Authors: Bertrice Small
“Woman, you know me far too well, I fear.”
“Aye, I do,” Adair told him, and she kissed him back.
Then together they descended into the great hall, where they found the other guests already eating. As the day was clear and again without precipitation, the gentlemen hunted while the women remained indoors playing at cards. That evening, the last night of December, a great feast was held in the hall at Hailes, featuring a large boiled haggis. It was the one bit of the meal that Adair could not manage even to like. Nor, it seemed, could Janet Douglas Hepburn. Her dainty nose wrinkled with distaste. But the king and the other guests ate the slices of stuffed sheep’s stomach with great gusto.
There was dancing in the hall that night, with the men and the women doing reels and country rounds. Two pipers and several other musicians, playing drums, flute, and horn, played for them. The king, who had kept a polite distance from Adair until now, chose her as his partner in a reel. Adair had chosen to wear her violet gown this night. Her sable hair became undone in the vigorous dance, and her cheeks were flushed pink.
James Stewart could not resist. He managed to dance her into a corner with no one else the wiser in the merriment of the evening. “You are just too delicious, cousin!” he murmured, backing her against the wall and cupping one of her breasts. Then his mouth descended upon hers in a fiery kiss.
Adair tore her lips from his. “My lord!” She gasped, suddenly aware of the hand caressing her breast, and of how her nipple was tingling. “Cease this instant, you wicked lad! You offend me! Is not Mistress Lauder enough for you?”
“I cannot help myself,” the young king said and, taking her hand, placed it where his manhood was burgeoning. “I adore you, Adair!”
“While you insult me, I cannot help but be flattered by the attentions Your Highness showers me with.” She firmly removed his hand from her breast and hers from his groin. “But I am an honorable woman. I have a husband whom I love. And I am expecting a child come late summer. I want my husband to be Your Highness’s most loyal friend, but he is a jealous man. Granted, Conal Bruce is not important, but a king never knows when he might need an unimportant friend in the right place at the right time,” Adair said. Then she gently pushed him back and, taking his arm, discreetly insinuated them back into the general jocularity of the hall, where the dancing had just now ceased.
“You are a clever woman, cousin,” the king told her.
Adair smiled at him. “And you are going to be a wonderful king, Jamie Stewart,” she told him softly.
At midnight they banged pots, and the local church bell chimed the occasion.
They awoke to a cold, icy rain, and the earl and his guests kept to the indoors that first day of January. They exchanged gifts, and as the day wore on the men got to speaking of the months ahead, of how England must be stopped from causing any difficulties, and how Scotland’s new king must be accepted by the other rulers in Europe.
“You must send ambassadors out to the foreign courts.” Adair surprised the men by speaking up.
“Scotland has never done such a thing before,” James Douglas said.
“And does that mean they should not do it now, my lord?” Adair answered him.
“Why do we need representatives at foreign courts?”
Douglas persisted. “Scotland does well on its own, and we have the French alliance.”
“The French aid you in war, but in return they expect your aid in battle as well. But there are ways to settle matters other than war.”
“The old James was always going on about diplomacy,” grumbled Douglas. “ ’Tis a lot of nonsense.
Might is all that counts in this world, madam, but you would not understand, for you are a woman.”
“I was raised in a royal court, my lord,” Adair said icily. “Men, being foolish by nature, have a tendency to speak around women as if we cannot hear. I will wager I am far more educated than you are, and I know that it is important for Scotland, if it wishes to be taken seriously by the European powers, to have ambassadors.”
“Where would you send my ambassadors?” the king wanted to know.
“England. You would offend King Henry if you did not ask to send him an ambassador first. He may refuse, but then he cannot be distressed when you send ambassadors to France, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire.
I would send men to all the kingdoms of note. Denmark, Italy, Portugal. And you should send someone to one of the smaller Mediterranean kingdoms, so your trading ships will have a place to stop to take on water and fresh food on their voyages to and from the eastern kingdoms.”
“What trading vessels?” Douglas said. “We have no trading fleet.”
