X Marks the Scot (15 page)

England, Eve of the State Opening of Parliament

As Thomas Percy glanced out at Parliament House, the golden hues of dusk brushed the horizon. Percy sighed and rubbed his brow. He had waited for more than a fortnight for this moment. And now it was finally here. How ironic it was to see such a beautiful sight on the eve of a day that would be filled with tragedy and despair. A new dawn would bring hope, and if luck was on their side, a new reign of prosperity. He would not fail.

He had a perfect view of Parliament House. Hiding in a corner alcove, his bow secured at his side, he would lie in wait until he was able to make his move. He had contemplated every possible consequence of his mission and knew one thing for certain: he would not waver.

Catesby, Fawkes, and that devilish Dunnehl had reviewed the plan so many times that Percy knew it like the back of his hand. He was not exactly thrilled to be working with Dunnehl, but the man paid well and they certainly shared the same cause. If their efforts could not remove King James from the throne and replace him with Lady Arbella Stuart, there was no other option.

The king would die.

Lady Arbella Stuart’s great-great-grandfather had been King Henry VII of England; therefore, she had been the natural candidate for succession to the English crown after her cousin, Queen Elizabeth. But at the last moment, the queen’s secretaries of state had swayed from their rightful path and decided to confer the crown upon James VI of Scotland, whose mother was Mary, Queen of Scots. Lady Arbella had been born in England, whereas King James was born in Scotland. That fact alone should have barred him from succeeding.

Their liege had certainly made a mess of things. They had prayed for governmental change, but one bad decision after another had led to discord and resentment among his vassals. His Majesty had opportunity to change the future, but instead, he had kept Queen Elizabeth’s Privy Councillors in office. Between widespread taxation and the same failed oversight, the country was falling apart. Not to mention the repression of Catholics being the biggest travesty of all. England needed strong supporters to take a stand and regain control. Her survival depended upon it.

A shadowy figure moved against the darkened wall of Parliament House. If Percy had not been glancing at that particular spot at that single moment, he would have missed it. Fawkes slipped in a side door. Damn, the man was good. Percy would give him that.

He closed his eyes, resting his head against the cool stone. On the morrow, there would be no more king and no more Parliament. With the government destroyed, the country would have no choice. England would be forced to start anew. Lady Stuart would be on the throne one way or another.

Percy awoke later with a start, disoriented. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and it took him a few moments to gain his bearings. Muffled noises echoed from below. It did not take him long to register the sounds of the night guard making rounds. It must be nearly midnight. Darkness enveloped him, the only glow of light coming from Parliament House. He remained frozen in his nook, the urge to take a piss overwhelming. Willing away the thought, he did not even attempt to stand, not wanting to chance being spotted.

His heart jumped when shouts rang out and additional guards ran through the same side door that Fawkes had used earlier. Damn. Percy did not even have time to blink before a handful of guards exited the building with someone in tow.

Fawkes.

Fawkes’s capture did not come as a surprise. Catesby and Dunnehl had certainly planned for everything—even Fawkes and Percy’s apprehension. Fawkes was dependable, and once given an order, the man would follow it without question. That was one of the reasons he had been chosen. Percy had no doubt that Fawkes would stick to their plan.

As the men had discussed, Fawkes would admit he had acted alone and confess that the thirty-six barrels of gunpowder he guarded were for the sole purpose of blowing Parliament straight to hell. Fawkes was the perfect soldier—and the perfect distraction. The daft fools would never think that a more devious assassination plot was underway.

By the time they realized that their beloved King James was dead, it would be too late. Percy felt privileged to complete the mission on his own. Besides, Percy and Fawkes were both prepared to die for their cause. They had nothing to lose.

Sitting high on his perch, Percy continued to listen to the uproar below for hours. Once the commotion diminished and the time was right, he crawled into position. It should not be too much longer. Dutifully studying his line of sight, he found the perfect angle.

***

King James was furious. What fool would go to such lengths as to attempt to blow up the whole body of state? The soldier would be executed—after the man was tortured and revealed any other information. The king would make certain that the daft man had acted alone, and if he had not, the others would meet the same dire fate.

Riding to Parliament House atop his snow-white mount, the king was encircled by his most trusted guards. Addressing these sessions of Parliament was by no means an easy feat, and he went through his speech over and over again in his mind. He had to find a way to control the nonconforming English Catholics. They were nothing but a thorn in his side. Then there was the small matter of trying to convince Parliament to support money subsidies as well.

