The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  The moss-troopers shuffled off to one side as Hamilton led his men and their captives towards the Netherbow Port. Many Onlookers followed along, excited over the spectacle of seeing one important lord lead another to the Tolbooth.

  Hamilton turned to Fraser as they progressed up the High Street. “You’ve always thought me a fool,” he called out, “a rival not quite worthy of your Highland bravado. You underestimated me, Fraser. I’ll claim your wife yet!”

  Fraser suddenly had no further doubts about Hamilton’s designs. Surprising his captors, he lunged forward and hurled himself against Hamilton’s back. The other man staggered but didn’t go down. Swinging the pistol, he cracked it across the side of Fraser’s head. It was a stunning blow, sending Fraser sprawling onto the cobbles. The Hamilton men drew their weapons as their lord swung out a booted foot and kicked Fraser in the groin. “Get up, you swine, I’m not ready to kill you yet!”

  Fraser got slowly to his feet, angrily shaking off the retainers who had tried to grab him. “Whoreson!” he yelled. “You’d send twenty men to do what you could never manage alone!”

  If the taunt rankled Hamilton, he gave no sign. They were in front of the Tolbooth now, its dark bulk filling the middle of the High Street. But Hamilton motioned his men to keep moving. “Not yet,” he asserted in ringing tones. “I want Lady Fraser to see him first, subjugated at my hand. And I want this bastard cur to see me take his woman as my prize.”

  Fraser clamped his mouth tightly shut but the look he hurled at Hamilton’s broad back was murderous. The crowd still followed along, growing in size and abuzz at such a thrilling turn of events.

  As they approached the town house, Hamilton moved at a brisker pace. The others followed suit until they reached the front door. “You four,” he said, gesturing to the men who flanked Fraser and Cummings, “bring them inside.” The rest of his men would stay in the close to keep order. Hamilton let the others precede him into the house, then banged the door shut.

  “Jesu!” he breathed, shoving the pistol into his belt. “I can’t believe we made it! Get upstairs, Iain, before Dallas does herself a mischief and climbs out of bed to see what’s going on!”

  Fraser stared at Hamilton, speechless for the first time in years. Then he flung himself at the other man and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Sweet Christ, John, you’re right!” he grinned. “I did underestimate you after all!” Then he dashed down the hallway and mounted the stairs three at a time.

  Dallas was indeed wondering what all the commotion was about. She sat up in bed, about to call Flora, when Fraser burst into the room.

  “Iain!” she gasped, “you’re supposed to be on your way to France!”

  Fraser wrapped his arms around her and kissed her lips. “Lovey, I wouldn’t leave you here. Are you all right?”

  “Are you all right?” Dallas countered, taking in the fresh smear of blood at his temple and the numerous bruises he’d received during the flight through the tunnel. His clothes were filthy and torn, his hands were scratched in several places, and there was a small cut across the bridge of his nose. Dallas herself was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes, but otherwise she showed no visible signs of her ordeal.

  Fraser shrugged off his damages. “I'll mend. But why didn’t you tell me about the bairn?”

  Swiftly Dallas explained her reasons: During the weeks at Dunbar, Dallas’s appetite had dwindled steadily but she’d attributed it to the change in diet and to her own inept cooking. She’d not felt ill as she had with the first two pregnancies, and though she tired more easily, she thought that was because she’d grown unaccustomed to domestic chores. She’d also lost track of time; the routine on the chicken farm had made one day seem like another. It was only while Fraser was in Edinburgh that she’d realized she was pregnant again, probably some two and a half months along.

  When her husband returned from the capital with his unsettling news, Dallas had not felt it was the right time to reveal her condition. His plans were made and much as she dreaded leaving Scotland, she’d do nothing to change his mind.

  “But what’s going on below?” she asked after he had absorbed her explanation and expressed dismay at her unwillingness to confide in him. “How did you get back here?”

  Burying his face in the curve of her neck, Fraser momentarily put the immediate past out of his mind. “Are you certain you’re all right?” he asked, finally pulling away enough to scrutinize her closely.

