Before Rob could reply, another voice spoke, “Lady Campbell, is it really ye?”
Rob turned toward the voice and saw the Earl of Bothwell standing there. A tall, well-built man, Francis Hepburn-Stuart possessed auburn hair and heavenly blue eyes and an unlimited supply of charm.
“I’m pleased to see ye’ve fully recovered from yer long journey from England,” the earl said, bowing over her gloved hand. “Have ye brought that Sassenach dog of yers to court?”
Rob grinned and shook her head, saying, “We left Smooches at Inverary.”
“Come and walk aboot with me,” the earl said, offering his hand. “We must renew our acquaintance.”
“I’d be delighted, my lord,” Rob said, placing her hand in his.
Escorting her away from the others, Bothwell whispered, “I thought ye needed an escape route from that group.”
“My Lord Bothwell, how perceptive ye are,” Rob replied, making him smile. “I suppose yer intervention puts me in yer debt.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said. “And how goes the married life?”
“I’m expecting Inverary’s heir,” she told him.
“The verra best to ye, then.” The earl smiled at her. “Ye know, lass. When I met ye at Hermitage, I had my doubts aboot yer survivin’ here at court.”
“But why would ye think that?”
“Ye appeared such a pathetic creature when ye sat at my table.”
Rob gave him a sidelong glance and warned, “My lord, I’m wearin’ my last resort. If ye ever again refer to me as pathetic, I’ll be forced to end yer life.”
Bothwell threw back his head and shouted with laughter. He stopped walking and turned to face her. “I’m verra glad to hear that because ye’ll need spunk to survive the pretty vultures at court,” he said. “Now, suppose ye tell me why ye drew yer blade on the English queen’s minister.”
“Suppose ye tell me where my brother is,” Rob countered.
“Dubh took to the heather after he snatched the Debrett chit,” the earl told her. “I believe they’re hidin’ somewhere in the Highlands.”
“So he did abduct her,” Rob said.
“Well, Dubh thought he was abductin’ her,” the earl replied, “but the lady insists he rescued her from an unwanted marriage.”
“’Tis a relief,” Rob said with a smile. “And, for yer information, I drew my dagger on Walsingham because I’d overheard him speaking aboot Queen Mary’s execution. We needed to keep the secret for fear he’d toss my uncle into the Tower.”
“Gordon Campbell has chosen his bride well,” Bothwell complimented her. “Yer a braw lassie.”
“My lord, do ye think my father and my father-in-law are endangered by what they did today?” Rob asked abruptly.
Bothwell shook his head. “Jamie favors Gordon and will listen to reason. Ye, however, look a little peaked. Why dinna ye retire to yer chamber and rest until yer husband returns.”
“I dinna know the way,” Rob admitted, and then felt the heated blush rising upon her cheeks.
Bothwell smiled. “All ye need do is ask a page to escort ye there.”
Feeling foolish, Rob returned his smile and said, “Thank ye, my lord. I believe I’ll do that.”
Once inside her chamber, Rob lay down on the bed. Her stomach churned with worry for her father’s well-being, and her head pounded with another, equally troubling thought.
Lady Lavinia Kerr had recently been Gordon’s mistress and wished to resume her affair with him. Rob knew that as surely as she knew her own name.
But, for what did Gordon wish? That was the most disturbing thought of all.
Chapter 16
God’s balls, but the king’s dribbling boded ill for his success.
Alone with the angry king in the privy chamber, Gordon knew he needed a strategy that would put James in a kinder, more merciful frame of mind.
Gordon lifted two crystal goblets off the desk and then cast the pacing king a lopsided smile. After laying them down on their sides on the floor, he reached into the royal golf bag to withdraw two putters and a handful of golf balls.
“We may as well practice while we confer,” Gordon said, offering the king one of the putters.
James relaxed visibly, and a slow smile stole across his face, banishing his irritated expression. Nothing in the whole wide world soothed him more than golfing and hunting.
Taking the putter out of his friend’s hand, James waited for Gordon to set the golf ball down on the floor.
Then he sidled up to the ball and aimed for the goblet. His face split into a broad grin when the ball hit its mark.
