The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  Dallas responded with a moan of desire which turned to short little gasps of pleasure as Fraser plied her tender flesh with his long fingers. Wordlessly, each explored the other in a renewal of the passion they had first discovered at Falkland. When Fraser penetrated between Dallas’s thighs, she felt her world turn ’round and ’round, until at last sublime fulfillment gave them the peace both had craved for so long.

  Chapter 21

  The next day Fraser moved Dallas back to Gosford’s Close. Cummings had concealed his surprise when Fraser arrived at the town house with Dallas. The serving man was pleased to see the couple back together, though he’d never thought the reconciliation would actually occur. Flora was sent for, the closed-off rooms were opened up, and Baron and Lady Fraser settled down into unaccustomed domesticity.

  Rekindled passion was no talisman against disagreement, however. When Dallas told him she’d promised to help the Lennoxes in their efforts to wed Darnley to the Queen, Fraser responded with annoyance.

  “He’s callow, easily led, one of the last suitors I’d ever choose for our Queen.” Fraser was in the process of shaving while Dallas sat in bed, a breakfast tray on her knees.

  “What could I do? They saved my life,” she pointed out, sipping at a mug of hot cocoa. “Besides, he seems the model of a young princeling.”

  Fraser wiped the razor off with a towel. “Naturally, since that pose is his only attribute befitting a potential consort.” He turned toward the bed, the towel flung over his bare shoulders. “Have you in fact sponsored him?”

  Her husband’s lean, hard body momentarily distracted Dallas. “What? Well, no, all I’ve done is say such things as, ‘Oh, yes, madame, he has wonderfully long legs,’ or ‘Certainly, Your Grace, he dances better than any man at court.’ As you may have noticed, Queen Mary doesn’t need much encouragement.”

  He sat down on the bed, munching at a piece of toast Dallas had left uneaten. “Aye, that’s the crux of the matter,” he sighed. “Unless Elizabeth demands Darnley’s return, I’m afraid our bonnie sovereign will play the giddy girl and wed the young fool. I wish I knew of a better match than Darnley. The Queen’s husband can be a problem for all of us, for all of Scotland.”

  Dallas had managed to let the bedgown slip over one shoulder, all but exposing her breast. “It’s my husband I’m thinking of now,” she declared with a toss of her tangled mane.

  He leaned down to kiss her mouth. “Don’t detain me, lassie. I’m off to make arrangements for fetching Magnus. Then I must see Maitland, and after that there’s tennis with Lord Robert.”

  “Mmmmm,” murmured Dallas, nipping at his neck with her teeth. “You do keep busy!” She let the bedgown slip all the way down, pulled the towel from his shoulders and tauntingly rubbed the tips of her breasts against his chest. Fraser gathered her into his arms, cursed and laughed at the same time, and marveled anew at how Dallas had changed since their wedding night in this same bed so long ago. But then, he thought wryly, so had he.

  When Fraser rode to Dunbar the following week, Dallas begged to go along, but he was firm: His crew was as superstitious as any and would balk at having a woman aboard, even the captain’s wife. So while Fraser began his journey to bring their son back from Beauly Dallas joined the court at Stirling.

  Her mind now capable of entertaining matters other than her own, she sought out Donald McVurrich, whom she had not seen at his guardsman’s post when she returned from Beauly. As it turned out, Donald had resigned his post in favor of a position with the Queen’s almoner. Quite by accident one day he had gotten involved in helping with the ledgers. Though Donald had never learned to read, he had a veritable genius for numbers and the almoner had asked him to stay on at a substantial increase in salary.

  “That’s marvelous, Donald,” Dallas declared. “Since you enjoy the work, it’s an ideal situation for advancement.”

  “But it would help if I could read,” Donald replied. His attitude towards Dallas had warmed since her arrival at Stirling. In his methodical, plodding way, Donald had reflected upon the events which had led to her affair with Hamilton. Though he could never condone what she had done, he was beginning to understand why she had done it. And, he reasoned in his pragmatic fashion, if Fraser could forgive her, he ought to be able to do the same.

