The Mer- Lion (27 page)

Since James was obviously expecting some response, de Wynter looked properly perplexed.

"Yes, indeed," James continued, "I've taken a vow not to marry until the matter of my mother's marriage is solved. Perhaps your friend, the cardinal?" By the time de Wynter wrote to Rome or to Naples or wherever the prelate might be, and got a response, whatever it might be, which was of no real import to James, weeks would go by. By then, James was sure he'd come up with another delaying tactic. These marital negotiations could drag on for years. After all, unless one were lucky, one married only once or at the most twice in one's life. Except for death in childbirth, women seemed immune to early ends.

In the meantime, it would be best to sever the relationship between Margaret and de Wynter. His mother, in her cups, was notably loose-lipped. An ardent lover who was in the employ of a foreign country might well learn too much from her. To accomplish the breakup would take some doing, the king already being in her bad graces. James suspected he would have to buy his way back into her favor with the French frame. Then, he had a inspiration. So diabolically clever was it that James very seriously came close to considering himself a diplomatic genius, especially when he heard what next de Wynter had to say.

CHAPTER
9

"Well, what did he say?" De Wynter had barely closed the door to the music room behind him when the Lady Islean was upon him.

"Not now, on our way back to Alva. How long will it take you to pack?" Although .his words seemed to convey some urgency, his tone of voice was preoccupied.

"Why are you eager to leave?" Then, she couldn't resist the opportunity. "Don't you wish to renew your acquaintance with Margaret?"

He refused to rise to the bait; instead, he started off briskly. "The king has agreed to make my excuses for me."

The Lady Islean had to follow along at a good pace if she wished to continue the conversation. "I doubt that. He'd rather beard twenty boars than tell his mother something she doesn't want to hear. You should have heard the row last night."

"Oh? Tell me about it as we ride. As to my question?"

"To pack? Just a few minutes for my own clothing. Your father always insisted I be ready to move on at a moment's notice. But I had planned to stay and collect my belongings, taking them back with me. Not that I don't trust the Campbells."

"If I were you, I'd worry more about the Stewarts. In fact, I should assign one of the Alva housemaids to assist the Queen Dowager in her packing. From what I saw in her room, she has a habit of collecting loose objects."

The Lady Islean was shocked. Not at petty thievery—it happened all the time—but by the Queen Dowager? "She only has to admire and she'll be given what she fancies."

"With some sort of largess expected in kind. Mother, the woman hasn't two shillings to rub together. I felt her purse while she slept It was empty. Her wardrobe? It's half the size of yours and many of the dresses have been turned. Her jewels are glass. But if you don't believe me, check the harpsichord in the music room. In it, you'll find two of your goblets and a salt that I retrieved from her room three nights ago."

Shocked, the. Lady Islean twirled and began to retrace her steps, but de Wynter caught her by the arm. "Later, Mother. Those things are safe. It's the others I'd worry about."

"What do you suggest? That I strip the place while the king is still here?"

"How well do you trust the Campbells?"

The two stared at each other, so much alike other than that hair. Then, the Lady Islean dimpled and laughed. "Not at all. I'll do it. You see to the horses and carts."

To the courts' amazement and the Campbells' chagrin, servants began to remove the castle's furnishings—the chairs, the linens, the serving plates, the very kettles in which the many meals had been cooked—then the servants themselves clambered aboard clumsy conveyances and were driven away. Last to leave was the Lady Islean. As Fionn helped her mount her jenny, she was tempted to say something biting in the way of goodbye, but desisted when she saw the expression on the young chatelaine's face.

Lady Ann was mortified. And her husband was obviously furious with her. The king, guessing what had happened and realizing what was likely to follow, intervened. After all, he owed Ann something for those two nights, regardless of the disappointments of the third, that she had entertained him royally in his bedchamber. And so he made the Lady Ann a most low obeisance, and kissed her hand most tenderly.