“Once you open up direct relations with the European kingdoms you will find you will develop a trading industry. Trade is very important. It will bring prosperity to Scotland. Surely you are not against prosperity, my lord?”
“Again you sound like old James,” the countess’s brother scoffed.
Adair turned to James Stewart. “May I have Your Highness’s permission to speak most candidly?” she asked him.
“You may, cousin,” he responded.
“Your father, may God assoil his good soul, was not a strong king. And he did not have the respect of his lords, I fear. His own mother, your grandmother, Marie of
Gueldres, was an educated and sophisticated woman who was his greatest influence. Raised in a Burgundian court, she taught him to appreciate beauty, learning, and the arts. Unfortunately, the loss of his own father at so tender an age left him bereft of the good influence of a strong man, for his lords, and especially those in charge of raising this king, were far too busy maneuvering for position and exploiting their authority to teach him what he needed to know to be a king. Their sole interest was in advancing themselves and lining their pockets.
“And then your father was declared of age to rule, but alas, he did not know how. And these same lords who should have taught him now despised him. Worse, they went out of their way to spite him, to defy him. Is it any wonder your father disliked them in return? Or that he turned to men with interests like himself for friendship?”
“Craftsmen and poets,” sneered James Douglas.
“Aye,” Adair agreed. “Men like the king himself, my lord. Men who understood him, and could talk with him on subjects that mattered to this king.”
“He should have sought the company of his own kind,” James Douglas said.
Oddly, the other men in the hall were silent, and appeared to be giving Adair’s words some thought.
“He had nothing in common with rough lords who drank and wenched and diced, whose joy was in hunting deer and boar. Old King James was a man of the arts.
And none of you made any attempt to understand him, so the situation grew worse as the years passed. Those men who surrounded the king, though they had the same interests as he, were no better than Scotland’s lords. They took advantage of their situation and became as arrogant as their rivals. You hanged several of them at Lauder Bridge, I believe, and then opened Scotland to my uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, and the king’s younger brother, the Duke of Albany. ’Twas badly done, my lord.
“Yet for all his faults the old king had some good ideas for Scotland, which were never put into effect, for you were all too busy fighting amongst yourselves. He is dead now at an unknown’s hand, and this king, who calls me cousin, rules Scotland. He is his father’s son in his love of learning and the arts. But he is also a Scots king who can sit in a Highland hall and speak that unpro-nounceable language of your north. He sees that the world around us is changing. He understands the necessity of sending his ambassadors to other lands because Scotland cannot isolate itself any longer. And Scotland should not be beholden to France for its protection. We should protect ourselves, and diplomacy is a better path to take than war.”
Conal Bruce was astounded by his wife’s speech.
Once again he realized that this woman who was his wife was a better wife than he should have had. For all she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, she was a king’s daughter. There was noble blood on both sides of her family. And he was naught but a simple Scots border lord.
“There is a great deal of merit in my cousin’s words,”
the king said slowly.
“Aye,” the Earl of Bothwell agreed, “there is. What can it hurt us to offer our ambassadors to the various lands?”
“The cost alone of sending these men out is apt to be exorbitant,” Douglas complained. “If we open an embassy it cannot be a paltry affair, lest Scotland be mocked for a poor showing.”
“Your embassies do not have to be grand affairs. We are a small country,” Adair told them. “A good showing is all that is required. Have your agents purchase suitable buildings in each place you put an embassy. Furnish it simply, in an attractive manner. It does not have to be ostentatious. Better it isn’t. But have the ambassador you send meet all the expenses of maintaining their embassy. It should be considered a great honor to
serve King James the Fourth in such a manner. You must have your lords and other wealthy men who seek your favor clamoring for an ambassadorship. And it must be understood that they cannot just accept the position and remain in Scotland. They must take up their post in Paris, or London, or wherever they are assigned. If their families wish to go, so much the better.
A lady serving as her husband’s hostess on the day your coronation is celebrated, or on New Year’s Day, when Scotland’s embassy will be open to the public, will be most charming.”
