by Mary Daheim
“I'll tell you a tale for a shilling,” the man said, leaning on his staff and looking at Fraser with clear, sea-green eyes.
“I’ve not got a shilling,” Fraser replied truthfully. His last few pennies would pay for this meager breakfast and he was already wondering if the poaching talents of his youth had grown rusty over the years.
The Gaberlunzie was not easily put off. He wore the ragged, flowing gown of his kind, and had a long, pale face with a greying beard. “You wear a fine cloak though it be somewhat soiled and torn. Your boots are of Spanish leather and look quite new. I’d say you are a man of means, though fortune may have turned her fickle face from you just now.”
Fraser grinned at the Gaberlunzie. “If she doesn’t have a change of heart soon, I’ll be going about like yourself, telling stories for my supper.”
“I’ll tell you my tale for nothing, Baron Fraser.” A whimsical smile touched the Gaberlunzie’s face.
Fraser paused in the act of picking up the last bite of kippered herring from his plate. “You know me then?”
“Aye. From Edinburgh. I’ve seen you often, in the High Street and the Canongate. Your man Cummings once bought me new shoes.” He put a foot out, displaying the tattered leather bindings that now made up his footgear. “That was long ago, I’m afraid,” he said ruefully.
“Sit then, mayhap some day I can reward you properly. I travel light these days and have naught to offer.” He glanced down at his sole piece of adornment, the signet ring with the stag’s head. Since it had been the only possession willed him by his mother, he could not part with that.
A perceptive man, the Gaberlunzie seemed to understand. “No matter, my story is short. Lord Darnley has been brought to Edinburgh by the Queen. He is recuperating from the pox in a house called Kirk o’ Field.”
Fraser had lifted both dark eyebrows at this piece of news. “Why would Darnley allow himself to be removed from Glasgow?”
The Gaberlunzie shook his head slowly. “Strange are the ways between man and woman. Often an army can’t accomplish what one winsome lassie can. But there it is, Darnley returned, and Her Grace paying him much fond attention.” He hesitated, watching Fraser consider this latest development. After a minute or two, the Gaberlunzie recognized that the other man had made a decision. “You’ll be heading for Edinburgh, then,” he said knowingly. “Mayhap I can ride with you as far as Stirling.”
“As far as the outskirts,” Fraser said, rising from the bench. “I find certain towns a mite risky these days.” The Gaberlunzie nodded. “Edinburgh will be risky, too.”
“I know that,” Fraser conceded, heading for the courtyard where Simpson was readying the horses.
The Gaberlunzie rode behind Fraser that day and they talked of many things. Fraser never asked the man why he’d imparted his news; no one ever asked a Gaberlunzie such questions.
Protestant or not, the marriage ceremony had been beautiful, Glennie declared, her eyes rimmed red from joyful weeping. The banquet had been splendid, too, Walter chimed in, with plenty of his favorite oysters and some exceptional partridge.
“I thought the quail overcooked,” Dallas declared, “and how the Exchequer thought to stuff most of the court into his banquet hall, I’ll never know. It’s stifling in here!”
“Hush, Dallas,” Glennie admonished. “The Queen is just entering for the masque. Oh, doesn’t Tarrill look marvelous!”
Tarrill and Donald were making their obsequies to Mary Stuart, who had arrived late from Kirk o’ Field, where she’d spent the earlier part of the evening with Darnley.
“Tarrill and Donald both look marvelous,” Dallas said, mimicking Glennie’s voice, “the Queen looks marvelous, even Annie and Oliver look marvelous—for a pair of rustics.” She was plainly put out with her sister’s redundant comments about the wonders of the wedding day. She was also exhausted—the busy week, the long day and the anxiety over Fraser all finally coming together in the oppressive atmosphere of the Exchequer’s banquet hall had made her more sharp tongued than usual.
“Dallas,” Walter put in gently, “perhaps you should go away for a bit to rest. I’m sure the couple who rents my house in Earlston would be glad to take you in.”
Feeling a pang of remorse, Dallas gave Walter a rueful smile. “Thank you, no, I’d rather stay in the city until Iain returns. That is,” she added, with the note of asperity reappearing in her voice, “assuming he ever does.”
