'Vicky – do not be foolish,' Mary said, pleading a little now. 'What father says is true. You might insist on marrying me -but it would be done away with when the King returns.'
'James would heed me. He thinks kindly of me…'
'But he would not, could not, have me as good-sister! As good-sister to his new Queen. Wife to his heir. And consider Elizabeth of England. James is her heir, also – but only if she so directs. Think you that she would for one moment agree to accept James if his heir was married to a commoner? Guid-sakes, Vicky – I might then become Queen of England!' That gave him pause for a moment.
'Elizabeth would insist on King James having the marriage annulled,' she went on. 'He would do it, for certain. And how would that leave me?'
'Then… then I must needs renounce my position. Give up my heirship to the crown. I care naught for it, anyway. That is what I shall do.'
'Dear Vicky – you would so do much, for my sake? You are kind. But… it cannot be. We cannot change the state into which we were born – either of us.'
'You are a peer of this realm, my lord – Scotland's only duke,' David said. 'You cannot renounce your blood. None could accept such a renunciation, since at any time you could change it again. I am sorry, lad. A man may not avoid his destiny, I fear.'
'Some would say that a man can make his destiny!' Ludovick asserted stubbornly. 'That I mean to do.'
Davy Gray shook his head helplessly. 'I am sorry,' he repeated. 'I cannot command your lordship's actions. But I can command my daughter, forbid her to see you…'
'And I can command her presence!' the other returned spiritedly. 'As well as Viceroy, I am Lord Chamberlain. Mary is one of the Queen's ladies, and all such are under my control… '
'And I say that she is not! Mary is under age. Until she is of full years, she is in my care…'
'Oh, a truce, a truce!' the young woman interrupted. 'If you could but hear yourselves! You are like bairns, both of you. I will not be pulled this way and that, like a bone between two dogs! I cannot marry you, Vicky – that is certain. But neither shall I be forbidden to see you, or… or any man! I mean to live my own life. Between you, I declare, you have spoiled a bonny day! I am going home. Alone. I seek my own company, only. If you must squabble thus, you can do it by yourselves.' And tossing her dark head a little, Mary Gray turned and left them there by the frozen lochside. It was seldom indeed that young woman indulged in dramatics of this sort,
The men gazed from her slender back to each other, in sudden silence and discomfort.
It was her father who caught up with her, still some way from Castle Huntly.
'I am sorry, lass,' he said, taking her arm. 'I would not hurt you. That was unseemly, I grant you. Not well done. It is only my concern for you…'
'You need not concern yourself,' she told him. 'I can well look after myself.'
'So you think, Mary. But you are young. Too trusting…'
'Young? Do years matter so, Father? Can we not be young in some things, and old in others? You are older than Uncle Patrick in some things, but in others you are but a child, I think, compared with him. Myself, I do not believe that I am so very young in all things. Nor so trusting.'
'But in this matter of Lennox…?'
'Vicky is the young one – not I! He trusts – not I! Poor Vicky!' She sighed. 'Where has he gone?'
'Back to the smiddy. For his horse. Then he returns to Broughty. Sir Robert Melville is attending him there tonight. With papers.' He looked at her sidelong. 'This is a bad business, Mary. That young man – are you fond of him?'
'I like him very well,' she answered quietly.
'M'mmm.' He frowned.
'He is true. Honest. He seeks little for himself. Save me! Indeed, he is not unlike yourself, Father. And not at all like me!'
Keenly he eyed her, but said nothing.
'Unlike the Grays,' she added, 'Vicky is no schemer.'
David shook his head. 'He has his virtues, no doubt. But better that you should not see him, nevertheless, girl. Further association can only bring you both sorrow.'
'That may be. But think you that not seeing him will spare us sorrow? Besides, I must see him. And frequently.'
'Must…? Why?'
'Because… why, because of our Gray schemings! Because of Uncle Patrick. He uses Vicky. He would involve him in many things. Not all, I fear, to his advantage. I would not wish to see Vicky hurt, wronged.'
'You mean… you think that Patrick intends harm to the Duke?'
'No – for he is fond of him, too. But to Uncle Patrick, schemes, plotting, statecraft as he calls it, is more important than are people. You know that.'
