A King Imperiled

by J. R. Tomlin

  Alex Boyd crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at Patrick. “Why should I if I am nae trusted?”

  “Damn it, man, it was nae my secret to tell.” He laced the front of the thick, padded doublet and drew on his woolen chausses that would protect his legs. “Forbye, do you want to wait to try to convince Crichton that you didnae ken? Now help me buckle on this cuirass. We cannot chance riding all the way to Stirling unarmored.”

  Patrick was twitching with impatience as Alex Boyd buckled the metal pieces into place. At last, he buckled his sword belt around his waist, sheathed his dirk on the other side, and picked up his helm. He grabbed up his heaviest, fur lined cloak and hurried after Alex to his chamber to do the same for him.

  “We can sneak out, I think. Most likely Crichton has left the hall.”

  Patrick had to laugh. If there was one thing you didn’t do in armor, it was sneak. “Nae point in trying to sneak. We walk out like the knights we are, going about our business. If any question us, we are doing what Lord Crichton said to do.”

  Brave words, but when he peered around the corner, he was relieved to see that Crichton had left the hall, and he shook his head at his nerves. He straightened his back and strode across the hall and into the bailey, helm tucked beneath his arm. So far, their plan had gone alarmingly well. In his experience, plans rarely went off without something going wrong. But he and Alex strolled to the stable and saddled their horses. A stable boy glanced at them but went about his business raking soiled straw.

  Patrick hung his helm by its strap, put his shield on his back and mounted. They rode side by side at a slow walk across the yard and into the portcullis gate. Never had the shadows of the passage seemed so dark or the murder holes so large, but in a minute, they were through. His shoulders twitched, expecting a crossbow bolt as his horse clattered down the steep road. But for once, a plan did work, and he turned his horse’s head, but to be sure Crichton did not send someone after them, they’d not take the Queensferry Crossing. The way would be longer, but Patrick was taking no chances.

  “I still feel their eyes on my back,” Alex Boyd muttered.

  “Aye, but now arrows.” Suddenly Patrick was laughing. Perhaps he was not so bad a spy after all.

  Chapter 11

  Patrick rode slowly up Stirling town’s thronged High Street with Alex Boyd close behind. Both horses were too done to do more than snort at rowdy shouts from vendors and the bangs as stalls were disassembled. He looked about, hoping to see someone he knew and learn what was happening at the castle since the king had been taken there.

  “We could just go straight to the castle,” Boyd said.

  “It may come to that,” said Patrick. “But I’d like to ken what is happening first, at least to be sure the king is there. And there is one who can tell us, indeed.” He spotted Sir William Stewart walking out of a tavern door. “Sir William!”

  The knight halted midstride to shade his eyes with a hand and scan the crowd for who had called out to him. A bustling serving girl carrying a basket piled with kale and beans collided with him, beans scattering across the cobbles. Glowering, she flounced around him.

  “Sir Patrick,” the man exclaimed, ignoring the woman’s ire. “We were concerned that you might have trouble convincing Crichton to allow you to leave. The king has been asking every hour or so when you would arrive.” He grinned.

  Patrick dismounted and stretched his aching shoulders after such a long ride with only stops to briefly rest the horses. “Then the king is still at Stirling Castle?”

  “Och, everyone is at the castle.” He waved an arm in the general direction of the crag of Castle Hill. A laborer dodged and cursed at him as a fool of a duniwassal. “Come along. The king will be overjoyed and the queen glad to nae have to answer his questions on when he’ll have another lesson with his sword.”

  “Then I’ll join them right away. How did Callendar receive them?”

  “He was glad to receive the king at least.” He gave an acid smile. “I was seeking more congenial company, but I am headed there now.” Sir William shouted at a servant who led his horse over. He mounted and turned its head to ride up the hill.

  Patrick stretched his neck, grimaced at Boyd, mounted and followed up the steep slope to the fortress that towered atop the rocky crag.