“Yer kin are intent on incitin’ war with England,” James said as his friend set his own golf ball down on the floor.
Gordon flicked a glance at the young monarch, aimed for the goblet, and hit his mark. “My father and his kinsmen are nothin’ but old warriors livin’ in the past,” he disagreed. “Their agein’ minds canna see beyond vengeance to the ultimate prize, bein’ named Elizabeth’s successor. The old girl canna live forever, ye know.”
“’Twas a particularly good shot ye just made,” the king complimented him.
“Thank ye, sire.” Gordon set another golf ball down in front of the king.
“I’m a lovin’ son,” James said, and then aimed for the goblet. “Horrified outrage was my initial reaction to my mother’s death, and my own inclination was toward declarin’ war. After all, Elizabeth could have sent her home instead of executin’ her.”
Jamie betrayed her, Gordon recalled his wife’s words. The English offered to return her to Scotland, but her own son refused her sanctuary because he feared sharing his crown with her.
James putted the golf ball into the goblet and added, “War wouldna honor her cherished memory, but would only serve to eliminate any chance I have of bein’ Elizabeth’s successor. After all, what’s more fittin’ to my mother’s memory than havin’ her only son wear the crown that she coveted.”
“I agree with ye on that point,” Gordon said, hitting his ball into the goblet.
“To that end, yer rebellious relatives should be punished for disturbin’ the peace.”
“With all due respect, I disagree with ye on that point,” Gordon said. “My father and his kinsmen are na beyond reasonin’. Besides, the Earl of Basildon is MacArthur’s brother-in-law and one of the most influential men in England, not to mention the richest . . . Care to place a small wager on our game here?”
James nodded. “A gold piece?”
Gordon smiled and tossed a gold piece onto the desk. Then he set a golf ball down on the floor in front of the king.
James took careful aim and hit the ball into the goblet. Gordon also hit his mark.
“Another good shot,” the king complimented him. “Yer game is improvin’.”
“If my game is improvin’, ’tis because I’m learnin’ from the verra best, namely yerself,” Gordon said smoothly.
James smiled, obviously pleased by the flattery, and hit his next ball into the goblet. Gordon followed suit.
“As I was sayin’, Basildon favors ye to be Elizabeth’s successor,” Gordon continued. “He also possesses the uncanny talent to fatten yer coffers. God’s balls, but everything the man touches turns to gold.”
Always in need of coin, King James brightened at that. Gordon tossed another gold piece onto the desk and then set a golf ball down in front of the king. Flicking a sidelong glance at him, Gordon felt relieved to see that the king’s dribbling had slowed considerably.
“Tell me more,” James ordered after sinking the ball into the goblet.
“My wife is Basildon’s niece,” Gordon went on, setting his own golf ball down on the floor. “I was a guest at his home while in England. Many times during my stay there, Basildon spoke of when ye would succeed Elizabeth. However, if ye harm his Scottish kin, I dinna know if he’ll back ye when the moment comes to name a successor. He does enjoy considerable influence with Elizabeth. Perhaps, ye should exhibit t
hose noble qualities for which ye’ve become renowned.”
Giving the king time to digest his words, Gordon took careful aim and hit the ball. He hid a satisfied smile when the golf ball veered to the right at the last possible moment and missed its mark.
“Aha! I’ve beat ye,” James said. He confiscated the gold pieces and then leaned against his desk. “To which of my noble qualities do ye refer?”
“Patience and mercy, Yer Majesty.” Gordon looked at the king and felt immensely relieved that the royal dribbling had almost stopped.
“Verra well, my friend,” James said. “But Campbell and MacArthur must apologize now and again in public at the memorial service. Elizabeth’s emissary is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Because of yer relatives, I must keep him waitin’ an extra day.”
“So?” Gordon cocked a brow at the king. “Ye control this unfortunate situation with England. Ye dinna need to give Elizabeth yer attention at the verra moment she demands it. She’s the one who’s squirmin’ on her throne.” Gordon held a golf ball up and asked, “Are ye goin’ to give me the chance to win my gold back?”
King James grinned. “We’ll go golfin’ after the service tomorrow, and in the evenin’ ye can present yer bride to me at supper.”
