The Raven's Heart

by Jesse Blackadder

  Banished from her side, I do not know how he has brought such a thing about. Has he truly won her heart somehow, or does she make the best of an evil situation? I cannot get near her to ask such a thing. When Seton catches my eye during the long ride, she shakes her head sorrowfully at me.

  Reduced to a lowly page, I ride toward the rear of the Queen’s entourage. Although I am far back I can hear the cheers that greet the Queen as she rides through Netherbow Port. But I also hear how the cheers fall away as she passes. By the time I ride under the port, there is no cheering. The crowd scowls at us.

  As we come up the High Street, there is a commotion in the crowd behind me and I turn to see what it is. The street is narrow, the crowd pressed close, the guards ahead are slow to look back. A hand grasps my ankle and Isobel’s ocean eyes are looking up at me urgently from the crowd.

  “Come,” she says, and in a heartbeat I slither from the horse, duck under her arm, and squirm away through the crush of bodies. A yell rises up behind me from the guards as I make the side street. Isobel pushes me into an open doorway, bolts it behind us, and urges me up the stairs into the tenement. The guards run up the street and pound on a few doors, but it is their job to ride with the Queen, not chase her servants, and soon they return to the procession.

  Standing next to Isobel at an upper window, peering down, my breathing slows to normal. Isobel has improved her ability to disguise herself and I see she has cut her hair short. She is dressed like a merchant and no one would pick her otherwise.

  Her face is alight with mischief. “Smoothly done, aye? You must trust me, for all you protest.”

  I turn back to the street, instantly angry. “I’m not a fool. If I need an escape route, I’ll take whatever’s on offer. Trust no one is what you’ll learn by the time you reach my age.”

  She stands next to me and peers out too. “Pity you didn’t teach the Queen that lesson. Is it true he ravished her?”

  “Yes.”

  “The talk in Edinburgh is that she colluded in her own kidnap, to make it appear she is forced into this marriage when really she has planned it.”

  “Since when do you know the talk in Edinburgh?”

  “You overwhelm me with your gratitude.” She draws back. “I have had overmuch time waiting around in Edinburgh for you to reappear.”

  I shrug. “I did not ask you to wait, or to rescue me.”

  She scowls. “You do not know what is happening here. Sophie and I planned this with great care when we knew the Queen’s party would return.”

  “Last I knew, Sophie was keeping you under lock in her house.”

  “There’s much to tell you,” she says. “It’s not safe here—let’s get back to Sophie’s and we will talk there.”

  She has brought a servant’s garb for me and thus disguised I follow her through the wynds and closes. There is a cold shiver of fear between my shoulder blades. If the news has reached Bothwell that I have escaped, I am certain he will send men to find me. I know too much.

  My fear eases slightly when I step over Sophie’s threshold. It has always been a safe haven, this house: unbreachable. Sophie is waiting in the main chamber, with the fire crackling and food and drink laid out. She stands and comes toward me and presses my cheek with hers, then smiles at Isobel. “Well done.”

  I look from one of them to the other. “What have you brought me here for?”

  “You’ve not told her?” Sophie says.

  Isobel shakes her head. “Alexander made contact with me. The lords have signed a bond that they will bring Bothwell down.”

  I wave my hand. “You are wrong. Bothwell has a bond with twenty-eight signatures of support for the union.”

  “Either the lords were coerced into signing Bothwell’s bond, or they meant all along to use this marriage to bring down Bothwell and the Queen too,” Sophie says.

  “Lord Hume has signed the new bond, and all the Hume men have armed themselves and come to fight, as have the other lords and their men,” Isobel says. “We do not think Bothwell can stand against them.”

  “But what of the Queen?” I ask.

  “She is beyond help,” Sophie says. “The lords are a wolf pack with the scent of blood in their nostrils. They made their bond at Stirling. I do not think even a soldier such as Bothwell can prevail.”

  I stare at them. “None of the lords came to Dunbar when they could indeed have saved her. The Queen believes they want this marriage.”

  Sophie sits by me and puts a hand on my knee. “Listen to me. They have taken her son from Stirling and they plan to rule in his name. You cannot save them this time. Not the Queen, nor William. I do not know what will happen to the Queen, but this time you must flee in earnest.”

  “I must send word to them at least,” I say.

  “William already tried to protect you so you could escape,” Sophie says. “He would wish you to get away safely now, I am certain of it.”

  “Even if I wanted to, how could I get away? The city is full of soldiers. Bothwell will have men searching for me.”

  She shakes her head. “Bothwell will just now be discovering the trouble that awaits him. I do not think he will be worried about you. We have horses waiting in a stable in the Pleasance ready to leave at once. Red will come too and we shall ride south at speed.”

  They are both silent for a moment.

  “There are no ships leaving Leith in such an uprising,” Sophie says. “Many are fleeing to Glasgow to sail from there, but that is dangerous country for you. We think it best to ride for Berwick and try to board a ship from there.”

  They still won’t look at me. “Is there something else?”

  “Beatrice is desperately ill,” Isobel says at last. “She sent a sealed letter for me. In it she said she has information about William. But she may not live long and she says her soul will be in peace only if she can give it to him before she dies.”

  I shake my head and raise my drink to them both. “Sophie, I can see you have quite lost your mind. Has Isobel bewitched you somehow, that you would agree to such a plan?” I drain my cup. “I must return to the Queen. If what you say is true, she needs me more than ever.”

  Sophie puts her hand on my arm. “If the lords rise up against the Queen in open rebellion, many will die. The dangers you have faced before are nothing compared to this. Our plan sounds dangerous, but no one will expect you to ride to Blackadder. All Hume’s men are gathering, bent on bringing Lord Bothwell down, and none will be at the castle. They will not be thinking of you or William.”

  I feel helpless. “Do you really believe this is what I should do?”

  “This is all you can do for William now,” