“Do you believe the king?” Breghan asked.
“I wouldn’t believe the sky was blue if it came from Darnley’s mouth.” Arran gave back her mare’s reins. “Come, I promise I’m done until morning.”
They left their horses in the mews a short walk from Scott’s townhouse, where his men had smashed a small window at the rear and unlatched the front door to let them in. The kitchen wasn’t badly stocked—it wasn’t stocked at all. His men, however, were never unprepared. Between the lot of them, they had flagons of ale and enough stale oatcakes to feed an army. Arran wasn’t tired, he figured he’d slept close to twelve straight hours in that cell, but still his body demanded rest. He chose the best bed in the house and tucked Breghan in beside him.
The morning arrived with a fresh set of problems.
“I went scouting and found the Douglas infestation has spread to the palace,” Broderick informed him. “They aren’t letting anyone in or out.”
“You know nothing else?”
“I know I’m not cut out to be a bloody handmaiden.” He jerked the ties of Arran’s boot and pushed his foot aside. “Don’t you have a wife to do this?”
“Last night she accused me of being too weak to swat a fly.” Arran stood, shrugging into the spare shirt Broderick had lent him. “I’d rather not add fuel to her store of ammunition. She refuses to go with you to Ferniehirst unless I do too, you know.”
Broderick smiled. “I knew I liked that lass.”
“I’ve laid down the law,” Arran said, wiping the smile from his friend’s face. “You have permission to strap her to the horse if need be.”
“Is that so?”
Arran turned to see Breghan standing in the doorway. “How long have you been there?”
She shrugged and came inside.
Janet was right behind her. “I could slip into the palace under the guise of a kitchen maid. No one pays attention to the servants.”
“Have you gone mad?” Broderick roared. “You will do no such thing.”
Janet’s hands went to her hips. “You are neither my husband nor master, sir!”
Broderick gave Arran a pointed stare.
Arran threw up his good hand and dragged Breghan from the room and down the stairs. He had his own woman troubles to deal with.
“You worry,” he told her. “I understand that. The best way you can help me now is to return to Ferniehirst without a fuss.”
“I know I’m your worst liability, Arran, but how am I supposed to leave when you’re sending Broderick away with me?”
“I trust him with my life.”
She turned a sweet smile on him. “Precisely.”
“Which is why I trust him with your life,” Arran growled. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
She started to say something, then turned it into a sigh. She didn’t have to put on a pout, the form of her lips were always just shy of a natural pout, inviting slow, long kisses. He very nearly said the words out loud. I love you. There was nothing to stop him now. He’d spilled his heart last night and had no regrets. But, no, confirming their love every day for the next four months would only make the parting harder.
“You’re staring.” Her eyes softened to the lazy blue of a summer sky as she searched his gaze, silently telling him it was okay, she loved him, she knew he loved her, he didn’t have to say a thing.
She can’t read my mind, he assured himself.
Her fingers reached out to skim the outline of his blue-black jaw, barely touching, as if she was afraid he’d break. He was already broken, broken in places where the eye couldn’t see.
Arran cleared his throat. “Is Davie back yet?”
Her hand fell away from his jaw as she nodded.
“The city gates will be opening soon. You’re leaving as soon as you’ve eaten something more substantial than oatcakes.” Arran walked her to the kitchen and sat her down at the oak table with Davie and Gavin. The pie-monger would have just been firing up his ovens in the predawn hour and the mutton pies he’d sold Davie were from yesterday’s leftovers. No one complained.
Breghan looked up as Broderick joined them. “Where is Janet?”
Broderick glanced around the table. “She stormed out the room.” His eyes landed on Arran. “You haven’t seen her?”
Breghan rolled her eyes and stood. “What did you say to her now?”
As soon as she’d left the room, Arran rephrased, “What did she say to you?”
