by Amanda Scott
The aftermath was just such a frenzy of merriment as the Calvinists most deplored, Mary Kate thought, chuckling. Margaret was finally forced to remove her real garters on the kirk steps so that they might be divided among those still clamoring for favors from the bride; however, thanks to the strength of her masculine bodyguard, the bride accomplished her return journey through the streets of Edinburgh without incident and entered the feast hall at Ardcarach House to the strains of lively music. Sir Patrick and his friends came next, followed by the general company—the women in pairs and the men by seniority—till upwards of four hundred people filled the huge hall.
The bridal couple took their places at the head of the board, surrounded by their closest friends and family, including, of course, the king. The rest of the guests were accommodated for the most part at nearby tables, although some sat on beams of timber resting upon stones near the walls and had to make do as best they could. No one seemed to mind these accommodations, however, and each guest was soon served with a horn spoon and a cog of broth, followed by a hotch-potch, then meat, fowl, and fish courses, and finally the bride’s pie.
When the feasting was done, the servants began to remove the tables from the center of the room and the bagpipes changed their tune to warm up for a reel. James, sitting next to the bride, declined to dance but grinned and nodded when Douglas whispered in his ear, and Sir Patrick was quick to catch the signal. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed his wife by the hand and, encouraged by cheers and laughter, guided her to the cleared area for the first dance. The others stood to watch, thus giving the servants opportunity to clear away the rest of the debris. Then the rest of the bridal party took to the floor, and the dancing began in earnest.
Some hours later, a simple repast consisting only of cheese and bannocks, whiskey, and ale, was served by gillies from a side table. Then the musicians struck up again, and the younger guests resumed dancing, while their elders sought out areas of more quietude, and the company began to thin. A short time later, there was a sudden surge of motion at one end of the room as Sir Patrick and his lady scrambled toward the door, but the others were ready for them.
Servants armed with old shoes stood along the way to belabor the bridegroom, and neither Margaret nor Sir Patrick reached the awaiting coach unscathed. Several of the younger men called for horses to accompany the pair through the streets to Ferguson House. The escort would not be allowed to enter but would no doubt continue their merrymaking in the streets outside the bridal windows until forcibly removed by the watch. Since there was to be no formal bedding ceremony, none of the women followed. Margaret’s own maidservants had already removed to Ferguson House and would attend her there.
As Mary Kate returned to the feast hall with the others, thoughts of the future drifted through her mind. Everything of late had been building toward this day, and she had taken no pause to look beyond it. The activities of the past week had kept her too busy to think much about her own affairs.
Though her relationship with Douglas ran more smoothly now, she knew it still remained fragile. Perhaps, she thought, with Margaret’s wedding over and done, they would have time together in the week ahead, before his investiture ceremony and the subsequent meeting of the border lords, to begin sorting out their differences. She hoped so, for Megan would return immediately to Somerville and Margaret and Sir Patrick would soon depart for Craigdarroch, leaving her without allies.
She had no time to consider the matter, however, because the first person she saw when she reentered the feast hall was Kenneth Gillespie, who was bearing down upon her with a look of purpose in his eyes. Although he had been present at several of the earlier wedding festivities, she had successfully managed to avoid his company since the scene in the garden. Now there appeared to be no acceptable way to escape him.
“I bid you good-day, my lady,” he said, “and trust I find you in pleasant spirits.”
“Pleasant enough, sir,” she replied calmly, though she could not help a quick, darting glance around the room to see if their meeting was being observed. Douglas was not in sight, and no one else appeared to be paying them any heed. She turned back to find Gillespie smiling at her. “Does something amuse you, sir?”
“Perhaps it does,” he responded cryptically. “Come away from this rabble for a moment or two, and I shall explain just what it is that makes me smile.”
“I must not, sir. Surely, you realize that our disappearance into the garden the other night was observed by more than one. My husband would be displeased now, were he even to see us conversing.”
“Then he shall not see us. Come along, my dear, to another chamber where we may be private.”
“Mr. Gillespie, you must not ask that of me. Indeed, I do not desire to be private with you and have never meant for you to think otherwise.”
His brow creased in a quizzical frown. “Is that so, my lady? I had believed you to have a care, nay, even a tendresse, for me. Mayhap I mistook the matter. Indeed, I must have done so.” His gaze met hers searchingly, and she nodded, not knowing any other way to answer him and wanting only to bring this dangerous conversation to an end. The expression in his eyes hardened. “I see. Nevertheless, I believe I must insist upon a private conversation between us two.”
“Sir, you cannot. You must be crazed.”
“Your husband’s life may well depend upon my goodwill, madam, so mayhap you will reconsider your refusal.”
Mary Kate’s mouth twisted in scorn. Though he seemed sincere, his assertion must be naught but a clumsy attempt to frighten her into complying with his wishes. “I do not believe you, sir.” She watched him closely, but her words brought not the slightest change to his expression.
“Believe me,” he said grimly.
“How can Sir Adam’s life possibly be in danger here?”
“He has committed treason.”
