“But it cannot be!” she exclaimed in her charming French. “I remember my mama speaking of you when I was a little child. You rode through a snow storm after Solway Moss to gain custody of some children. Mama was most impressed by your determination and your sense of duty. Who were the children, I wonder? Mama never said.”
“They were my grandchildren, and the grandchildren of my brother who fell at Solway Moss, madame.”
“That was twenty years ago,” the Queen said, and then peered closely at Janet. “Mama said you were an old woman then, though you looked younger than your years. You sent her a beauty cream afterwards. Just how old are you now, Lady Hay?”
“I am eighty-two, madame,” Janet replied, “though in truth I do not feel it. Looking into my mirror each morning I often wonder who that old lady is who stares back at me. It always comes as somewhat of a shock to realize that the old lady is me!” Janet finished laughing.
“What happened to the children?” the Queen said.
“They grew up, madame. Some have wed, some have joined the church, and others have gone soldiering. We are like any family.”
“I am able to claim a kinship with you Leslies,” the Queen noted. “Is not my distant cousin, Margaret Stewart, married to your earl of Glenkirk?”
“Aye, Meg is Glenkirk’s countess, and we are honored to have you claim us as kin,” Janet answered the Queen.
Mary Stewart passed on to the far north and to other castles in search for supporters. Lady Hay was glad to have had the opportunitv to meet the young queen, but having done so. she was more relieved than ever before that her family and their lands lay far from Edinburgh with all its turmoil.
In later winter of 1563 Colin Hay fell ill. He rallied briefly when the hint of spring permeated the air. One evening as Janet sat by her husband’s bed, he suddenly opened his leaf-green eyes and said to her, “Ye willna be too long behind me, Jan. will ye?”
She couldn’t answer him, for the shock of his question closed her throat, and the words would not come for a moment.
“I wonder who ye’ll have to go with —Selim or me. But surely, since he had three other wives and they’re already wi him, God will let ye be wi me.”
“Hay, yer an old fool!” she told him gently, and then teased, “and what of yer first three wives, all gone before ye, and waiting eagerly, I’ve nae a doubt!”
“I never truly felt wed until ye wed wi me, sweetheart. Ye were always the bonniest and the bravest lass I ever knew. Besides, for me. hinny, yer greatest redeeming virtue has always been that ye were never, ever dull. God help me, Jan. I’ve nae known what ye would do next, and it’s been marvelous!” His eyes closed again with his exhaustion.
It was the greatest declaration of love that he had ever made to her. and they were the last words he ever spoke to her. Holding her hand he fell asleep. The night passed slowly, and Janet remained by her husband’s bedside. Finally, in the early hours of the morning of March 30th, 1563, Colin Hay, the Master of Greyhaven, slipped quietly away through the door that leads from this world into the next.
“I am alone again,” Janet told her faithful servant, Marion.
“At our ages it’s a miracle that we’re here at all!” the elderly woman told her mistress tartly.
Despite the new laws, despite the turbulent times, Colin Hay was buried in the old faith with a high funeral mass said jointly by Father Charles Leslie and Father Francis Hay. The minister of Scotland’s new church turned a blind eye, for at the graveside it was he who said the public prayers; and besides, his fine new stone church with its neat, warm cottage had been built and given to him by the Leslies. It was they who saw he had a small stipend, who kept his fires fueled, who brought his wife grain for her bread, and an occasional butchered deer. Whatever the law now, they were good people, and if their elders could not change, there was always time to convert the young.
With the death of her second husband, Janet Leslie knew that she must finally face the eventuality of her own demise, and there was one thing she would not leave unfinished, or to others. It was the matter of a match for her favorite greatgrandchild, little Cat Hay. She knew the match she wanted, but getting it would not prove easy. The challenge was irresistible. For Cat Hay, only the future earl of Glenkirk would do.
Eleven year old Patrick Leslie, however, was proving a popular possible bridegroom. The Gordons had already begun looking his way, and Janet’s own granddaughter-by-marnage, the countess of Sithean, had Patrick in mind for her seven year old, Fiona. Patrick’s mother had voiced the thought that her Stewart brother’s eight year old daughter might make her son a good wife. Janet listened to them all and bided her time.
