by Olivia Rae
The attached chamber door swung open. “What is it, my son?” Lady Francis asked, clutching a cape to her body.
“’Tis Audrey. She fell and hit her head.” He motioned to the bed, then slapped his hands against his thighs. “Can you help her? I fear…the worst.”
His mother pushed past him and rushed to the bed, examining Audrey for injuries. Finding none, she placed a hand on Audrey’s forehead. “Audrey, Audrey. Thomas is waiting for you,” she said, trying to rouse the maid. “Oh dear. She must have hit her head extremely hard. Let us pray she comes around quickly.”
She lay on the bed so still as if the shadow of the grave hung about ready to take her away. Gavin knelt down next to the bed; his chest gripped in horror. “Mother, please, is there nothing else we can do?”
“Go get my medicinal basket and be quick about it,” his mother ordered, keeping her gaze on Audrey.
Gavin hurried into his mother’s chamber, grabbed her basket, and returned to find her piling the coverlet under Audrey’s feet. The lass groaned. The pain in his chest gave way. “Is she coming around?”
His mother yanked the basket from his arms. “Aye, in spite of your brutishness.” She pulled out a bottle, popped the cork, and held it under Audrey’s nose. “I believe she may have fainted before she hit her head. Either way, she will have a healthy bruise on her forehead.”
Immediately her eyes fluttered open, and Gavin let out a slow breath. Either the Queen of England was a fool or the shrewdest person to ever live to send such an inadequate, fragile spy. “My thanks, Mother, you may leave now.”
“I think not.” His mother sat on the side of the bed. “I’ll not have this poor girl suffer your boorish behavior. Only God knows what you will do next to her.”
The accusation was given as a reminder. She need not worry. Edlyn’s death haunted him daily.
Audrey’s eyes glazed over. “I-I’m so…so sorry.” Her lashes floated over her eyes.
Though his questions remained unanswered, what happened to Audrey was his fault. He had been so furious after talking to Hetta. Why could he not hold on to his temper? Better to leave the lass in the care of his mother. Perhaps tomorrow they could talk in a more amiable fashion.
“Then I leave her in your hands.” Gavin bowed slightly to his mother and gazed into Audrey’s eyes before he strode from the room. He headed up to the battlements to clear his mind. He passed his old chamber, hearing the soft voices of his children playing within. If Thomas was truly Queen Elizabeth’s son, then why had there not been other spies? Perhaps there were and he just never noticed. And if there were more capable spies, then why send Audrey at all? His feet stalled. Certainly, another spy lurked in their mist. Who? Peter?
Nay, the man’s visits were short. Then who? Who among them was sending word to the English court? Gavin pushed open the door to the battlements and took a long breath of fresh spring air. He searched the meadows and hills. All seemed so peaceful, but how long would that last?
He slammed his fist into the stone wall. This was all his fault. Had he not lost his family lands to Maxwell in the first place, none of this would have happened. Untrue. Thomas still existed, and Lord Hadley and John Feckenham would have found another husband for Edlyn. Another man raising Thomas seemed unthinkable and bore a hole through Gavin’s middle.
He moaned and let out a pathetic laugh. Poor, poor Edlyn, she had been a pawn in this mess as well. So meek, she did whatever her father told her to do. Perhaps he threatened to send her away with Feckenham, send her to a Catholic convent. What fear that would put in the heart of a woman raised in the Reformed Faith. No wonder Edlyn went along with her father’s wishes. Gavin shook his head. And he added to her troubles.
Raising his fists, Gavin struck the stone wall again and again until his knuckles bled. He flexed his fingers, watching the blood trickle down his hand. A small price to pay for such a great crime.
The sound of galloping horses caught his hearing. He squinted at the approaching figures. Maxwell and his son. What could they possibly want now? Gavin raced down the steps and entered the courtyard just as the pair approached the gate. He waved to the guard to let them enter.
Once in the courtyard, Maxwell leaned forward without dismounting. “Get yer horse, Warrin’. We have a few friends to meet.”
