The Lady of Secrets (3 page)

But maybe he wouldn’t have to. He had tried to pay no heed to anything Tamsin had said, but maybe the old crone really was a witch. Her words seemed to take possession of his mind.

No one is going to die today. The king will pardon us.

He was afraid to believe her. He had steeled himself to accept Maidred’s death and now that miserable old woman threatened to breach his armor, giving him hope. A hope so sharp, it was painful, pressing like a dagger tip against his heart, threatening to draw blood.

He sought refuge in his reason. Was there any rational basis for thinking that the king might pardon Maidred? Rob tried to recall all that he had ever heard about James Stuart, sixth king of Scotland.

A cradle king, they called him, elevated to the throne when a mere babe after his mother had been deposed by her rebellious Protestant lords, who had risen up against the Catholic queen.

Mary had fled to her cousin, Elizabeth Tudor, for refuge, only to find herself the captive of the English for the next eighteen years. She had finally been charged with treason and beheaded by the English four years ago. The same Scots who had once reviled Mary as a Jezebel and a Papist whore cried out at her death and elevated her to martyrdom. The entire country had gone into mourning.

Lost in grief for his own father around the same time, Rob had barely noticed. Now he wondered about the king, what effect losing his mother in such a fashion had had upon James. Perhaps knowing what it was like to have a member of his family executed so unjustly would render James more compassionate.

Surely Rob had heard from someone other than Tamsin that James was reputed to be a merciful man, and who could fail to take pity on Maidred? She was so young, so innocent, and a comely lass.

James would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by Rob’s sweet sister. And yet Rob had heard darker whispers about the king, that James’s heart was far more apt to be touched by the sight of a handsome lad than that of a maid.

Naught but a scurrilous rumor, surely. Had not James recently married a lovely Danish princess? He had been such
an eager bridegroom, he had done something unheard of for a king. He had not waited for his beloved Anne to come to him, but had risked leaving the safety of his kingdom to sail to Denmark to secure his princess.

And almost died. Violent storms had battered the king’s fleet, nearly sending the king and his bride to a watery grave. Storms that were attributed to the witches’ coven gathering at the kirk, weaving their foul spells. What man would not want vengeance against those who had threatened the life of his young wife?

But the king was said to be a scholar, a man of vast intelligence and knowledge. He was likened to the great King Solomon. No matter what old Tam claimed she had whispered in the king’s ear, could any man so wise truly believe in her nonsense? Could the king look upon Rob’s childlike sister and imagine Maidred possessed of an evil power to brew storms and sink ships?

Rob’s head swam as he weighed the possibilities, balancing reason against his own desperate wishes. The scales of his mind teetered, leaving him torn between hope and despair.

Lost in his thoughts, he was taken unaware when the crowd fell back, nearly knocking him off his feet. Righting himself, he saw the cause of the commotion. A horse and cart had emerged from the castle, two women tied in the back.

“Witch! Witch! Devil’s strumpet!” The cries went up.

As the wagon lumbered past, the prisoners were pelted with clumps of mud and rotting cabbages. Rob tried to put a stop to it, but there were far too many in the crowd hurling abuse.

Rob’s only comfort was that most of it was aimed at Tamsin,
although he was astonished to see that there was someone who cared about the crone’s fate as well.

Two slatternly-looking wenches with red hair trotted alongside the cart and stretched out their hands to the old woman. “Granddam! Granddam!” they wailed.

Rob supposed he should have felt some pity for the two girls when the guards drove them back. But his jaw hardened. Tamsin had had no compunction about luring his innocent sister into danger, but obviously the wily old woman had taken care that none of her own kin should be put at risk. Those two strumpets had not been among those arrested at the church, but surely they must be as steeped in witchcraft as their grandmother. If there were any justice, they should have been bound with Tamsin in the cart instead of Rob’s sweet sister.

Like Tamsin, Maidred had been stripped down to her shift, and her hair … those wayward silky curls that Rob had oft tugged at and teased his sister for being so vain. That golden brown mane had been shaved to a stubble, leaving Maidred looking like a shorn lamb. So young, so scared and lost.