Learning that Meg’s brother had a twelve year old heir, she casually mentioned it first to her grandson, the earl of Sithean, and then to his wife. For a match like that, she told them, she would certainly see little Fiona well dowered; and it could not hurt them to maintain their close connection with the royal Stewarts. Fiona’s excellent dowry, to be paid in gold, was duly dangled before the Stewarts who eagerly snapped it up. The contracts were signed, and the betrothal was formally celebrated. Fiona Leslie no longer presented a problem.
Meg’s niece was removed from the running by betrothing little Lady Marjory Stewart to Fiona’s elder brother, Francis. The Leslies of Sithean reasoned that if one Stewart was good then two were even better. The Stewarts reasoned that though Francis was a second son, he had a wonderful income-courtesy of his doting great-grandmother, and besides, there were three more Stewart daughters to marry off. They truly believed they had gotten the better of both matches.
“Isn’t gold wonderful?” Janet laughed to Marion who chuckled back.
“’Tis like the old days, madame! Watching you manipulate everything to suit ye; but how will ye now get our little Cat her earl-to-be?” .
“They’ll come to me,” Janet said with certainty. I will see that Catriona has the most magnificent dowry any girl has ever had; and if I’ve taught Glenkirk well, he’ll nae pass all that fine gold of mine by.”
The third earl of Glenkirk was now thirty-one years of age, and at six foot three inches in height, had long ago outgrown the nickname given him to distinguish him from his elder cousin, Patrick Leslie, the earl of Sithean, whom he now topped by three full inches. He was no longer “wee”. Intelligent, his education had not been for naught, but more important, he was canny. The fact that two possible brides for his heir had suddenly been betrothed elsewhere did not escape his notice; particularly when his cousin Greyhaven’s little lass suddenly-sprouted a large dowry.
“Yer still more Turk than Scot, Mam,” he chuckled indulgently at Janet as they sat alone together at his high board.
“I gained yer attention, Glenkirk, did I not?” she said dryly.
“Why not just say ye wanted my heir for yer great-granddaughter?” he asked her.
“Do I?” she countered, “Well, aye, I suppose that yer Patrick is a possible match for Catriona. Wi her dowry, the wench can hae almost any husband she desires. Actually, I was considering one of the earl of Huntley’s sons. They’re the most powerful family here in the north.”
The earl of Glenkirk laughed. “Yer a wicked old woman, Mam. We both know that Catriona’s generous portion is available only to my son, for ye’ve already given enough away gaining Fiona a Stewart husband. However, there is this to consider. My lad is half-grown, but Jamie’s lass is still a bairn. I wonder if my son might not do better to wed wi a maid nearer his own age.”
“The lad is nae like you or Meg,” she argued. “I see my father in him, and he will want to wait to wed. There is but nine years between your Patrick and my Catriona. Educate the boy in Aberdeen or Edinburgh, and then in France. Teach him how to manage Glenkirk. Let him sow his wild oats and get the devil out of him. By the time he is twenty-five, he will be ready to settle down, and my lass at sixteen will be old enough to wed.”
“What else besides her dowry?” demanded the earl. The hard bargaining
had begun.
“I’ll stand yer heir’s expenses at university here and in France.”
“I’ll think on it.”
“Ye’ll take it, or I’ve taught ye nothing!” she snapped.
It was a more than generous offer, and the earl knew it. He would be mad to decline it. Like Janet, he believed in keeping the various branches of their family close by intermarriage. His son and Catriona Hay had the same great-great-grandfather, the first earl of Glenkirk. “Have the contracts drawn up, Mam. When they are ready, we’ll set the date for the formal ceremony.”
“Not so quickly, Glenkirk! There is more.” Her eyes sparkled wickedly.
He felt a sinking feeling. It had all been too easy. What madness had led him to ever believe that he could outsmart the old lady? “What more?” he asked nervously.
“I’ll take both yer lasses. Little Janet for Sithean’s heir, Charles; and yer bairn, Mary, for Greyhaven’s Jamie. Agreed?”
