A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland (5 page)

The gallery yelled and screamed their
approval as James slowed his horse to a trot. He bowed to the king and queen.
Isabella met his eyes and smiled. He thought his heart had stopped.

Thomas Randolph rode next and easily
unhorsed his opponent. James stood letting his mount cool and sending glances
towards Isabel. Once she cut her eyes his way and smiled at him. He bowed to
cover his flush. Hopefully, she hadn't seen it. But she was watching him.

A score more courses were run, squires
unhorsing each other one after another. James rode to tilt again against young
Walter, heir of the Stewart. The lad seemed too young for it. James unhorsed him
on their first pass. He was a cousin, and James breathed a sigh of relief when
he hopped to his feet and caught his horse's reins.

Finally, it came down to Thomas Randolph.

Randolph leaned forward as he rode, his
lance solid. James shifted away in his seat and Randolph's lance only grazed
his shield. James's lance shattered and Randolph rocked, tilted sideways from
the impact. He managed to right himself, and a cheer went up. James stole a
glance towards Isabel. She leaned towards the queen, saying something into her
ear.

James tossed down his broken lance and
someone handed him a fresh one. Randolph spurred forward at a gallop. This time
James only feigned a shift. Randolph followed then tried to recover as James
straightened. His lance missed. James's own smashed into his shield with a jolt
that nearly tore his arm off. Randolph's horse went onto its haunches. A clear
miss to his hit. The match was his.

Everyone was screaming, and James grinned. Randolph
threw his lance down, cursing. Then he shook his head and sketched a bow. James
waved to him and rode at a prancing gait around the field. Isabella clapped and
smiled. His heart thudded. The gallery shook with cheers.

It was as good as the coronation itself. He
jumped from his horse. The king bent over the wooden rail to put a purse of
silver into his hand. The king's smile made his heart hammer. The smile from
Isabella was even better.

Horse stabled, he dashed to the tent he
shared with half a score other squires. Thomas Randolph, red-haired and tall,
came in. With a rueful laugh, he congratulated James on his win. James shed his
heavy mail and flexed his shoulders. He'd soon be accustomed to the stuff, but
the fact was he'd never had to wear mail much, except in the practice yard or
when the bishop traveled. But now the king had gifted him with this. It was the
finest he'd ever touched.

He'd used part of the bishop's purse to buy
a woolen tunic of the same blue as the Douglas colors. He dumped a bucket of
cold water over his head and shook, water flying. After he slicked back his
hair, he donned the new clothes.

Twilight had faded into
darkness. The lists were quiet and abandoned as James made his way up the long
hill. His breath fogged in the chilly night air. The sound of laughter and of a
tinkling harp drifted down. Light shone through the windows. He stopped and
looked long at the stars above in the black night sky. It seemed so quiet. Eternal.
Yet everything was changing. Moving.

Tomorrow the king would
lead his men away, James amongst them. To war. But not tonight.

He ran up the hill, and a man-at-arms threw
open the door. Color, laughter, and ease filled the room. Two minstrels played
a tune. A dwarf leapt into the air for a flip. Bruce sat at the high table
laughing at the performer's antics, but the queen looked subdued beside him,
her eyes downcast.

The roaring fireplace warmed the huge room.
On a staff behind the king, the great tressured banner rippled in a draft as
though the red lion would leap off into the company.

"Jamie Douglas." Boyd slapped
James on the back. A twinge darted through his arm from nearly tearing it off
when he unhorsed Randolph. "Well fought in the tourney."

James laughed. "My first. I was
pleased not to shame myself before the king. Everyone knows that he's a
champion in the lists."

Boyd upended his wine cup, finishing the
last drop. "There's fine wine tonight." He snagged a flagon from a
passing server. "May as well take advantage of it whilst we can. The king
is off tomorrow, and I'll follow."

"As will I, Robbie." James took a
cup from the long table and let Boyd fill it for him. The rich red wine warmed
him inside, and he maneuvered closer to the high table.

The dwarf did another flip, rolled across
the floor, and then bowed his way out of the room to applause and tossed coins.

The king stood. "I'd dance with my
fair queen this night."

Servants pushed the benches against the
walls and the musicians tuned their instruments. High-pitched laughter came
from the ladies. The queen leaned on Robert de Bruce's arm, a smile easing her
look as he whispered to her.

Bruce led the way onto the floor with his
queen. James frowned when Sir Edward bowed over Isabella's hand and led her out.
Soon much of the company joined the king in a raucous circle dance, twining in
and out in a complex pattern. James's eyes followed Isabella as she glided
through the figure, skirts moving about her legs. He was sure her eyes slid his
way.

The scent of a roast boar caught his attention,
and he speared a slice with his knife to chew as he watched. She'd been next to
the queen so she'd pass this way when the dance was over. He smiled in
anticipation.

The dance ended. Bruce led the queen off
the floor, back towards their place on the dais. As a harp player struck up a
slow tinkling tune that would give the dancers a chance to catch their breaths,
the king made his way through the press of his guests, pausing to speak as he
received greetings. James bowed low when Bruce and the queen came even with him.

"Ah, Jamie Douglas." The king
tucked his wife's hand more securely on his arm. Sir Edward and Isabella came
to a stop behind him, as he blocked their way.

James had heard stories of Bruce's fondness
for his beautiful wife. He'd never had a chance before to see how true they
were. She smiled up at the king with a look that made James blush with envy.

Bruce turned to his brother and Isabella standing
behind him. "See you," he continued, "he did well in the lists
today. I thought Tom Randolph would win amongst the squires. Yet Douglas here
landed him right on his rump." Bruce threw back his head and laughed.

James felt himself color. "Nothing
compared to Sir Nigel's victory."

