As the two men stood there, barely a sword’s length between them, McNaughton spoke.
‘I have waited a long time for this moment, Jamieson, thinking how much I would savour tearing out your black heart! If you have a God, then commend yourself to him with all speed. You will not get another chance to do so in this life!’
‘Brave words, my friend, but, as a true gentleman, I prefer to let my sword speak for me—en garde!’
Then, with a wild cry, Jamieson threw himself at Gavin. Their swords flashed in the light of the hundreds of candles that lit the Great Hall, and the harsh, metallic clang of steel on steel echoed around the walls. The Captain of the Queen’s bodyguard held his men back—if the bold Earl of Edinburgh wants some sport with this pathetic ruffian, he thought, then we will leave him to it!
As blows rained down on him, and the two men circled each other, Gavin fell back towards the chapel. Overturning a long banqueting table as he went, capons, pheasants and all manner of other game were sent flying from their gilded platters, while goblets and candlesticks went crashing to the ground. In an instant, the carefully prepared feast was reduced to chaos.
Surprised by the ferocity of Jamieson’s attack, Gavin retreated into the chapel itself. In the small vaulted space the fight became even more bitter, the smell of incense and the coloured light filtering in through the tall stained-glass windows lending the whole scene a dream-like, unreal quality.
Then as the onlookers, crowded in the chapel entrance, looked on in horror, the Earl of Edinburgh stumbled over the altar rail and fell heavily. Gavin’s sword was raised high for the final blow, but Jamieson was not finished yet. In a swift movement, he flung his dirk at Gavin, striking him a glancing blow on the neck. It was enough to make him pause, allowing the Earl to spring to his feet.
Once more he rushed at Gavin and forced him to fall back. As he defended himself with a fierce desperation, Gavin felt cold marble pressed against his back. Glancing round, he found that he was cornered. Behind him was the elaborate marble tomb of his father, Machar McNaughton; in front, the wild-eyed figure of Jamieson. As Gavin’s concentration drifted for one fatal second, Jamieson lashed out and knocked the sword from his hand.
The irony of the situation was not lost on Jamieson.
‘How apt, that you should die by your father’s side!’ he laughed. ‘And how appropriate that it should be by the same hand!’
At long last, Gavin had the answer to the question that had always haunted him. It was Jamieson! Jamieson had murdered his father!
As Jamieson drew back his blade for the final thrust, Gavin threw himself forward in blind fury and Jamieson’s sword, deflected from its target, sliced through his arm just below the shoulder. Gavin cried out in pain as he fell heavily on top of the Earl. Jamieson’s sword clattered onto the flagstones just out of reach, as the two men rolled around on the bloodstained chapel floor, but he managed to break free and turned to run, only to find himself facing one of the great stained-glass windows. Turning round, he felt the point of a sword against his throat.
‘It is finished, Jamieson,’ Gavin gasped, as blood poured from the wound in his arm.
Jamieson stared at his opponent defiantly.
‘I think not!’ he said, his voice filled with contempt.
Before Gavin could say another word, he found himself seized from behind by men of the Queen’s bodyguard. A look of triumph came into Jamieson’s eyes.
‘Take this villain away,’ he commanded, ‘and hang him in the courtyard, like the dog he is!’
As they started to drag Gavin away, a voice cried out,
‘Enough! Enough of this. It is I who hold the power of life and death here. No-one else but I!’
It was the Queen who spoke. Jamieson and Gavin had become completely oblivious to the audience who stood all around them. And until now none of the onlookers had tried to intervene.
In the chapel, silence reigned for a moment. Then the Queen spoke again.
‘My Lord of Glasgow, how is it that you have risen from the grave?’ she said, drawing shocked gasps from the onlookers. Marie had finally managed to tell the Queen that the ragged man was none other than Gavin McNaughton.
‘And you, my Lord of Edinburgh, why are you so keen to see him return to the ranks of the dead?’
Gavin spoke first, ignoring the Queen’s question.
‘Your Majesty, the crimes of this … this … monster are legion,’ he said pointing at Jamieson. ‘He is a traitor, a spy for the English, he betrayed me to them. He has stolen my wife and my estates. God alone knows what else he may be responsible for. And now I learn that it was he who killed my father!’
The Queen turned to Jamieson.
‘What have you to say to that, my Lord of Edinburgh?’
Jamieson looked around him at the faces that crowded into that small space. And he was filled with loathing for them all. Then his eyes met Marie’s. In that brief moment, he realised he had lost her forever, and he was filled with a bitter sadness. His mind raced to think of some way out, something he could say, a plausible tale that would buy him some time. But he felt suddenly weary. Tired of all the lies, the scheming, the treachery. ‘To hell with them all!’ he thought. His mind was made up. It was over. But, if he must fall, then he would wreak havoc while he still could.
