The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  Chapter 31

  Bothwell’s moss-troopers had infiltrated every part of Edinburgh. From Johnston Terrace to the west, from Potterrow Port in the south, to the Girth Cross in the east and the Lang Dykes on the north, they swaggered about the city, evoking resentment and enmity.

  Fraser had decided they should enter the city as he had the previous fortnight: boldly in daylight, along with other visitors. If he were arrested, there was a good chance Dallas would not be apprehended with him. If necessary, she could still get away with the boys and sail for France. She’d fight it, of course; but she’d have to understand that there was no choice.

  Yet, as they headed through the city gates on a mild April morning, no one stopped them. Fraser was perplexed, for he was certain that one of the moss-troopers who guarded the Cowgate Port knew him well from visits to Crichton and Hermitage. Neither the rustic clothes he’d resumed wearing nor the heavy beard were sufficient disguise, Fraser reckoned, and yet the man never gave him a second glance.

  Uneasily, he guided Barvas along the roundabout way to the town house, up past the Corn Market, through the Upper Bow Port and into the West Bow, by the Butter Tron, along the Lawnmarket, and skirting Fisher’s Close to come up behind his own residence. If they had not been riding Barvas, he would have taken the old back stairs through the Temple Lands, which would have been a shorter and perhaps safer route. But they were not stopped and no soldiers lurked in the vicinity of Gosford’s Close.

  A great commotion greeted them when they arrived. Cummings turned a deep red with scarcely concealed excitement and Flora exclaimed how thin Dallas looked. The children squealed with delight and the French cook announced that a sumptuous meal would be served for supper.

  There was one jarring note, however: Cummings informed Fraser that the French vessel which would take them abroad needed repairs and would not sail for another two days.

  “We’ll have to take our chances,” Fraser declared, holding Robert aloft while Magnus tootled on a toy horn passed on to him by his cousin, Daniel. “As long as we weren’t stopped coming here, we should be safe for that long.”

  Dallas was already taking inventory of the house. Gone were the elegant tapestries, some of the carpets and much of the fine furniture. Her elation at being reunited with the children was wiped away by the stripped atmosphere of the place she’d called home.

  “Maybe it’s just as well I’ve seen the house this way,” she said at supper. At least the little table and two chairs were still there, though the divan had been sold to one of Atholl’s kin. “Mayhap it won’t hurt so much to leave.”

  “I don’t like it any better than you do,” Fraser remarked, frowning at the half-bare little room. “When I think back on the chances I took and the ships we plundered to get so many of those things ....” He shook his head, the lean mouth twisted in regret.

  “Cummings got good prices, I’ll say that,” Dallas commented, pushing her plate away. “Though the idea of Morton’s relations living here fair turns my stomach.”

  “Something must have,” her husband responded, eyeing her half-filled plate. “You hardly touched the best meal we’ve had in months.”

  The allusion to Dallas’s own culinary efforts failed to upset her. “I’m not hungry. I wish there was some way to see Glennie and Tarrill before we go.”

  “You can send them notes, to be delivered after we sail.” Fraser was about to call for dessert when Cummings came to the door. His blue eyes were wary and the high forehead was creased in a deep frown.

  “You have a visitor, my lord, heavily muffled and unwilling to give his name, though I can guess it without much trouble.” He coughed slightly. “I believe it to be the Earl of Bothwell.”

  “Christ!” Fraser threw down the carving knife he’d been using to slice off another filet of salmon. “I should have known.”

  “Shall I leave?” Dallas asked, already on her feet.

  Fraser was surprised at the offer. Ordinarily, his wife’s curiosity would have rooted her to the spot. “It would probably be just as well,” he told her. “You look weary.”

  “I am,” said Dallas, gathering the folds of her flaxen-colored peignoir about her. “It’s been a tiring day.” She leaned down to kiss his temple. “At least I can’t mourn over losing the town house while I’m asleep.”

  As soon as she was gone, Fraser told Cummings to let Bothwell in. The Border Earl greeted Fraser effusively, apparently unperturbed by his host’s lack of warmth. He threw his heavy cloak onto the chair Dallas had vacated but did not sit. “News travels fast, Iain,” he said jovially though his eyes were restive. “I learned just a short time ago that you’d returned to Edinburgh.”