Glennie was about to make a comment, but Mary Fleming was motioning for the masque to begin. Dallas tried to pay attention, caught herself dozing off several times, and never did quite get the gist of the performance except that it was something to do with True Love in Ancient Greece, and Jon Sempill seemed to be dancing a great deal in a sheep’s suit.
A round of toasts followed, including the usual bawdy jests which Tarrill and Donald did their best to accept good-naturedly. The guests seemed to sense that the bride and especially the groom were not as receptive as others might be to such gibes, and when it came time for the couple to retire, the courtiers grew somewhat subdued. Donald allowed them to follow as far as the bedchamber door but stopped there with a protective arm around Tarril's shoulders.
“You’ve seen beds and you’ve seen newlyweds, so there’s nothing new for you in what happens next,” he announced in his low, deep voice. “But since it is new for us, I’ll thank you to leave us to find out for ourselves.” A few courtiers gasped, several chuckled, but all kept their places as Donald escorted Tarrill into the bedchamber and firmly closed the door.
“A good man,” John Hamilton said, smiling in approval. “Your sister chose well.”
“They chose each other,” Dallas replied, turning to go back to the banquet hall for a final round of cheer. The Queen was already leaving, returning to Holyrood since it was closer than Kirk o’ Field and the church bells had already chimed midnight.
“Will you join me in a toast to the happy couple’s future?” Hamilton asked. “I’ve hardly seen you tonight.”
“I’m very tired, John. I should leave ....”
As if it were a reflex action, Hamilton put his fingers on her cheek. “You look weary, I’ll admit, sweetheart.” Abruptly, he dropped his hand to his side, closed his mouth tightly and glanced away. “Actually, Dallas, I wanted to speak privately with you. Might I escort you home?”
Dallas looked at him in alarm. She couldn’t possibly let Hamilton see her home, not with Fraser away from the city. “I don’t think so,” she said, tugging at the long silver chains which adorned her dark green grown. “It wouldn’t—I couldn’t.” She blushed and cursed herself for behaving like a silly chit.
“I’m not playing the importunate seducer,” Hamilton asserted in a low, earnest voice as he steered Dallas out of the other guests’ hearing range. “This may be very important. If I can’t take you home, will you join Claud and my sisters at our cousin’s house?”
Dallas was now cursing herself for wounding Hamilton. She wished she weren’t so weary, that her wits were sharp and clear. If he said the matter was important, then that was the truth; Hamilton would never lie. And surely in the company of his relatives, there would be ample chaperones.
They walked quickly through the frosty night, along the Canongate, past the Netherbow Port and into St. Mary’s Wynd. “Our sovereign lord must be asleep,” Claud Hamilton noted snidely, gesturing to the nearby house of Kirk o’ Field. “I hope he dreams ill.”
“Enough, Claud,” Hamilton said quietly. Claud frequently vexed him, but over the years he had tried hard to see his brother’s better points and ignore the rest.
Gavin Hamilton apparently had retired for the night, too. As the little group, which also included Barbara, Jane and her husband, Hugh of Eglinton, entered the house, a servant came out into the hallway to offer a hushed welcome.
“Lady Fraser and I will be in the drawing room,” Hamilton announced. “You may bring us something hot to drink.” He turned to the others, bidding them good-night. Th
ough Claud smirked, Barbara smiled pleasantly and asked Dallas to convey additional good wishes to her newlywed relations.
While waiting for the serving man, Hamilton broached the subject which had been disturbing him. “It’s very late, so I’ll say what I must. You recall that night at Stirling when Delphinia and Lord James came walking up the esplanade?” Dallas nodded as she made herself comfortable on a handsome cut-velvet settee. “I didn’t want to cause you any unnecessary anxiety then, Dallas, but Delphinia had been trying to get information from me about your relationship with Iain. She had started pestering me as soon as I returned to court.”
Hamilton paused as the serving man entered and placed a tray on a small table inlaid with marquetry. “Delphinia knew Fraser was outlawed,” Hamilton continued after the servant had left. “Perhaps she thought—or hoped—your marriage was on precarious ground as well.”
