by Carmen Caine
Situated to allow the morning light to filter in, the window of the bedchamber afforded him a view of the surrounding forests and wild expanse of the moors spreading across the horizon.
He moved to the window and breathed deeply of the chill breeze sweeping down from the highlands.
Closing the door soundly behind him, Archibald leaned against it and folded his arms. “There are strange doings afoot, my friend. ‘Twas at the feast last night that the king received tidings of Mar and Albany’s arrival within the week, but he fell into a fit of anger at the news, and began shouting they were coming to unseat him.”
Cameron drew his lips in a thin line.
Alexander, Duke of Albany, and John, Earl of Mar, were the king’s younger brothers. Rumors always circulated that both sought to seize the throne. But Cameron knew this to be untrue. The three brothers shared an unusually close bond.
The king’s tirade smacked of some ill doing. Was Thomas Cochrane responsible?
“I’ll see what I can discover, Archibald.” Cameron gave a curt nod.
He was back at court only a few scant minutes and already found himself engulfed in treacherous plots.
The man sent him a wide grin. “Then, I’ll be on my way.”
As the door closed after him, Cameron wearily rubbed the back of his neck. He had found precious little sleep in the night. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh spring air blowing through the window, ruffling his raven hair.
He longed to return home to Inchmurrin Castle, standing tall on the most southerly isle of Loch Lomond. And he would straightway, he promised himself, as soon as he had overturned any marriage plans the king might have made and once he had insured all was well between the king and his brothers.
There was a knock upon the door.
Wincing at the intrusion, Cameron murmured, “Pray enter.”
The door creaked open, and Thomas’ nasal voice snaked through the room. “Greetings, my lord.”
Expelling a silent breath, Cameron composed his features and graciously inclined his head. “And what brings ye here, Thomas.”
The man wore velvet breeches and a jeweled doublet. A heavy gold chain glittered about his neck, and he fingered it fondly as he replied, “The king would see ye now in his supper room, my lord. I’ve been tasked to escort ye there.” He watched Cameron closely.
Seeking to disarm the man, Cameron sent him a pleasant smile. “I would discuss the matter of Heloise that lies betwixt us first, Thomas.”
Thomas tensed and his eyes narrowed.
“If truth be told, her lands and title were not of sufficient worth for a man like ye.” Cameron continued softly. Aye, he’d twist this current situation to his own advantage, even though such court games of flattery were becoming ever more distasteful. “’Tis your marriage we should be discussing with the king, not mine, and I’ll tell him such words.”
Almost imperceptibly, Thomas’ eyes flickered in pleasure.
“Aye, let us speak of this to the king.” Cameron clasped the man’s shoulder. “Lead on, my good man. I will follow ye.”
The way the man postured and strutted importantly as he led Cameron towards the king’s apartments was disgusting. Upon entering the outer guard chamber, Thomas pointed to a chair, asking Cameron to wait until he had assured the king was truly ready.
Relieved to escape the man’s company, if only for a moment, Cameron folded his hands behind his back and moved to stare out of the tall, narrow window looking out over the town of Stirling.
Idly, he wondered what Kate was doing.
Was she sweet-talking more victims into buying her charmed stones?
His lips thinned in a disapproving line.
He’d have to find her some other form of work. He hadn’t been jesting her concerning the dangers of being named a witch. Of late, there were increasingly disturbing reports of witch burnings in Germany. Times were changing.
And then Thomas reappeared to guide him into the king’s private supper room.
The chamber was a small one. A carved, wooden table stood before the blazing fire, set with gold-inlaid goblets, a platter of sweetmeats, and a silver bowl of spiced oranges. Before the window stood a long, low chest with leather-bound books neatly stacked on its surface. Tapestries from Flanders hung on the walls, along with several portraits of the king.
Cameron moved to inspect them.
“My dear cousin, the Earl of Lennox.”
Cameron turned to see the king entering the chamber from the opposite door.
King James was young, nearly the same age as himself, but he looked much older. His pallid face was long and oval, his lips thin, and his eyes heavily lidded. His pale red hair clung to his forehead in thin, wispy locks.
