The Angel of Blythe Hall

by Darci Hannah

  “Tam, do you suppose it could be true … what Katherine had said about Julius hiding in Blythe Hall—right under our noses?”

  Tam, riding with the loose-limbed ease of one born in the saddle, looked at me in a thoughtful sort of way. “Well, ’twould be just about the most brilliant piece of chicanery if it were true; but I highly doubt ’tis true … unless Master Julius is a powerful wizard. In that case he could ha’ sent the sheep and all the shepherds to the underworld, and could, in fact, be wandering the corridors of Blythe as a cat … or mouse, though probably a cat. He sounds smarter than one what would transfigure into a wee mouse. But a cat, no one would notice an extra cat slinking about.”

  “Tam, please, this is no time for nonsense.”

  “Oh, ’tis no nonsense, m’lady. I’ve heard it done by an old woman in Skye once. She cast her soul into her familiar, which was her cat. The townsfolk suspected as much, for she always knew what was afoot; she always knew the townsfolk’s darkest secrets without ever being told. So one day, they see her old cat skulkin’ in a corner, watching them with its big glowing eyes. So, they set a trap for the beast and kill it. The next day they find the old lady dead. Mistress Isabeau, I’ve never met your brother, so I canna say for myself, but is he, by chance, a wizard?” The lad looked distressingly hopeful.

  “No! Of course not,” I chided, trying to expunge the thought of the poor old lady and her dead cat from my mind. It was a terrible story, and a terrible tale to tell upon the gloaming moor. I had no idea where Tam came up with such tripe. “In spite of what you’ve been told and what you obviously believe, there are no such things as wizards and witches with magical powers, Tam. It is the hard truth, and I hate to be the one to dash all your hopes. But my brother is just a man, just a devious, amoral man.”

  Dark brows rose above the twinkling blue eyes as he replied, “If ye say so. But mind what I said about the sheep and the shepherds? For the de’il can charm like no other, and everyone kens he’s a hunger for the new-sprung lamb.”

  We rode in silence after that short exchange, for my mind, thanks to Tam, was turning on all manner of dark thoughts. The sun had dipped below the horizon, making everything look a bit more sinister. Behind every boulder lurked the devil; behind every tree was a beastly creature ready to devour me. Every birdcall was a banshee; every skittering noise was a wild-eyed demon. As the shadows moved in closer, I was growing more and more uneasy. It was small comfort that the castle was in sight, for we still had to make it through the gates. I took a few deep breaths, knowing my common sense was spiraling away from me under Tam’s daft suggestions. There are no such things as banshees, I told myself; there are no such things as demons, or angels for that matter. Man is a fabulous creature of invention, and I’m a fool. My heart was nearly settled, slowing to a normal pace, when a truly chilling sound hit my ears.

  It was the sound of a lone horse racing across the fields.

  The rider was barreling down at an alarming rate. Tam quickly reined in and spun his mount around, placing himself in front of me. I sat still, watching as the horseman, cloaked in black, raced toward us on a demon steed. We were unarmed. We were unprotected. I was in my own country and felt no need of such things. I was indeed a fool.

  “Speaking of the devil,” I said quietly, as a numbing wave of regret washed over me. “And I had such high hopes of redeeming this place.”

  “Wheesht!” Tam hissed. “That is no devil, m’lady. That is a man.”

  “Look again,” I said. “That is a man on a fine horse—a horse much too fine for the likes of any around here. That is Julius; that is the devil.” I crossed my arms and waited.

  “Actually,” said Tam, watching intently as the rider approached, “I recognize thon horse.”

  “The horse? Really?” With arms still crossed, I made a little noise of disbelief.

  “Aye, the horse,” he repeated, and looked back at me. “For unless your brother is bold enough tae steal a horse from the royal stables, I’d say that’s no’ your brother.”

  “And I’ve learned, quite recently actually, never to underestimate my brother.” I leaned in to get a better look at horse and rider. It was growing dark, but not so dark I couldn’t see. They were drawing nearer; the horse, a powerful black beast of fine lineage, ate up the ground like a child on a fair day eats sugary comfits—without heed, without remorse. The man was fearless.