“Sire, we’d be honored to attend,” Gordon replied, inclining his head. “I’ll fetch those stubborn old war horses to ye.”
Gordon stepped into the corridor outside the privy chamber. His father and his in-laws had removed their rusty armor and stood with his uncle, the Earl of Huntly.
Before speaking, Gordon removed his handkerchief from his pocket and made an exaggerated show of wiping the nervous sweat from his brow and his upper lip. Finally, he cast them a wholly disgusted look and said, “I had to do some fancy talkin’. Now, get in there and grovel.”
“I grovel to no man,” Duke Magnus announced.
“Neither do I,” Iain MacArthur said.
“Nor I,” Percy MacArthur added.
The Earl of Huntly chuckled. Gordon ran his hand across his face in exasperation.
“Inverary’s heir is risin’ in my wife’s belly,” Gordon told them, giving each of them a cold stare. “Would ye spoil his future with yer prideful pigheadedness?”
All three instantly appeared shamefaced.
“Gettin’ the Campbells and the MacArthurs attainted willna bring Queen Mary back from the dead,” Gordon added for good measure.
That did it. One by one, the three men nodded their compliance. Gordon led the way into the privy chamber, and the Earl of Huntly followed behind.
“Huntly, what d’ye do here?” King James asked.
“With yer permission, Sire, I’d like to stay,” the earl replied, bowing to the king. “’Tisna every day I get the chance to see my illustrious Campbell brother-in-law grovelin’.”
The king smiled. “Be my guest, then.”
In unison, the three old war horses went down on bended knee. “I’m verra sorry for disturbin’ the realm’s peaceful solemnity,” Duke Magnus spoke first.
“So am I,” Iain said.
“Me too,” Percy added.
“Are ye prepared to apologize publicly?” the king asked.
All three nodded. Only Gordon saw the reluctance in their gazes.
King James smiled with satisfaction. “Rise, then. Yer forgiven.”
Duke Magnus and Percy MacArthur stood, but Iain MacArthur remained kneeling. When the king arched a questioning brow at him, Iain said, “I want to discuss the matter of my oldest son bein’ named an outlaw.”
“He abducted that English chit,” the king reminded him.
“’Tis untrue, Yer Majesty. Dubh rescued her from a forced marriage,” Iain argued. “Besides, I recently received information that my son has taken the honorable action of marryin’ the lady.”
“Well, that could put a different spin on the situation,” James replied without committing himself.
“What better method of preparin’ to rule two countries than to have the nobility intermarry,” Gordon piped up, and nodded almost imperceptibly when his father-in-law sent him a grateful look.
“Why, ’tis an excellent idea,” King James agreed. “I’ll discuss yer son’s marriage with Elizabeth’s emissary, and perhaps she’ll withdraw her official protest. Ye may leave me now.”
The four older men bowed to the king and backed their ways out of the chamber. Gordon started after them, but the king called, “Gordy, dinna forget aboot our golf game tomorrow.”
“Sire, I’m countin’ the hours,” Gordon said, flashing the young monarch a grin. “I hope I’ve enough luck to win my gold back.”
“’Tis expertise that makes a man a winner,” James told him.
Gordon inclined his head and escaped out the door. Outside in the corridor, he gave his father and in-laws a disgusted look and, without a word to them, marched down the corridor.
Intending to fetch his wife from the abbey, Gordon retraced his steps outside and started to cross the lawns that separated the palace from the abbey. He stopped when he heard someone call his name and turned around. The Earl of Bothwell, Mungo MacKinnon, and Lavinia Kerr were advancing on him.
“Gordy, we’ve met yer bride,” Lavinia said by way of a greeting. “When I saw ye this mornin’, ye never mentioned that she’s with child.”
God’s balls, Gordon thought, turning a frigid gaze upon her. This was all he needed to make his day complete. First the king had called for his kin’s imprisonment, and now Lavinia Kerr had introduced herself to his wife. God only knew what words had passed between them.
Gordon flicked an accusing glance at Mungo, who smiled unrepentantly and shrugged.
“How did yer audience with Jamie go?” Bothwell asked.