The king let out a deep sigh as they approached the walls that would imprison him for the remainder of the day. Hopefully, this session would prove more promising than the last. He was lifting his leg to dismount when a shooting pain ripped through his upper body.

Bound by sharp, stabbing agony, he fell to the ground with a heavy thump. An arrow protruded from his chest. Lifting his hand, he saw that his fingers were covered with blood.

Shouts rang out from all around him. It was complete and utter chaos. The king struggled to remain conscious, his breath shallow. It was so difficult to breathe. Someone may have spoken to him, but his mind became cluttered from all of the commotion.

“The arrow is through his back. We will have to pull it out.”

“He’ll bleed to death.”

“The arrow came from the rooftop! Over there! Over there!”

“His Majesty was encircled by guards. No one could have made that shot from there.”

A bitter voice cut through the madness like a splash of cold water. “No one but MacGregor…”

Something in the king’s mind clicked as he thought back on MacGregor’s demeanor when he was forced to wed the Campbell’s sister. “Bring. Me. MacGregor.”

Glenorchy

Every step her mount took made Liadain’s heart heavy with dread. Her thoughts pounded her brain like wave after crashing wave. What she believed Laird MacGregor would think of her no longer mattered. She was about to find out, and this bitter torture would finally come to an end.

Laird MacGregor’s home stood impressively before her on an island surrounded by green, grassy moss. It was smaller than Castle Campbell, but it was an elegant castle with a stone barbican with round turrets and square towers. The clean breeze of the loch teased her senses, and the water mirrored the deeper color of the sky. It was quite lovely.

They rode single file over the
cabhsair
that extended over the water to the island. They traveled under a huge portcullis and then reached the courtyard. An elderly man greeted them. With a full head of gray hair, the man stood tall, proud. His eyes held the silent wisdom of the ages.

“’Tis good to see ye, Niall,” said her husband. The man grabbed the reins as MacGregor slid from his mount.

“
Ciamar
a
tha
sibh
?” Niall asked with a warm smile.
How
are
you?

“Tha gu math. Tapadh leibh.” I am fine. Thank you.
“’Tis good to be home.”

MacGregor patted his horse on the rump and then approached Liadain. He had extended his hand to assist her when he was abruptly attacked from behind. “What the hell?” A huge beast jumped onto her husband’s back, pushing him flat against her mount.

“Magaidh!” called Rosalia in a scolding tone. Her dusky rose dress hugged her full-figured frame, and her chestnut hair had grown since the last time Liadain had seen her. “Come!” she ordered unsuccessfully.

Twisting around, MacGregor pushed the dog away and smiled at Rosalia. “I see his lairdship didnae have the bollocks to take ye to Glengarry after all,” he said with a trace of laughter in his voice.

“Och, nay. I took her to Glengarry. ’Tis where we spoke our vows, Brother.” Laird MacGregor came toward him with an unreadable expression on his face.

The man looked very formidable, his chest broader than her husband’s. The laird was certainly handsome in a rugged sense, but not quite as bonny as her new husband. Well, not too many men or women were blessed with a prettier face. Though there was no denying that the men hailed from the same clan.

Her husband smirked in response. “And I thought ye would be somewhere…
lairding
. I see naught has changed.”

As quickly as the remark was thrown, Laird MacGregor’s lips broke into a smile. “’Tis good to see ye, Declan.” They embraced in a manly hug and each slapped the other on the back.

Laird MacGregor’s eyes narrowed when he spotted Liadain, and she became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny. As he stepped toward her, she drew in a sharp breath. To her surprise, he reached up and lifted her from her mount. “Thank ye for your words to King James. I know it must have been difficult to speak against the bloody…er, your brother. Ye have my thanks.”

She managed to smile and wondered if he would feel the same when he found out she was wed to his brother. When he looked as though he would question her further, her husband interceded.

“There is much to explain. Let us drink some ale and I will tell ye all about it.”

Laird MacGregor nodded and turned, slapping her husband on the shoulder. “Aye, let us seek Aiden.”

The men left her standing there without as much as a backward glance. How typical of the past three weeks. Liadain wondered if her husband would always be so difficult to comprehend and jumped when a hand touched her own.