Four words, she thought. Four simple words, yet they smacked upon her senses like a cold, wet sheet snapping in the wind. Then disbelief surged through her, flooding out every other thought, washing away the horrible fears that had threatened to freeze her very processes of logical thought. Not Adam. Anything else, perhaps, she might believe of him, but not this, not treason against king or country.
She shook her head. “You lie, sir. ’Tis a charge that can never be brought against my husband. King James has no supporter more loyal than he.”
Gillespie glanced around now, clearly fearful that her sudden pallor and agitation might be observed. “I have proof, my lady. I do not make this charge lightly, I assure you. But we cannot discuss it here. Come with me to another room.”
“I cannot,” she insisted. “Our departure together would be remarked upon, which would occasion further unpleasantness. I shall meet you in Lady Ardcarach’s sitting room. ’Tis on the first floor, to the right of the stairs.”
She could not deny him now, for even if he lied, his lies must go no further, lest others should choose to believe them. However, she was unable to follow him directly because several guests intercepted her, desiring to comment upon the wedding. It was a struggle to keep her worries concealed while she laughed and chatted, but she managed to do so, although it was quite twenty minutes later before she slipped into the little room at the top of the stairs and shut the door behind her.
Gillespie turned from the window. “At last. I had thought you intended to ignore me, madam, which would have been most foolish of you.”
“I had more difficulty getting away than I thought I would have, sir. Now, explain this nonsense, if you please.”
“’Tis simple enough. My father informed me this morning that Sir William MacGaurie has been arrested for treason.”
She regarded him blankly for a moment before she remembered Douglas’s companion at Critchfield Manor. But then a spate of memory followed—the signal that had summoned Douglas from her side, the agitation displayed by Johnny Graham at his delay, not to mention the bits of conversation she had overheard. Her cheeks drained of color.
“So you do remember him,” Gillespie said softly. “I was not certain that you would. Did you know that they held a secret meeting that night at Critchfield?” Once again her expression gave her away, and he favored her with a grim smile. “You never cease to astonish me, my dear. I wonder what else you know. Perhaps you will not be surprised to hear the charge against Sir William—that he plotted before our queen’s execution both to overthrow King James by returning Mary to the Scottish throne and likewise to assassinate Elizabeth. Mary would then have claimed the English throne as well. Your fool of a husband was involved in that whole plot from start to failure.”
“No, that cannot be.” The words were no more than a rough whisper. Her knees threatened to betray her, and she sank limply onto a nearby stool.
“’Tis perfectly true, my dear,” Gillespie insisted, moving nearer to look down upon her. “Your precious Douglas was in the scheme up to his eyebrows, so if the truth comes out, you will shortly be a widow, with your own future subject to the king’s whim.” He paused, his eyes bright with malicious intent. Then he added pointedly, “I have kept silent, so Jamie knows nothing yet of your husband’s involvement with MacGaurie and the others.”
“What do you intend to do, sir?” Her voice was still weak.
“Why, not a thing, my dear.” When she looked up quickly, hope springing to her eyes, he smiled, adding gently, “Not if you are kind to me.”
Mary Kate could have no doubt as to his meaning. Initial shock and fear were soon overcome by helpless frustration, followed immediately by outrage and fury. Throughout this spate of emotions, she struggled to contain her temper. She needed to think. Despite Douglas’s comments and other negative things she had heard about Gillespie, she had never expected to find him capable of such despicable tactics as these. How dared he put her in such a position? For that matter, she asked herself angrily, how dared Douglas? She was past the point now of belief or disbelief. She knew well that, true or not, this tale could not reach the king’s ears.
Briefly, she considered the possibility of sending Gillespie to the devil and telling Douglas the whole, trusting him to make all right and tight with James. But the notion was quickly rejected. If Gillespie’s tale were true, Douglas’s head would be forfeit. And even if it were not, the precious earldom would slip from his grasp. He might well be ruined.
She remembered the gravelly voice at Critchfield: It is impossible now that both Mary and Elizabeth shall continue to live. The words took on new meaning now if the men in that room had been plotting to assassinate Elizabeth. And she remembered, too, her feeling at the time that the conversation was but a continuation of an earlier discussion.
Remembering next that Douglas had told her that Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, would like nothing better than to make as much mischief as possible with regard to the earldom soon put her in mind of the long-standing tension between the red and black Douglas factions. Douglas wanted his title. And he had told her that James believed Angus ought to have supplied him with better intelligence from England. Why had Angus not done so?
Was it possible that Douglas had joined MacGaurie and the others with good intentions, meaning to do all that could be done for Mary, and then had withheld vital information from the king for no reason other than to undermine Angus’s influence? That possibility fit the facts as she knew them very well, better than any other, and it would certainly explain why James continually insisted that he had not known how great Mary’s danger was, not, in any case, early enough to prevent her execution.
She hoped she was wrong about what she was thinking, but even if she was, she could well imagine the twists and turns Gillespie’s rumors would take once they began their tortuous wandering through the Scottish populace. The key words would be plot and Mary, and from there, depending upon the loyalty of the speaker, the tale could take various routes, none of which would do Douglas’s reputation any good.