Gavin gritted his teeth. So soon the debt was being called in. There was nothing for it. Honor demanded he keep his word. He had been a fool to make such a pact with such a devil. Gavin didn’t give a fig what happened to him, but Thomas was an innocent. If these monsters ever found out who he was…what a disaster.
He strode back to get his horse.
“Hold there,” Maxwell said. “Ye might be needin’ yer sword and a good dagger.”
True. For a disaster truly brewed.
* * *
They rode until Maxwell’s keep loomed high before them. Tall stone walls heavily guarded let all know this was not a fortress that would easily fall. Maxwell’s wealth would ensure his family would grow and be secure for many generations to come. Unless his Catholic beliefs became his undoing. Inside the gate, a group of saddled Galloway ponies drank from a trough. Some were familiar mounts, while others were not. Gavin dismounted and handed his beast over to a groomsman before entering the hall. There assembled were well-known papists from very influential families.
Ualan Maxwell nodded and kicked out a chair. “Have a seat, Warrin’.”
Gavin sat down and glanced at the gaunt and gluttonous faces around a large round table. Some were well-groomed, while others were not. Some had merry eyes, while others were sunken and sullen. Some clean-shaven, while others had heavy beards. But all carried hatred in their hearts for the Reformers who wished to change the way Scotland was ruled.
“We come here today to discuss how we can destroy the Lords of the Congregation and give aid to our own Queen Mary.” Maxwell’s head swiveled around the room, pinning all with a sharp look.
The men erupted with agreement. Perspiration beaded on Gavin’s neck. He had no stomach for setting Scots against Scots for religious reasons or anything else. The Lords of the Congregation, powerful Scottish, new faith Reformers were against the marriage of Mary of Scots to the French dauphin. Fueled by the preaching of John Knox, a priest turned Reformer, the Lords of the Congregation rallied around James Stewart, the illegitimate son of King James V. At best, there would be rioting around Perth and Edinburgh. At worst, there might be a war, Scottish Reformers on one side and Scottish papists on the other side. Either way, Scotland would lose.
Why didn’t the Scots unite for Scotland? The families and clans all wanted power but hid under the disguise of faith. What would these men say if told being a Catholic or of the Reformed Faith made no difference since there wasn’t a God?
Ualan leaned closer; his breath smelled like horse manure lying out in the warm summer sun. “Where’s yer enthusiasm, Warrin’? Dinnae want to see our queen ruling what is rightfully hers without the interference of the Reformers?”
Gavin took a pull from the mug of ale placed before him, giving his nose a more inviting scent. Of course, Maxwell could afford ale, while those at Warring Tower drank watered-down small beer. “I have learned many things come with a price, and I am wondering what your price will be.”
A rumble of laughter launched around the table. “Worse than you think.” Ualan slapped Gavin on the back.
“Quiet, all of ye,” Rory Maxwell scolded. “There is a serious matter before us, and Warrin’ has offered his services.”
The sly and eager grins that dripped on the men’s nasty lips made Gavin’s chest constrict. He wiped a sweaty hand over his jaw and eased back in the chair. “What do you want me to do?”
Wickedness contorted Ualan’s face. “Ye and I will be takin’ a wee trip to Perth and be havin’ a meetin’ with James Stewart and possibly that heretic John Knox. If I remember, Stewart’s a friend of yers.”
A trip to Perth? Not if he could help it. Gavin eased back in
his chair and gave a casual smile. “Aye, we know one another, but I would not say we are great friends. Where you be hearing that yarn? As far as Knox, my father knew him before he was exiled. I have never met the theist.”
“But ye do know Stewart.” Ualan pulled out his dagger, twirling it on the table.
Gavin shrugged. “Aye, but not well.” Stewart was known to favor the Reformers with ambitions of his own, but he also had close ties with Mary of Scots’s mother, Mary de Guise. The man played on both sides. He played a dangerous game.
“He thinks ye support the Reformed Kirk like him.” Ualan roared, jamming his blade in the table.
“What he thinks or believes is not my affair. I have no stomach for trickery or fighting against any Scot. How will Scotland ever stand strong if we keep squabbling among ourselves? The English and the French would love to swallow us up. Mark my words, if we dinnae stand together, one of those countries will rule us, and they will not care which faith we practice.”
