by J. R. Tomlin
Gray shook his head. “All you would do is make her determined to defy you, no matter the cost. Have you nae already realized that she is a proud woman. She is in the line of kings, the wife of a king and the mother of a king. Yours is nae way to approach her.” He pondered Callendar for a moment. “Aye, I desire the best for our queen. I advised her against this marriage, but it is done. Now all she can do is agree to what Crichton has proposed. I believe Patrick can convince her to do that. She trusts him. As do I.”
Erskine, still on his feet, glowering at the others, said, “Now that is resolved, I demand that we consider my right to the earldom of Mar.”
Crichton shook his head. “There is no way that can be resolved today as well as other disputes over claims. We need to consider setting up a council of state to handle various claims and disputes.”
That led to a lengthy dispute involving several hours of shouting as they decided who would be on such a council and what matters they would be authorized to consider and settle. Patrick had doubts whether such a council would be effective, but if it reduced some of the recent bloodshed, he could not disagree with appointing one. Not that he was asked.
At last, the convention broke up for the day to convene again the next when they hopefully would have some response from the queen. All reluctance, Patrick took the stairs down to the main level of the church to talk to his father, Crichton, Callendar and Bishop Cameron.
He looked from one to the other in exasperation. “What makes you think she will listen to me? I advised against marrying the Black Knight and she took no heed of it.”
“A time locked up can make even the most stubborn reconsider,” Callendar said. “I’ve seen that she has had a good taste of what could be in store.”
Appalled, Patrick demanded, “You haven’t harmed her?”
Callendar gave him a look as though he were an idiot. “Of course not. Merely short rations and no companion to pass the hours she has been locked away. Time to think what might be happening to that new husband of hers.”
“Aye, I believe she has a true fondness for Stewart.” Cameron stroked his chin. “Speak to him first, so you can tell her how he fares. His time in the dungeon, one of the deepest of Stirling Castle I am told, should have made him see reason. And if it has nae, explaining that he will never emerge should still give her reason to agree.”
Callendar added, “Nor shall she. Either she gives up all claim to the king’s person and to her dowry, or the two of them stay where they are, locked up. And I have no reason to make their stay comfortable.”
“I’ll need something in writing to take to her,” Patrick said. When Cameron held out a document, Patrick took it with a raised eyebrow. As he had thought, this was planned well in advance, between all of them. He didn’t think his father was part of the scheme, but he could not be certain of that either. He quickly read the parchment. It said exactly what Crichton had proposed with room for signatures and seals below. He sighed. “Very well, sirs. I’ll leave forthwith.”
“One of my men-at-arms will accompany you to convey permission to speak to her husband if need be.”
So Patrick set out, followed by a man-at-arms, riding hard for Stirling Castle. The task he had to do, not at all to his taste, but it must be done.
Annabella greeted him in the bailey yard before he had even dismounted to tell him that there had been no change in the queen’s imprisonment. She gasped her dismay when he showed her the agreement from the convention. “She cannae possibly agree to this.”
“I fear that she must. No one is going to fight for her to force her release.” He gave a grim shake of his head. “Even if some there or some who did nae appear sympathize, now it appears that Crichton and Callendar both are backed by Bishop Cameron.”
She pursed her lips and rubbed her forehead. “What if she will nae sign it?”
“She must. Somehow I must convince her, or her imprisonment will be even harsher. Callendar made that very clear. I hope if I bring her word of the condition of her husband’s imprisonment…” He shrugged.
Down the narrow stairs lit only by a torch the man-at-arms carried and through a heavy door studded with iron, Patrick entered the dungeon deep beneath Stirling Castle. His guide pointed to a tiny room open except for the thick bars at the front. “Sir James? Sir William?” Patrick called.
“Aye,” the Black Knight answered, his voice gravelly.
“How do you fare?”
“Our host has nae been generous with his food or his water, but we yet live. We protested being thrown in here, mayhap too vigorously.” The Black Knight limped to the bars and grasped them with both hands. “More importantly, how fares the queen?”