He could not suppress the grin that split his face as he nodded at her in delight. In one sentence she had made his oldest girl a future countess, and the younger the future mistress of Greyhaven. “If poor queen Mary had ye to advise her, Mam, she’d nae have half the troubles she does,” the earl said.
“Stay out of politics!” she warned him. “That is the key to this family’s survival. God help Mary Stewart, for she is more Tudor and Stewart than Guise-Lorraine, and thinks wi her heart instead of her head. She is dealing wi madmen who have no hearts, and they will destroy her. Wait and see, Glenkirk. Wait and see.”
“When she weds again, and we hae a king, things will settle down,” he answered her.
“Glenkirk, I despair of ye! Have I not always told ye to look at the entire picture? Who will Mary wed that will satisfy everyone? There is no one. Do ye see our queen raised in France by her grandmother, Antoinette de Bourbon, marrying a Protestant? It would damn well have to be the greatest love match since time began, and even then I dinna think Mary would let her dynastic ambitions go that far. And she canna wed wi a Catholic wiout John Knox and his ilk raising bloody hell. Nay, Glenkirk, there is trouble coming. I feel it in these old bones of mine.”
She was right, of course, but heeding their matriarch, the Leslies once again avoided the turmoil by keeping to themselves and staying out of politics. Quietly pursuing their business interests in shipping and wool, they amassed more monies each year which the Kiras carefully tended. They lived quietly and comfortably, but never did they draw attention to themselves. They were known to be a loyal, reliable and closeknit family. Their Catholicism was forgiven them, for they were not overly devout, nor were they fanatics. They did not force either their servants or their peasants to the mass. The new laws were apt to be less strictly enforced in the country than in the city.
Janet was now deep into the winter of her life. That she had lived to be eighty was a surprise. That she had attained eighty-five absolutely amazed her, for she had never known anyone as old as she was. Her mind was as sharp as it had ever been. Because of this she lived the entire year at Glenkirk now, and often she would look up at the portrait of her painted when she had been a girl. I wonder, she thought, what that chit would have said if she knew how much, and how long she would live. Seventeen children had called her “Mam”, and now there were thirty-five little ones calling her “Grandmam”.
Ten of those children she rarely saw, for they lived in France. Her grandson, David, had married Adele de Peyrac and sired four offspring. Adam’s grandson’s, Donald, had wed Rene de Valois, and was father to six. They rarely visited, for despite the peace, the political and religious climate was not a friendly one.
Of all of them, however, it was young Glenkirk and little Cat who were Janet’s favorites. Their betrothal, celebrated December sixth, 1565, was the happiest day Janet had had in many a year. It was also Heather and Jamie’s tenth wedding anniversary, and Cat Hay had just celebrated her fourth birthday. She was a precocious and verbal child with a positive approach to life who seemed far older than her few years.
The promise of beauty given in infancy had but increased in the four short years of her life. Today she was dressed in a pure white velvet gown trimmed with pearls and gold threads. Her heavy dark-golden hair was loose about her little heart-shaped face with its rosebud mouth and strangely adult leaf-green eyes. Janet could see Colin looking out at her through those eyes. The child was exquisite.
“Ye hae made me a good match, Grandmam”, she told her great-grandmother in her odd little way. “My father says, however, that I am fit for a king. Why did ye nae get me a king?”
Janet chuckled, hearing her own youth in the little girl’s question. “Royal Stewarts dinna wed wi Hays of Greyhaven, lassie.”
“Do they make them their mistresses?”
“Sometimes, though I have never heard of a Hay of Greyhaven being a king’s mistress,” Janet replied.
“Is it nae better to be a king’s mistress than an earl’s wife?” The child’s reasoning was excellent for one so young, but then little Cat already read far beyond her years and wrote legibly.
“Nay, lassie. A man, particularly a king, sees no wrong in discarding a mistress; but that same man thinks long and hard before discarding a wife. The wife’s sons are his heirs, and legitimate children gie a woman great stature in her husband’s eyes. Aye, far better to be an earl’s wife.”
“When Glenkirk weds wi me, Grandmam, I’ll nae permit him to keep a mistress,” the child said firmly.