  Tam stood steadfast, his thin shoulders squared to the oncoming rider; his skinny body and shaggy little bog trotter, or, as he referred to it, a fine Galloway pony, were all that stood between the barreling rider and me. Understandably I was growing nervous. And then a rogue gust of wind lifted the hood off the rider’s face as one last ray of light touched his features. Shock constricted my throat. “Oh dear,” I uttered. “Oh, dear Lord!” My heart was racing again. “How can that be? That is not my brother! Oh God! Oh, dear heavens above! That is …” I looked at Tam, unable to finish my sentence.

  My groom, with a self-satisfied grimace on his boyish face, finished softly, “Aye, that’ll be the king.”

  Chapter 7

  A ROYAL PAWN

  THE SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF THE KING RACING toward Blythe Hall in the fading light of day meant that something horrible had happened—perhaps Edinburgh was aflame, or the English had invaded by sea and were raping and ransacking up and down the coast. The cream of his guard had been sent with me, and as far as he knew, they were still at Blythe Hall. Yet it didn’t make any sense. A messenger would be sent—not the king. The king should never be left to travel alone. Yet here he was, and there was no apparent emergency to speak of, save one.

  James Stewart, King of Scotland, not yet twenty years of age and without any issue whatsoever to the throne should he perish—not even an illegitimate one—had apparently evaded the many watchful eyes that surrounded him and stolen off on his own private adventure, riding incognito through his realm like a prince of romance. He had not so much as a groom with him. He was entirely alone, pretending to be a common traveler, dressed in the stout fustian of the working man, complete with baggy hose and well-worn riding boots. And, to his credit, he looked the common man, but no common man ever looked so elated—so full of life, so bursting with joy to be riding through bog and over moorland. Nor did a common man, I’d venture to guess, ride a beast so impressively bred.

  “Isabeau! Tam!” he cried with hearty delight, pulling up fast before his mighty charger bowled us over. His cheeks were flushed with cold and excitement; his rich brown hair, worn long and unbound, was wild about his head, and his dark blue eyes were positively incandescent. “How timely that we should meet here, and on the threshold of your own castle! It has only been days, but I’ve missed you, Isabeau.”

  I looked at him, looked around him, then back at him again. It was unbelievable. “Your Highness,” I said, bowing my head, as did Tam. “I … have missed you too.”

  “Please,” he urged in a lowered voice. “I am not the king here. Call me Jamie. And I must apologize. I would have been here sooner if I hadn’t happened by a shepherd’s hut at midday. The shepherd wasn’t in, of course, but the goodwife was, and she plied me with curds and bannock and a jug of their best mead.” He leaned in, his face radiating an unquenchable joy. “I felt obliged to stay and natter awhile. She was full of well-meaning advice, she was, and most complimentary when describing the virtues of the king.” This last comment was punctuated by a meaningful widening of the eyes.

  “Really?” I breathed with a touch of skepticism. I was unsure of what else to say, for the whole notion of the king dining incognito at some cottar’s hut was utterly surreal. I cast a helpless glance at Tam. I knew my groom to be very fond of the king; he had worked in the royal stables. James was quite fond of Tam as well and had given him, as a gift, to my household. I was expecting Tam to have a little more sense about him than his former master seemed to possess. Yet in this I was wrong. Tam, sitting on his stout little pony, met my questioning gaze. His shoulders slowly
rose to the level of his earlobes as his mouth split in an irritating grin of boyish delight. I turned back to the king. “And … how is the country, sire? Are we … at war?”