  Donald’s remark had given Dallas an idea. She picked up one of her Manx cats—carefully tended during her long absence by Mary Beaton—and stroked the animal’s fur. “For some time now, I’ve been thinking of securing a place for Tarrill at court. Since Glennie is marrying Walter Ramsay within a fortnight, it might be well if Tarrill moved out.” Though Dallas knew Walter and Glennie would have no objection to Tarrill remaining with them, she thought the change would benefit her younger sister. Certainly, she had neglected Tarrill’s future for too long. “If Tarrill comes to court, she could teach you to read and write.”

  Donald mulled over the suggestion. “ ’Tis strange, a lassie to teach me letters ....” He picked up a catnip ball from among the rushes and threw it across the room. “But I need to learn, if she’d have time.”

  Dallas assured him that Tarrill most certainly would. He left her then, just as Mary Beaton entered. She halted in midstep as both cats careened in her direction, sending the ball skittering into a corner.

  “See how ungrateful they are after all I did for them while you were away!” Mary Beaton exclaimed. “They’re ignoring me.” She watched the cats romp for a moment, then turned to Dallas. “Darnley is ill,” she said, fine creases lining her high forehead. “Nothing serious, a cold, but Her Grace is behaving as if he had some grave disease.”

  Dallas said nothing. In her position of self-promised advocate for Darnley, she exercised unwonted discretion when his critics attacked him. Though Mary Beaton was the least outspoken of the four Marys, Dallas knew she liked him as little as did the other three.

  “She’s making a fool of herself,” Mary Beaton declared, tugging fretfully at the chain of a dainty looking glass which hung from her waist. “She’s in and out of his sickroom constantly. Why, she visited him last night after midnight!”

  “The Queen has never been in love before,” Dallas said pleasantly. “She did not love Francois, he was like a brother.”

  “Her own brothers certainly take different positions where Darnley is concerned,” Mary Beaton went on in the same peevish vein. “Lord Robert is his boon companion, but Lord James stays away from court more and more.”

  As far as Dallas was concerned, that was welcome news. The lengthier James’s absences, the less likely he and Fraser were to have a fatal confrontation. Though Dallas knew deep down that eventually her husband would call James to account for his misdeeds, she wanted desperately to protect their newly found happiness.

  “If the Queen truly loves Darnley, there’s nothing any of us can do to discourage her,” Dallas pointed out, knowing full well that her reasoning, however sound, excused her from joining with the others to enumerate the young suitor’s drawbacks as a future consort. As she watched Mary Beaton’s classic profile pucker with contempt, it occurred to Dallas that the Queen’s present mood would lend itself nicely to a request for Tarrill to come to court.

  As Dallas predicted, the favor was granted. Tarrill would join the Queen’s entourage by the end of April. When Dallas returned to Edinburgh at the beginning of Holy Week, she told her sister of the appointment. Tarrill was thrilled; her happiness for Glennie and Walter had been marred by self-pity. The invitation to court came at a most propitious time.

  The following day, just after Dallas had interviewed a half-dozen candidates for the position of nurse to Magnus, Fraser returned with the babe. Mother, father and child engaged in a joyful reunion, truly together for the first time.

  “Not seasick for an instant,” Fraser boasted as they watched their son toddle about the nursery, which Dallas had had redecorated during her husband’s absence. “He drinks from a cup now. Sorcha taught him.”

  “How is Sorcha?” D
allas asked, putting out her arms to Magnus, who promptly decided he’d rather climb up on top of a table.

  Fraser retrieved the child and held him high over his head. “She was awash with tears when we left Beauly, but most pleased that you and I were reunited.”

  Fascinated, Dallas watched her husband go through a series of rather peculiar acrobatics with Magnus. Both father and son laughed inordinately at the exercise until Magnus reached out and grabbed his mother by the hair.

  “Ah!” cried Dallas, “he hasn’t forgotten me!”

  “There’s not a male alive who could forget you, lassie,” Fraser said, finally putting the child down amid a pile of toys Dallas had purchased the previous afternoon. “He’s had a long ride this morning, though we broke the journey from Dunbar near Haddington. I think he needs a nap.”

  “Oh, let him enjoy his new toys for a bit,” Dallas urged. “See, he especially likes that little ship.”