'Aye,' the man agreed heavily. 'I know it.'
'Vicky's position is so important, it is inconceivable that Uncle Patrick would not use him. He has used him much already. I want to know of such things.'
'I see,' David almost groaned. 'This, Mary, is… familiar ground! I faith, it is! What can you do, even knowing?'
'I can perhaps do a little, here and there. Vicky tells me all. He does not see it all, as I do. He does not understand Uncle Patrick as I do. Have I not some responsibility in the matter?'
'Lord knows! But it is not work for such as you, lass. All the dirty, plotting deceit and wickedness of Patrick's statecraft. You are young and fresh and wholesome – a mere girl. I should never have permitted that you go to Court. I blame myself. I should not have allowed you to enter that cesspool of intrigue… '
'And yet it suits me very well,' she told him. 'Perhaps I am not as you think me, Father. I do not find it all so ill.'
'Then I am the more afraid for you,' the man declared. 'I had hoped that the Lady Marie would have guided you, warned you.'
'As she does. We are close. Together we seek to aid the good in Uncle Patrick's works, and to hinder the ill.'
'You do?' They walked under the gatehouse arch. 'God of mercy – innocents! On my soul, d'you think that such as you can clip Patrick's wings? Outwit the nimblest wits in this realm?'
'You sought to do it for long, did you not, Father? With some little success? And we have certain advantages.'
He paced across the cobblestones, silent.
'You are not displeased? You do not think that we do wrong in this?'
'The Lord knows! Who am I to judge? But what can you do? Have you any notion, girl, of what you essay?'
'Why yes, I think so. We have been learning.'
'Learning…? You mean that you have already been pitting yourselves against Patrick?'
'Not against him. Say rather for him. We are his friends.'
'As you will. He would scarcely thank you, nevertheless! What have you discovered? Is it plotting, again? What is he scheming now? He is strongly placed once more, God knows. Have you some knowledge of his intentions?'
They stood in the doorway of David's own small flanking-tower. 'He has schemes a-many, you may be sure,' Mary answered. 'Of some we have little knowledge. Some we believe to be good. But three in especial we fear may be dangerous. These we seek to counter, if we can. And it is through Vicky that we may best do so.'
'Dangerous to whom? Patrick? Or others?'
'Both, we think. One concerns Dunfermline.'
'Aye. He is still hot for that place. It is the sheerest folly. He will never regain Dunfermline Abbey. He talks of suing Huntly before the Court of Session, while he is out of favour. But I do not think that he can win the case – however much he may pay the judges. Too many men covert Dunfermline.'
'He cannot win it,' she agreed.
'He is being stupid about Dunfermline. And Patrick is not usually stupid. I think that some hatred of Huntly must be affecting his judgment.'
'And yet he is in close communication with my lord of Huntly.'
'Patrick is?'
'Messengers travel frequently between Broughty Castle and Strathbogie. Secretly. Jesuits. Priests in disguise.'
'Seize me – are you sure? Catholics again!'
'Yes. And Huntly is
not the only earl with whom Uncle Patrick is dealing secretly. Messengers come and go to my lord of Bothwell, also.'
'That firebrand! Bothwell, eh? What should this mean?'
'We cannot be sure. But it is very close, secret.'
'And Lennox?'
'He knows naught of it. And I have not told him.'
The man, eyeing her, stroked his chin. 'Tell me, Mary – since clearly you do not miss much that goes on,' he acknowledged, 'have you heard Bothwell's name linked with Dunfermline? Is he also one who desires that well-fleshed bone of contention?'
'I have heard that he has sworn to add it to his earldom.'