Not looking at her at all, but at the red-faced head of the Campbell clan, he said, "You are a man most fortunate in your mate. I should wish myself to be as lucky as you when I take a
woman to wife. Cherish your. Lady Ann most carefully; we should be upset to discover that our royal visit had caused her any discomfort"

The use of the royal "we" would, as he knew, impress the Lord Campbell. His words had the effect of a command. To reinforce his words, he slipped the small silver ring from his little finger and placed it upon her small thumb. "Take this token of my esteem, lady, and send it to me if ever 1 can be of service to you."

Then, he mounted and rode off, leaving the young girl romantically holding the ring to her lips. It was the most precious thing she'd ever owned. Her husband, glowering next to her, waited not a minute longer than courtesy demanded, then turned about and stomped inside to seek solace in a large tankard of wine. If only he could find a cup from which to drink.

James, as he rode at the forefront of the royal caravan, thought to himself that his investment in that score of silver rings was wise; he must remind the Earl of Mar to order more.

James had not yet made it a habit to take himself up into the Highlands to visit the clans. But after seeing the wealth of the Earl of Seaforth, he decided he would soon rectify the matter.

The troop bound for Alva had not gone far when they were joined by another, de Wynter having rounded up the huntsmen from their temporary camp and, with the bounds running underfoot, started them back to their more familiar haunts. Amidst much barking and bugling and shouting the troops merged, organizing themselves with
a
few well-chosen words from de Wynter. With Fionn again bearing the Mer-Lion banner in the fore, the Mackenzies, lord, lady, and clansmen, returned from their first royal hunt

To the Lady Islean's disgust, de Wynter did not immediately seek her out; not until he had ridden inspection on all of the wagons and horses and hounds, assuring himself that all was in order. It made no difference to Islean that that was exactly what her husband would have done. Finally, her son urged the ugly, surefooted mare forward, bringing her alongside the Lady Islean's jenny.

She had, during the time he was busy, gone from eager impatience to outright anger to calm resolve; she would wait and let him bring up the subject. She was tired of appearing the younger of the two.

But he seemed not eager to talk. Eventually, she broke the silence: "That's an ugly mare you ride."

"Is that what you wanted to speak to me about?"

"You know damn well it's not."

"Well, then, what would you like to know?" He was all agreeableness and she would have liked to turn him over her knee and administer a good paddling.

"You could start at the beginning," she replied, exasperated, "but perhaps that's too logical." -

He reached over and put his hand on hers, his expression all contrite. "I didn't mean that as you took it. I really don't know how to begin; you're not going to like what you hear."

"He didn't agree to your renunciation of the throne?" was her shocked question.

"He didn't quite disagree. Wait, let me explain. The way he put it, he rather liked having two bodies—I had not yet told him about Jamie—between him and Margaret Douglas. He said he slept better that way. Besides, he liked having his heir near at hand here in Scotland."

"Well, that's just too bad. I'll ride right up to Mercat Cross in Edinburgh and announce my renunciation to the world at large. You'd better do the same. Comforting, indeed. Who does the bastard think he is?"

"Mother, you have it wrong. We're the bastards, remember?" She ignored that. "Is that all he said?" "Not exactly. He finally admitted he'd reconsider the matter if a way could be found to persuade Margaret Douglas to return to Scotland." "You joke!"

"Not at all. That's what he said in so many words. However, he did understand our rightful concern for our own skins. He was sorry, of course, about the death of Albany's heir
...
and of your brother, the Earl of Moray
...
and of your husband." For the first time, his voice betrayed him, and Islean realized her son did care. It was her turn to reach for his hand. They rode awhile, hand in hand. Then, with his voice back under control, de Wynter continued. And this time, if anything, his voice was bitter. "And out of his great and real love for us, when I told him of my son, he refused to confirm Jamie as my heir."

"Oh, my God, no. He wouldn't, he can't You've acknowledged the boy as your own."

"Mother, don't fight it. He's right. We can argue and protest as much as we wish, but only the king decides the succession, whether it be his own or a lowly earl's."

