He ignored her. "Thanks to the planets, I have at last found you a faultless husband."

"You have not selected well in the past," she teased.

His lips brushed her forehead. "I am truly unworthy of you, Kate... Lady Katherine. Tis clear to me as the sun rising in the east. But... will you take me as your husband?"

"Hey-ho, Edmund!"

His dark brows dove into a frown. "Does that mean aye, or do you need to consult your stargazer before giving me your answer?" he asked uncertainly.

"It means that at last you have discovered the proper husband for me," she crowed happily. "I thought you never would!"

Edmund regarded Kate quizzically, as if fearing he may have misinterpreted her answer. "You do not require time to come to a decision?"

"I have known this answer all of my life." She grinned. Laughter bubbled up from her toes. "Ask me again."

"Will you have me as your husband, dearest Lady Katherine?"

"Oh, aye, Edmund. I will have you as my husband!" She lowered her voice then, murmuring seductively, "And I will have you again shortly in the rose garden."

As Edmund lowered his lips to Kate's and felt her fingertips splayed and tingling against his chest, he gave silent thanks that he had not destroyed the rose garden.

Edmund and his once forbidden bride were meant to spend many happy hours among the flowers. 'Twas written in the stars.

Epilogue

Nobles and dignitaries, including Queen Elizabeth of England and King James of Scotland, attended the October wedding of Lady Katherine and the Earl of Stamford in St. Paul's Cathedral, London.

The following evening at a gala held at the Earl’s town house, Donald Cameron, Duke of Doneval, made a stirring announcement.

“Aye, and I am the extremely proud father of a lovely daughter, Lady Kate has brought me much happiness in just a short time. I know she will bring her husband great happiness as well, na.”

He raised his goblet as the rose bedecked ballroom rang out with murmurs of approval.

Donald beamed at his newfound daughter as Kate hurried to his side, a vision of radiant beauty. Her blush brocade gown flattered her in a way that a gardener’s trousers and boots never had – and never would again.

“Father, please stay a while.”

“Nay, I must find your brother now.”

“You have not much to go on,” Edmund said, sidling up to his bride and clasping her hand.

“Like Kate, the lad was pledged to wear Ann’s ring and be called Cameron. It mayna be much but it’s a start.”

“I should like to go with you. After being a foundling and believing myself to be an only child, I look forward to having a brother. Just think of it. I have a brother!”