“It ended reasonably well,” Gordon answered. “If ye’ll excuse me, my wife is waitin’ inside the abbey.”
“She isna there,” Bothwell told him.
Gordon arched a brow at him.
“Lady Rob wished to retire to her chamber,” Bothwell said. “I escorted her back to the palace.”
“Thank ye, my lord.” Without another word, Gordon retraced his steps to the palace. Reaching his chamber, he paused outside the door for a long moment and wondered in what mood he’d find his wife. Meeting Lavinia Kerr could not have been pleasant. For the first time in his life, Gordon regretted the liaisons he’d had with court jades like Lavinia. Well, he couldn’t change the past so he would be forced to deal with the present as it was.
Gordon stepped inside the chamber. With her back turned toward the door, Rob sat in a chair pulled close to the window and appeared to be doing her needlework.
That she knew he’d returned was apparent in the almost imperceptible stiffening of her delicate shoulders.
Gordon smiled to himself. Ready for battle, was she? His wife was never more adorable than when angered.
Noiselessly, Gordon walked across the chamber. He lifted the curtain of her hair, lightly kissed the nape of her neck, and said in a husky voice, “I’m partial to this ebony mane of yers.”
“To what were ye partial before?” Rob asked, her voice colder than a Highland blizzard. “Blondes, brunettes, and redheads?”
“I dinna ken, angel.” Gordon leaned against the wall beside the window and folded his arms across his chest. “Explain yerself.”
Rob raised her glittering emerald gaze and stared at him straight in the eye. “I met Ladies Elliott, Armstrong, and Kerr.”
It was worse than he’d expected. Experienced in court intrigue and strategy, Gordon knew that the best defense was a superior offense. He returned her stare unwaveringly and said, “And?”
“And I’d bet the family fortune that Campbell Mansion’s housekeeper isna called Livy.”
Gordon flashed her a wicked grin and winked at her. “Ye’d make yerself a fortune, angel. I’m guilty as charged.”
“Ye lied to me,” she cried.
“Give over, angel. I’ve passed the last hour kissin’ the king’s arse so
that our fathers wouldna be tossed into the Tolbooth.”
Rob dropped her gaze to the knitting in her lap. Her thoughts were incredibly easy to read. Gordon knew by the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth and the rosy stain upon her cheeks that, though angry, his wife felt guilty for failing to think of their fathers first. In that case, he could afford to be generous.
“Be at peace, angel,” Gordon said. “Our fathers are na in any danger. I’ve managed to set thin’s aright with Jamie.” He knelt down on one bended knee to be eye level with her and vowed, “All those jades ye met today are from my past. Yer my present and my future. Just like our weddin’ band says, ‘Ye and No Other.’”
“I saw ye kissin’ Lavinia Kerr this mornin’.”
“I wasna kissin’ Livy. She was kissin’ me,” Gordon insisted. He glanced over his shoulder at the window and said, “’Tis barely two of the clock and early enough for a visit to the High Street. I know a good tavern where we could sup.”
“Are ye tryin’ to purchase my forgiveness?” Rob asked, arching a perfectly shaped ebony brow at him. “I canna be bribed.”
Gordon shook his head and cast her his devastating smile. “I’m tryin’ to court an angel.”
That brought the hint of a smile to her lips, and Gordon knew the bluster had gone out of her. “Are ye knittin’ Smooches a new sweater?”
Rob shook her head and held her handiwork up for him to see. “’Tis a blanket for our son.”
“Well, Gavin will be disappointed if the bairn isna a girl,” he said. “Now, how aboot that ride up the High Street, lovey?”
A short time later, Gordon and Rob sat astride their horses and left the palace stable yard. Glancing sidelong at her husband, Rob was unable to hold onto even a smidgen of her anger. Gordon was a handsome and virile man and several years older than she. They’d married so young; she couldn’t have expected him to remain faithful while she grew into womanhood.
Gordon led Rob south on the Cannongate and pointed to its sites of interest. On the right was White Horse Close where Campbell Mansion with its enclosed courtyard and gardens was located. A little farther ahead stood the Cannongate Tolbooth where prisoners wasted away and beyond that John Knox’s house, Mercat Cross, and St. Giles Cathedral.
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