'Aye.' Davy Gray's breath came out on a long sigh. 'So that is it, I warrant! Patrick has not changed! I smell treason and treachery once more. And, God help me – how I hate the stink of it! There is to be another Catholic rising. Or at the least, the beginnings of one. Both earls will be implicated. And who knows how many others, who may be in Patrick's way. They need not all be Catholics. Bothwell is not a Catholic – a man of no religion. It matters not. Find out who are seeking to get hands on Dunfermline, and I wager they will be dragged in somehow. Then, when all is ready, the word of it will by some chance come to the King's ear! Or that of the Council, if before the King's return. Patrick will not seem to be the informer, to be sure – but his rivals for Dunfermline will be arraigned. For rebellion. Treason. The ground will be cleared, and the realm grateful!' The man's sigh was part groan. 'It is so familiar…'
'Yes.' The young woman's nod was quite brisk, and there was no groaning or sighing. 'That is how we conceived it, also. It must be stopped.'
'Stopped!' he repeated. 'Think you Patrick will effect all this and then stop it, on your plea or mine? He will deny all, and continue…'
'If it is as we believe, he will stop it – when he learns that Dunfermline Abbey cannot come to any of them. Or to himself, either.'
'What…? Cannot come…?'
'No. For it is to go to the Princess Anne. To the new Queen. As a wedding-gift.'
David stared at her, seeking ineffectually for words. 'Is… is this true?' he got out, at length; and at her nod, 'Patrick…? He does not know it?'
'None knows it, I think. Yet.'
Her father swallowed. 'Save… save Mary Gray!'
'That is so. I it was who suggested it to the King. He was taken with the notion.'
'You did!'
'Yes. But the King was anxious about Uncle Patrick in the matter. He feared that he would be scunnered at him, he said. And might work harm. So he was to keep it close. Until the
Queen is here. But now – now it is time that Uncle Patrick should know.'
'Lord save us!' the other muttered.
A bellow rang out and echoed across the courtyard. From an upper window of the great keep, my lord of Gray leaned out, gesturing down at Mary. 'Come here, lassie!' he shouted. 'Here, I say. To me. Why stand down there? Where's yon gangling loon Lennox? Ha' you got him in there? I'll no' have it – cosseting and nuzzling in my house…!'
'He is not here, Granlord. He is gone,' Mary called back.
'As well he has! Then come you up here. You never look near me, Mary. A fine thing, in my ain house…'
'I am coming, Granlord. At once…'
'He is concerned for you,' David told her, as the older man withdrew his head. 'He fears that Patrick has sold you to Lennox.'
'And does Granlord believe that I could be sold to any man?' she laughed. 'He should know me better. As should you all, I think.'
'Aye.' Heavily David said it. 'I am doubting if I know you at all, girl, and that's truth! What of Patrick, then? And Dunfermaline. Are you to tell him what you have told me? That the Queen is to have it. And would he believe you?'
'I shall not tell him, no. He would be very angry. He would send me away from him. I could then do no more to serve him. And I would not have him hating me. That will not do. Vicky must tell him. Vicky receives letters from Denmark, from the King – long letters. At the next, he must go to Uncle Patrick. Privily. Tell him, as though he had learned it from the letter, that Dunfermline is now the Queen's property. He will believe that. He will be angry – but he cannot change the King's decree. He will halt this plot, it will no longer serve him. So you see, Father – I must not cease to see Vicky. For this, and for other matters. It is important. Besides, I want to see him. Even though I am not sold to him. I shall tell Granlord as much, also.'
Pressing his arm, she ran off, light-foot, across the frosted cobbles.
Davy Gray stood looking after her long after she had disappeared into the keep of Castle Huntly.
Chapter TwelveTL
ALL Scotland that counted in the scheme of things flocked down to the Port of Leith that blustery first day of May 1590 -and most of Edinburgh, whether it counted or not. Two days previously a small fast ship had arrived from Denmark, with the information that the King and his bride were belatedly on their way home – and indeed the day before, the fleet itself had been sighted briefly off the mouth of the Forth, but owing to the sudden unseasonable south-westerly gale, had been unable to enter the firth, being blown northwards. Watchers now, however, reported the squadron straggling in distincdy scattered formation, off Aberlady Bay, and plans for the royal reception went into full swing.
The Duke of Lennox was very much to the fore, for in his capacity of Lord Chamberlain he was responsible for the arrangements – although in fact the Master of Gray had organised most of them. Ludovick did not desert Mary Gray, however, and indeed all the functionaries who sought the Viceroy and Chamberlain had to seek him in the cheerful and colourful enclosure below the Council House on the Coalhill, overlooking the harbour, where the Queen's ladies were assembled. He did not seem to be at all depressed about the imminent end to his viceregal powers and privileges.