“The woman makes a lot of noise, what did she not say?” Broderick grabbed a chair and pulled a pie closer. He broke off a piece of crust, but that was as far as he got. He tilted his head at Arran with a look of disbelief. “She said she’d no signed her soul into slavery when she took employment at Ferniehirst and there’s no man on earth could tell her what she could or couldn’t do.” He shot out of the chair. “Bleeding Christ, I’ll strangle her myself.”
Arran reached the door first and blocked the exit with his frame. Broderick stopped just short of barrelling him aside, his hands clenched at his side. He wasn’t a man to defy a direct order from his laird, and Arran was tempted. He needed Breghan away from here. They didn’t have the time to chase after a wayward wench. There was little they could do either way—barging into the palace would cause more harm than good.
But he couldn’t give the order. He recognised all too well the specific brand of fury and icy dread writ on his friend’s face.
“We go together,” he decided, his own anger building with frustration. “But only to wait and watch from close range. We can’t go as kitchen maids, so we’d better find another disguise or we’ll be right back in the dungeons where we started.”
“I can’t find her anywhere,” came Breghan’s worried voice from behind.
Arran spun about. “Of course you can’t. Now I know why you two are such bloody good friends.” He ignored her indignant gasp and herded her around him and into the kitchen. “Stay right here with the lads and don’t move an inch unless the damned house is burning to the ground.”
“There’s no reason to shout,” she said coldly.
Arran walked out without another word. He had every reason to shout. Though perhaps not at Breghan, he conceded as he hobbled down the street with Broderick.
The blankets that covered them from top to bottom had been rolled in the dirt and ripped at the edges to give a scruffy appearance. Broderick bent almost double as they came within view of the palace gates and dragged a stiff leg behind him. The only difference with Arran’s performance was that he actually walked easier bent at the waist. His body was far more agile today, but his rib cage still pressed uncomfortably with every breath.
Horse Wynd was a busy thoroughfare carrying traffic to and from the palace stables. About a quarter mile off the Canongate, the Wynd opened up for access. No beggar would venture onto the cobbled path, but they had a direct view of the postern gate from the juncture.
They dropped to their knees by an inset in a timbered wall, using the shadows and shallow ditch alongside the road to obscure them. Arran held his palms out anyway, just in case. “Anyone passing by must think we’re the most stupid beggars in Edinburgh.”
They peered beneath bowed heads whenever there was movement at the gate or across the square, or when footsteps or hooves passed them by.
“There are only two guards,” Broderick muttered.
“For now, we observe. She’ll come out, on her own accord or tossed out butt-first. There’s no reason for anyone at the palace to connect her to us. Janet was right in that maids are by and large ignored unless it’s for a quick rut—” He swallowed his words too late.
“If that woman makes it out alive, I’ll truss her up with her own tongue.”
“Shhh.” Arran squinted at the man coming out the gate. Stewart…the bastard was walking straight toward him. His muscles strained against the urge to reach for his dirk and draw blood, but not now, not here, not until Breghan was safely gone from Edinburgh. Stewart walked on without sparing
a glance for the poor souls propped against the shadowed wall.
Broderick shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed Stewart of betraying his own blood.”
“That’s the same mistake I made.”
They didn’t have long to wait before Arran was proved right. Janet was handed out the gate with a lusty slap on the rump. She gave a high-pitched giggle and skipped away.
He placed a restraining hand on Broderick’s arm as she squirreled passed them. They scrambled to their feet and scuffled along in her wake until the first alley. Broderick clamped her mouth and dragged her into the dark passageway.
“It’s me,” he hissed and her struggling ceased. “What the hell was that about?”
“A lover’s tryst,” she hissed right back. “The guard has high expectations I’ll service him next time.”
“You said you were going in as a kitchen maid.”
“I changed my mind.”
Arran coughed beside them.
“This isna over.” He kept hold of her arm as he turned to Arran.
“Collect Breghan and don’t stop until you reach Ferniehirst,” Arran commanded. “Tell Davie and Gavin to lay low at the house for me.”