  Following Sir William through rooms fusty with the scent of musk and lavender and smoke from oak fires in the hearths, Patrick was surprised to see more familiar faces than had ever appeared at Edinburgh Castle. Men who had ridden with them after Stewart and more who had visited his father’s lands for hunting and politicking. Men he hadn’t seen in a long while were sitting about playing cards and throwing dice.

  “I recognize you,” a voice said from beside him. “You’re Lord Gray’s son.” He turned to find the fat, gray-haired Earl of Avondale at his elbow. His girth and age had not kept him from wearing a houppelande of shimmering blue brocade. “What brings you to Stirling, clanking in armor and covered in dirt?” He smiled sourly, which set his jowls aquiver.

  “Lord Avondale,” Patrick said formally, looking into that sweat-slick face level with his. “I am rejoining the king’s household. As for my appearance, I have only just arrived and have nae had time to remove my armor.”

  “Ah, well.” The nobleman gave him a searching look. “Your sire is here as well. He seems pleased with the king’s change in residence.”

  “Is he? His grace had grown restless at Edinburgh, so the change may be a good thing.”

  “So you will continue as a gentleman of the king’s bedchamber.” He turned back the wide sleeves of his gown so that the cherry-colored silk lining showed. “That will be a peaceful position in a child’s household. No worry about whether you have any skill in the field. My sons have been in France for the jousting.”

  “For the king’s sake, I would hope it is peaceful.”

  “Gray,” Sir William said, “come. You will want to pay your respects to her grace.”

  “A pity to have nae chance for gaining renown,” Avondale said. With considerable relief, Patrick bowed to him before turning to follow William Stewart from the room.

  The innermost chamber was crowded with courtiers and servants. Annabella smiled and he bowed to her from across the room. Near an arched window, a table was set up with a flagon and wine goblets and a large stand of candles. On one side, Queen Joan sat, smiling with a look almost of restored youth, her blue eyes and fair beauty set off with blue velvet and green silk. She was talking with a tall man with a short black beard whom he recognized from that day at the coronation, Sir Alexander Livingston, Lord of Callendar. On this side of the table sat the Black Knight of Lorne, Sir James Stewart, clad in his usual black silk and broad hands folded on the table in front of him. He laughed at something the queen said.

  Sir William slapped his brother on the shoulder to get his attention. The conversation paused and Patrick kissed the queen’s hand while Alex bowed, hanging back. A servant thrust a stool behind him at the queen’s command and Patrick found himself seated and commanded to give an account of how Lord Crichton had received the news of the king’s presence in Lord Callendar’s care. Callendar watched him impassively as Patrick recounted Crichton’s rage. Sir James signaled a servant and whispered a command, but the queen listened, watching closely and looking amused as he described their hasty flight from Edinburgh.

  “So he gave no idea of taking any action in retaliation?” Callendar asked.

  “He was angry enough, but what can he do?”

  “Aye,” said Callendar thoughtfully, “No saying, is there? How many men does he have readily to hand would you say?”

  “No more than you would expect in a castle the size of Edinburgh,” Patrick said. He wrinkled his brow as he calculated. “Mayhap seven hundred. Certainly under a thousand, but of course more on his own lands.”

  “About what I estimated…” said Sir James. “Certainly not enough to seize the king from us here.”

  “Hmmm…” The
queen stared at Patrick, candlelight shimmering on silk and jewels. “So it is most vital to keep the king contented to be confined yet again. He will be more than pleased to see you, Sir Patrick. And you as well, Sir Alexander. But for now I know you both will want to be free of the dust of the road.”

  Patrick took that as a dismissal. The servant Sir James had whispered to bowed to Patrick and begged him to follow to a chamber set aside for them. But Patrick held up his hand when his father, across the room, locked gazes with him. After nodding, his lord father, Lord Gray said for him to remove the travel soil and meet him in the garden courtyard. The servant led him and Alex through the crowded rooms and up a winding stair into a bedroom chamber, where warm water for washing and their saddle bags already awaited them.