“She is confined to a chamber and no one allowed to see or to speak to her. But I am to propose a… compromise devised by both Callendar and Crichton.”
“Wait.” Stewart licked his cracked, dry lips. “Together? They are in agreement?”
Patrick gave a grim nod. “Along with Bishop Cameron.” He succinctly described the agreement to the knight’s blank amazement. “And if she does nae agree…” Patrick motioned around the dungeon. “If she does nae, then this is your fate.”
“What of Angus? The Douglas?”
“They were there, but young Douglas follows Angus’s lead and Angus is nae going to fight for her. If the earl’s father were still alive—” He made a groan of frustration. “But he is nae, and the lad is not going to attack the Bishop or besiege Stirling for her.”
“So she would continue in captivity. They would never put her in here though.”
“They would also nae release her and her captivity could be more severe. She is denied even her daughters and ladies-in-waiting. What else might they deny her?”
Stewart leaned his head against a bar and cursed softly. After a moment, he said, “Tell her nae to worry about me, but she must protect herself.” He raised his head and met Patrick’s gaze. “She must accede to their demands.”
This was exactly what Patrick had hoped he would hear. Whether it was truly motivated by concern for the queen, he did not care. It might be. But the Black Knight had to have thought in the darkness of the fate of the late king’s own brother in exactly such a dungeon, dying of hunger and thirst. Only the queen agreeing to give up her son, and with him, her power, would save the two brothers.
Blowing out a long breath, Patrick clumped up the stairs. Now to persuade the queen. The chamber where she was locked was a small bedchamber in the building of the great hall up a little-used staircase. She stood, gaping in surprise when he entered, her face drawn. When the door closed behind him, she frantically bade him tell her of her husband’s fate. When Patrick assured her that he had suffered little harm, she sank onto a chair and buried her face in her hands.
“I should have learned that there is no one who will not betray you. It is a hard lesson, Sir Patrick. Very hard. It cost me…” Her eyes when she looked up were gleaming with tears, but she looked away, too proud to let them fall. “My lord king and now my dear love, all of us betrayed by those we trusted.”
“Stewart and his brother are not dead yet, Your Grace, and you can save them.” He took the folded parchment out of his scrip and offered it. “But please, I beg that you believe none of this was my doing.”
After she read the document, she leaned back, eyes closed, her face even paler than before. “They would take everything from me.”
He knelt and looked up into her eyes. “Not everything, Your Grace. Your husband will live and be free, as will you. You can regroup and gather allies. And your son will be safe. There will never be a day when I will not guard him with my very life.”
She slowly nodded and then re-read the parchment in her hands. “I suppose there are threats they did not put in this document.”
“That you and your husband will never be free if you do nae sign.” Patrick shook his head. “I dinnae think they would dare harm you, Your Grace, but your confinement could be harsher. But how long will the
Black Knight and his brother live? Lack of food and water would soon dispose of them, without Callendar lifting a finger.”
When Queen Joan nodded, her mouth was nothing more than a thin white line. “Can you witness this, Sir Patrick? Take it with all speed to my captors, but pray speak to Bishop Cameron. He has betrayed me as well, but I do not think he would sign this and not keep his word. So tell him I still trust him that much.”
Two days later, the agreement signed by all parties, the queen, her ladies-in-waiting, and her daughters prepared to depart Stirling, escorted by the Earl of Angus and his men-at-arms. He had once again put the impregnable Dunbar Castle at her disposal.
Patrick and Annabella had spent one last night together, with no way of knowing when they would be rejoined. In the courtyard, she unabashedly hugged him and gave him a passionate goodbye kiss. She had no choice but to go with the queen as was her duty. Patrick’s duty lay with the king at Stirling Castle. At least for a while, there might be something like peace in the kingdom.
Dry-eyed, the king bade his mother goodbye, kissed his sisters as she instructed, and watched them ride out the gate. Then, back straight as a blade, turned his gaze toward Callendar. He rubbed the side of his nose, eyes narrowed. But when Callendar looked down at him, a small, possessive smile on his lips, the king turned his back. “I smelled the cooks baking sweets, and they always spare me some.” He smiled sweetly at Patrick. “They like me quite well.”