  “Yes, yes, Dr. Wilson was here and assured me I’d be fine. He said it might have happened under any circumstances, such things do, you know.” Her tone was impatient. “Now tell me, Iain, what’s going on?”

  Fraser got up and went out into the corridor to call down to Hamilton. Dallas was almost as surprised to see him as she had been to see her husband. As Fraser sat back down on the bed, holding Dallas’s hand, Hamilton pulled up a chair and recounted his own story. After going over the events which had taken place at Gavin’s house, he told them how he had come to Gosford’s Close in the middle of the night and spoken with Cummings.

  “Your man was like a clam at first,” Hamilton said, “but I finally convinced him that he had to trust me, that my kin was as involved as you were. Then he opened up, giving me the details of your misfortune.” Smiling gently at Dallas, he paused for a moment. He had been certain that when Fraser learned about the miscarriage, he’d come back to the town house, no matter what the risks. Hamilton himself would have done the same.

  “I didn’t know you were here last night, John,” Dallas said in amazement. “No one told me.”

  “I asked Cummings not to,” he answered, draping one booted leg over his knee. “If my plan was to work, I had to keep it a secret. Indeed, I didn’t tell Cummings—he must have thought I was a damnable traitor.”

  Hamilton continued telling Dallas what had happened after he and his men had taken Fraser into custody. He glossed over some of the details which he thought Dallas might find distasteful, but Fraser wouldn’t let him off the hook completely.

  “The crack on my skull, I’ll excuse,” he said to Hamilton with a twisted grin, “but that kick in the groin was overdoing it a mite.”

  Hamilton cocked his head to one side. “Oh, I think not. If one must play a part, one ought to play it well.”

  Dallas gazed from one man to the other. “It’s all quite remarkable, but I still reckon it would have been better if you’d used that pistol to make Iain leave Scotland, John. Now you’re both in danger. What are we going to do?”

  Hamilton had already thought that part of the plan through. “I’m afraid Iain will actually have to spend some time in the Tolbooth.” As Dallas started to protest he held up a hand to silence her. “Don’t worry, no harm will come to him. Bothwell and the Queen have left the city, Parliament is adjourned, and no legal action can be taken for some time. Besides, I have a feeling that Her Grace and her evil genius have other matters on their minds.”

  “Doubtless,” Fraser put in, getting up from the bed to pour himself some claret. “Bothwell will act swiftly since the other lords signed the bond to support his suit for the Queen’s hand.”

  “How soon can you travel, Dallas?” Hamilton inquired as he accepted a glass of claret from Fraser.

  “A week, ten days—if I go by litter. I asked Dr. Wilson since I wanted to know the earliest moment I would be able to join Iain in France.” She turned to look at her husband, her lower lip thrust out. “I still say you should have gone, I wish Cummings had never told you! And don’t I get any claret?”

  An hour after Hamilton had brought Fraser to the town house, the two men reappeared in the close. As they moved on to the Tolbooth, scuffles broke out in the crowd, as men of Highland ancestry traded insults with those who had Hamilton ties. Even some of the goodwives exchanged heated comments with one another, arguing over whether Lady Fraser was worth such a pack of trouble.

  While Dallas regained her strength, Fraser bribed his gaolers into providing him with a dec
ent cell, palatable food and a jug of whiskey. He briefly considered having them provide him with the bailiff’s niece as well, thought about his wife lying ill and alone at the town house, felt that pang of conscience which he was beginning to accept with only a passing regret, and dismissed the idea. In any event, the girl had a frightful complexion.

  On the fifth day of Fraser’s confinement, the guards brought him a strange report: The previous day, Mary Stuart had been on her way back to Edinburgh, in the company of Maitland, George Gordon and James Melville. As they approached Gogar Burn, Bothwell, who had been with the Queen briefly at Seton, suddenly rode across the Bridge of Almond at the head of eight hundred men. Laying his hand on her horse’s bridle, the Border Earl announced that there had been trouble in Edinburgh—great turbulence set off by Lord Hamilton and Baron Fraser. Her Grace might not be safe in the city, he warned, and suggested that she seek refuge in his castle at Dunbar.

