Marisco!” Robin began to laugh.
“Do you know her?” Alex was now looking curiously at his friend. “Has she become pockmarked or has her nose grown overlong? I remember naught but that she was a pretty child.”
“Aye, I know her! She’s my sister, Alex! My half-sister, and she’s outrageously fair. That’s why you have always looked so familiar to me. We originally met several years ago at your betrothal feast at my mother and stepfather’s estate of Queen’s Malvern.”
Now it was some six years later, and Robin had married his betrothed wife, Alison de Grenville, had sired three daughters with her, and had buried her almost two years past. He could still not think easily about Alison, that sweet, foolish, and headstrong young girl who had given him his first daughter, Elsbeth, nine months to the day after their wedding; Catherine, ten months later; and then against all advice died while birthing Cecily within a year of Catherine. Alison had been so proud of her children, but she had felt a strong, almost fanatical responsibility to give her husband sons. He had known that it was his responsibility to protect her, for his seed was strong and his wife very fertile. He had tried avoiding her after little Catherine’s birth, but she had mischievously gotten him drunk one night, and in his wine-induced stupor he had thought one time could not hurt.
Robin had used his mourning as an excuse to withdraw from court life and from all social contact in his Devon neighborhood. After a year his sister Willow began to fuss at him to remarry, but he could not be moved. Logic told him he was not entirely responsible for his wife’s death, but his emotions told him another tale. Had he been mature enough to control his baser nature, Alison would be alive today. He had not been in love with her, but they had been good friends.
Now Robin found himself drawn back into the world by a combination of events. The queen’s proposed visit to Devon had necessitated an invitation on his part, for his father’s hospitality had been famous, and as Geoffrey Southwood’s son he could do no less. Then when it was decided that the queen should return to London because of the Spanish threat, he had felt duty-bound to travel to the capital with his troop of men for England’s defense and to entertain the queen anyway. As he had told Velvet, Robin had also received several frantic communications from various members of his family complaining about his youngest sister’s behavior. With their mother and stepfather away, Robin’s siblings, older andyounger, looked upon him as the head of the family by virtue of his high rank.
He had been in London just a short time when he received a rather droll letter from Alexander Gordon, now the Earl of BrocCairn. The earl had arrived at Queen’s Malvern to find an apologetic Lord Bliss in place of the blushing bride he had expected. He would need an entrée to the court if he was to catch up with his reluctant betrothed. Would Robin help him?
Robin had answered immediately, telling his old friend to come directly to London to stay with him, and together they would work out the mess that Velvet had made. She wasn’t really like their mother, Robin thought, but still there was enough of Skye in her to make her willful.
Alex had arrived quietly in London riding his own horse and accompanied only by his valet, a rather wicked-looking rogue named Dugald. With one smooth motion, he slid from his mount and turned to greet his host, who had hurried from his house, a smile upon his handsome countenance. Seeing Robin’s face again reminded Alex that in Paris women had called the pair of them the Archangel and Lucifer , for the contrast between the tall, fair Englishman and the tanned, dark-haired Scot had been that sharp.
“Alex! Damn me, you look just the same. Welcome to London, my friend,” Robin greeted him.
The Earl of BrocCairn grasped and shook the outstretched hand offered him. “I’m glad
“Do you know her?” Alex was now looking curiously at his friend. “Has she become pockmarked or has her nose grown overlong? I remember naught but that she was a pretty child.”
“Aye, I know her! She’s my sister, Alex! My half-sister, and she’s outrageously fair. That’s why you have always looked so familiar to me. We originally met several years ago at your betrothal feast at my mother and stepfather’s estate of Queen’s Malvern.”
Now it was some six years later, and Robin had married his betrothed wife, Alison de Grenville, had sired three daughters with her, and had buried her almost two years past. He could still not think easily about Alison, that sweet, foolish, and headstrong young girl who had given him his first daughter, Elsbeth, nine months to the day after their wedding; Catherine, ten months later; and then against all advice died while birthing Cecily within a year of Catherine. Alison had been so proud of her children, but she had felt a strong, almost fanatical responsibility to give her husband sons. He had known that it was his responsibility to protect her, for his seed was strong and his wife very fertile. He had tried avoiding her after little Catherine’s birth, but she had mischievously gotten him drunk one night, and in his wine-induced stupor he had thought one time could not hurt.
Robin had used his mourning as an excuse to withdraw from court life and from all social contact in his Devon neighborhood. After a year his sister Willow began to fuss at him to remarry, but he could not be moved. Logic told him he was not entirely responsible for his wife’s death, but his emotions told him another tale. Had he been mature enough to control his baser nature, Alison would be alive today. He had not been in love with her, but they had been good friends.
Now Robin found himself drawn back into the world by a combination of events. The queen’s proposed visit to Devon had necessitated an invitation on his part, for his father’s hospitality had been famous, and as Geoffrey Southwood’s son he could do no less. Then when it was decided that the queen should return to London because of the Spanish threat, he had felt duty-bound to travel to the capital with his troop of men for England’s defense and to entertain the queen anyway. As he had told Velvet, Robin had also received several frantic communications from various members of his family complaining about his youngest sister’s behavior. With their mother and stepfather away, Robin’s siblings, older andyounger, looked upon him as the head of the family by virtue of his high rank.
He had been in London just a short time when he received a rather droll letter from Alexander Gordon, now the Earl of BrocCairn. The earl had arrived at Queen’s Malvern to find an apologetic Lord Bliss in place of the blushing bride he had expected. He would need an entrée to the court if he was to catch up with his reluctant betrothed. Would Robin help him?
Robin had answered immediately, telling his old friend to come directly to London to stay with him, and together they would work out the mess that Velvet had made. She wasn’t really like their mother, Robin thought, but still there was enough of Skye in her to make her willful.
Alex had arrived quietly in London riding his own horse and accompanied only by his valet, a rather wicked-looking rogue named Dugald. With one smooth motion, he slid from his mount and turned to greet his host, who had hurried from his house, a smile upon his handsome countenance. Seeing Robin’s face again reminded Alex that in Paris women had called the pair of them the Archangel and Lucifer , for the contrast between the tall, fair Englishman and the tanned, dark-haired Scot had been that sharp.
“Alex! Damn me, you look just the same. Welcome to London, my friend,” Robin greeted him.
The Earl of BrocCairn grasped and shook the outstretched hand offered him. “I’m glad
Similar Books