‘Your Majesty, I am afraid there may be some truth in what McNaughton says. But I think he might do well to ask his wife about her own part in the death of the old Duke. And perhaps the good Bishop of Moray and his ghastly concubine, Effie Dalgliesh, might also like to divest themselves of the secrets of that night at Naughton!’
Jamieson’s tirade was briefly interrupted by hysterical screaming, before Effie collapsed in a dead faint. The Bishop of Moray’s face crumpled, his life ruined in an instant.
Jamieson continued remorselessly.
‘And as for you, your Majesty, you might like to ask your dear friend Marie about her role in the demise of your beloved Dauphin. How sad a thing it is to be betrayed by even one’s closest friends!’
As Jamieson finished, the chapel was filled with an oppressive silence. No-one seemed to know what to do or say in the wake of his outburst. Even the Queen stood motionless, a look of blank amazement on her face. She hadn’t even glanced at Marie. Gavin seethed with impotent fury, but he was still securely held by the guards.
And then Jamieson seized his opportunity.
With one bound he sprang towards the chapel window, and in a shower of brightly coloured glass he crashed through it. Tumbling into the courtyard amidst the shards of broken glass, Jamieson picked himself up and grabbed a horse that was tethered nearby. Hauling himself swiftly into the saddle, he turned to look back up at the astonished faces that stared down at him from the shattered window.
Gavin had managed to break free, and he stood at the window.
‘You can run, Jamieson,’ he screamed, ‘but you can never hide from me! Wherever you go, I will find you!’
Jamieson smiled up at him.
‘In that case, it is merely au revoir my friend, until we meet again! And be sure to give my regards to your wife!’
Swinging his horse around, Jamieson galloped across the courtyard and disappeared through the open gateway.
As the dust settled in the courtyard below, the chapel was filled with a babble of excited voices, cries of alarm, and the gentle sobbing of Effie and a number of the Queen’s other companions.
Gavin was the first to make a move. In his rage the implications of all that had just happened meant nothing to him. In his mind, there was only Jamieson. He would kill him, whatever the cost, no matter how long it took. Everything else could wait—his estates, his children, his wife. He didn’t even look at Marie—there was too much to say, and too little time to say it. Picking up his sword, he ran to the door.
‘Wait, Gavin!’ Marie cried out. ‘We must speak!’
‘There is no time. Every second wasted takes Jamieson further from me. When I return …’ And
without a backward glance Gavin rushed down the stairs. Moments later, the thud of hooves in the courtyard signalled his departure.
Then the Queen silenced them with calm authority.
‘Leave us, all of you. I wish to speak with Marie. Alone!’
The chapel cleared, the guests trooping out subdued and thoughtful, stunned at what they had just witnessed.
Alone together amid the broken glass and torn tapestries of the chapel, Marie and the Queen faced each other. Tears streamed down Marie’s face as she struggled to find words to express what she was feeling.
After what seemed like an age, the Queen asked, in a trembling voice,
‘Is it true, Marie, what he said about the Dauphin? Tell me it isn’t true!’
Marie did not know how she could even begin to explain her actions to her friend. Whatever she said, if she told the truth, it would be an admission that she had betrayed her. It would mean ruin for herself and the children. And what good was the truth to the Queen? To learn that her husband was murdered and her best friend was involved? No, the truth was a luxury Marie could not afford.
‘How can you even think that of me, your Majesty? That I could betray you, my dearest friend? On my children’s lives, I swear I knew nothing of this until today.’ The Queen sighed.
‘How glad I am to hear you say that, Marie. In these difficult times, if one cannot rely on one’s friends, then what is left?’
And as the two of them embraced in the quiet of the chapel, Marie swore to herself that this terrible day would be a fresh start for her after all. From now on, whatever happened, so long as she lived she would never again prove unworthy of the Queen’s faith in her.
Other B & W Titles
by Margaret Thomson Davis
a darkening of the heart
a deadly deception
clydesiders at war
double danger
goodmans of glassford street
light and dark
the breadmakers saga
the clydesiders
the dark side of pleasure
the Glasgow belle
the gourlay girls
the kellys of kelvingrove
the new breadmakers
the tobacco lords trilogy
write from the heart
Copyright
First published 1997 Hardback, Paperback
by Black & White Publishing Ltd
29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL
www.blackandwhitepublishing.com
This electronic edition published in 2014
ISBN: 978 1 84502 808 4 in EPub format
ISBN: 978 1 87363 181 2 in paperback format
Copyright © Margaret Thomson Davies 1997
The right of Margaret Thomson Davies to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay
Burning Ambition Page 21