Janet laughed. “If Glenkirk is half the man I think him, he’ll hae several mistresses. He is like my own father. But my wee Cat, if yer wise, ye’ll turn a blind eye. ’Tis on yer body he will get his heirs, and ’tis to you he will always be loyal. He will nae be loyal to some light ’o love he tumbles beneath a hedgerow.”
“Mam!” scolded Heather. “How can ye speak to her so? She is but a bairn, my little Cat.”
“Dinna chide me, granddaughter,” Janet replied. “I have nae lived all these years wiout learning something about men. Because yer husband has nae looked at another since the day ye wed, do not think it is like that wi all men. Better Catriona know from the first that men, like torn cats, like occasionally to roam. As long as yer husband’s women dinna interfere wi yer home, yer peace of mind, or yer honor, let him be. Men, like sheep, browse and wander, but they always return to their shepherdess, lassie. Understand this, and yell hae a happy marriage,”
Though Cat Hay was but a child, her great-grandmother felt it her duty to warn her of the vagaries of the male sex. She would not live, she suspected, to see these two married, and young Patrick was already giving evidence of hot blood. He was as handsome as sin, with his mother’s thick mane of wavy dark brown hair, and Janet’s green-gold eyes. Tall and slender in his thirteenth year, he moved with grace.
From his sixth year when he had left the nursery and been given his own apartments, he had begun his day with a visit to Janet. He had brought her the first flowers of spring, the first fruits of summer. She had not liked any little boy so well since her own son, Charles, had been a child, and none could take his place in her heart.
On the day of his betrothal young Patrick had come, as was his custom, to pay his morning call upon Janet, and she had spoken seriously with him about his wife-to-be.
“Yer almost grown, my lad,” she said, “but when ye are fully grown ye will better understand what I am about to say to ye. Unfortunately. I shall nae be here to see that day. Your father, and yer uncles of Sithean and Greyhaven I saw wed young, for after Solway Moss they were the only legitimate, living males left in their lines. They and their younger brothers. I could nae allow those poor lads the time they needed to grow and mature wi wisdom. They are old before their time wi the responsibilities of their position; but ye, laddie, ye will hae the time ye need!
“Dinna wed Cat until yer twenty-five. Ye’ll be ready to settle down then, and she will be ready for marriage. Dinna wait beyond that time, for I see in my wee Cat a willful streak
that niether James, nor Heather will be able to curb.”
“Will I?” he asked her.
“If ye make her love ye, aye! Be patient and gentle wi her, Patrick. Shell chafe and fight at too tight a rein. Be firm, but loving, for I know she will be worth your trouble.”
“She seems a good little lass, Grandmam.”
Janet snorted with laughter. “Have ye looked at her in comparison wi her female cousins, laddie? Is she anything like yer own sisters? Or yer cousins? Janet, Mary, Ailis, Beth or Emily, who are all about her age? Is Cat like any of them? Even that little wildcat, Fiona? Nay, Patrick! Cat is a special creature. Remember that when she trys yer patience sorely, and she will!”
Later that morning they stood before their priest uncles in the family chapel in Glenkirk Castle, and he wondered at Grandmam’s words. He swore his intent to wed Catriona Hay, and she swore in return. Prayers were said over the newly betrothed pair, and then they and their fathers signed the marriage contracts, Grandmam acting as the witness. Young Patrick was told that he might kiss his affianced, and the little girl turned a chaste and rosy cheek to him.
Perhaps it had been that talk with Grandmam that made him look closely at her; but other than her pouting little mouth, he saw no obvious signs of willfulness. Perhaps Grandmam had been mistaken, and yet he had never known her to be wrong, and she had taken the time to speak with him this morning. He had no further opportunity to think on it, for he and Cat were escorted into the Great Hall of Glenkirk Castle where the betrothal feast was to be held in their honor.
They sat in the place of honor upon the dais at the high board. Cushions had been placed beneath his betrothed so she might sit high and be seen by all. Rich spiced wine and sweet cakes were offered to them by a particularly pretty serving wench. The girl’s bodice was low, and Patrick was entranced by the round, ripe charms she displayed. He was unable to restrain a grin of delight as his eyes plunged between the deep cleavage; and the servant girl, more than aware of his interest bent even lower, as finishing pouring the wine, she proffered the platter with the cakes.
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