As he moved closer to extend his hand, the faint odor of whisky eddied about him.
Cameron’s dark eyes narrowed faintly. While the king he knew cared greatly for wine and whisky, he had rarely allowed himself to become drunk. And never so early in the day. Bowing low, Cameron kissed his ring and murmured, “My sovereign lord.”
“Ye’ve been long in coming, Cameron.” The king moved to the table, selected a sweetmeat, and popped it in his mouth.
“I crave your pardon, sire,” Cameron replied dutifully.
“We ordered ye here last winter,” the king admonished with a petulant smile.
“I beseech your forgiveness, your majesty,” Cameron repeated in a respectful tone.
The king paced towards him, placing a finger on his jaw and looking deep into his eyes for a time before smiling. “Aye, we shall never doubt ye, Cameron. Ye’ve proven your loyalty time and again. Ever have ye supported the throne.”
Aye, I’ve rescued ye time and time again from the wrath of the queen over your scandalous passel of bastards, Cameron commented in his mind. But he knew the king was referring to his brothers this time and not the queen’s ire. Seizing the opportunity, he skillfully inserted, “I am a Stewart, your majesty, and I, along with my cousins Mar and Albany, will ever sustain your throne.”
The king jerked a little and Thomas gave a sharp intake of breath.
Ah, so Thomas did have a hand in this. There was a clear flicker of guilt in the man’s eye.
Moving away, the king selected another sweetmeat, indicating that Cameron help himself, and said, “Thomas has brought the most disturbing matter to our attention.”
“And that is?” Cameron inquired politely.
“How can ye not know?” The king’s face appeared paler than usual. “The Flemish astrologer Andrews prophesied the Lion of Scotland would be devoured by its own whelps! Surely, ye have heard of it?”
Cameron had never before heard such words nor of the famed astrologer. Doubtless, from Thomas’ tense expression, this was also part of the plot. Aye, it would be most helpful for the Lord Julian Gray to arrive soon. He could aid in uncovering it.
“We have sent for Andrews,” the king was saying. “We shall prevail upon him to reside here forthwith until a deeper insight is gained into this divination!”
At that, Thomas cleared his throat and bowed from his place at the door. “My lord, the feast is ready. The musicians from Spain await ye, sire.”
The king’s eyes softened as he looked upon the man and then he turned back to Cameron. “We shall speak of Andrews at a later time. But afore we attend the feast, there is the matter of your next marriage, fair cousin. We can’t have ye unwed.”
“I beg to differ, sire.” Cameron lifted a mocking brow before nodding discreetly in Thomas’ direction. “’Tis Thomas ye should send in my stead. The man is clearly ready for the honor of a marriage—”
“No,” the king interrupted tersely, greatly displeased.
Cameron eyed him with a measuring look.
“Come!” the king ordered, throwing his arm about Thomas’ shoulders, he exited his supper room, leaving Cameron to trail behind.
Cameron followed them thoughtfully.
Aye, there was something unholy about Thomas�
�� relationship with the king. And this business of a prophecy was clearly Cochrane’s work. And by the man’s tense reaction, he wasn’t pleased for Cameron to know of it. Clearly, it was a plot of the nefarious kind.
Strains of music floated above the din of voices as they entered Stirling’s magnificent Great Hall, which boasted intricately carved wooden panels on the ceiling and a fireplace on each end. Richly decorated with the finest of tapestries and the high table set with silver goblets and gold inlaid spoons, Cameron could well understand the complaints that the king had grown excessive.
Painters, poets, and sculptors thronged the hall, mingling with the highest nobles in the land. But the dissatisfaction of the gathered lords and their ladies was readily apparent. It was in the looks, the unsaid words, and huffs of breath. It was surprising that the king blithely chose to ignore it. It was foolishness for a monarch to do so, and doubly more so when the common people were suffering from poor harvests and plague.