  “Jamie,” he corrected with slight impatience. And then: “At war? Lord, I hope not!” He was still in high spirits—his grin matching my groom’s—yet the question was a serious one. And James took matters of Scotland seriously. His smile faded as he offered, “Unless Angus has rekindled his friendship with old Henry again, in retaliation for what I had to do at Tantallon, then no, we are at peace. But as I’ve already discussed with you, Isabeau, I blame myself for Angus’s turn of heart. He was my guardian. He acted as regent during my minority. He loved me. He deserved better.” And although he spoke of Sir Archibald Douglas and his recent treachery, in his words I caught the echo of another, older devastation: Julius was my friend. I worshipped him. He promised to protect me. What did I do wrong? Both men had meant the world to the young king. Both had betrayed him. And it was Sir George Douglas, Angus’s nephew, who brought to light the misdeeds of my brother, and possibly even his uncle, the Earl of Angus, solidifying his unwavering status as Scotland’s hero.

  I felt the king’s disappointment as acutely as if it were my own. My throat tightened a measure, and I wanted to cry out: You did nothing! Men are but feckless, thankless creatures driven by greed and avarice. Harden your heart, my king. Live and learn. Yet instead I caught myself placating him with “You were but a boy. How were you to know you’d offend old Angus by giving Lord Hume Wardenship of the East March? By the way, I heard tell he acted like a spoilt child. Men who hold titles should not act like coddled children.”

  “Still, I should have known.” His voice was grave and plaintive. After he paused for the slightest moment’s reflection, however, a soft, wistful smile appeared on his lips. “I know now.”

  “Indeed,” I concurred, unable to hide the hint of sadness in my voice. “You know better now.”

  “Ahem, sire?” It was Tam, young, eager, and void of any emotion but for curiosity, who pulled us back to the present. “If I may, m’lord?” His auburn curls flopped forward, indicating that a bow was attempted, before he launched right in with “If Edinburgh’s safe, and there’s nay great emergency, an’ auld Angus is brooding in peace, why have ye come here? Surely ye dinnae leave just tae sneak away for a pint o’ mead and some quiet natter with an auld crone?”

  James raised a brow. “Old crone? Whatever gave ye that impression, Tam? And the mead was very fine, very fine indeed.” His grin was a little unstable, his eyes a little too bright. Yet when he saw that we were not partaking in his quiet mischief, his smile slowly faded. The expressive brows pulled together, the regal head tilted, and he uttered a probing “You are teasing, correct? For you must have received my messenger?”

  “Messenger?” I heard myself repeating the word as a burst of cold dread shot down my spine. “You … sent a messenger?”

  “Aye. Days ago. It was in the same missive I sent to Hendrick alerting him that you and Mistress Boyd were set to arrive.”

  “That message?” My voice nearly failed me as I recalled how that message had been intercepted by Sir George. But I had seen that message. Although I had been furious with Sir George for intercepting it, making our arrival a total surprise to Hendrick and the entire castle, I was fairly certain it did not contain one mention of a possible royal visit. “Are you certain you included other information in that message? Could it have been in another?”

  “My dear Isabeau, you know me too well to doubt that I am a man of my word. Yes, I sent a messenger. And the missive he carried spelled it all out, how you were to arrive followed a day later by me.” He paused, then added as if as an afterthought, “You were aware that my aunt arranged for this?”

  “What? Princess Margaret?” My voice was too loud, but in my defense I was utterly taken aback by the notion. I fought for control over my thoughts as well as my vocal cords. “Princess Margaret arranged for you, the King of Scotland, to ride through this … this dangerous, thief-infested land alone?” I asked with a bit more aplomb.

  To my surprise he reddened and looked mildly abashed. “Ah, yes and no. So I see you were not aware. But how can that be? Hendrick did receive my message?”

  “He did. It was a bit late, though. And it was delivered by Sir George Douglas, not a royal messenger. Sir George admitted to intercepting the messenger because it was his wish to bring the good news himself. Why did you say ‘yes and no’?”

  The king, deep in thought, raised a brow and clarified. “Yes, my aunt arranged for me to sneak away. No, I was not to travel alone. I had a small guard. So, Kilwylie’s here?” He seemed to find this highly interesting and turned his intense gaze on me. “At Blythe Hall … Excellent! I should have known he wouldn’t wait a moment longer than he need. Still, he should not have interfered with my messenger.”

  “You suspected Lord Kilwylie would come here?” It was more than curious. “Why did you not mention this to me before I left? And what do you mean, you had a small guard? Where are they?”