  Fraser put his arm around Dallas’s waist. “He can play with them later. Even if he’s not ready for bed, I am.”

  Glennie and Walter were married in a quiet ceremony at St. Andrew’s Church on Castle Hill. As James’s influence dwindled, the Catholic clergy became increasingly bold in performing the sacraments. Rumors filtered through the city that, before long, adherents of the old faith would be permitted to practice their religion as openly as they had in the past.

  Other rumors made the rounds as well. Darnley was still sick, now having contracted measles. The Queen nursed him with a devotion that enraged Darnley’s opponents. Elizabeth was enraged, too, and sent a spate of messages north, demanding that both Darnley and Lennox return to England at once. When neither budged, the English Queen sent Margaret Lennox to the Tower.

  By the third week of May, Darnley was up and about. Ague had followed the measles, or so it was said. There were many who thought Darnley was simply prolonging his ill health to keep the Queen by his side. Fraser was one of these, and had purposely put off seeing the Queen until she had emerged from the sick room and could put her mind on something other than Darnley’s physical state.

  When Fraser rode through the magnificent gatehouse of Stirling Castle, the first thing he saw was Darnley himself, preening against the battlements, soaking up the admiration of a half-dozen courtiers. Fraser reined Barvas in, frowned at the miniature spectacle, and decided he simply couldn’t stomach greeting the overproud youth. If Darnley had seen him and reacted to the snub, Fraser paid no heed. The spoiled stripling wasn’t consort yet, he thought grimly.

  Outside of the Queen’s chambers, Fraser saw Tarrill hurrying along the corridor with a huge basket of spring flowers. After an exchange of greetings, Tarrill told her brother-in-law that she and some of the other ladies-in-waiting were going to make perfume.

  “Her Grace is more interested than ever in her feminine attractions,” Tarrill explained. “Her wardrobe, her hair, her scents, her cosmetics must all be given special attention.”

  Fraser grimaced slightly and changed the subject. “And you? It seems to me that you’re well suited to court life. Those black eyes are full of sparkle these days, Tarrill. Tell me, have you met any prospective suitors?”

  Tarrill blushed slightly but looked up to meet his gaze. “Gallants, yes, suitors, no. But then it’s only been a few weeks.” She smiled at Fraser pleasantly, though her mind had gone back to the first meeting with Will Ruthven after her arrival at court. Despite all the time that had passed since his marriage, she had felt a pang of yearning when he had walked into the audience chamber at Holyrood. Maturity had enhanced his looks, as did the finely tailored court garments. Tarrill had tried to ignore him but a few days later he had sought her out and attempted to apologize once more for his arranged marriage. Inwardly distressed but outwardly composed, Tarrill had insisted that he speak no more of the past; he was a married man, they must never meet alone, he must always behave as if there had never been anything more than friendship between them. Will had gone away downcast, but since that time he had behaved discreetly and if she still felt her heart turn over a little whenever he was near, she would just have to get over such girlish fancies.

  Before Fraser could pursue the subject of Tarrill’s marriage prospects further, Jean Argyll emerged from the Queen’s chambers.

  “Tarrill, where have you ....” She stopped abruptly as she saw Fraser. “Iain, I didn’t know you were at Stirling! Pray come in, Her Grace will be pleased to welcome you.”

  An ironic grin twisted Fraser’s mouth. He didn’t doubt that Mary Stuart would greet him warmly; it was what might happen afterwards which concerned him. But he kissed Jean Argyll’s tapering hand, gave Tarrill a brotherly hug around the waist, and followed the two women into the royal quarters.

  Mary Stuart was more radiant than Fraser had ever seen her. The fair skin glowed, the amber eyes sparkled, the gestures were more animated than ever. She didn’t seem to walk so much as lilt; even her auburn hair seemed to take on a new luster. Fraser knew he was beaten before he began.

  The Queen was gracious enough to inquire about Lady Fraser and the babe, however. When Fraser had assured Mary that Dallas was fit and Magnus was most accomplished for his age, he plunged into more serious matters.

  “You are extraordinarily vivacious, Your Grace,” he declared. They were alone as Mary had dismissed her ladies. “I understand the cause is yon long laddie I espied outside the castle.”

