The outburst had done her good. Leaving her son, Charles, to his grief, she began to reorganize the household and the children. One thing she refused to give up, however, was her privacy. She did not move into the East Wing of the castle, but the doors between the two wings were now always open.
Each of the younger children had a nursemaid of its own and lived in the communal nursery. Patrick and little Charles had been given at age six their own quarters and a tutor to oversee them. The older boys took their main meal at mid-day with their grandmother, and when he was there, their father.
The earl of Sithean, was, however, rarely at home now. He had gone to court and offered his services to the king. At the moment those services consisted of merely being charming, witty, and gay. Charles complied with good will. Anything to forget Fiona and the four sons who only reminded him of her. He refused to acknowledge his daughter. After all, had she not been responsible for her mother’s death? Once he brought home a Lady Diana Fergusson.
“Do ye intend to marry her?” asked Janet
“Of course not” he replied carelessly. “She’s my latest leman.”
“Then take your high-bred whore and leave my house,” she commanded. “Because you’re hurt, I’ll not allow you to hurt the children. They’re just beginning to recover.”
He drew himself up proudly, and for the barest moment she was reminded of Selim. “I remind you, madame, that I am the earl of Sithean.”
“True,” she agreed “but Sithean belongs to me, Charles. And I might remind you that you are the earl of Sithean because of me. Don’t you ever wonder how you came by yer tide?”
“The king said ye gave forty years of yer life for Scotland.”
“My God, Charles! The king couldn’t care less that I spent forty years out of Scotland. What mattered to Jamie was that he spent two nights in my bed! I did not solicit his attention, of course. I simply cooperated rather than cry rape when he entered my bed.” She laughed at the look on his face. “Take Lady Fergusson back to Edinburgh, Charles. I dinna care who ye sleep with, my son, but if ye must bring yer whore home, do bring one who’s not so obvious.”
Charles laughed in spite of himself. “By God, mother! There’s no one like you! Shall I take yer love to the king?”
“No, but take my prayers to him and his queen. To lose one child is terrible, but to have lost both their little princes—ah well, they’re both young. There’ll be plenty of time for other children. Be grateful for yer own, Charles. What has happened has happened. Dinna hold Heather and the boys responsible. Fiona wanted them, especially yer daughter who looks just like her.”
Charles returned to court, and through him the dowager countess of Sithean heard all the news that led her to believe a war would soon touch Scotland. However, before the year’s end another personal tragedy had touched the Leslies. Anne, countess of Glenkirk, took a chill in a September rain and died suddenly. Janet and Anne had certainly never been friends, but her sister-in-law’s sudden death forced her to face the possibility of her own demise.
In 1542 there were religious rumblings throughout Scotland. A passion for reformation was sweeping the land. King James had declared for Rome and the “auld alliance” with the French. Henry of England, however, had boldly gained independence of the papacy and eagerly sought an understanding with his nephew of Scotland. They had planned a meeting at York, and Henry, arriving at the appointed time was furious to find that his nephew would not be there after all. The Scots privy council had refused to let their king join his uncle because of rumors of a possible abduction. Actually the queen, and the churchmen on James’ council were fearful that Henry would convince his nephew to follow his example regarding Rome. It would have been better if the queen and the nervous priests had remembered that England was closer than Rome.
Henry was feeling particularly mean as the New Year began. His fifth queen, Catherine Howard, the “Rose without a thorn,” had been proven an adulteress, and been beheaded on Tower Green. Lonely, ill, and disillusioned, Henry sought solace in a war. Once winter loosed its hold, the northern levies were called up, and under the leadership of Sir Robert Bowes, crossed over the border into Teviotdale. They were roundly defeated by Lord Gordon, Jamie’s faithful earl of Huntley.
Next into the fray jumped the duke of Norfolk, anxious to get back on Henry’s good side since both his nieces, Anne Boleyn, and Catherine Howard, had the unpleasant distinction of being the only two of Henry’s queens to be beheaded. He was more successful putting Roxburgh, Kelso, and some smaller towns to the torch. Henry then pulled out the old English chestnut of suzerainty over Scotland, and James was forced to fight.
