The Kadin Read Free Page B

Flora, her maid, called softly, “Mistress, it is time you were up. Your bath is waiting.”
    She helped the girl arise and removed her nightgown. Walking across the cool tile floor, Janet stepped into her bath. It was scented with roses. Flora, a stern older woman who had been with Janet since she was four, scrubbed the girl vigorously, then, commanding her to stand, poured clean water over Janet to rinse her creamy skin. Toweling her dry, she sat her young mistress down and pared both her finger-and toenails.
    Mary MacKay entered the room, followed by two servant girls who carried Janet’s betrothal gown. It was her first adult dress, and she eagerly stepped into it Mary looked fondly at her granddaughter. There is nothing at all of my Meg in her, she thought Janet is pure Leslie.
    Gazing at her image in the mirror, young Lady Janet Leslie knew she was beautiful. Her gown was of heavy white silk with a deep-cut square neckline and long, flowing sleeves. Beneath it she wore a low-cut bodice and a petticoat of silk. An inverted V, embroidered with gold flowers, divided the skirt into two panels. Between the panels the pristine silk glistened. At the point of the V she pinned a broach fashioned of gold, diamonds, and topazes—her betrothal gift from Rudi.
    Flora set a cape of topaz-colored velvet about her shoulders. Her grandmother gave her hair, which was unbound to show she was a maiden, a final brush, and placed a small cap of gold mesh upon her head. She was ready.
    Patrick Leslie, equally resplendent in a suit of dark-green velvet, felt a pang of remorse at the sight of his daughter. Damn James Stuart, he thought. If it weren’t for him, this betrothal would not have happened. But in his heart the earl knew that whether it be Rudolfo di San Lorenzo or some other lad, he would have lost his daughter someday. He consoled himself with the fact that the wedding would not take place for almost two years.
    “You are most bonnie, little sweetheart,” he said.
    Janet smiled at him and, placing her hand in his, accompanied him to the waiting horses.
    The day had become unbearably hot for December. Even within the cathedral, with its thick stone walls, the moist, sticky heat prevailed. The old bishop droned on longer than usual, and Janet silently sent up a prayer of thanks that she had forbidden a Mass on this occasion. The High Mass should be reserved for the wedding, not a simple betrothal ceremony, she had told them.
    Then, mercifully, it was over, and she and Rudi signed the official documents which contracted them to marriage. As they left the cathedral, they stopped and stood a moment on the top steps of the church. The slender, red-haired girl, and the tall, handsome, curly-headed boy heard the joyous cries of the San Lorenzans. They were both so young, so beautiful, and so touchingly innocent that the people below, taking them to their hearts, cheered louder.
    Rudi’s tanned face flashed a smile. “I have a present for you,” he said.
    “A present? But I thought the broach was my betrothal gift”
    “It is. By tradition. This is something that I have personally picked for you.”
    She smiled back at him. “What is it?”
    “A surprise,” he answered, leading her down the steps and setting her upon her horse. “You’ll see it when we get back to the palace, but I assure you you’ve never had anything like it before. You will be the envy of every woman in San Lorenzo.”
    They rode back up the hill to the palace to accept the congratulations of the entire ducal family, the clergy, and the other nobility of the region. Afterward, alone with their immediate family, Rudi slipped his arm about her tiny waist
    “Did I tell you I love you today, cara mia?”
    “Just today?”
    “Every day, my sweet” and he kissed the tip of her ear.
    She blushed, and he laughed. “Being my fiancée officially has made you more demure. It is most charming.”
    “Rudolfo,” boomed the duke, “I think this would be a good