Authors: Bertrice Small
The young prince now stepped forward. “I did not kiss the bride, did I?” he said, and mischievously kissed her lips, leaving Adair a little breathless with her surprise and the knowledge that his lips had been deliciously warm and ardent. “Your hospitality equals that of far larger homes, madam,” James Stewart said. Then he pressed a coin into her hand. “For Agnes,” he said.
“She is more than deserving.”
Then, escorted by Conal Bruce and his brothers, the Hepburn and the prince went into the courtyard of the keep to join their men. When they had gone Adair spied Agnes Carr in the shadows. The woman stepped
forward.
“I couldn’t face the men quite yet,” she said.
Adair nodded. “Come and have something to eat,”
she invited.
“If I might go to the kitchens . . .” Agnes Carr said.
“Of course,” Adair replied, realizing that Agnes actually felt a bit embarrassed by her situation. It was one thing to give comfort to the local lads, but she had just spent several very active hours in a prince’s bed. A prince who would one day be Scotland’s king. She led Agnes to the kitchens, telling Elsbeth to feed her.
“When you are ready just go into the courtyard and the cart will be awaiting you,” Adair told Agnes. She pressed the coin in Agnes’s hand. “From
him
.” Then, as she walked slowly up the stairs to the hall, she heard the women in the kitchens begin to question the exhausted Agnes.
“What was he like?”
“Is he as passionate as they say?”
“Is his manhood as large as is rumored?”
Adair giggled and reentered the hall to find her husband had returned.
“What makes you laugh?” Conal asked her.
“The women are querying poor Agnes on the prince,”
she told him.
Conal Bruce smiled himself. “Agnes Carr will be famous now, having had the prince for her lover. And he will visit her again when he comes.”
“
When?
” What did he mean by when? Adair wondered.
“Every favor done requires a favor to be done in return,” the laird said slowly. “The prince helped me when he took it upon himself to be your guardian, for that allowed me to wed you.”
“It allowed you to coerce me into wedlock,” Adair corrected him.
He ignored the barb. “The Hepburn has asked me to allow a group of gentlemen to meet at Cleit now and again. It seems that being insignificant has certain advantages after all,” the laird said dryly. “No one would suspect that a plot was being hatched here, and a plot is to be devised.”
“What plot?” Adair asked half fearfully.
Conal Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.
“But you can surmise, can you not, Conal?” Adair inquired of him.
“Aye, I can. Conditions in Scotland grow worse with every passing day, and the king does not seem to care.
His diplomatic attempt with England has failed. The prince will not marry one of your half sisters; nor will Elizabeth Woodville wear Scotland’s crown. The king has retreated to Stirling, where he indulges himself in his hobbies and mourns Queen Margaret. None of this helps Scotland. I am not a man to rebel, but even I realize that something must change.”
Adair sighed and nodded. “This frightens me, Conal, but you cannot refuse the prince after what you asked of him. Why did the Hepburn come to you with this request? Why not young James Stewart?”
“The prince does not wish to be accused of fomenting a rebellion against his father. He is a fine son, but King James has never been capable of ruling properly. He has not been a good king. He is a decent man, but there is an arrogance about him that comes from his French mother. Scotland can no longer tolerate his rule. The lords will depose him and put the prince in his place as regent. The king may then be catered to without the responsibility of governing, but Scotland will have a strong ruler again.”
Adair was thoughtful for a moment, and then she said, “I have never known of a king who was removed from his throne who was not in the end killed. When you have two kings there is always the temptation for rebellion from the weaker faction.”
“The prince wishes no harm to come to his father,”
the laird said with conviction. “I believe him, Adair. He is a competent young man.”
“I believe him too,” Adair agreed, “but I also know it is the nature of those surrounding such an affair to seek to solidify their man’s position. It was given out that my half brothers were murdered by the Duke of Glouces
ter in the Tower. But that was a lie. The truth was that Uncle Dickon had sent the boys to Middleham for their safety. They were murdered shortly after the duke’s death at Bosworth by those within the Lancaster faction, although despite his cruelty toward me I do not believe King Henry would have given such an order.”