James mustered a force, kissed his again-pregnant queen good-bye, and marched off. He got as far as Fala Moor, and there his nobles refused to go any further. Without them he had no army, and they would not they said, spill Scots blood for France, which was what it all boiled down to in the end. They disbanded, but three weeks later on November twenty-first James marched out of Edinburgh at the head of ten thousand men recruited with the help of Cardinal Beaton, and the earl of Moray—the other James Stewart
With the king, and leading a combined force of men, rode Charles, his uncle Adam, his cousins, Ian and Hugh. Their neighbors, James and Gilbert Hay, rode with them. The master of Grayhaven had been ill, and left behind at Sithean. Colin had angrily protested, but Janet having a premonition, drugged his wine, and he slept for two days.
It was for naught Awaking early on the morning of the twenty-third of November, Colin Hay crept softly from Janet’s bed, dressed himself warmly, slipped into the stables, saddled his horse, and left Sithean to join the others.
He reached the battlefield in time to help Red Hugh, and what remained of the Leslie-Hay contingent collect the bodies of their dead. Both families had escaped the tragedy of Flodden, but they did not escape Solway Moss. Among the dead were Adam Leslie, earl of Glenkirk. His son and heir, Ian. His nephew, Charles Leslie, the Earl of Sithean. James Hay, heir to Grayhaven. His brother, Gilbert And close to two hundred young men and boys from the three estates. The remaining men were able, by commandeering wagons, to transport the bodies back to Glenkirk, Sithean and Grayhaven.
47
SHE KNEW. Some deep, primitive instinct told her that both her brother, and her beloved son were dead, Adam, who had loved her enough to seek her out despite the gulf of years, despite the vast cultural changes that had separated them. Charles, her baby, for whom she had risked her own life that he might live to see his manhood. Still it was not until the third week in December that the survivors had made their way home; their horses plodding wearily through the falling snow as they entered the courtyard of Sithean Castle to stop before the dowager countess and her niece, who forewarned, awaited them.
“All of them,” Lord Hay said brokenly, and his big body shook with grief. “We return with less than fifty of our lads.”
Janet reached up to touch his thigh in a gesture of wordless comfort. Her own certainty had already prepared her for the worst; and Jane was weeping enough for the two of them as it was.
“I must take my sons home,” Colin Hay said quietly.
She nodded silently as, turning, he moved away from her leading the two horses with their tragic burden out through the courtyard gate into the rising storm. She never knew from where she got the strength, but she somehow managed to signal her grandson, Patrick, the new Earl of Sithean, to accompany Lord Hay.
Hugh More-Leslie slipped down from his horse, and knelt before her. “I was wounded, aunt, ”he began as if apologizing for his own survival. “My cousin, Charles, may God assoil his soul, died defending me. I had been struck a fierce blow by some English bastard that addled my wits for several minutes. Ahh, God!” he wept. “I should be wi them!”
“Nay, Hugh,” she told him. “Nay.”
“When I came once more to my senses,” he continued, “all was silent. I could see the carrion birds flying above me. Charles and the Englishman lay dead near
me. We protected the bodies of our own, aunt. We kept them safe from the birds, and from the battlefield crones who were already upon the field stealing everything they could wi no respect for Scot, or foreigner.
“Finally Lord Hay came. He had us dig a pit, and we buried our dead as best we could. Then we came home. Those who could walk, walked. Those who couldn’t we carried; but we brought all the living home, aunt. And the bodies of our lords that they might be interned in their own soil.”
Raising him up she hugged him close, and stroked his dark red hair comfortingly. “Thank God, and St. Andrew that yer safe, Hugh! Thank God yer home safe, my nephew.”
He caught her hand, and kissed it fervently.
“The King?” she asked. “Was the King spared?”
“Aye,” he said scornfully. “Jamie ran back to Edinburgh first, and then to Linlithgow where he saw the queen safely delivered, but a strange thing happened, aunt. He had no wound and yet we heard along the road that he died at Falklands several days ago. They say his heart was broken wi his defeat.” .