“Liadain, ’tis so good to see ye again. I thank ye for all ye have done.” Rosalia smiled warmly.

“It was naught, my lady.”

“My
lady?
After all we have been through, ye donna need to ‘my lady’ me.”

“How do ye fare?” asked Liadain. Her brother had not often taken others against their will and held them in the bowels of hell.

Archie had been an idiot for thinking Ciaran MacGregor would blindly storm Castle Campbell and start another clan war against the king’s orders. It was difficult to stay the memory of her brother holding Aisling and Rosalia captive in the dungeon. His treatment of them had been repulsive—no food, no water, left to sit in the muck for hours. When Archie had ordered the death of Aisling’s bairn, Liadain knew she had to intervene. Enough was more than enough.

To her surprise, Rosalia simply glowed now. “Ciaran and I wed, and I couldnae be more joyful. Come inside. Ye must be weary from your journey.”

The interior of the great hall was quite large. A staircase swept down, and lovely tapestries hung on the wall. A beautiful painted-glass window was displayed at the top of the staircase, and colored prisms danced against the wall. There were two fireplaces in the hall, each adorned with wooden carvings of animals and fir trees. Long wooden tables and benches graced the floor, and a raised dais boasted several intricately carved chairs.

“’Tis true, then. The rogue has returned from court.”

As Liadain glanced up, Aisling walked down the staircase. Her long reddish curls complemented her ivory skin.

“My lady, ’tis wonderful to see ye again,” said Liadain, reaching out and taking the hands of her sister-by-marriage.

She was aware that Aisling’s petite frame and graceful appearance were not to be underestimated. Aiden’s wife definitely held fire when crossed, making the fiercest of men run for cover—mainly her husband.

Aisling glanced briefly to Rosalia, and then turned back to Liadain and smiled warmly. “Ye were calling me by my given name before, Liadain. We arenae so formal here. After what we shared…please.” Aisling gestured for them to sit.

Two young maids whispered and giggled as they passed through the hall, and Rosalia nodded toward the women. “They already hear of the rogue’s return. So what of ye, Liadain? Where do ye travel?”

She looked away and could not meet their questioning eyes. She immediately stiffened. Having spent so much time worrying about Laird MacGregor and his brother, she had never given much thought to the MacGregor women. What would they think? When she tried to speak, her voice wavered.

Aisling reached out and touched her arm. “Liadain? What has happened?”

***

“
Wife
?” Aiden chuckled, and Ciaran threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Clenching his teeth, Declan ground out, “I donna know what ye both find so humorous. Did ye nae hear me when I said that Castle Campbell is mine?” He knew he sounded abrupt, but their reaction was not as he had expected.

A silent message passed between his older brothers. “We heard ye, Brother. It only comes as a wee bit of a shock that His Majesty ordered ye to wed,” said Ciaran with an amused expression.

“A bloody Campbell,” Declan reminded them, running his hand through his hair. How he wanted to wipe that smug look from Ciaran’s face. “I won the tournament fairly, and she wasnae part of the prize. Cranborne—”

“Ye know she is naught like her brother. Aiden and I are joyful for your union. ’Tis best this happened to ye, nay matter how it came to be.”

“What?” Surely he did not hear them correctly. He was shackled—to a bloody Campbell. A female. The enemy. Were his brothers in their cups? How in the hell could they be joyful about such a union?

“Ye heard my words. I think your anger is misplaced. The Campbell’s lands are my own. Castle Campbell is yours, and it comes with a bride. What more could ye ask for? I couldnae have planned it better myself,” said Ciaran with a wry grin.

Aiden patted Declan on the shoulder. Thankfully, his brother removed his hand quickly for it was about to be broken. “Declan, ye have yourself a bonny wife and certainly have bedded more than enough women to satisfy your wenching ways. Give it time. Ye may find that marriage even agrees with ye. Look at Aisling and me, and Rosalia and Ciaran.”

“Aye,” he spat. “Both women hold your bollocks in the palms of their hands. ’Tis something I clearly envy.”

“Nay matter what ye think, ’tis done. Ye have a home and a wife—responsibility. I trust ye to see to both,” said Ciaran, his voice ringing with command.