“Then you think one of the prince’s adherents will kill the king?” the laird said.
“I think it is highly likely, although the prince will not give the order; nor will he even wish to know who did the deed,” Adair replied.
“Then I am not comfortable sheltering the conspirators,” the laird said. “I cannot do it knowing what you have told me. You are wiser in these matters than I am, my honey love. You understand the mighty and their ways. I do not.”
“You have no choice, Conal,” Adair told him. “They will make their conspiracy whether you will or no. And poor old King James will be tumbled from his throne, and the prince will be crowned in his stead. Better we be on the prince’s side in this matter.”
“But why must we take sides at all?” he asked her.
“Because we must. You will not be allowed to stand aside, casting your eyes to the heavens while these events unfold about you, Conal. Everyone in Scotland will be asked to take sides. No one will have any choice.”
“She’s right, you know.” Duncan Armstrong had come into the hall and was listening to the exchange between his brother and Adair.
“What will the Armstrong of Duffdour do?” Conal Bruce asked about his mother’s eldest son, who had been born, like Duncan, to her first husband.
“Our eldest brother will carefully weigh and balance all the options in the matter, and then, being a canny fellow, he will choose to stand with the prince. Ian will not be a knife at our back, Conal. He knows what is involved, and will seek to obtain the best advantage for
his own clansmen,” Duncan said. “Ian is no fool. Ask the Hepburn’s permission to invite him when you are asked to host the gathering. It cannot hurt the Bruces of Cleit or the Armstrongs of Duffdour to both be represented.
There will be far more important men, men with rank and power, but we will represent the simple border lords, and remain prominent in the prince’s memory.
Our families may even benefit some by our early show of loyalty to a new king.”
“What if the Highlands rally to the king?” Conal asked. “The Highlands have always been loyal to the Stewarts.”
“The Highlands are like the rest of us. They do what is to their own advantage,” Duncan replied. “Aye, they’ll come to the king if he calls them, but how hard they will fight for him is another matter. And when the prince’s forces triumph they will be very quick to make their peace with him.”
Adair was fascinated to listen to the two brothers’
conversation. It would seem, she thought, that all power was directed in a similar way, no matter the country. It had been much the same in England, with the York and Lancaster factions jockeying for position.
She realized as she listened that her husband was not as astute at political intrigue as was his Armstrong brother, or, for that matter, as clever as she was. He was truly a plain border lord, but he was a good man for all his rough ways.
I am fortunate in this husband. Now if
he will just
not
get himself killed in some damned war,
she thought.
In early afternoon young Murdoc came home complaining that Agnes Carr would not allow him in her cottage after he had driven her home in the cart. His brothers laughed heartily at his discomfort, and told him that the prince had worn the woman out. She would not be ready to entertain a randy cock for several days.
“We need more whores,” Murdoc complained, and his brothers laughed all the harder. “Well, Conal, I know
what you do, but what do you do, Duncan?” the aggrieved young man demanded to know.
But Duncan smiled mysteriously, and said nothing much, to Conal’s amusement and Murdoc’s irritation.
Adair was curious as to how they would know when the prince or Patrick Hepburn would come again. “I cannot entertain a houseful of men if I do not know when to expect them. Our winter larder will go just so far.”
But Conal told her, and Duncan agreed, that they would not receive any prior notice. Those involved would just appear. Adair sent the men of the keep out once more in the short and cold days to seek more game for the larder. She liked finding herself in the thick of things again, but she would not have Cleit’s hospitality criticized. And as if the forces of nature understood her dilemma, game was suddenly in great supply. Soon Cleit’s winter larder was filled with the carcasses of deer, game birds, and three wild boar hanging from the heavy iron hooks. And fish was caught, to be smoked and salted. Adair was satisfied that Cleit would not be found wanting.
The first snow came, spreading its mantle of white over the border hills. It glistened in the moonlight on the cold long nights. The village midwife had been consulted, and advised the laird to contain his lust.