  “Really, Isabeau, ’tis good to be surprised every now and again. I thought you’d welcome a surprise containing the likes of Sir George. He’s a good man. And, if you must know, my guard’s in Linlithgow. It was a deceitful act of misdirection on my part. Yet for the sake of my own modesty, and a firm belief that I should be able to ride through my own country unmolested, I contrived to make this journey alone. I had done very well too, until recently.” He delivered a look that was suspiciously sarcastic. “Alas, do not look so alarmed,” he chided softly, his minor irritation swallowed by the heady adventure he was on. “Do not give a thought to my safety, for I shall be in fine company for the return trip. My guard is still here.”

  On my lips was affixed a smile, of the kind that served me well in the convent, yet in the hollow of my chest I could feel my heart stop. Sir Matthew and his men! Only the dear Lord knew where they were at the moment, yet it certainly was not at Blythe Hall. And it was certainly not the time to tell the king. “Ah, yes. Yes, they are. Of course!” I lied, and it scared me how easily the falsehood slipped off my tongue. I would have to repent for it, of course. I would work on that later. “You sent your guard with us knowing they would be returning with you. At least that was smart thinking.” What on earth was I to do? I cast a helpless glance at Tam.

  “That was only part of the reason, Isabeau,” Jamie replied, his eyes softening, his voice level yet earnest. “I would have never let you leave without knowing the kingdom’s best men were guarding you.”

  This sentiment—the way it was said—had a measurable effect on me. My wooden smile became genuine, and the fear, doubt, and confusion that had welled up at the sight of him so far from his throne receded, becoming as trivial as the quiet whispers of the great ladies at court. I even let myself believe that I was glad that he was here, appearing as if by magic on this unruly border to help me sort out my compounding issues. James Stewart, the fourth of that name and King of Scotland, was a brilliant, gallant, very capable young man. And then sanity came to me again, urged along by Tam’s practical, piercing gaze. He was entirely correct to bring me back in hand, for we had another, greater problem this night. Why was the King of Scotland allowed to escape the many watchful eyes that protected him? Why was there no mention of his visit in the message brought by Sir George? And what would compel him to travel alone to such a wild stretch of country in the first place?

  The answer, like a virulent sickness, hit me; for there could be no possible reason save one: Julius.

  The thought sent a wave of cold, prickly sweat across my skin, dampening my chemise and beading on my brow. I cast my eyes to the east, where the forest grew high on the ridge. It was dark; the trees were a brooding shadow. Yet I knew he was out there; I could feel his eyes on me.

  Julius knew that Sir George had intercepted the king’s message; he had been driven to exploit that fact. But it wasn’t the king’s message.

  Th
e King’s Guard had been led away on a merry chase; Sir George and his men were hunting phantom sheep. Blythe Hall was empty but for the household staff, Hendrick, and two frightfully inexperienced noblewomen. It was as if some twisted genius was playing a game of chess with our lives, systematically eliminating all the obstacles until nothing stood in his way. And now the board was nearly clear, leaving only the king, a poorly defended castle, and a handful of pawns. The machinations, the plotting, the scheming—it was terrifyingly brilliant.

  It was the hallmark of Julius. And he had men—an army of idle mercenaries he had called them. His men would be in the hills, melding with the darkness, moving like shadows. They would already know that the king had arrived.

  That James had been allowed to arrive unmolested I took as a warning to me. This was, after all, a game. The great performance of the robbery had set the stage, and now the cat was merely toying with the mouse to prolong the sport. The king was in my care. Should I fail to do as Julius wished, the nation would suffer. It was, perhaps, fitting payback for his failed schemes. But I could not let him succeed.

  The king, thankfully, was too elated by his newfound freedom to be aware that anything was amiss. Tam, however, had long picked up on my thoughts. Like the invaluable groom he was, he employed his boyish charm as he casually brought his mount around to flank the king. Thus surrounded by our paltry bodies, we urged him toward the gates of Blythe, noting that the torches had already been lit.