“Wishful thinking,” Dallas said contemptuously.
Hamilton smiled wryly and sipped at his wine before he spoke again. “On another occasion, she bluntly asked how I felt about you.” He paused again as a pained expression crossed his face. Dallas said nothing but regarded him with compassion and fervently wished she could throttle Delphinia.
“I was very discreet,” he said at last, “but Delphinia is no fool. Would I marry you if you were free? The question caught me off-guard—I told her I was not the sort to speculate about filling a dead man’s boots—or his bed.”
Dallas looked away from Hamilton and felt her cheeks grow warm. “Brazen bitch,” she muttered. “If she cares for Iain, why would she want him dead?”
“That was her point—she didn’t. She said rather that it was a matter of ending your marriage, and that grounds for divorce were sometimes too strong to ignore.”
Now Dallas riveted her eyes on Hamilton’s face. “That’s absurd! Delphinia sounds as if her wits have been addled!”
Hamilton refilled their wine mugs. “I think not. There is something afoot between her and James, mark my words. They’re concocting a plot to undo you and Iain. But how—I don’t know.”
“It makes no sense!” Dallas rubbed at her forehead and frowned. “Delphinia wants Iain alive, James wants him dead. Their goals are directly opposed, and the mention of divorce is daft!”
“The very lack of logic is what worries me,” Hamilton declared, putting his wine mug down on the inlaid table. The fire had almost gone out and the candles were burning low on the mantel. “But Delphinia and James met again this morning, before going their separate ways. I know, I saw Delphinia leave his chambers looking exceedingly smug.”
Dallas sat in silence for a moment, watching the fading firelight reflect off her wedding ring. It occurred to her that Hamilton’s concern actually worked against his own interests. And something else occurred to her as well—from out of nowhere came Delphinia’s long-forgotten words about never giving up the game. The memory helped steel Dallas’s resolve: “Delphinia can scheme from now until Doomsday, but the Nor’ Loch will go dry before she has her way!”
Hamilton had gotten out of his chair and come to sit next to Dallas. “Nor will James ever get away with all his malevolent intrigues. I vowed some time ago that he would pay for what he’s done to you.” He saw the questioning look in her eyes and nodded. “Oh, yes, I know what happened in Leith. Tarrill told Barbara, and Barbara told me. There will come a time when the Hamiltons will put an end to James’s sinister doings, you have my family word on it.”
“Please, John, don’t ever endanger yourself because of me! I couldn’t bear it if I thought you might do something to bring about your own downfall!” The big eyes fastened on him as her fingers pressed together in a pleading gesture.
He took both her hands in his and kissed them gently. “I always do what I must. Though,” he added with a rueful shake of his head, “I seem to take my time doing it.” He let go of her hands and took her in his arms. “Stay with me tonight, Dallas. I need you. I’ve never stopped needing you.”
Dallas was startled by his suggestion; she was even more startled by her own reaction. She wanted to stay, she felt secure and cherished in his embrace. “I mustn’t,” she muttered dreamily as he kissed her temple and the hollow of her cheek. “The servants will talk ....”
“We’ll think of something to tell them,” Hamilton said into the masses of her hair. Gently, he tipped her face up to his; Dallas stared into the brown eyes and felt herself move back in time to the inn at Durham. It would be so easy, so blissful to surrender to Hamilton again. Yet, she reasoned, she must not, she had almost lost husband and child for her previous indiscretion ....
But Hamilton’s kiss blotted out logic and resistance. Dallas held him fast, her lips parted under his, and she felt his hands on her breasts. The years of controlled desire seemed only to heighten their mutual passion and Dallas made no protest when he began to pull the green court gown from her shoulders.
“Sweetheart,” Hamilton sighed as he touched her nipples with loving, tender fingers, “there is not a woman in Scotland—or Italy either—to compare with you!”
“Oh, John,” she whispered, leaning back in his arms so he could kiss her neck and throat, “you are my undoing—and I can’t seem to stop you from whatever you intend to do.”
Hamilton laughed delightedly, then pulled her down on top of him on the settee. “I didn’t intend to do anything at first—but what is happening now seems inevitable.”