“Your wife is not in the first flush of her youth, my lord. She is already three years past twenty, and this is her first bairn. I would, for her sake, advise that you contain your lustful nature until after your bairn is born.
Cleit needs heirs, and it took you long enough to wed,”
she half scolded him.
Adair was relieved at the midwife’s verdict. She was sick more times than not with the child growing in her belly. But she had to admit that Conal Bruce knew how to soothe her. Twice each day he brushed her long hair.
And at night he caressed her breasts gently, and then his big hands would enclose her burgeoning belly in a ten
der embrace as he talked to his child. And as November came to an end Adair could feel the faint stirrings of the infant within her. Now she began to wonder if she would give him a son for Cleit, or if it was a daughter that she carried.
December came and went as her belly grew larger.
They celebrated the Christ’s Mass in the hall, with the priest coming from the village in deference to the lady of Cleit. The hall had been decorated with branches of holly and pine. They had found a great log in a wood that was dragged in to be the hall’s Yule log. Fresh candles made over the autumn months blazed in every corner.
“You look happy again,” Elsbeth noted one icy morning as she brought her mistress fresh bread, butter, and bacon.
And Adair realized that she was happy. Really happy, for the first time in a very long while. She looked around her clean, warm hall with its Christmas decor. The furnishings were comfortable. The young wolfhound she had christened Beiste in honor of her old dog snored before the fire. Her husband and his brothers sat at the high board with her, eating and laughing. She didn’t know when it had happened, but suddenly all the anger and bitterness had gone from her heart, and she was finally content.
T
he days were now growing longer, and on February 2, which was known as Candlemas, Adair
presented the priest with a year’s supply of candles for the village church. Lent came with its fasts and its fish.
Suddenly one day strangers began arriving at Cleit, and Adair realized that the prince’s adherents were coming for a meeting. Whether they had met at other obscure keeps before, she had no idea. She went to the kitchens to warn Elsbeth and the others.
“There isn’t enough fish,” Elsbeth told her.
“I doubt they will worry about a Lenten fast,” Adair replied. “Roast a boar. There are two left. And three of the geese. Make six rabbit pies and a large vegetable potage. Send Murdoc and young Jack to fish. They must break the ice if they have to, but we must not be found wanting by our guests.”
“It’s a great deal of food,” Elsbeth noted. “How many are there?”
“I have no idea,” Adair replied. “But I would rather we cook too much than be embarrassed by not having enough.” But to Adair’s relief her guests numbered less than two dozen, including the men at arms who had ridden in with their masters.
Ian Armstrong had been sent for, and he had come,
for Duncan had explained it all to him. The laird of Duffdour was unmarried, and much resembled Duncan.
They were several years apart in age. Adair, her great belly before her, greeted each of her lordly guests as they entered Cleit’s hall. She wore a dull red gown, but even close to delivering her child she was beautiful.
Conal was by her side, as was Duncan, who knew all of the men involved in what was now a conspiracy to de-throne King James. The prince was not with them, for he could not be seen to be involved, although he knew all that transpired.
There were Alexander Home and Patrick Hepburn, both the prince’s closest friends. There were the earls of Angus and Argyll, representing the Red Douglases and the Campbells of Argyll. There was the bishop of Glasgow himself, who ate a heaping helping of roast boar and devoured at least half a goose, while eschewing the trout. They paid no attention to Adair after having greeted her, and so she listened as they planned.
“We must do this as quickly as possible,” the Earl of Argyll said.
“Aye,” the bishop agreed. “We don’t need a civil war.
The MacDonald would only use it to consolidate his power in the Highlands even more, and the prince doesn’t need that, does he?”
“The lad can charm the MacDonald,” Patrick Hepburn said.
“The MacDonald is a wily fox,” the bishop replied.
“What of the king?” the Earl of Angus asked. “I need assurances that my family and I are safe from him. After all, ’tis my clan that is believed to have kidnapped young Jamie in order to foment this rebellion.”