Waiting for the king to take his seat, Cameron stood by his customary place at the high table. Suppressing a yawn, he lowered his long lashes to observe the king and Thomas Cochrane. The king scarcely spoke without darting quick glances, seeking Thomas’ approval. When had he become the man’s puppet?
Finally, the king sat and as the Spanish musicians strummed their lutes, the feast began.
Cameron reluctantly took his place. He would be banqueting for hours, dining upon dish after dish amidst the glittering merriment and nervous titters of laughter as nobles and court favorites clamored for the king’s favor, a king that they did not even respect. The whole thing made his head ache.
To Cameron’s right sat the tacit, stern Lord Hume, a man intent only upon eating. The place to his left was empty. He hoped it would remain so in the coming hours. He was scarce in the mood to talk.
And then the courses began to arrive. Roasted swan with the feathers carefully replaced upon the carcass to resemble the live bird, fish in aspic, and partridge with greens.
It was tasteless.
His thoughts wandered to Kate and he did his best to resist for a time, but it proved nigh impossible. Thinking of how she tenderly cared for her ailing father, he decided that the man would do well to eat better.
Raising a hand, Cameron waved for one of his trusted men waiting nearby.
“Send a basket of eggs and partridges to Kate,” he ordered and then hesitated with a twinge of conscience. He had no business in sending her gifts. Yet, what harm could there be in a gift? Shrugging the guilt aside, he continued, “But let her think it comes from the thief, not the earl.”
“Aye, my lord.” The man nodded with a serious expression.
“She lives near the—”
“We know where she lives, my lord,” the man interrupted with a glint of humor in his eye.
Cameron winced as a sudden wave of embarrassment flooded through him. Aye, they would have followed him. How could he have forgotten? His men were loyal and they watched over him continually. Ach, was nothing secret?
Subdued, he returned his attention to the feast, striving once more to clear his thoughts of Kate, but as more courses arrived, he thought of no one else.
He wondered if her nose would wrinkle in a delighted smile upon receiving the eggs. He shifted in his seat. He would much rather have delivered the basket himself than sit through this torturous affair!
Surveying his trencher with growing distaste, he discovered he had toyed with his food the entire course. Signaling for a serving wench to take it away, he took a long draught of spiced wine instead and began searching for any excuse to quit the place when a distinctive laugh carried across the hall.
There was only one man with a laugh such as that.
Lord Julian Gray stepped through the parting crowd, a tall, slim form with blond hair and searching gray eyes. A smooth-spoken courtier, he was also a formidable and daring warrior, but only a select few in the land knew him for what he truly was: the boldest spy in all of Scotland, England, and France. His courage was matchless.
But most saw him as he wished them to—as the irresponsible, reckless young lord who held vast estates in the north of Scotland, but spent his time drifting from court to court in pursuit of pleasure.
With his lips curving into a smile, Cameron rose to embrace him. “It has been far too long, Julian!”
“And what dire circumstance brings me to Stirling at the muddiest time of the year?” Julian drawled in a light tone. “I pray it does not concern ye?”
Cameron winced but answered readily enough, “Nay, I’ll not be wed off again. Speak with Archibald. ‘Twas he who summoned ye, though I have things of more than a passing curiosity for ye to unravel.”
“Ah!” Julian’s gray eyes lit with interest. “And the queen?”
“In Edinburgh,” Cameron replied. The queen, expecting the king’s third child, had retired to Edinburgh months ago, weary of her husband’s preoccupation with court favorites. This time, the rift between them seemed permanent.
Shoving the chair next to Cameron with his boot, Julian draped himself upon it and observed languidly, “Little has changed, then.”
“Perhaps not.” Cameron allowed his gaze to shift to where Thomas sat fawning over the king.
Julian followed his gaze and nodded once. And then spearing a partridge with his dagger, he helped himself to wine and turned his attention to greeting others in a light and merry tone. It did not take long before an enthralled circle of admirers surrounded the man. He entertained them with many a jest and wild tale, whilst reaching to pinch any serving wench that wandered nearby. They didn’t mind. In fact, it was obvious they sought any excuse possible to wander within his reach.