“Wait.” Janet leaned toward him. “At least let me share what I learnt.”
Arran shuffled impatiently. The prospect of slicing whatever information was to be had direct from Stewart’s throat appealed far more than keeping Broderick up another minute.
But Janet didn’t pause for permission. “The queen is being confined to her chambers above the king’s and—” she crossed her heart, “—a man called David Rizzio is dead, stabbed by more than thirty daggers last night.”
“How did you come by this?” Broderick asked.
“Servants talk. The queen’s French servants rushed to her when the commotion started, but they weren’t allowed up the privy stairway to her room.”
Arran put his impatience on simmer. “Are guards posted at her door?”
“Palace guards,” she said, “in the hallway outside the king’s chambers. One of the maids was allowed up to take the queen a tray this morning.”
“Did you hear anything about a man called Bothwell? James Hepburn?”
Janet shook her head. “But there was another murder, a priest. And some barons escaped out a back window as it all started.”
Arran jerked a thumb at Broderick. “Now, go.” Before they slipped from the alley into daylight, he called after, “Janet, thank you, your information serves well after all.”
Stewart didn’t come back that way until well past the hour of noon. Arran hooked his elbow around the man’s throat hard enough to cut off his air supply and dug the point of his blade into his back. He’d chosen the spot for the crack between two buildings about three feet wide and shoved the man forward face-first.
“Give me one reason to stay my hand,” he said at Stewart’s ear, twisting the blade deeper through his outer garments. “You betrayed your queen—”
“They were only supposed to remove the Italian,” Stewart gasped. “I swear, I didn’t know anything else or I wouldn’t—”
“Worse, you betrayed me and placed my wife in mortal danger.”
Stewart fell silent, his breathing erratic.
Arran was at a crossroad. He fingers itched to skewer the man, but that wouldn’t help the queen. “Your men are the ones guarding the queen, keeping her a prisoner in her own palace.”
His head bobbed a few times. “What was I to do? I don’t have enough men to go against Douglas and the others. How am I—”
“Stop snivelling, you useless bastard.”
“You must believe me, if I suspected they’d do our queen harm, it wouldn’t have come to this.”
“I gave you the damned bond with everything laid out. I even helped you read between the lines.”
“I was already in too deep. They would have taken me down with them.” Stewart sniffed and his shoulders shuddered. “I told myself they wouldn’t go this far, not while she carried the heir in her womb, I never meant—”
Arran snapped his elbow to shut the man up. “This is your lucky day. You’re going to make amends.” He went on to explain how Stewart was going to carry messages between him and the queen and help in whatever plan they came up with. “I don’t trust you. Your sorry life is worth less to me than a diseased pig. If you so much as take a breath that smells off I will hunt you down and cut you into strips and feed them to my cattle while you’re still alive to watch. I will raze your homesteads to the ground and then I’ll go after your sons and daughters.”
The man could barely stand without support by the time he was done. Still, Arran didn’t assume he’d driven his point home until Stewart returned an hour later with Lady Huntly.
The old woman was indignant. “Lindsay ordered me to depart the queen’s presence. Is it not beyond enough they take her freedom, now she is to be without her friends?”
“The queen isn’t without friends,” he assured her.
Lady Huntly’s bosom expanded with a deep breath as she squinted in Stewart’s direction.
“The captain has seen the error of his way, Lady Huntly. We’re both resolved to removing our queen from the rebel’s care.”
“Well, then…” She reached into the bodice of her gown and brought back a folded letter. “I need to get this to my son.”
Arran opened the note despite her protests and read. “He is to stand by at Seton tomorrow night. The queen has an escape route?”
“We were still working on that when I was so rudely accosted. Mary is attempting to win over the king with the reminder that once the power is theirs, the nobles will have no further use for him. I believe she is succeeding.”
The simplest plans were always the cleverest. “With Darnley on her side, she can use the privy staircase to escape. I’ll have your letter delivered,” Arran told her. To Stewart, he said, “Your men are aware of their new orders?”