  “Illegally,” Fraser noted dryly. “Have you come to arrest me in person or is there a contingent of moss-troopers on the doorstep?”

  Bothwell chuckled and picked up the glass of wine Dallas had only sampled. “I came alone. And,” he added, gazing squarely at Fraser, “in peace. You’ve suffered greatly in the past, though God knows we all have at one time or another. Daft, isn’t it, how we Scots seem to spend more time on the run than at home?”

  “Daft is putting it mildly,” Fraser replied. “Why don’t you stop fidgeting about and sit down? The salmon is excellent.”

  The Border Earl sat but refused the offer of food. “I’ve never been a man to hedge, so I’ll come to the point.” He took a long drink of wine, all but finishing it off. “It’s craziness for us to be opposed to one another, Iain. We’ve been friends for too long. I’d like to see you reinstated.”

  The hazel eyes were steady. “That would be appreciated. What price respectability?”

  Bothwell chuckled again, but this time the sound was forced. “You don’t hedge either, Iain, that’s another thing I’ve always admired about you. The price comes cheap, as a matter of fact.” Bothwell drained the wine and reached for the decanter to pour out a full glass. “Tomorrow night there will be a grand supper at Ainslie’s Tavern. The most important lords of the realm will attend. I’d like you to join us.”

  Fraser’s expression was impassive. “Ainslie’s Tavern serves up a good meal. But I fail to see how a satisfied digestive system will result in my reinstatement. Have you omitted something?”

  Bothwell carefully smoothed his short-cropped red beard. “With so many influential men present, we’ll discuss the Queen’s future. She’s edgy these days, she needs strong guidance. If some of us can take on the burden of her responsibilities, her health should improve.”

  Fraser selected a date from a plate of dried fruit Cummings had brought in. “Strange,” he commented, placing the pit in a small porcelain bowl, “I would have thought Parliament a more appropriate arena for such discussions.”

  Tiny beads of perspiration were breaking out on Bothwell’s forehead. “You seem to be deliberately avoiding my meaning,” he said with a trace of impatience. “This is to be no general debate, but a specific course of action. The Queen should not govern alone.”

  “Elizabeth does,” Fraser said, debating between an orange slice and a fig. “Nor would I know whom to suggest as a possible consort.” He glanced up from the plate and stared fixedly at Bothwell. “You might not do badly yourself, but of course you already have a wife.”

  The Border Earl’s skin flushed darkly. “We’ll not discuss personal matters just now,” he said gruffly. “The question is, are you coming to Ainslie’s Tavern or not?”

  There was no doubt in Fraser’s mind. Bothwell intended to divorce Jean Gordon and marry the Queen. And he planned to act as swiftly as possible, though his predecessor had been dead for less than three months. Bothwell had not plotted Darnley’s murder alone, Fraser was certain of that. But Bothwell was going to make sure he would profit the most. Had the Queen known about the murder plot? Or had she merely been used to get Darnley away from Glasgow? Whatever the answer, Mary Stuart was acting imprudently. The Highlander swore allegiance to his chief because the chief had earned it; the same applied to his
sovereign.

  Bothwell mistook Fraser’s deep silence for a change of heart. The earl leaned forward, his eyes bright. “You see now, Iain? You need us, we need you. ’Tis simple enough.”

  Fraser straightened up in the chair and looked long at Bothwell. “You might need me, though I doubt it. But,” he said with solemn finality, “I don’t need you.”

  Bothwell’s reaction was at first incredulous, then it hardened into bitter acceptance. He got to his feet without another word, picked up his cloak and went to the door. Fraser sat without moving, listening to Bothwell’s tread fade down the hallway. He remembered small fragments of days gone by, of hunting in the park at Holyrood, of dicing at Crichton, of wenching in Edinburgh, of galloping through the Border country. It all seemed like a very long time ago.

  Parliament adjourned the following day. For Fraser and Dallas, the hours passed slowly, with tension filling every nook and cranny of the town house. Dallas remarked that it felt like limbo; Fraser, who had spent many hours waiting for ships to sail, was more resigned.