Chapter 20
The king’s marked distaste for his guardian was little problem. The man seemed willing enough to leave the lad to his gentlemen of the bedchamber and tutors. The tutors had more than a few complaints about the king’s tendency to skip his lessons at every chance, but keeping up with the fast growing nine-year-old kept his gentlemen busy. Most of the time spent at archery, quarterstaff, and sword lessons was with Patrick. But Alex Boyd, William Cranston, and Simon Glendinning took turns keeping up with the active monarch when he was sledging at hurlyhackit or further abroad for hawking, hunting, or just taking his horse for a gallop. Callendar’s son, only a year older than James, often joined them, and to Patrick’s surprise, the two boys got on well, even became friends. Any venture outside the castle walls required a full score of men-at-arms, as Callendar had no intention of risking someone stealing the king from his keeping. The men-at-arms had strict orders not to let the monarch out of their sight or let anyone not of the castle near him, but racing after the king kept them all on their toes.
Most of Scotland was at an uneasy peace. No more of Avondale or Crichton were seen at Stirling, though messengers from both arrived several times. Try as he might, Patrick could learn nothing of what the three men were planning. Word came from Loch Lomond that Sir John Colquhoun, governor of Dumbarton Castle, had accepted a treacherous invitation from Lachlan Maclean and Murdoch Gibson to meet with them at Inchmarten to settle a longstanding feud. They treacherously ambushed him and his men and murdered them, but the Chancellor sent no word of taking action, so a sort of peace continued.
When news came in November from Dunbar Castle, it was in Annabella’s hand with word that made Patrick’s heart race, both with fear and with happiness. She wrote that she was with child, and far enough into the pregnancy to have little fear that there would not be a child. Patrick paced the ramparts that night, half sick with apprehension. Annabella was older and stronger than tiny, gentle Margaret had been, but as battle was dangerous for a man, so childbearing was for a woman.
He prayed that all might go well. They would have a wee bairn, an heir. It would also be a good excuse to free her from service to the queen. He was weary beyond words of being so far from his lady. Perhaps he could beg time away from the king since matters seemed more settled. For the lying in, being in the queen’s care was no bad thing. She would send for the best possible midwife, though he had to go there. He had to see for himself that she was well. And he must go to his own lands at Kinneff, for the castle there, a small one that he had not seen in several years, would be their new home.
The next day, he approached his young liege lord for permission to visit his own lands in Aberdeen, a short ride north of Inverbervie. The king reluctantly gave his permission, though it was only a courteous formality. Real permission came from Lord Callendar, who admitted that news of an impending heir warranted the visit. He warned however that he had no intention of relieving Patrick of his duty of service to the king.
So he was off the next morning for Aberdeen, borrowing two of Callendar’s men-at-arms, for travelling alone was an invitation to be attacked. It was a good two days’ ride through Perth and Dundee. He cut inland, skirting Arbroath, where the Scots had for good and all declared they would never be ruled by the English, and then straight north.
The castle had been that of one of his uncles, and since it was far from his father’s lands was a place he’d visited only twice. It was easy to find, just up a steep-sided promontory from a tiny village dominated by the spire of a church. He was pleased with the place. The escarpment was steep but topped with a grassy slope beyond the small castle’s walls. Within sight was the narrow ribbon of Bervie Water before it reached the North Sea.
At the top of the steep slope, in a spot that would be good for defense, stood the modest, square stone keep within a high courtyard wall. A tiny ribbon of smoke twined from the chimney, but there was no sign of occupation otherwise although he’d been told a man-at-arms served as caretaker for the keep. At the closed gate, he cupped his hand to his mouth and bellowed as loudly as he could, “Hoi! The house!” He shouted twice more before there was an answer.
“Who goes? What’s the to-do?”