Since he was close to James, the king could be linked to almost any accusation made against him, except, of course, to the overthrow of his own government. But Elizabeth would not hesitate to believe that James had conspired to assassinate her, and that would put paid to James’s passionate desire to occupy the English throne after her death. And although Mary Kate had never before had cause to doubt her husband’s loyalty to the king, she had likewise never discovered any reason to believe James more loyal to his friends than any other monarch might be.
One way or another, the king had made very little fuss about his mother’s fate, so he could scarcely be expected to support a friend accused of plotting against him or against Elizabeth. Mary Kate realized that it was not even beyond the realm of possibility that once the rumors began someone might hint that Douglas and James had conspired together to murder Mary. Since the king’s popularity was tenuous at best, James could not afford so much as a whisper, no matter how false, that he had plotted against his mother.
Not that Gillespie need hope that matters would go so far, of course, she told herself, still thinking rapidly. It would be enough to insinuate that James had had prior knowledge of the English intent to execute Scotland’s queen, for it would be but a simple step beyond that for the Scottish people to assume that he had knowingly allowed, if not actively supported, her death. Mary Kate recognized at once that the easiest way for the king to disassociate himself from all such rumors would be for him to disassociate himself from Douglas the moment Douglas was accused of complicity in any plot whatsoever.
Appalled at the course of her rapid, if somewhat confused thoughts, she looked up to find Gillespie’s steady gaze still upon her. She looked away again, but she knew it was no use. She would have to submit.
“How can I trust you to do what you say if I comply with your demands, sir?” she muttered at last.
“You have my word that the information I have will go no farther so long as you keep your part of our bargain,” he said.
She repressed a shudder. “But there were others at Critchfield, not to mention Sir William himself. Won’t they speak? The king’s men have ways to make them, you know.”
“No other will dare to speak up lest he incriminate himself, and I doubt that Sir William will betray any of his friends. He is a man of both courage and honor.” He paused with a slight smile. “Should word of Douglas’s involvement reach the king’s ears, my lady, you may of course consider our pact dissolved.”
She nodded vaguely. “What…what will our ‘pact’ entail, exactly?” She could not look at him, but she detected a note of amusement in his voice when he answered her.
“I think you know, Mary Kate.” He reached out his hand and drew her to her feet, but when he attempted to pull her nearer, she resisted.
“You cannot mean here and now, sir!”
“No,” he agreed regretfully, still holding her hand.
“Then where? When?” She could scarcely speak the words.
He did not reply immediately, and she looked up to see why not. His features had hardened, and when he finally spoke, the amusement that had colored his tone earlier was gone.
“I had truly never meant to use my knowledge as a weapon,” he said harshly. “I had thought to make a gift of it to you. For whether you think it or not, lassie mine, you did encourage my attentions, both before you met your husband and since. I believed you cared for me. Therefore, I think you must agree that you are only reaping the consequences of your thoughtless trifling. It would be best if you accept your penance gracefully. I am not fond of tragedy scenes.” His eyes gleamed maliciously. “I shall call at your house tomorrow.”
“My house?” Such a possibility had not occurred to her.
“More convenient than for you to visit my lodgings in Prince’s Street, I assure you,” he responded blandly.
“You cannot!” Only his tightened grip on her arms kept her upright as she cried out in breathless outbursts, “What of my husband, the servants? ’Tis impossible, sir. You are mad!”
“Do not fear my comin
g whilst Douglas is at home, lassie mine. He would be damnably in the way. As for the servants, I am certain you can manage to get rid of them.”
“He will kill you for this,” she muttered wrathfully. “Christ’s blood, sir, but I would like to kill you myself!”
“No doubt, though I am distressed to hear such violent language upon your pretty lips, my dear. I had not thought it would be necessary to take such precautions, but be certain that I shall arrange matters to my own benefit. My premature demise must not seem desirable either to you or to your quick-tempered husband. I see that now. So, unless you are prepared to send me to my Maker this very moment, I should advise most earnestly against such a course.”
“Then you do mean to tell someone else.”
“No, I shall simply arrange for the information to reach James in the event of my sudden death.”
“I see.”
“I hoped that you would,” he murmured dulcetly.
She glared at him, but there was nothing else she could do. She could not murder him on the spot, as he must know very well, but his smug expression made her wish that she carried a dirk inside her bodice so she could surprise him. She did not have a weapon, however, so she exerted herself to maintain her dignity and hoped he would never know how frustrated or how frightened she was. “Very well, sir,” she said at last, “you have made your position clear. I shall look to see you on the morrow.”
His grip, which had relaxed, tightened again when she moved to disengage her hand from his. “First a taste of future delights, lass.” And, though she struggled to avoid them, his lips found hers, bruising them against her teeth when she clamped her mouth shut against him. He released her, smiling. “You are sweet as honey, lassie mine. I look forward to a long and intimate acquaintance.”
With those words he was gone, leaving her to scrub the back of her hand fiercely across her lips in a futile attempt to erase the lingering feeling of his mouth against hers. Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory of what had passed between them, and she racked her brain, trying to think of a way to stop him. She could think of nothing suitable, so she found a mirror and repaired her face, then went slowly back downstairs.