She was defeated. All her plans, her plotting, her work, all of it was undone by the will of one man.

He squeezed her hand. "But all is not lost yet, Mother. The king is agreeable to reconsidering the whole matter under certain circumstances."

Her eyes brightened; she still believed that right would always will out. "Anything. I'll deed him my silver mines
...
you can turn over Rangeley to him. All we need is Seaforth."

"That isn't what he has in mind, although I doubt that he would refuse them if offered. No, he has in mind that I personally persuade Margaret Douglas to return to Scotland."

"You're not seriously considering it?"

"Why not? I hear England's beautiful in the summer. Isn't it time that I see for myself?"

"Has the whole world gone mad? The Red Douglas would never let her go
...
nor would Henry. He uses her to keep Margaret, the mother, under control. Whenever he wants her to aid him in some scheme that's to Scotland's disservice, he promises to disinherit the Princess Mary and name Margaret Douglas heiress to England."

"Perhaps the daughter is tired of being elevated and then reduced in precedence. She might well wish to visit her mother. Be that as it may, I owe it to you and Father and Albany and all who have worked so hard to protect me during my youth
...
and to Jamie so that he takes his rightful place in Scotland. I have to give it a try."

He was right and she knew it. But she had trouble saying so aloud. Somehow putting thoughts in words made them so final. As they rode on, the two mounts matching their paces, she tried to force herself to say she agreed. He let her take her time. He was afraid she might ask what were the alternatives.

Finally, in so many words, she accepted the inevitable. "When do you leave?"

"That depends. Have you by any chance kept in touch with the rest of the companions?"

"The companions?"

"That was the name we boys gave ourselves, after Alexander the Great and his men. Gilliver objected since Alexander was heathen, but we voted him down. If they are still in Scotland and are at all willing, I should like to enlist their cooperation in this mad adventure of mine."

She thought a moment. "Drummond, I know, has taken service with one of the Bonnet Lairds. As for the others, I shouldn't be surprised if Seamus had kept in touch with them. You might ask him when we get back to Alva."

They rode on silently, companionably, the enormity of the task ' facing them uniting them again. Suddenly the Lady Islean began to chuckle. As her son watched, somewhat taken aback, she laughed outright. Catching sight of his expression, she managed to calm herself, then confided, "I've not gone mad. I just saw a picture of my son robbing the Queen Dowager of what she had already robbed, and she snoring through the whole affair. Imagine her puzzlement when she goes to look for her new possessions and can't find them. Think you she'll blame you?"

"Not funny, Mother," her son replied.

"Speaking of fun," she countered, "did you ever get your green shoes?"

He confessed, "Alas, I did. Unfortunately, the lady has too big an eye and the shoes would better fit Seamus."

"Give them to him. He'd love them. The green of the emerald isle, he is oft heard to say, is his favorite color."

"I
would, but there's one problem. The green of these shoes is the most bilious I've ever seen."

"That's no problem. Seamus is color-blind."

Fionn, riding before them, overheard and thought to himself, Da' never told me about that.

CHAPTER
10

The Lady Islean was right. Seamus had known of the boys' whereabouts, at least generally speaking. That night, the three— Islean, de Wynter and Seamus—sat down to devise messages individually tailored to appeal to each of the boys as they remembered them.

To George Cameron went word that there was excitement to be had and a woman to seduce
...
to Kenneth Menzies, a challenge offering some hope of pecuniary rewards
...
to Angus and Ogilvy, a chance to outwit the English as well as outshine a fellow Highlander...to Henry Gilliver, the opportunity to serve Scotland and discharge a debt to the Seaforths. Only to John Drummond was the message blunt and without artifice: "I am embarked on a dangerous enterprise and I need your help. Come to Alva on the 8th if you possibly can. Signed, Jamie Mackenzie of Seaforth, Rangeley and Alva." To which the Lady Islean added in her delicate hand the word "please."