"Oh, my brother is a hard man to beat
in the lists, though I did so a year past. Edward here as well, but I said they
shouldn't ride against each other. Two Bruces in the list seemed hardly fair."
He smiled down at Sir Edward's companion. "Lady Isabella, do you know Squire
James de Douglas here?" He took the lady's hand and pulled her away from
his brother. Sir Edward shrugged and bowed as he moved towards one of the
Campbell ladies on the other side of the room.

Isabella curtseyed and her blue and gold
skirts swayed about her.

"I've seen him on the lists from a
distance, my lord."

"An oversight. James, here's a lady
for you to practice your graces upon. If it weren't for my Elizabeth, I'd be
right tempted."

The queen shook her head and gave a low
laugh. "Sire."

"It's true, my dear, I swear it. A
lady who'd ride four hundred miles to place a crown on my head and so fair a
lady at that. What king's heart wouldn't be won? Or what squire's?" He
grinned at James, teeth gleaming.

Isabella extended a long-fingered hand
towards James. Her eyes sparkled. "Squire, I was quite thrilled watching
you in the lists today. You did nobly."

"My lady." He pressed her fingers
as he bowed. "I've never known of a woman so brave--to ride so far with
only your men-at-arms, even for the king. And barring her grace, none so fair. The
king speaks the truth."

She slipped her hand onto his arm and
raised her eyebrows as she turned to the king. "Why, your Grace, I believe
the squire wields his tongue as fairly as his lance on the field."

James ran a finger along his moustache,
still shorter than he would have liked. "I've nothing of Sir Edward's
charm with the ladies. But mayhap you'd allow me this dance? If their Graces
permit?"

Bruce waved them away. "You children
go enjoy yourselves. My lady queen and I will watch for a while."

As the musicians struck up a livelier tune,
James led Isabella out onto the floor. Sir Edward joined them with the Campbell
lady and, to James's surprise, scowled in his direction. Isabella curtsied, and
they began the pattern, whirling and weaving their way through the steps of the
dance.

When Sir Edward gave James a hard jab of
the elbow, James eased away. Obviously, the man wasn't happy with someone else
getting a fair lass's attention. James decided to ignore it. He had no taste
for a quarrel with the king's brother. At the last strum of the harp, James
grasped Isabella's hand to lead her from the floor. It was soft in his and his
heart was beating harder than it should from a dance.

"A goblet of wine?"

Her eyes were laughing when she looked up. "You
can't."

"Can't what?"

"Can't kiss me."

He'd wanted to and she'd seen it,
unmistakably.

"If you walk with me along the river
bank, I can." He snatched a flagon from a server and poured a goblet of
red wine.

"What they'll say about me is bad
enough. I'll not make it worse."

"They'll say you're the bravest woman
in Scotland."

She took the wine. "They'll say I did
it for him. For the king. They'll call me a harlot, I suspect."

James frowned in the direction of the king.
He was talking to Sir Alexander Scrymgeour, the standard-bearer, a thin
gray-haired man who'd served Wallace, and the queen leaned forward to listen.

James hesitated. He could hardly ask if she
was the king's mistress, but
he'd seen no hint of lust between them
. It seemed a foolish question. "But
that's not why you did it," he said finally.

"I did it because a MacDuff should. For
my father, partly, because he would have been here to do his duty. They've
turned my brother into an English lapdog. Not his fault, I suppose, but what
else could I do?" She bit her lip. "I grew up in Fife. It's my
country as much as any man's. I couldn't just--not do anything."

He shook his head. "You're wrong."

"About what?"

"That I can't kiss you." He maneuvered
to the side so he was between her and most of the room and took her face gently
between his hands. His lips brushed hers. They were sweet beyond measure.

"No couth. I'm hardly surprised."
From behind him, Sir Edward's voice had a sting of venom.

James tucked Isabella's hand on his arm as
he turned to bow slightly to the man. "I'm sure I have much to learn from
you, sir."

Sir Edward scowled as though to decipher
whether that was sarcasm.

James smiled at Isabella with regret. "I'd
best return you to the queen's side."

* * *

The bright morning sun lit up the refectory
of the Abbey.

William de Lamberton crossed his arms over his
chest frowning as Robert de Bruce looked out the window. "We need him,
but--I wish he'd go to safety in France," Lamberton said. He glanced at
the elderly Bishop Wishart where he stood talking to his master-at-arms. The
man had already given too much for Scotland's freedom. Now he was aged and
frail, his back stooped, his hands thin and spotted with age. The risk was too
great.

"I suggested he go to the pope to
plead our case." The king gave a heavy sigh. "He saw through that
ruse."

"Not so much of a ruse. You'll be
excommunicated soon enough for what happened at Greyfriars and probably all of
us with you. But I fear..."

The king raised his eyebrows.

"I fear no plea will help."

Bruce leaned a hand against the edge of the
window, squinting into the bright sunlight. "William, you know that I
meant to kill the Comyn."

"Wishart gave you absolution." Lamberton
looked around to be sure no one could hear and lowered his voice. "Robert,
why? In a church?"

The king slowly shook his head. "I
meant it to be outside and not at the altar. But he was going to die after he
betrayed us to Edward." He whirled to face Lamberton. "Think,
William. How long before Longshanks had you in chains and me on the scaffold,
joining Wallace? Comyn thought that he would be given the throne for his
betrayal of us--the more fool him. Then he raised his hand to me. Struck me as
he did the day you stepped between us."

Lamberton let out a long breath, for a
moment at a loss. "It's done." He looked out the window where everything
was noise and chaos. Men were shouting; horses were being led from the stables
and saddled; pavilions were being struck. The morning had grown warm and
everyone was in an uproar to be off.

Alex Seton was in the middle of it, arguing
with Edward Bruce.