  He had sketchily described Bothwell’s visit but hadn’t gone into details for fear of worrying her. Yet Dallas sensed something was sorely amiss. But, she told herself, maybe it didn’t matter much, since they would be away from Scotland within a few short hours. The sooner the better, she thought bitterly—not just for safety’s sake but because every long minute spent in the town house would make the leave-taking all the more painful.

  While Fraser and Dallas made love for the last time in their bedroom, a different kind of wooing took place at Ainslie’s Tavern. Bothwell sat at the head of the table, plying his guests with drink upon drink. When the nobles finally dozed in their chairs, the Border Earl produced a bond. It not only pledged to defend Bothwell against all slander and accusations but promised to promote his marriage with the Queen of Scotland. Only one man did not sign; Hugh, Earl of Eglinton, bolted from the table, leaped out a window and fled to Gosford’s Close.

  “I could not sign,” Eglinton explained dismally to Iain Fraser. Though the earl was John Hamilton’s brother-in-law, he was also a staunch Catholic. As such, he had instinctively sought refuge at the nearest Catholic lord’s house, which happened to be Fraser’s. He knew the Highlander was outlawed but hoped the servants would let him in. His surprise at seeing Fraser was great, as Eglinton had not laid eyes on the other man since the night of Darnley’s murder.

  Fraser stood by a window, glancing from time to time between the heavy drapes. He had been half-asleep when Flora had announced the earl’s arrival and had dressed hurriedly, leaving Dallas with her stream of questions unanswered.

  “You were brave, Hugh,” he said, “but probably foolish.”

  “I tried not to drink as much as the others—I feared something like this might happen.” Eglinton sighed, the narrow, rather boyish face filled with despair. “I’m devoted to Her Grace, but I won’t be a party to this scandalous marriage. She flaunts her faith, makes a mockery of the Church itself.” He slumped into a chair and put his head down on his folded arms. “Jesu, how can she wed him? He’s still married to the lady Jean.”

  “He’ll find a way.” Fraser came away from the window, one foot braced on a small damask-covered stool Cummings hadn’t yet sold off. “You’d better flee, Hugh. They may have followed you and I’m not considered respectable company these days.”

  Eglinton looked up at him. “Why are you here then? Are you not in danger, too?”

  “I’m not planning an extended visit, I assure you,” Fraser answered with his twisted smile. He turned to see Dallas in the doorway, her hands waving in agitation. “Well, lovey, is the house afire?” he demanded.

  Giving Eglinton hardly more than a glance, she rushed to clutch at her husband’s arms. “Cummings is trying to fend off a dozen men at the door. They’ve come to arrest you!”

  Eglinton leaped to his feet, but Fraser remained as he was, soothing Dallas with his hands. “On what charge?” he asked.

  “Outlawry. And harboring a traitor.” Now she did look directly at Eglinton, angry at him for seeking sanctuary under their roof, yet holding her tongue because he was Hamilton’s kin.

  Fraser moved quickly, releasing Dallas, giving orders to Simpson, who had entered the room. “Go back to Cummings. Tell him to say I’ll be there as soon as I get my clothes on, I’m in bed with my wife. Hugh, wait here. I’ll be back as soon as I get my boots and cloak.”

  Simpson thumped off down the corridor. Fraser took the stairs three at a time. From the open window of his bedchamber he could hear voices below. “Surround the house!” one of the men shouted in a thick Border accent. Fraser threw his cloak over his shoulder and pulled on his boots. His dirk, as ever, was in place. He flew down the stairs and back into the supper room. Both Cummings and Simpson were speaking in loud voices: “Can ye not wait for a man to get decent?” Simpson was shouting.

  Dallas, big eyed and tense as a cornered doe, stood at the bottom of the stairs. Fraser gripped her shoulder and spoke rapidly: “The plan to leave here at dawn still holds. I’ll meet you and the others aboard the ship.” He gave her a short, hard kiss. “Be careful, lassie.”

  “You be careful!” She started running after him. “Don’t go, they’ll catch you the minute you go outside!”

  “Your memory fails you,” he called out over his shoulder. “We’re not going outside. Come, Hugh, into the cellar!”