Patrick shouted that it was the master of the house come to inspect his property. After considerable scraping and thumping, the gate was opened by a grizzled, elderly retainer. The man introduced himself as Donald MacCallan. He had indeed been a man-at-arms for Patrick’s uncle and now he and his son saw that the place did not fall into wrack and ruin. The small stables looked in good repair, so while the men-at-arms took the horses to stable, he followed MacCallan over a narrow wooden gangplank that bridged a defensive gap. The man explained that the gangplank was run out from within the walls rather than a more complicated drawbridge. It was a simple defense but would be effective if a small attack breached the outer wall.
Pausing, he examined the tower. It had narrow arrow slits for windows on the ground floor, also a good defense. The next three levels had arched windows wide enough to use either for archery or for heaving stones down on attackers. For a small keep, the defenses were adequate.
The gangplank creaking loudly beneath their weight as they crossed made him think he might make a few repairs. A quick glance down where sharp rocks lined the bottom of the gap assured him that the drop would be highly unpleasant. MacCallan shoved open the oak plank door, both studded and banded with iron. He motioned Patrick to enter ahead of him with a courteous bob, so Patrick passed through entry in the eight-foot-thick walls.
Patrick stepped into the main hall of his home-to-be. It would be a comfortable hall with ample room for bedding retainers although at the moment the stone-slab floor was nude of rushes. Trestles were stacked against one wall next to long boards that would form tables. A rough stone fireplace a full ten-feet wide at the far end would make the large room welcoming on winter nights. Near the fireplace was a bundle of furs that Patrick thought must serve MacCallan as a bed. A circular stair in one corner went both up and down.
“Will you be biding, Sir Patrick?” MacCallan asked. “It has been a long time since there was a proper laird in the keep. It comforts villagers to have a place to retire to if we were attacked.”
Patrick went down the steps as he said, “Not for a time. My duties keep me with the king.” He smiled. “But my lady wife is expecting a child and I hope we will have a chance to make a home here soon. It seems a pleasant and secure place.”
The vaulted lower level could be used as a dungeon if it were needed but instead w
as full of dusty stacks of trestles and kists that might well hold old clothes. In the middle was the cover of a well. “Good.” Water if they should ever be attacked would not be a problem though it would not be a good location for carrying water up to fight a fire.
He followed MacCallan up to the second floor where there was a small room that could serve as a lady’s solar and a bedroom already with a massive box bed taking up much of the room. A door led to a garderoom cut into the thick wall. The floors above served as storage space and armory with space that might serve for bedchambers for family when he had one to need them.
MacCallan had several rabbits hung that he roasted over a fire. They all managed well enough for the night. Patrick decided that there was nothing more he could do for the nonce, but Kinnett Castle would do well once it had more furnishings and a woman’s touch to warm it. He gave MacCallan a merk as a reward for his good service and promised to return as soon as possible to take up residence.
Chapter 21
He was eager to make a trip to Dunbar Castle to be sure that Annabella fared well, but her letters assured him she was in wonderful health. Still, he wanted to see for himself. It took several weeks of convincing after he returned to Stirling, but Callendar finally agreed that a personal visit from him to assure her that the king was doing well might prevent some future rebellion from the queen or her supporters. In truth, Patrick did believe that the young king and his realm had enough problems without the queen warring with Callendar, however much he disliked the man.
Patrick had never before had any reason to go to the great fortress of Dunbar Castle, one of the strongest in all of Scotland. Dunbar, on the east coast of Lothian, was a substantial ride across the Firth of Forth and past the Lammermuir Hills down to the sea and past the mouth of the Tyne. On huge stone outcroppings, the most amazing fortress Patrick had ever laid eyes upon stood before him. Built on perpendicular rocks that jutted out from the sea, each portion was reached only by narrow covered bridges. The castle was impregnable. It would make capturing Stirling look like child’s play, not that it had done the Earl of Dunbar any good. The earl had been stripped of his title and was in exile, while the Earl of Angus controlled this fortress, and for the moment, used it for the safekeeping of the queen and her daughters.