Thrusting himself forward, Rob waved his arm so that she might see him, know he was there. Her lips curved into such a brave little smile, it nigh broke his heart. She touched the front of her shift where the pouch he had given her was concealed. Despite the hope Tamsin offered, he had insisted Maidred wear it and his sister had not resisted, believing it to be magic.

Rob felt sick. What kind of man did a thing like that? Fastened a lethal dose of gunpowder around his unsuspecting sister’s neck. No man at all, only a boy too weak and ineffectual
to do anything but help his sister to a less agonizing death. He should have tried harder, found some way to rescue her even if it cost him his life.

The king was Maidred’s only hope. As the cart trundled onward, Rob kept pace, trying to keep in her view, a difficult feat with so many people milling about him.

Caught up in the crowd, Rob followed the cart through the city gates, toward an open stretch of field. He could see the stakes mounted on the rising ground, the faggots heaped and waiting, all a safe distance away, where no stray spark could bring disaster upon the buildings of Edinburgh.

As the cart was reined to a halt, Rob craned his neck, looking desperately about him. Where was the king? Surely James should have arrived by now. Perhaps he wasn’t even coming.

Had not Rob also heard that the king had an abhorrence of crowds? Perhaps James had changed his mind about attending. Perhaps the rumors were untrue and there had never been any possibility the king would come.

Rob watched as his weeping sister was dragged from the back of the cart. He bowed his head, feeling overwhelmed by despair. He should never have listened to Tamsin, should never have for a moment allowed himself to believe …

“The king. The king!”

The excited shouts brought his head whipping back up. His heart thudded as he saw the approaching contingent of horsemen, the royal pennant flying. The knife of hope returned, piercing him more painfully than ever.

The crowd drew back respectfully as the horsemen rode into their midst and drew rein, some half dozen in all. Rob scanned the faces of the mounted figures, trying to pick out James Stuart.

“Which one is the king?” He didn’t realize that he had spoken the question aloud, until someone answered.

The genial merchant Rob had jostled against earlier pointed a thick finger. “There. The wee man in the center.”

Rob would never have described the king as a wee man, but James Stuart appeared dwarfed in the midst of the strapping, rugged lords who attended him. A slender young man with a trim beard, his dark clothing was unremarkable, bearing none of the regal trappings one might expect of a king.

His gloved hand fidgeted with the clasp of his cloak. He was clearly loath to be here, not eager to witness the grim spectacle to come. The thought increased Rob’s hope.

Tamsin wriggled free of her captors. She flung herself to her knees before the king, crying, “Mercy, great king. Take pity on a poor old woman who repents the error of her ways and would serve you forever as a grateful and loyal subject.”

Maidred followed suit, sinking down beside Tamsin. His sister was unable to speak for her sobs. She held up her bound hands in a pleading gesture that to Rob was more eloquent than any words.

The king stared down at his reins, patting the neck of his chestnut mount. He refused to look at the two women and Rob’s heart sank.

Knocking several people aside, Rob fought his way forward and knelt beside his sister. Of the two of them, Maidred had always been the bright weaver of words, Rob more awkward in expressing himself. But with Maidred’s throat clogged with tears, it was up to him to find the words to move the heart of a king.

“Please, Your Grace,” he stammered. “Have mercy. My sister is but fifteen. She was misled. I beg you. Just look at her and you will see her innocence and goodness. She is no witch.
She would never seek to harm anyone, especially not you, our gracious king.

“I have already lost both my parents. Maidred is everything to me. If I am to lose her too—I cannot bear it.”

Rob’s voice cracked. It was difficult for him to beg, to bare his raw emotions to the impassive young man who towered above him.

But his plea induced James Stuart to look at him, the king’s dark eyes roving over Rob with an expression of interest and compassion.

The king’s gaze flicked from Rob to Maidred and then back again. Rob sensed the king’s hesitation and held his breath.

It seemed to him the gathered throng did as well. The only thing that broke the silence was a loud snort. Not from one of the horses, but one of the king’s retainers.

One of the lords who attended upon the king leaned forward to pass a remark to the rough-hewn knight mounted next to him. Both men smirked.