  The earl followed him without question, down the corridor and through the kitchen. Behind them they could hear Dallas joining the group at the door, her virulent reproaches rising above the other, deeper voices.

  The two men ran down the first flight of stairs, then Fraser made for the trap door which led to the second cellar. How long had it been since the underground passage had been used? A year, maybe more? Fraser wondered if the passage was still safe but knew he had no choice.

  It was completely dark in the second cellar. “Hang onto my cloak,” Fraser ordered Eglinton. The other man obeyed, stumbling a little but keeping up. Fraser felt for the secret entrance with his foot. Even in the dark, he knew the stone formation well. He paused to light the taper he’d snatched up from the supper room. “Hold this,” he said and gave Eglinton the candle. Then he pried at the heavy flat stone and felt it move under the force of his hands. “Don’t speak—and walk very carefully,” he cautioned Eglinton, taking back the candle.

  The cobwebs were thicker than ever, the walls of the passage ran freely with muddy water, the earth beneath their feet made sucking sounds with each step. They would head for the entrance by the Nor’ Loch outside the city walls.

  A clump of wet dirt fell down on Fraser’s shoulder. He cursed silently but kept moving. He figured they must be under the Lawnmarket. Eglinton was breathing heavily, more from excitement than exertion. They turned around a little bend in the passage as several bats rushed out to greet them. Eglinton gasped but kept apace, his eyes riveted on Fraser’s back.

  They were past the Cameron house now. Fraser calculated that they were two-thirds of the way out and was reassured by the increasingly steep grade of the tunnel. The ground was more slippery now and Eglinton’s deep blue velvet court slippers were muddied beyond recognition.

  Pattering noises echoed behind them as they descended further and further down through the hillside. At first Fraser wondered if the soldiers could have followed them, then he realized that the sounds came from particles of earth dislodging from the tunnel walls. He had just started to glance over his shoulder when something in front of him caught his attention: One of the timbers was lying diagonally across the passage.

  Fraser stopped and Eglinton almost ran into him. The timber had fallen in such a way that a man could neither go over it or under it. Some of the dirt had cascaded down with the timber and lay in a foot-high pile on the ground. Motioning to Eglinton, Fraser approached the barrier with great caution. An experimental tug told him that it was securely embedded in the floor; it must have fallen down some time ago, possibly
during the heavy December snows.

  Bending low, Fraser edged his shoulder under the beam. It didn’t budge. He tried again and this time felt it give a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eglinton watching him nervously, his hands in front of him, the candle held out like a votive light. Fraser pushed repeatedly at the timber; it creaked and shuddered, then finally gave way.

  And then a torrent of mud and dirt began to tumble down on their heads. “Run!” he called. But no feet followed his through the hail of wet earth and the passage was suddenly plunged into darkness. Fraser turned back and felt along the ground until he touched Eglinton’s sprawled form.

  “Hugh,” he breathed, “are you all right?” There was no reply. Fraser put his hand up over his head to ward off another fall of mud. Then he grasped Eglinton under the armpits and pulled him along, backing towards the Nor’ Loch entrance. More timbers crashed around them, chunks of wall disintegrated and caved in. But some twenty yards further, Fraser bumped into the rock which closed off the entrance. Here the passage was made out of more stone than dirt. Pebbles were falling down like giant hailstones and Fraser took a fair-sized rock full on the head but managed to throw his cloak over Eglinton and then rolled his weight into the boulder. It gave at the first lunge and went tumbling down a little slope. Fraser picked Eglinton up and carried him over his shoulders out into the cool night air just as a tremendous volley of rocks and dirt came hurtling down to reseal the entrance.

  The sound died away as he struggled down the bank to the loch’s edge. Carefully, Fraser laid Eglinton down on the marshy ground. Then, he too, fell full length onto the rushes.

  Fraser lay motionless at the edge of the water for nearly a quarter of an hour. Nearby, he heard the splashing sounds of the River Tumble as it ran full spate into the Nor’ Loch. He knew they were safe for the time being. Certainly no one could follow them through the tunnel. But it was possible that the outskirts of the city would be searched. He and Eglinton would have to make for the Lang Dykes as soon as possible.