The Beauty of the Mist (41 page)

Unless one of the earlier riders had been found out, the Highlander knew there would be seven of them to achieve the delivery of the King’s freedom. The first four groups of couriers that had delivered Maria’s letters had each left behind one man at Falkland Palace. Each one was a warrior loyal to the King, and more than ready to wield his sword in whatever difficulty arose.

Galloping furiously under the moonlit sky, the three men broke out into the open space just south of the royal burgh, and there they reined in their frothy and panting horses. In the rolling hills between them and the walls of the town, an army was encamped. John’s gaze took in the horses, wagons, the scattering of tents, and the thousands of men huddled around sputtering fires.

To take on such numbers by force would surely be suicide, John thought grimly. But this would be their only chance to stop Angus and his plans. Maria had told Elizabeth that with Angus in power, the marriage would assure that the Lord Chancellor would receive from the Emperor Charles whatever troops he sought to safeguard his control of Scotland. But without Angus in command, the Emperor would have no interest in acting on his own.

Throughout the hard ride, John had thought of her over and over again, of the words she had told him of her life, of her actions. Thinking back on their discussions, he knew there were traces of truth of everything she had said.

But perhaps it was all a ruse. Perhaps they were waiting for him. It would be a fine way for Maria to take care of the potential problem John Macpherson represented. With him out of the way, her alliance with Angus is solidified, and King James...

John shook his head. Nay, it was far too late to be thinking such things now. The die was cast. And besides, from deep in his heart, another voice was speaking. That voice told him to trust her.

It was a voice he heard...and believed.

John could see a pair of sentries eyeing them warily across the field.

“Well, lads,” John said quietly, wheeling his mount. “For Scotland and King James!”

“Aye!” the two men responded heartily, falling in beside him as he spurred his steed toward the towers of Falkland Palace.

More horses and another large company of Highland warriors were waiting for the small entourage as they climbed out of the small boat that had ferried them across the Firth of Forth.

“I still can’t believe you agreed to being dragged out into as wild a night as this simply on a whim!” Isabel complained, wrapping her heavy cloak tighter around her as she settled into the saddle.

“It wasn’t a whim, Isabel,” Maria answered, glancing to make sure their companions hadn’t heard her aunt. “We should be thankful that Elizabeth and Ambrose came for us when they did. I, for one, would not have wanted to be sitting in the Abbey of Holyrood and waiting for Angus’s wrath to descend upon our heads.”

The two watched as the tall, blonde Highlander with the jagged scar on his forehead leaped onto his horse and joined his wife, who had already mounted up. Spirited out of the Abbey by Elizabeth and Ambrose Macpherson at the height of the passing storm, Maria and Isabel had been escorted by their friends–and close to two hundred soldiers–to the boatmen at Queen’s Ferry. The group of warriors, now crowding around like a company of fierce looking shadows, had met them as they’d come off the sparkling waters of the Firth, and Maria thanked heaven that the storm had given way to a night, crystal clear and moonlit. A good night for traveling.

“There is no guarantee that those men can do what they have set out to do,” Isabel whispered. “It could be that nothing good comes out of any of this. It could be that they all get killed before they even reach the king.”

Maria felt a sharp pain tear at her heart on hearing Isabel’s words. She had told her aunt everything–everything but the fact that John had been the one carrying the last message to Falkland Palace. Maria gripped the reins of her horse tighter in her hands. If something were to happen to him, if he gets hurt... She couldn’t think any more. Trying to fight back the tears that were burning her lashes, Maria turned her face from her aunt. Please, Virgin Mother, keep him, she prayed. Save him. Bring him back. Even though he would never again come back to her. Even though he would never again want her.

Maria ran a quick hand across her cheek wiping away any tell-tale tears before facing her aunt again.

Elizabeth and Ambrose paused only a moment as they passed. The dark haired beauty reached out and took hold of Maria’s gloved hand.

“Are you ready to go on?” Elizabeth asked hurriedly.

“Aye,” Ambrose replied for them with a nod, reining in sharply his heady steed. “I’ll warrant these two can outride the rest of us.”