  Patrick groaned with relief as Boyd helped him shed his armor. Then he did the same for the other man. He shook out the doublet and chausses from his saddle bags and wondered how long it would take for him to manage to have more clothes sent from home. Again. He suspected that Crichton would be in no hurry to send what he had abandoned at Edinburgh Castle.

  Boyd threw himself down on the bed. “Thank the blessed saints my father is nae here, and I don’t have to go scurrying off to report to him.”

  “Aye, the bed is where I would rather be as well.” It was a wide one with a deep feather mattress that would be no hardship to share. With each of their armor piled in a corner to await cleaning, Patrick looked around the simple chamber. “Stirling is more crowded than I expected, but this will do well enough.” They wouldn’t be the only knights sharing a chamber.

  Boyd muttered his agreement. By the time Patrick closed the door, he was loudly snoring. Patrick had never before been in Stirling Castle, but once he found a servant, the man pointed the way to the courtyard. By the time Patrick stepped into it, his father was outside awaiting him. High windows glowed, and the sky was purple, stars strewn across it like diamonds tossed upon velvet.

  Lord Gray stopped in the center of the courtyard and thoughtfully stroked his moustache. “Go over again what Crichton said when he learnt the king was gone and when the message arrived.”

  “The one thing I am certain of is that he was furious,” Patrick said. “We searched for two days, but long before we stopped the search he had guessed that the queen had stolen away the lad. At first, he accused me of conspiring to steal the king from him, but he could nae dispute that I was still thon. I convinced him I was too stupid to be trusted with such a secret.” Patrick’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. He suspected that his father and Kennedy did think he was stupid, but used him anyway. “When the message arrived from Stirling, I’ve never seen him in such a rage. I expected to be thrown in the dungeon. I’m certain had we stayed, that is where we would be.”

  Lord Gray was still stroking his moustache when he said, “That does nae matter.” Patrick’s laugh must have sounded bitter because it earned him a sharp look. “Dinnae be a dunce, Patrick. That is nae what I mean. There is more going on than you ken. I have less influence with the queen than I hoped, and with Kennedy on his way to Florence…” He shook his head.

  Patrick glanced around to be sure that no one else was in the courtyard. In the dark, he could not make out his father’s features, only the gleam of his eyes. “Less influence? About what?”

  “You must have seen her fondness for Sir James.”

  “Aye.” Patrick cocked his head as he thought back over when he’d seen them together. “There is nae missing that. But he is a renowned knight, as well as strong and well-found. Is that so strange?”

  “Aye, but she is the queen.” Lord Gray lowered his voice so that Patrick had to step closer to hear. “He is one of the Douglas alliance, and Callendar has nae forgiven the Douglases for supporting Crichton to be chancellor.” Lord Gray sighed and threw back his head to stare up at the stars. “And I believe that the queen means to marry him.”

  “Wait.” Patrick shook his head. “That makes nae sense. Sir James helped sneak the king out of Crichton’s hands. He helped bring him to Callendar for safe keeping. Surely that makes up for any insult from naming Crichton the chancellor.”

  “It may make up for an insult, but Callendar won’t trust him. Or the queen after they’re wed.” Lord Gray clasped Patrick’s shoulder hard. “She must be warned that if she marries Sir James that Callendar will consider it a threat to possessing the king. It will be a threat he cannot, will not ignore.”

  Patrick rubbed his hand down his face hard. Between the castle towers, the moon hung behind thin, blowing clouds, looking old and tarnished. “The king will nae be a child forever. They are earning more hatred than I can even tell you. The day will come when he will have power, and he will make a bad enemy. You can already see it in his eyes.”

  “That may be. But that day is years in the future. For now, Callendar is as dangerous as Crichton.” He paused for a moment. “I think more dangerous than Crichton, and I dinnae ken what he will do if I cannot convince the queen to delay marrying Sir James. If she would wait, mayhap until Kennedy returns...Kennedy is diplomat enough that he might smooth matters over. The result of their marrying now will be beyond my power to control.”