Declan shook his head in disgust. “Of course, Your Majesty. Ye know my purpose in life is to do your bidding,” he said, holding his hand over his heart. Ciaran was about to speak when Declan added, “Lest I forget…Rosalia’s mother was at court with Dunnehl.”

Stirring uneasily in his chair, Ciaran sat back and there was a heavy silence. “Tell me—everything.”

“Lady Armstrong approached Liadain. Liadain spoke to her freely and didnae know of Rosalia’s past until I told her as much,” said Declan.

“Damn.” Rolling his neck to the side, Ciaran sighed. “Her mother knows she is here at Glenorchy?”

Declan shrugged. “She knows she
was
here. So does Dunnehl.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ciaran grunted. “Was that all?”

“I trust the healer to have told me everything.”

“See, Brother? Already ye are trusting your wife,” said Aiden, patting him again on the shoulder.

Declan glared at him.

“I donna want ye to mention any of this to Rosalia. She will only be distraught, and I willnae have it. Her mother and Dunnehl have done enough damage,” ordered Ciaran.

Declan nodded. He would never do anything to cause Rosalia more grief. The poor lass had been through too much. “Do ye think Dunnehl or her mother will come?”

“It doesnae matter. She is now my wife. She is mine,” Ciaran said sternly. “Nae a single word of this to anyone. Why donna ye see your wife settled? We will ride to Castle Campbell on the morrow. Our men will be relieved that they nay longer hold the castle for the king, but for our own. Most of the Campbells took their leave when your wife went to court, unsure of the king’s judgment.”

After Ciaran’s dismissal, Declan took a leisurely walk to the bailey. Damn. There went his hope for a secret escape. Castle Campbell. He would need to think of another name.

“Declan!” called Rosalia while the massive dog nipped at her skirts.

“Who is that wily beast?”

“’Tis Magaidh. James brought her with him from Mangerton.”

“James?”

Rosalia reached down and scratched the dog behind the ears. She did not need to bend too far. “Aye, James Montgomery.” She cast her eyes downward and spoke in a soft tone. “He was the captain of my father’s guard, my friend. He is as a brother to me.”

Something in his mind clicked. “Ciaran spoke of Montgomery. The man helped ye escape Dunnehl’s cohorts. As I recall, my brother didnae take too kindly to your familiarity with Montgomery.”

She laughed. “Aye, they donna exactly see eye to eye.”

Declan rubbed his chin. “Hmm…then I would think to befriend this man.”

“He is hunting now but will return this eve. Ye two would probably get along. Donna get along too well, lest Ciaran thinks ye are plotting against him,” she jested.

“Any man that doesnae see Ciaran as a god is my friend,” he murmured with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“Declan…”

He waved her off. “Enough of Ciaran.” He lifted her from her feet and swung her around. “I hear congratulations are in order. I now have another bonny sister-by-marriage.”

She giggled when he placed her back on her feet. “Aye, I love your brother with all my heart.”

“I saw it in your eyes from the first time we met.”

Her face flushed. “I hear congratulations are in order for ye as well. Liadain is so kind. I wish ye both much happiness.” She smiled. “Will ye be staying for a while?”

“Ciaran, Aiden, and I will travel to Castle Campbell on the morrow.”

“With so much haste? I was hoping ye would remain for a bit,” she said in a disappointed tone.

Declan grabbed her shoulders and glanced down into her bonny eyes. “My dearest Rosalia. Ye are now a married lass and shouldnae be dallying with the likes of me. I am truly flattered, but ye must move on with your life. What would my brother say?”

His new sister-by-marriage slapped him in the chest. “Cease, ye rogue. Lest ye forget, ye are married as well. One would think ye would nay longer speak as such. I see some habits are difficult to break. Besides, I can assure ye as a new bride that I wouldnae take too kindly to your wenching words.”

“I may have spoken the vows and I may be shackled for the rest of my days, but I willnae mind my words. They are my own and I willnae change them—or me,” he quickly added. “Being wed doesnae mean I am dead.”

“Nae unless your new bonny bride kills ye,” Rosalia muttered. Peeking around him, she smiled at Liadain in greeting. “Did Aisling get ye all settled then?”

The healer nodded. “Aye.” She raised her brow at Declan. “I didnae know if ye wanted me to unpack your belongings. I wasnae sure when we would be traveling to Castle Campbell.”

“We leave on the morrow.”