With a sigh of pleasurable anticipation, Dallas started to help him unfasten the overskirt of her gown. “You are certain the servants won’t ....”
A sudden wall-shaking explosion cut off her words. The night had come apart in a blinding flash, like thunder and lightning combined.
“Jesu!” cried Dallas, attempting to jump up, but finding herself even more tightly imprisoned in Hamilton’s arms. “What was that?”
“I don’t know, but it sounded as if it were just outside the house. Are you all right?” He looked down into Dallas’s white face and felt her tremble slightly in his embrace.
“Yes, yes, but such a sound! John, we must see what’s happened!”
Slowly, Hamilton released her and got to his feet. “Stay here, where it’s safe.” But Dallas was pulling her gown around her, curiosity overcoming caution. Hamilton was in the entry hall before she caught up with him. Several servants, Lord Hugh of Eglinton and Gavin Hamilton were already hurrying outside in their nightclothes. Just beyond the wall which separated the Hamilton residence from Kirk o’ Field, they could see a bright red glow light up the winter sky.
From all up and down St. Mary’s Wynd, people poured down towards Kirk o’ Field. Some thought it was the end of the world; but within minutes they discovered the truth. Darnley and one of his servants lay dead in a corner of the garden.
Great murmurs of shock ran through the crowd. “It was black magic!” one woman cried. “The whole house rose up in the air!”
“The poor long laddie!” a man wrapped in a quilt lamented. “God rest his soul!”
Several onlookers had been joined by the nightwatch in making a wary inspection of the smoldering rubble which surrounded Kirk o’ Field. Claud Hamilton had emerged, wearing a lapin-trimmed dressing gown. “We must see what’s happened,” he declared, but his older brother put out a restraining hand.
“Wait up, Claud,” Hamilton cautioned. “We want no part of this. The whole world knows how little a Hamilton loves a Lennox Stuart.”
Gavin agreed. It was bad enough that the King had been blown up in a house which adjoined their own. But now the family must keep together and attract as little attention as possible. Dallas, still shaken from the terrible shuddering blast, stood next to Hamilton, who had a protective arm around her shoulders. “Was it gunpowder?” she whispered.
Hamilton shrugged. “I suppose so. Yet it’s strange—if the explosion killed Darnley and his manservant, why are their bodies so far from the house?”
“Ugh,” Dallas grimaced, burying her face against Ha
milton’s chest. “Let’s not dwell on it!” Much as Dallas had despised Darnley, she was repulsed by his manner of death. And then she remembered the conversation Tarrill and Donald had overheard at Craigmillar. Was it possible that this was what Maitland had meant by “other means”?
By now, the crowd had grown so large that the Hamilton group had been pushed back to the front stairs of their house. “We might as well go back inside,” Gavin said, “we’ll learn no more tonight.”
“True enough,” Hamilton agreed. “Come, Dallas, you’re exhausted. You ought to be in bed.”
“Not your bed, Hamilton!” Iain Fraser had one hand fingering his dirk, the other on Hamilton’s arm.
Dallas broke free from Hamilton and hurtled towards her husband. “Iain! Where did you come from?”
“Never mind,” he replied grimly. “The pertinent question is, what are you doing here?” The hazel eyes raked Hamilton, whose three kinsmen had formed a tight circle behind him.
Weary as she was, Dallas was not going to permit an ugly scene with half of Edinburgh as witness. “There’s been enough mayhem for one night,” she asserted, planting her hands on her hips and eyeing her husband head-on. “If you’d care to come inside, we can speak like civilized human beings.”
Though only Gavin had picked up a weapon on his way outdoors, Fraser realized he was badly outnumbered. And if he had been astounded and angered to find his wife leaning on John Hamilton, he was not quite the same man who had tried to kill his rival at Strathmuir some three years earlier. Neither had seen the other since. Mutual antagonism flared up between them like a tangible thing, yet the horror of the night seemed to diminish their enmity. Surrounded by evil and treachery, Fraser and Hamilton accepted their animosity without seeking to resolve it. The proud nobleman and the arrogant Highlander wordlessly signaled a truce.
Nonetheless, Fraser refused to step over a Hamilton threshold.