  “I dinnae ken what I can do about it, My Lord. The queen is unlikely to listen to me. Nor is Sir James.”

  “Play the same game here that you did at Edinburgh. Try to gain Callendar’s trust. See what you can learn of his plans. If my fears are correct, it may be that if you have his trust, you will be the best person to mediate.”

  Patrick tugged on the tuft of the narrow beard on his chin. “What do you think he will do?”

  “They have put themselves at his mercy, bringing the lad here. I never thought this was wise, but that is the past. What’s done is done. I cannot guess what he will do, but the queen is putting herself in danger. Of that I am sure.”

  Patrick stared down at his feet as he tried to untangle the threads of politics. “The Black Douglas supported Crichton,” he said slowly.

  “And is dead.”

  “So the queen decided she could safely remove the king from Crichton.” He shook his head. “So why now marry an ally of the dead earl? That makes no sense.”

  Lord Gray grunted in disgust. “Can you expect a woman, even a de Beaufort, to make a sensible decision? As you said, he is a braw man, well-found as well. She likes him, and she trusts him.”

  “But you think he cannot protect her?”

  “No. Not against Callendar. The question is what will Callendar do to protect his power base?”

  “Mayhap. The queen, I think, may be a sharper woman than you believe. But be that as it may, My Lord, do you seriously expect me to gain close to Callendar? He will think me someone of no power or importance. Which is the truth.”

  “You helped gain the king away from Crichton. That he is aware of. Ask him if there is aught you can do to ensure that king’s safety. Say that you fear that Crichton may try to regain him and offer to ensure that cannot happen. You are master of the king’s guard. Use that.” His father thumped Patrick on the chest with his forefinger. “Use your brain. I hope that you have one.”

  “I am better with fighting than with words.” He stared at his lord father silently and then said, “I will never be a diplomat, however much that disappoints you.”

  “Well, do this. You must.”

  “Aye, My Lord.” He frowned, but there was no point in arguing. “I shall speak to Callendar.”

  “And Patrick…” His father crossed his arms, looking him up and down like a prize bull he was considering purchasing. “We need all the allies we can manage, so I have decided to begin negotiations for your marriage.”

  “What?”

  “It is past time. It is almost two years since Joanna died. You’ve mourned long enough. And we need this.”

  “Who?” Damn them all. They had him dance like a puppet on a string, and the pain of Joanna dying trying to bear him a child was a horror that still haunted his sleep. He was in no hurry to put
another in such danger.

  “Lord Forbes is close to the Earl of Angus, married to his sister. They have a daughter of marriageable age who would be a good match. Since she serves the queen, she could be useful in persuading the queen to act… sensibly.”

  “You mean Annabella Forbes? Does she ken about this plan?”

  “Of course not. Do you have some objection to her? Is there something wrong with her?”

  “She is a pleasant lass.” Patrick blinked several times. “Brave, I think, and loyal to the queen.” He blushed, thankful his father couldn’t see it in the dark. “I like her.”

  His father shrugged, not much interested in whether he liked her or not, turned on his heel, and walked away. A rectangle of light broke the darkness and he was silhouetted in the doorway. The door closed, leaving Patrick alone. He looked up at the night sky, breathed in the crisp night air. He blew out a breath.

  Damn them for the manipulating bastards they were. He would not remarry at all if it were his choice. The memory of Joanna’s screams as she died would haunt him forever. But if he must, Annabella would be… He shook his head. He could live with that choice, would be pleased with it. He would have to hope she felt the same. Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to her about it.

  Exhaustion swept over him like an engulfing tide. He scratched at the heavy scruff on his face. He needed nothing more than a bath and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, when he was clean and rested, all of this might make sense, so he could deal with it.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, Patrick brushed most of the wrinkles out of his doublet, donned it, and went looking for Callendar. He wandered through the halls, asked several servants if they knew where the man might be found, and managed to lose himself twice in the maze-like fortress, but at last a guard pointed him toward a windowless closet that Callendar was using as a privy chamber.