Finding his thoughts once again dwelling on Kate and her sparkling brown eyes, Cameron played with the idea of paying her a visit, and with the aid of spiced wine blithely ignored all thoughts of curses. Ach, and since when had he turned into a believer in curses and black arts anyway? And what did it matter? ‘Twas not as if he planned to wed the lass!
Simply seeing her and stealing a kiss or two would cause no harm.
Downing his last draught, he rose from the table, bade his farewells, and excused himself from the merriment, acutely aware of Thomas’ eyes upon him as he exited the hall.
He would deal with Thomas Cochrane later.
Right now, it was far more important to see if the lass had gotten the eggs.
Quickly, he lay aside his court clothing and chose his simplest attire before making his way to the wide, arched gates leading into Stirling Town.
One of his men hailed him as he stepped through. “She’s at the Thistle and the Pig, my lord,” the man whispered conspiratorially.
Had his intentions been so readily apparent? Oddly embarrassed, Cameron dismissed the man with a cool nod, and wondering if he were a fool, set off for the Thistle and the Pig at the bottom of Castle Hill.
It was a rather disreputable place, serving more as an alehouse with bedding on the floor of the kitchen than a proper inn. The common room was dark containing only a single man drinking his ale with a scowl upon his face.
Kate was nowhere to be seen.
Grimacing in displeasure, Cameron turned back to the door when he heard her warm laughter sounding from the back. Suddenly, his heart grew light and he found himself striding to the low door and ducking to peer inside.
Kate stood with her back to him, laughing at a young lad as she pressed a small bundle into his hands. “Ach, ye wee ruffian, I’ll not tell your mother what ye just said, but be careful with these eggs now!”
Catching sight of Cameron, the lad’s eyes widened, and clutching the bundle, he bolted out of the back door without a moment’s hesitation.
Turning, Kate’s brown eyes sparkled at once upon seeing him. “Ach, ‘tis Cameron!”
He stood there, grinning like a fool in a manner quite unlike himself and saying nothing.
Kate didn’t seem to mind. She clearly enjoyed chattering. “Aye, your eggs hav
e made many a smile this day, Cameron,” she said, throwing a faded plaid over her shoulders and stooping to pick up her basket. “I’ll not ask ye where ye got them, or the partridges, though I’ll have no more such fine gifts. ‘Tis not worth your head!”
“Did ye keep any eggs for yourself, lass?” he asked mildly.
“I’m not a saint!” Kate wrinkled her nose and added with a sheepish smile, “I ate three, and my father ate two. But wee Donald’s mother is taken ill, and she canna leave the almshouse to find work, and ‘tis difficult to heal eating only the weak gruel that is made there.”
“She’ll be fine,” Cameron murmured in assurance. In fact, he knew she would be eating right well. He had ordered his most trusted man, Sir Arval, to set the almshouse to rights, but Kate didn’t need to know it. “Perhaps fortune will yet bestow blessings upon the place.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “’Tis a nice thought.” Then, looping her basket over her arm, she grabbed both of his hands in hers and swung them exuberantly. “I’ve thrilling news! Maura found me work at Stirling Castle!”
“Stirling Castle?” Cameron repeated, flinching in displeasure at the thought.
“Aye! I’m to be a serving wench! I spoke to the Chamberlain of the Great Hall just this morning, and I’m to start on the morrow!” She was ecstatic, but then her brows furrowed. “What is it?” she asked. “‘Tis written bold upon your face that ye aren’t pleased to hear this!”
“A serving wench … in the Great Hall?” Cameron’s lips thinned in a grim line. ‘Twas appalling news.
Kate frowned in bewilderment, but then began to laugh. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up, pulled back the hood of his cloak and asked, “Do ye fear that I’ll see the Dreaded Earl?”
“Aye,” Cameron replied in a reserved tone. It was exactly what he feared.
“Ach, I was not telling ye the truth, man.” Kate nudged him in the ribs and sliding her arm through his, pulled him out of the kitchen. “I’ve never met the man.”