Rob could not hear what had been said, but it obviously had been audible to the king. James flushed a bright red. His face hardened and he lowered his hand.

“Proceed,” he commanded.

“No!” Rob’s throat burned with the force of his protest. But the single syllable was lost beneath Tamsin’s cries of outrage and her granddaughters’ howls of fury. Maidred sobbed as she and Tamsin were seized by the guards and wrenched to their feet.

The iron hold that Rob had sought to keep on his emotions snapped like a rusted dagger. He leapt up, fighting to wrest Maidred from her captors. He succeeded for a moment,
straining his weeping sister close to his heart before she was wrenched out of his arms.

“Robbie!” She wailed as she was dragged away to be bound to the stake.

All reason forgotten, Rob lashed out in a blind haze of fury in an effort to get to his sister. Punching, kicking, gouging, he hardly felt the blows being dealt him from all sides until a hard club to his temple caused him to reel.

Strong hands forced him to his knees and a gruff voice rasped in his ear.

“Stop, lad. You’ll do neither her nor yourself any good by this. You canna save her.”

Blinking away the blood that trickled in his eye, Rob made out the heavy features of Master Galbraith, the turnkey. The old man and another young guard had Rob firmly pinned, but he struggled, his desperation fueled by the first whiff of smoke, the crackle of flames.

Above the murmurs of the crowd, he could hear old Tamsin’s howls of rage.

“Damn ye to hell, James of Scotland. May ye one day also perish in fire. My curse upon the House of Stuart!”

The old woman’s shrill invective dissolved into shrieks of agony as the flames leapt higher. But it was Maidred’s screams that tore at Rob. Even as his strength ebbed, he made another frantic effort to free himself.

Then the explosion rang out and he went still. The loud retort sent a wave of panic through the crowd. Rob was dimly aware of frightened outcries, the shrill whinny of horses, the stamping of feet. But the chaos all seemed muted, like a scene muffled by a heavy fog or something out of a dream.

Maidred’s cries had ceased, and to Rob, it was as though
the entire world had gone silent. His captors had released him, but he made no move to rise. Hot tears flowed down to mingle with the blood staining his cheeks. Master Galbraith gave his shoulder a rough pat. The gruff gaoler pressed something into Rob’s hand before walking away.

As the crowd began to disperse, Rob summoned the strength to rise to his feet. He had not the courage to look in the direction of the pyre that consumed what remained of his sister. Instead his gaze came to rest upon the king.

James fought to get his nervous mount under control. For a moment his eyes locked with Rob’s. The king was the first to look away. Bringing his horse about, he rode off in the direction he had come, closely followed by his retainers.

Rob stared after him, the acrid smell of smoke and the reek of burned flesh thick in his nostrils. He could hear the continued crackle and hiss of the fire. He knew he would carry that sound and that scent with him until the day he died.

It felt like those flames were inside of him, burning in the hollow of his heart left by Maidred. Rob’s gaze followed the king until James vanished beyond the city gates.

One small wave of James Stuart’s hand was all it would have taken to spare Maidred. Rob had felt certain the king had been close to doing so. So what had stayed him? Some sniggering remark from one of his great lords? The fear of their sneers, their ridicule of his weakness if he dared show any compassion?

The king was weak and as much of a coward as he was reputed to be. The fire in Rob’s heart blazed hotter, burning him with hatred unlike anything he had ever felt. He uncurled his fingers, finally taking note of what Master Galbraith had given him.

A small lock of his sister’s golden brown hair. Rob’s eyes threatened to fill with tears again, but he blinked them back fiercely.

Damn ye to hell, James of Scotland. May ye one day also perish in fire.

Tamsin’s curse echoed through Rob’s mind, the empty venom of an old hag dying in agony, futile words unless someone was man enough to make the curse come true.

“And that I will, May,” Rob whispered, clenching the lock of hair tight in his fist. “Even if it takes me the rest of my life.”

Brittany, 1605

T
HERE WAS LITTLE HOPE OF RETURNING TO THE ISLAND THAT
night. Ominous dark clouds dimmed the sun, robbing the day of precious hours and a more gentle passage into evening. The wind picked up, rendering the waters of the channel whitecapped and choppy.