Ualan flew from his seat, putting his dagger to Gavin’s throat. “We are fightin’ for God and for Scotland.”
“Hold, Ualan. No matter how temptin’, we need Warrin’,” Rory Maxwell shouted.
Taking a deep breath, Gavin calmly pushed the blade away. “I love Scotland too. That is why I am here.”
Ualan grumbled and sat back in his seat, putting his dagger back in its sheath.
Rory cleared his throat and pointed at all in the room. “Remember why we are here. There be plenty of time to argue over other things later.” His grizzly gaze settled on Gavin. “All we are wantin’ is for you to go and have a nice meal with Stewart. There ye will be contacted by a man who will hand you a missive. Bring that back to me.”
This mission mirrored someone else’s. A lass with dark hair and eyes that shone like a starry night. His mind’s eye saw her bent over her table writing a secret missive to the queen before she passed it off to her courier. In this case, he would play the courier for Maxwell’s informant. The taste of all this intrigue curdled in Gavin’s mouth.
“That’s it?” He placed his elbows on the table and feigned indifference. “I thought you were going to ask me to kill the man.”
Again, the room erupted with laughter. Ualan raised his arms and laced his hands behind the back of his greasy head. “Ye are one of us now. No turnin’ back.”
“Bring me a quill and some parchment. Warrin’ needs to write to his friend James Stewart,” Rory Maxwell ordered. “And just to make sure he follows our orders, Ewart will be keepin’ an eye on Warrin’ Tower, makin’ sure the Armstrong children will be safe and that lovely lass ye have stayin’ with ye.”
Gavin clenched his teeth and held his calm, though he wanted to smash his mug into Maxwell’s head. Someday the man would regret threatening Gavin’s family and Audrey. And then, as if a rock had flown through the air and hit him square in the head, Gavin understood Audrey’s dilemma. A new appreciation for her filled his soul. Both of them were being forced against their will to do a task neither of them wanted to do. When this was done, and if he survived, perhaps they could move forward on a different footing.
Gavin feigned a chuckle and raised his mug to his lips, though he did not drink. He’d go to Perth and get the missive, but then he was done. Now more than ever he had to be careful. His soul filled with the fear of a thousand ghosts…a freshly dug child’s grave. What would this bunch of murderers do if they knew Thomas might be Queen Elizabeth’s child?
Chapter Nineteen
Audrey was thankful that Lady Francis sat on the edge of her bed when she awoke, but she knew the boar would be back. What would he do now? Send her back to England or stretch her neck for being a spy. Either way, her future looked bleak. Alas, there was naught she could do but throw herself on his mercy.
Lady Francis held out a bowl of watery soup. “Here, drink this. It will calm your belly and soothe what agitates you.”
How a bowl of broth could ease her woes Audrey did not know. She dutifully sipped at the soup. The warm liquid did settle her stomach, though it could not change her predicament.
“Now then, how are you feeling? Does your head hurt? You did take a mighty fall.” Lady Francis leaned over and placed the backside of her hand against Audrey’s cheek.
“I am fine, my lady. I just stumbled.” Audrey felt her skin warm and so did Lady Francis.
“Tell me, what did my son say that upset you so? Why would he put a guard outside your door?”
A queasiness disrupted Audrey’s stomach. She settled the bowl in her lap. “I am ashamed to tell you.”
“Surely it cannot be that bad?” Lady Francis took the bowl and placed it on the table.
“But it is. I beg you, talk to your son and have him send me back to England immediately.” Audrey slipped deeper under the coverlet, not wanting to disappoint the elegant woman.
“But I thought you wanted to stay?”
“I have changed my mind,” Audrey mumbled.
Lady Francis stood near the bed, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed to resemble arrow slits. “When I came to Scotland all those years ago, many believed I was a traitor to my own people, others thought I was a spy. No one trusted me. During those first years I was so lonely I almost left my husband.”
Audrey closed her eyes briefly and gave up a brief prayer, glad the conversation had changed. “But you did not. Why? Did you begin to love Ian Armstrong?”