  There were only about thirty members in Mary’s party. Several of them disagreed violently with Bothwell’s plan but the Queen urged them to behave peaceably. Since they were overwhelmed by numbers, Mary attested that she wanted no blood shed on her behalf. Submissively, she rode off with Bothwell to Dunbar.

  “ ’Tis said that Bothwell has abducted the Queen,” one of the guards told Fraser. “That means one thing—if such was his intention, he must now marry her to right the wrong.”

  “Canny,” Fraser commented, fingering his cleanshaven chin. “I suspect the abduction was prearranged.”

  Two days later, word reached Edinburgh that Bothwell had raped the Queen. Arguments raged throughout the city: The sickly, widowed sovereign had been ill-used by the ruthless Border Earl .... Queen Mary had been a willing victim to Bothwell’s aggressive advances .... There had been no such rape at all, since the enamored monarch had been lying with the earl for months, probably even before Darnley’s death.

  It mattered little who was right. The fact that both Bothwell and the Queen freely admitted that a sexual act had taken place between them meant that they must either marry or else the earl would have to pay the penalty for rape. Bothwell’s marriage to Jean Gordon was summarily dissolved. The people of Edinburgh began to publicly express their outrage at what they construed as the Queen’s wantonness.

  The following Monday, John Hamilton went to Gosford’s Close. Dallas was up and feeling quite well, if occasionally given to spells of weakness. She wore a tawny gown embroidered with spring flowers as she greeted Hamilton in the entry hall.

  “Do sit, John, if you can find a chair,” she said, showing him into the drawing room. More of the furniture had been sold during the past week by Cummings. A Douglas servant had visited one day, insisting that his master wished to take possession by May first, which was now only three days off. “I’ll not leave so much as a cleaning rag for that pestiferous Morton and his scruffy kin,” Dallas declared, realizing that there were only some packing crates remaining in the drawing room. Dallas perched on one while Hamilton decided to stand.

  “I’ve little time, sweetheart,” he said, noting that her color was much improved. “I’m removing Iain from the Tolbooth tomorrow, if you’re able to travel.”

  “I’m feeling almost well again,” she asserted as their glances interlocked at the memory evoked by the situation. “We must go slowly, of course ....”

  Hamilton brushed his hand at a fly which had alighted on a tall oak garderobe. “I wouldn’t let you go at all if I thought your health might be jeopardized. Never, never again would I put you through that sort of danger—not in any way.”

  Dallas understood and nodded solemnly. “Of course you wouldn’t. But Dr. Wilson has pronounced me all but recovered and as long as I act carefully and—uh—circumspectly for the next few weeks, all will be well. But where are we going, John?”

  “Hamilton Castle. It’s suited for defensive purposes, should the need arise.” Noting Dallas’s look of alarm, he placed a comforting hand on her .shoulder. “It won’t be necessary, I’m sure, but I want to take every precaution.”

  “But,” Dallas asked, looking up at him, “do you have the right to take Iain there? Won’t someone under Bothwell’s command try to stop you?”

  Hamilton shook his head. “We’re most fortunate that Bothwell and his followers have other priorities. I’ve heard he and the Queen plan to marry within a fortnight. But they’ll return to Edinburgh for the ceremony, so we must get Iain out of the city before they do. I’m afraid,” he said, darkening slightly, “that you will have to enact the role of my captive booty.”

  Dallas’s eyes widened and then she laughed delightedly. “What a bizarrely amusing idea! Don’t fret, if I must be a captive, I’d rather be yours than anyone else’s!”

  Her candor disarmed him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he exclaimed ruefully, “to think I have the rest of my life to regret being so proud and cautious! It’s no wonder people say the Hamiltons can never make up their minds!”

  Sliding down from the packing crate, Dallas put her hands on his face. “Regrets never changed a life nor saved a soul, dear heart. We both did what we thought right at the time. Stop making yourself miserable over that which you can’t mend!”

  Hamilton pulled her close and kissed her with a ravenous hunger that left them both breathless. Neither spoke for a moment afterwards, Hamilton still holding her, Dallas’s hands pressed against his doublet. “I should apologize, sweetheart,” he finally said, releasing her slowly and reluctantly. “Yet I’d compound the wrong with hypocrisy if I did.”

  Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Dallas shook her head. “Then don’t, John. Your honest ardor suits you well. Unfortunately,” she added with a wistful smile, “it has always suited me, too.”

  The atmosphere in Edinburgh had changed during the past few days. The city was tense, with an almost vicious aura seeping out of the wynds and closes. Placards sprang up along the High Street and the Canongate, denouncing Mary Stuart as a whore and Bothwell as her leman. If and when the Queen returned to the capital, the local citizenry would make certain that she understood their displeasure.

  The onlookers’ mood was surly when John Hamilton led his prisoner out of the Tolbooth and down the Lawnmarket towards the Salt Tron. Fraser had been Bothwell’s friend; the House of Hamilton had consistently supported the Queen. Neither man evoked much sympathy from the crowd on this overcast spring morning.

  Lord Claud Hamilton, riding at the head of over a hundred of his kinsmen, bestowed a contemptuous smile on the people who lined the West Bow. He was enjoying the farce tremendously. His older brother was usually much too staid for his own perverted tastes, but at least John was now acting with a bit of flair.

  Claud turned in the saddle to glance at his brother. One thing about Johnny, Claud had to admit, he always cut an impressive figure. A pity that wretched Arran had been the eldest, otherwise Mary Stuart would have undoubtedly married John.

  But instead of riding beside Mary Stuart, John Hamilton walked his horse next to the litter which carried Lady Fraser. A beddable wench, Claud conceded, but much too high-spirited for his own taste. He had the definite feeling she’d not submit docilely to some of his more exotic approaches to lovemaking.

  Whether she submitted to his brother was something Claud didn’t know and thought best not to ask. Whatever John’s reasons for concocting this elaborate hoax, Claud hoped his brother would be well rewarded.

  Reclining in the litter, Dallas tried to turn a deaf ear to the taunts of the crowd. She could have closed the curtains but felt she’d serve Hamilton’s purposes better by letting herself be seen. Her flame-colored traveling costume was banded with pheasant feathers, as was the matching high-crowned hat. The bold color had been chosen intentionally, to emphasize her state as a fallen woman.

  “Is Iain all right?” she asked Hamilton in a low voice. Her husband was riding several yards behind them, his wrists shackled together.

  “He’s fine,” Hamilton responded as they passed through the Grassmarket.
“I wish he’d try looking a bit more abject.”

  They did not reach Hamilton Castle until well after dark. Though they passed through stretches of unpeopled landscape during their journey, the pretenses were maintained at all times, since Hamilton had not fully confided in the majority of his followers.

  Dallas was exhausted by the time they rode through the arched entrance of the castle. Cummings and the children had ridden on ahead with the rest of the Fraser household since Dallas was adamant that the boys not see their father suffer any sort of indignity. They couldn’t possibly understand what was happening and would only remember that their sire had been a prisoner.

  Flora was the first to appear in the courtyard, insisting that her mistress come straight to bed. “Not yet,” Dallas asserted, allowing Hamilton to help her out of the litter. “I must see Iain.”

  But Hamilton deterred her. “Wait till morning. My men are trustworthy but I prefer they remain in ignorance awhile longer. If I show your husband too much hospitality too soon, word might leak back to Edinburgh before I can marshal the rest of my forces.”

  “Will you put him in the dungeon?” Dallas asked in alarm.

  “Nay,” Hamilton laughed, “he’ll go to a tower room, secure but comfortable.”

  Dallas glanced around the courtyard just in time to see Fraser being led inside the castle. His wrists were still shackled, but he moved with his characteristic pantherlike walk and his dark head was held high. He looked in Dallas’s direction and winked. She put a gloved hand over her mouth to cover the smile she couldn’t control, then let Hamilton escort her into the castle entrance hall as Flora walked briskly behind them.

  The castle had been built for war but furnished for peace. It was far from elegant, yet there was a homely atmosphere which Dallas found consoling. The Duke of Chatelherault lived there most of the time but had left that morning with his duchess and their son Arran for one of their smaller residences. The duke, into whose custody Arran had been entrusted the previous year, felt that the excitement of so many men and so much activity might unduly disturb his poor son.