“Aye,” the king agreed, “it would. I like your idea, cousin. Scotland can gain a great deal of prestige among the other kings if we open embassies of our own.”
“The French won’t like it,” Douglas said darkly.
“The French do not rule Scotland,” the king said sharply. “I will not be told what to do by anyone, but certainly not by the French. And I will pick men to fill these posts who will be loyal to me alone, and not their own interests.”
“But choose men with noble titles to do the countries honor,” the Earl of Bothwell suggested. “If a man has lands, can afford to maintain one of these embassies, and is true to you, you can create a title or two to fit the situation.”
“I already have several men in mind,” the king told them. Then he caught up Adair’s little hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it fervently. “My dear cousin, I do thank you for offering me such a splendid idea.” He turned to the laird. “Conal, your fair wife is a most amazing woman. I hope you appreciate her. You must come to Stirling in the spring,” he told them.
Now Eufemia Lauder came over to boldly slide herself onto the king’s lap and whisper something in his ear. He grinned and nodded as he reached up to casually fondle the woman’s plump breast beneath her gown as they continued to talk.
“What a pity you are a woman, madam,” the Earl of
Bothwell said. “You would make a fine ambassador for us.”
Adair laughed. “I am far more content being the lady of Cleit,” she told him. “My New Year’s gift to my husband was to tell him of the child we will have by late summer. It will be a son this time, I am certain.”
“So you finally told him!” Janet Douglas Hepburn laughed.
The other ladies tendered their good wishes while the men clapped Conal Bruce on his back and congratu-lated him. He then told them how Adair had tricked him into coming to Hailes by not revealing her condition until they arrived. The men chuckled, and the king shook a finger at Adair with a smile.
“Was it that you longed to see me again so desperately, cousin, that you would prevaricate with your good lord?” he teased her.
“Of course it was,” Adair replied, her violet eyes twinkling with mischief. “There could certainly be no other reason,
cousin
.”
And good-natured laughter filled the hall.
Amazingly, the next few days remained rain and snow free. The last day of their visit, which was Twelfth Night, arrived. The day was spent in feasting and merriment.
There was entertainment in the form of a man with a pack of dancing dogs, and musicians and pipers. There was even a small troupe of mummers who came to perform. The following morning the guests all departed Hailes Castle, thanking their hosts for a grand visit.
“I am so glad we have met,” the young Countess of Bothwell told Adair. “Perhaps next summer we can meet again with our bairns.”
“You would be most welcome at Cleit,” Adair told her. “The keep is small, but I have made it quite civilized.”
The two women kissed in farewell.
The day grew grayer and lowering as they traveled the distance from Hailes back to Cleit. The cold was damp and cutting. An hour from their journey’s end it began to snow. At first it was but a flurry. Then the snow began to drift down gently. Adair thanked God that they were so close to home, for with each step that they traveled the snow grew thicker and heavier. By the time they reached Cleit they could barely make out more than a few feet ahead of them. And when they dismounted their horses in the courtyard and looked through to where they had come from, the animals’
footprints in the snow were already covered, and beyond the keep entrance it was a solid sheet of white.
The winter had finally set in, and it snowed all through the night. In the morning the hills around and beyond them were garbed in white. It remained that way until the spring came. Murdoc reported to his brother that it had been deadly dull while they had been gone. He was most anxious to hear about Hailes, and how they had celebrated.
“Was our cousin Alpin there?” he asked Conal.
“If he was he managed to keep out of my sight,” the laird replied.
Elsbeth was outraged that Adair had discovered she was with child and not told the laird until they were at Hailes. “I do not know what has made you so difficult,”
she said. “Do you want to lose this child too?”
“I won’t lose my son,” Adair told her old nurse.
“A son, is it?” Elsbeth said. “And you’ve been given the second sight now, then?”
Adair laughed. “I just sense in my heart that this is a lad I will bear. He will be a strong bairn, unlike my poor wee Jane.”