“In a way I did.” A deep sadness entered Lady Francis’s voice. “And in a way I did not.”
The perplexing words piqued Audrey’s curiosity. She inched higher in the bed. “What do you mean?”
Lady Francis seemed to drift to a time that no longer existed. “Toward the middle of my third year here I became pregnant.”
“So you stayed because of the babe, not because you loved your husband? You said your marriage was arranged.”
“I do not even know where to begin.” Lady Francis clutched her hand to her chest and faced Audrey. “I was sixteen summers when we met.” She stepped further into the past. A softness entered her features. “I was young but of an age to be married. I was infatuated with a handsome young man in our local village outside of London, and my father feared the man would take liberties with me. Without a word, he packed me up and sent me north to visit my aunt in Lanercost.”
“I am sorry.” Audrey picked at the edge of the coverlet. She too had been separated from her family at the same age.
“One sunny morning I went to pick wildflowers in the meadows. So engrossed was I in the array of oxeye daises, scarlet poppies, and yellow buttercups, when I looked up, I did not recognize my surroundings. I was so frightened, and then out of nowhere stood Ian Armstrong. Tall, older, his wild brown hair shaped his face like a pirate on the sea.” Lady Francis shook her head. “He kidnapped me and held me for ransom.”
“Nay! You said your marriage was arranged.” Audrey scooted to the edge of the bed, not wanting to miss a morsel of this tale.
Lady Francis chuckled and took a seat by the table. “Not at first. My father came with a few men and the coin to pay the ransom. But over the month of my captivity, Ian fell in love with me and wanted to strike a different bargain with my father.”
Audrey placed her feet on the floor. “How awful.”
“It was not that bad. Ian never laid a hand on me and was remarkably cordial. To a young girl he could be most attractive. My father was furious in the beginning. Ian was a Scotsman and a papist.”
Fear trickled down Audrey’s spine. She too held the same belief. “What happened then?”
“Ian verbally gave up his papist faith. He also pledged protection and a large sum to be paid to my father over a period of years.” Lady Francis glanced around the chamber. “’Tis why Warring Tower is so poor today.” A heavy sigh floated from her lips. “I should have left when…” She then shrugged and gazed upon her bare fingers.
One could only assume that somewhere along the way their love bloomed or at least they h
ad reached an agreeable settlement. Audrey wanted to ask more, but Lady Francis rose and made her way to the door. “Rest now. We shall talk about your problems with my son later.”
Disappointed the story had ended, Audrey slipped back into bed. She pursed her lips thinking of asking more, but then she changed her mind. As of now, she had a reprieve, but she was not deceived, by nightfall, all within the tower would know the truth that she was a spy.
Around dusk, a clomp of horse’s hooves drew Audrey’s attention to the window. Gavin threw the reins to a young stable boy before entering. His loud voice snapped and boomed throughout the tower. Oh, he was in a foul mood. Her door crashed open revealing his ominous presence. His blond hair resembled a mass of ropes wildly coiled around his face. Dark smudges of dirt streaked across his cleft chin. In one hand he carried a flagon of wine and in the other two wooden cups.
“How are you feeling, Mistress? Better I hope?” His gaze shifted to her forehead where she had hit her head. A deep frown settled on his lips.
“Much better, my laird.” She touched the sore spot. “It looks far worse than it feels.”
Gavin slowly nodded and then strode across the room. He dropped the flagon and cups on the table. “Do you feel fit to have a drink with me?” He motioned to the chair. Her heart racing, Audrey prudently sat without giving a comment. No sense in poking the boar.
He poured the wine and quickly took a drink, draining his cup. After pouring more, he leaned his muscular frame against the wall. “Take a drink. It will clear your senses and prevent you from swooning. I dinnae want you to fall and hurt yourself again.”
His words seemed unwise, but saying so would be foolhardy. Audrey took a sip, then placed the cup back on the table. Her stomach burned and balked against the warm drink. She put a hand to her belly, hoping she did not retch.
Taking another swig of his wine, Gavin just stared at her. “What am I going to do with you?” His voice was low and somewhat sensual, and it seemed to settle her rolling stomach.