In the four months that had passed since his spurned suggestion of marriage to Mary, the Duke had not been spared his problems and difficulties as nominal ruler of the land. He had been forced into opposition to his friend Patrick Gray on a number of issues – which had been unpleasant; though nothing like so unpleasant as the occasion when he had had to inform the Master that James had decided to present the Abbey of Dunfermline and all its lands and revenues to the new Queen as a bridal gift. The subsequent outburst of sheer fury and passion, quite unexampled in the younger man's experience, had shaken him to the core, so that for days afterwards he dared hardly look Patrick in the eye, even though that extraordinary man, once the cataclysm of his rage and disappointment was over, seemed to dismiss the entire subject from his mind, and reverted to his sunny normal with scarcely credible rapidity.
There had been some trouble with Bothwell, also. Disgruntled about something more than usually, he had been storming about the Borderland burning, slaying, and raping. This being more or less normal, despite being on a larger scale, would not greatly have mattered, but for some reason he had extended his depredations beyond the Debatable Land and over the Border itself into England – which Patrick Gray obscurely declared was done entirely to spite himself. At any rate, it produced angry representations from Queen Elizabeth, and demands for Bothwell's immediate apprehension and punishment. Which, of course, was quite impracticable, the Earl having more men – and wild moss-troopers at that – at his disposal than had the Crown of Scotland or any other noble in the kingdom save only Huntly. In consequence, Ludovick himself had had to make the humiliating journey to Hermitage Castle in wildest Liddesdale, not in any punitive role but rather with pleas to the devil-may-care Bothwell to be more discreet and to send an apology to Elizabeth – to both of which requests the other had laughed him to scorn. This had not been a pilgrimage on which the Master of Gray had found it convenient to accompany the Viceroy.
Huntly's rumoured new rising had fortunately not materialised; indeed, whether out of a suitable repentance or for some less creditable reason of his own, the Gordon had actually sent south his wife, Ludovick's sister Henrietta, to assist in the royal welcome
– she was, of course, officially the Queen's principal Lady-in-Waiting.
The ladies in the roped-off area in front of the Council House built by the King's grandmother, the Queen-Regent Mary of Guise, made a laughing, chattering throng, as eyecatching and ear-catching as an aviary of tropical birds. It was perhaps amusingly appropriate, as certain of the gentlemen did not fail to point out, that this concourse of youth and beauty should be assembled before this especial house, for as it happened, no fewer than fourteen of the seventeen involved were in fact granddaughters of the said Mary of Guise's much respected spouse, King James Fifth – though not of her own.
Save for Mary Gray and two others, all were Stewarts, mainly daughters of illegitimate sons of that puissant prince. Queen Anne at least should not be able to complain about the lowly origins of her maidens, other than one.
The Lady Marie, Mistress of Gray at twenty-seven, was the oldest of them – she was not actually a member of the Queen's household, but was there to keep the others in order, since the limp and apathetic Countess of Huntly certainly would not be able to control all King James's other high-spirited cousins. After Marie, the oldest would be seventeen – and despite their status as Maids of Honour, knowledgeable gentlemen declared that there was not a virgin amongst them. Though, to be sure, there was room for error here, for undoubtedly they included Mary Gray in this category, as Ludovick's mistress, and were mistaken.
Patrick Gray brought to the enclosure a flushed small stout man, Nichol Edward, Lord Provost of Edinburgh, to report to the Duke of Lennox that despite stringent orders the Palace of Holyroodhouse was not ready for the royal couple, workmen having accidentally set fire to the anteroom of the royal bedchamber. These dire tidings were just being assimilated when a shouting and clattering from up the Tolbooth Wynd turned all heads. Forging down through the narrow crowded street came a mounted cavalcade at the trot, steel jacked and morioned retainers laying about them vigorously with the flats of long swords, careless of who fell and who might be trampled beneath their horses' hooves. In the centre, a great banner streamed in the breeze.
The Courtesan mog-2 Page 28