“Only those I trust implicitly. I’ll ensure the right guards are in place when the time comes.”
Arran drew the parallel between Darnley and Stewart. The weakest minds were like a pendulum. “The queen’s own plan seems least flawed. We’ll hold back a day or so to see if she’s able to persuade her husband.”
The following morning, Moray rode into town with Ochiltree and Arran experienced a pang of doubt. Moray had been an excellent reagent in Mary’s absence and, until recently, he’d had Arran’s friendship and respect. He knew instinctively that Moray believed he was acting in the best interests of the country.
Without a doubt, Arran shared the belief that Darnley made a poor king and the foreign influence couldn’t be tolerated. It was only the man’s methods he deplored. Arran couldn’t condone ousting a queen from her throne. Even after all that had happened, Moray was in a unique position to regain his sister’s favour and guide her fortunes, but the man’s pride and self-importance wouldn’t allow a reconciliation.
Shortly after eight, Stewart brought Arran news that the queen had confided in him and sought his aid to escape this very night. They put their heads together and refined their plans. At midnight, the guards on duty led the queen and king through the servant quarters and out the back entrance of Holyrood. Arran, Davie and Gavin were waiting with Stewart at the Abbey opposite the cemetery. Arthur Erskine, the queen’s equerry, was also there with fresh horses.
Silence and speed was of the essence as the party set out for Seton. They arrived with no incident to find Bothwell there amongst the handful of loyal barons summoned by Lady Huntly’s missive.
“We’re to Dunbar Castle,” Bothwell informed him. “Atholl and Fleming are to meet us there. We haven’t been idle while you were saving Mary; we’ve over four thousand men ready to ride for our queen.”
Arran wanted nothing more than to go with them, but he knew his limitations. The short ride to Seton had rattled his bruised chest to the point where he strained to draw breath. He sent Davie and Gavin home to redirect his men from
Stirling to Dunbar to join the queen’s army.
The Seton housekeeper took one look at the bluish tint of Arran’s lips and the blackened hollows encasing his eyes and ordered a bed made up for him. Their head cook had a vast knowledge of herbal medicine and didn’t give a damn about propriety or rank. “You can stay in that bed on your own accord until I declare you fit or I can tie you to the posts.”
Arran gave the puny reed of a man a smirk that dared him to even try and promptly passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Breghan flew down the outer steps and raced toward the stables. The last two weeks had felt longer than two years. Only knowing Arran had been in more capable hands than hers had made the absence bearable. The one letter she’d received from him had been full of complaint.
…the man is an ogre, he has basted me with herbs and spices until I reek like this night’s supper. He waves that damn soup ladle at me with preposterous threats, as if I couldn’t snap his puny bones with two fingers…
Arran rode into the bailey at the head of his cavalcade of a hundred men. A few paces behind, Broderick flanked his left and Gavin his right. He may have met up with his returning soldiers along the way, but she supposed it far more likely he’d stopped in Edinburgh to fetch them. His searching gaze found her and held until he dismounted, tossing the reins into a pair of waiting hands.
Her heart accumulated extra beats as he approached, his gaze adoring her from head to toe. There was a new, jagged scar above his brow, but the rest of his face was back to the familiar contours of harsh angles and dark hollows. When he grinned at her, the crevice at his chin dimpled and then she was being swept up into his arms, pressed to the full length of his body as he carried her inside. His mouth descended on hers before she could protest and she no longer cared who was watching or what they’d think. She twined her fingers in his hair and parted her lips to receive his plundering tongue.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured against her throat as he navigated the narrow stairwell to his bedchamber. “You came to me each night and left a fresh imprint, your fragrance on my skin, your honey-sweet taste on my lips, your fire of passion hot in my blood… I woke each morning convinced demons had conspired with angels to overthrow the natural order of time and space.”
The Devil of Jedburgh Page 27