“You are truly the diplomat, Sir Ambrose,” Isabel commented.

“Aye, he is that,” Elizabeth agreed. “But we’ve a long ride ahead of us, and we want to be far away when the sun rises.”

“We’re ready, Elizabeth,” Maria asserted, receiving a squeeze of her hand in response.

“Then we’re off,” Ambrose said with a quick glance around at his men.

Without another word, the husband and wife spurred their horses forward into the darkness, while Maria and Isabel followed suit.

“I shouldn’t wonder that they’ve already found that we’re missing,” Isabel remarked decidedly, turning to Maria as they rode.

“I suppose so,” Maria answered. “But they won’t know where we are heading. Ambrose’s plan was for the Abbot and the rest to think we were kidnapped. With the rest of our delegation left behind, that may be just what they do think.”

“Very smart,” Isabel nodded curtly.

“Very kind, I should say,” Maria countered. “If the plan f... If things don’t go according to plan, they are providing for our safety. For when we return.”

“You mean,
if
we return,” Isabel retorted.

Isabel knew her well, Maria thought. She would not return. If this plan failed, if John got hurt, there would be nothing that would drive her back to the side of the Scottish king. She had already said as much in her letters to King James.

John hunched his back to make himself look smaller and pulled his hood of chain forward on his face, though with the thick mud that coated his face and clothes, he doubted anyone would recognize him.

The sour faced Douglas man who had been roused to take him up to the King, handed the torch roughly to John and motioned for him to follow him up the tower steps.

“You two wait here,” he commanded.

John nodded to his cloaked companions, and noted that Gavin and Gareth casually positioned themselves where each of them could dispatch one of the two surly sentries should the need arise. The Highlander hoped all would go smoothly–without bloodshed.

“Oh,” the steward said, turning back to John. “Disarm yourself here.”

“Aye,” John replied, his voice low and rasping. It took him only a moment to lay his sword and dirk against the stone wall at the bottom of the tower.

Satisfied, the man led the muddy messenger up the circular stairwell. At the first landing, John found no one standing guard beside a stout oak door. There were a few bedchambers for high-ranking visitors beyond the entrance, and a corridor leading to the Great Hall. From his past visits here, John knew that there was a heavy bar on the far side of the door, but he had no way of telling if it offered him an alternate means of escape. The lack of a guard here, though, clearly indicated that they thought any attempt at freeing the King would come from outside the heavily manned Palace walls. Climbing the next winding set of stairs to the top of the tower, the two at last reached the royal apartment, and the man motioned for John to wait.

Before he could knock, however, the door swung open, and two figures emerged from the King’s chambers. John backed away as he saw them, trying to hold the torch as far away as possible, to where its light would not fall on his face. The short, bulky man was holding a wick lamp.

“Ahh! Lady Maule. Sir Thomas.” The man bowed slightly. “I didn’t know you were with the King.”

“Our business was with him, steward,” Sir Thomas remarked sharply. “Not with you.”

“Aye, Sir Thomas,” the man responded with a fawning tone. “My apologies, sir.”

“What’s this?” the elder knight demanded, waving the wick lamp at John.

“A messenger with a letter for the King,” the steward offered helpfully.

“At this hour? The King is ready to retire.”

John kept his eyes on Sir Thomas’s feet, and he could feel Caroline’s gaze brush over him disinterestedly. He had no desire to kill Thomas Maule, but he was prepared to kill all three of these people in an instant, if either husband or wife recognized him.

“He is one of the daily messengers from Edinburgh,” the man explained. “They bring letters from the King’s bride.”

“Bride...” Caroline muttered under her breath.

“Very well,” Sir Thomas said with a glance at his wife. “We’re finished here. Announce yourself, steward.”

The man bowed before going to knock at the open door.

“Wait!” the knight commanded. “Why are there no sentries here”

“I passed your order on to the captain of the guard, Sir Thomas. I don’t know...In the past, we’ve...I...I’ll go to him immediately after speaking with the King, m’lord.”

“See to it.” Sir Thomas turned on his heel and started for the steps.

Even with his eyes averted, John felt the heat of Caroline’s gaze once again before she moved off at her husband’s side to the stairwell.