  Mary flushed, giggled and flicked a finger at her pearl eardrop. “Oh, yes, Iain! I am so happy these days! I can’t tell you how truly alive I feel since Henry came to Scotland!”

  Fraser made an effort to smile. “First love can be intoxicating,” he said mildly. “Sometimes it can also be deceptive.”

  The Queen’s giggle faded. “That’s a strange thing to say! I might almost believe you’re trying to spoil my happiness.”

  Fraser put one foot on a petit-point chair and rested his arms across his knees. “You know all the clichés about love being blind and the lover unable to see the faults of the beloved. The only problem with such old saws is that they’re usually rooted in truth.”

  The Queen’s amber eyes were tinged with hurt and the faintest stirrings of anger. “You are trying to damp down my joy. Don’t tell me you disapprove of Henry Darnley?”

  The question had come, as Fraser knew it would. He also knew his answer would not change the Queen’s intentions one jot, but it could make a great deal of difference to him. Yet he could never stifle his candor, regardless of the consequences.

  “That’s precisely what I’m telling you, Your Grace,” he declared bluntly. “I find Lord Darnley most unsuitable. He is not worthy of you.”

  Mary Stuart drew herself up to her full regal height. The pearl eardrops swung like danger beacons. Until now, she had always found it difficult to become angry with Fraser, but this time he had gone too far. “Baron Fraser,” she said stiffly, “I’ll not allow you to speak of Henry in such a manner. Henceforth, you are no longer in my employ in any capacity and you are not welcome at court.”

  Fraser planted both feet on the floor and folded his arms across his chest. He had expected tears, rage, argument—but not this. Fleetingly, he thought of Dallas, back in Edinburgh, no doubt romping in the nursery with Magnus or serving honey cakes to Walter and Glennie. Just when his life seemed to have dropped anchor in a peaceful cove, the overbearing fop of a Darnley had ruined everything. He wanted to shake Mary Stuart until her teeth rattled, but instead he shrugged lazily. “So be it, madame. But remember, when you bed with a cur, you wake up with fleas.” He did not wait to be formally dismissed but turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  While Fraser recounted his interview with the Queen, Dallas could not suppress her anger. She stood by the dressing table, a pair of green silk slippers in her hand, an expression of wrath vivid in her eyes. “You actually told her that! You insulted Darnley! And her as well!” Dallas whirled on Fraser, spitting words like a shower of sparks. “Just once, why couldn’t
you have kept your damned mouth shut? What difference did it make, she’ll wed the silly fool anyway! Oh! I can’t believe you could ruin it all!”

  “Enough, Dallas,” Fraser said reasonably. “It’s not I who ruined all, it’s Darnley and the Queen. I might add, it’s also people like yourself who didn’t point out from the beginning what an impossible person he is.”

  “So now it’s my fault! And what good would it have done to tell her the truth? You know the position I was in.” Dallas stormed about the bedroom, kicking at a chair that got in the way, knocking over a bottle of perfume which stood too near the edge of her dressing table.

  “While I was in London I heard many sordid stories about him,” Fraser asserted. “You lived under the same roof with him, surely you must have guessed what he was like.”

  “Spoiled, petted, selfish, vain—but he was still a lad, burdened with a set of doting, ambitious parents,” she allowed, “but not mad like Don Carlos, not some other woman’s castoff like Rob Dudley, not diseased like Francois. In fact, with her love and guidance he might turn out well enough yet. But that’s not the point, you should have held your tongue!”

  Fraser’s patience had finally trickled away. He grabbed Dallas by both wrists and pulled her up so close to him that their toes touched.

  “You make it sound as if I deliberately set out to destroy myself and our happiness. Now stop acting like an unreasonable child and try to realize that I did what any honest man would.”

  Dallas was hardly placated by rationality. “And where did it get you? What will you do now?”

  He let go of her wrists and moved back a pace or two. “I thought about that on the way back from Stirling. I have no choice, I’ll leave Edinburgh for a bit. It’s possible that Mary will see reason eventually. She may even decide she’s not as angry with me as she thinks she is.”