“God help us,” said Janet. “Another helpless bairn for a king.”
“Nay, aunt, a queen. French Mary was delivered of a lass”
Before she might digest his words, however, her attention was diverted to her niece. Jane had not uttered a word since Lord Hay had entered the courtyard. Now she stood by one of the horses, tears silently coursing down her cheeks. Suddenly her mouth opened, and a sound, quite akin to that of an animal in severe pain, pierced the otherwise snowy silence causing the horses to shy nervously. As the cry echoed briefly in the cold, Jane Leslie crumpled into a heap.
Red Hugh reached her first, and feeling for a pulse, finally looked up in horror. “Jesu help us, aunt! She be dead!”
“Oh, God!” Janet cried, unable to restrain from tears now. “No more! No more!”
But as much as she might have wanted to indulge in a fit of hysterics, as much as she longed to wail and keen over her dead in the tradition of her ancestors; there was no time for the dowager countess of Sithean to mourn the great and personal loss inflicted upon her and her family. The battle of Solway Moss had left her responsible for ten children ranging in age from almost eleven to but six weeks; two of them boy earls with lands and other property that would be tempting to those wishing easily to enrich their own coffers at the expense of those helpless children. There was no time for self-indulgence as when her beloved Selim had died.
The following morning wee Patrick was brought before his great-aunt and given a small cup of Turkish coffee, heavily laced with milk and honey, which he considered a great treat. The children, having been quickly put to bed the day before, still knew nothing of the great tragedy that had befallen them all.
“Big Patrick dinna come home last night,” the boy said conversationally.
“I know,” Janet replied.
“Do ye know where he went? Why could I not go?”
“He went to Greyhaven with Lord Hay,” she said. “There has been a battle, wee Patrick; a great battle at Solway Moss.”
“Did we win, Mam? Did we beat the pocky English?”
“Nay, laddie, they beat us.”
Incredulity lit the boy’s features. “They beat us?’ he repeated.
“Aye, and many were killed, wee Patrick. Many fine sons of Scotland. Ahhh, so many!”
He looked sharply at her, the knowledge dawning. “My father?”
She looked back at him, her green-gold eyes steady, and then she nodded. “And your grandfather, your uncle Charles, Lord Hay’s two sons; and oh so many more of our people, wee Patrick!”
“My mother,” he said rising, the mantle of duty already heavy on his slender shoulders. “I must go to my mother!”
“Your mother could not bear to be wi’out your father,” Janet said softly. “She has already joined him in death, laddie. You are now the head of the family, Patrick. You are the third Earl of Glenkirk.’
“But I am just a little boy, Mam!” he wailed, momentarily frightened, the tears beginning to come.
“A Leslie dinna weeps,” she reminded him, and then said, “our new Queen is but a bairn,”
He swallowed manfully and thought a moment. “I am younger than Sithean.” he said, “yet I am head of the family?”
She smiled, understanding his question. “Aye. Glenkirk is the older title.”
“Does Big Patrick know?”
“Not all, not yet. He accompanied Lord Hay home, but he will return today, and I will tell him then.”
“Who will be our guardian, Mam?”
“I will,” she said firmly.
“Are you certain?”
The dowager countess of Sithean nodded. He must not know that nothing could be certain until she could get to court; could to French Mary. With James dead there would be much Keying and scrambling for power; for the regency and guardianship of the infant queen. Only when that matter was settled would the greedy lords look to other pickings, to the titled and landed orphans of Solway Moss. Thank: God I that the Leslies of Glenkirk and Sithean were a lesser branch of the great clan; but as sure as there were stars in the sky, someone would eventually try to gain custody of the young heirs unless she could get there first.
Janet Leslie knew it was unlikely that the regents, once chosen would award custody of two boy earls to a woman let alone a woman of her years; but the regents were not yet chosen and French Mary would yet have power. Power enough Janet prayed, to award the guardianships of two unimportant children living in a remote area; unimportant boys whose true wealth was not common knowledge, to award their custody to her!