The steward’s call, “Your pardon, Majesty...” drew John’s eyes upward for an instant, and the Highlander caught Caroline’s last glance before she disappeared around the bend of the stairs.

Placing the torch in a wall sconce, John followed the steward into the well lit chamber. He found Kit, dressed in a doublet of black velvet, standing by a writing table and holding a quill pen in his hand.

“Your Majesty, a letter from your bride!” the man announced. Then, turning to John, he ordered, “Place it on that table by the door. You’ve delivered it to His Majesty in person, as you were commanded. Now depart.”

“It has been an honor to serve Your Majesty.” The Highlander pushed back the hood from his head and, as he bowed deeply, John saw the young king’s eyes focus on him. As he began to back out of the room, he halted at Kit’s command.

“Don’t go! Not yet.” King James picked up the parchment from the writing desk and looked back at him. “Are you departing for Edinburgh tonight?”

“If that is you wish, Your Majesty,” John answered.

“Very good. Then you will wait a moment while I finish this letter. I’d like it to be delivered to my bride immediately.”

John simply bowed again in response as he watched the King sit down at the desk and begin to scratch busily at the parchment. Absently, the King waved at the steward.

“Fetch me something to eat,” Kit said without looking up at the steward.

“Something to eat, your majesty?”

“Aye, this may take longer than I thought, and I’m hungry.” King James looked up at John. “Are you hungry, soldier?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. Starving.”

“Bring something for this good man, as well, steward.”

“For this...” the steward looked at John askance.

“Are you deaf?” the King asked with a show of anger. “Go, steward! Now!”

The steward looked uncertainly from the King to the muddy messenger, then headed quickly for the door, leaving it open behind him.

***

“I don’t think it was right for you to speak so slightingly of the Queen before her future husband, Caroline,” Sir Thomas scolded his wife.

“I only spoke the truth,” she snapped. They were back on Scottish ground. Maria could not shut her up as she had done in Antwerp, Caroline thought. She would speak of her name and character any way she wished. Let her try to stop me she thought. Caroline was a Douglas. They were on her turf now. “As her husband, this boy has the right to know how many men she has slept with before they marry.”

Sir Thomas turned sharply at his wife. “As
your
husband, I wasn’t told of
your
habits.”

She gave a quick glance around them. There was no one at the first landing. “You knew about John,” she sneered.

“But John wasn’t the only one. Was he?”

“Perhaps he wasn’t,” she taunted. “But he was the best. The best lover I ever had. The best I have
ever
had. He made me feel like a woman. Even now, I see his magnificent body, so beautiful, coming to me in my bed. Even now, I remember the way I cried out in ecstasy as he...”

“Stop!” Sir Thomas grabbed his wife by her elbow. “Stop, Caroline. Before you drive us both to madness.”

“Stop? Never!” she snapped, jerking her elbow free. “He is the only man I’ve ever loved. The only I’ve ever desired.”

The elder warrior looked imploringly into his wife’s wild face. Every day, since they’d set sail from Antwerp, he’d heard these same words. Over and over again, at every opportunity, she had reminded him of his age, of his inability to match John’s prowess, his charm. But as they’d neared the coast of Scotland, Sir Thomas had come to the realization that the problem lay not with the Highlander, but with his own wife. Her loss of John Macpherson was only part of it. Now, standing in the stone passages of Falkland Palace, Sir Thomas feared for her mind.

He had never appreciated the serenity that he and Janet had shared and enjoyed until Caroline came into his life. He’d been fooled by her youth and her beauty. He’d been fooled to think that his young wife will be a companion and a friend to his daughter. How wrong he had been. In the few short months since their marriage, he’d aged. He’d been blinded to the world around him and had, perhaps, driven his only daughter to run away.

And he’d been gradually withdrawing. He no longer lost all control at Caroline’s abuse. A momentary flash of temper, and then he simply shut her out. He feared the darkness he now saw clearly within her. He hated the viciousness in her that was no longer hidden beneath her beautiful veneer. Caroline was now striking out at everyone around her. And who could know how far her cruelty would extend.