“Pack my things, Marian!” she ordered her faithful servant. “I leave for court in two days time.”
But first the dead were buried, and that done, the dowager countess of Sithean left for Linlithgow where the widowed Queen, and her daughter, the baby monarch, were still in residence. Travel in the best of weather was never easy but with winter upon the land the journey would be a hard one particularly as they must hurry. Every moment was precious fn this game of power and strategy. Janet knew the question of the little Queen would not be settled easily which gave her hope There was also the minor problem of gaining audience with French Mary.
Marie of Guise-Lorraine, dowager Queen of Scotland, was not a happy woman at this moment in time. Barely out of childhood she had watched helpless, and with every bone in her practical French body shrieking her outrage, as her spoilt, romantic husband had willed himself to death in a fit of pique. James had left her alone in this cold, barbarous land; left her to contend with that heretic anglophile, the earl of Arran; and the didactic Archbishop of St. Andrews, Cardinal Beaton; both of whom were fighting over the regency of her daughter, two and a half week old Mary.
Neither man considered her feelings. Neither had solicited her opinion as the queen’s mother. Indeed they had brushed her aside as if she were of no import at all in this matter. She had served her purpose, though poorly, Arran had dared to imply, by giving Scotland an heiress instead of an heir. The man was a cochon!
Such was her frame of mind when one of her women came to tell her that the dowager countess of Sithean was in her ante-chamber requesting an audience with her.
“I will see no one.” Marie sulked, not even bothering to gaze away from her mirror in which she was carefully perusing her beautiful face for signs of age. Widowed twice, she now wondered if she might attract a third husband.
The serving woman turned to go.
“Wait!” The widowed queen considered a moment. Sithean. Jamie had often mentioned Sithean and its lady with great fondness. “This dowager? She is Lady Leslie?”
“Yes, madame.”
“I will see her!” Curiosity and boredom had overcome Marie. “Vite! Vite! Show her into me.” She smoothed her elegant black velvet gown with graceful fingers. Jamie had indeed spoken of the Lady Leslie who was of the late Queen Margaret’s generation. There was some wildly romantic story about her life, but Marie of Guise-Lorrain
e could not recall if her husband had ever told it to her. It was probably not important, but Marie did remember that Jamie had once visited Sithean, and in a rare moment of graciousness created Lady Leslie’s son an earl. No money or power there however. What could the old lady want? She lived too far away to have come to pay a condolence call. Still, that elder generation had a delicacy of manners that was certainly lacking in today’s Scottish nobility, and perhaps the elderly dowager would provide her with a few minutes diversion.
Her waiting woman returned escorting an elegant woman who, gracefully kneeling, kissed Marie’s outstretched hand, and greeted the widowed queen in perfectly accented French.
“It is most kind of your Majesty to see me, particularly in this time of your sorrow. I should not have intruded upon your Majesty’s privacy were it not of vital importance to me, and to my family.”
Marie of Guise-Lorraine stared hared at Janet. “There must be some mistake,” she said. “I was under the impression that you were the eider Lady Leslie, dowager countess of Sithean. Please rise, madame.”
Janet did so, laughing softly. “Madame, I do not know when I last received such a charming compliment; however, I must tell you that I have but recently celebrated my sixty-second birthday. I am indeed the dowager countess of Sithean.”
Marie threw up her hands in a little Gallic gesture of surprise. “I do not believe it!” she said. “You appear at least twenty years younger, madame, but come, and let us sit by the fire. You will tell me how you keep your skin so flawlessly perfect.”
Janet knew as she seated herself that to tell the younger woman the state of her skin was hereditary, that all the Leslies aged slowly, would be a disappointment and could lose her the royal favor she sought. So instead she said, “It is a special facial masque I learned during my years in the East. It is made of egg whites for tightening the skin; honey which closes the pores; and almonds, finely pounded for their lubricating oils. I shall send your Majesty a supply along with the recipe.” She had known women in the harem who used such a masque, and they had suffered no ill effects from it.
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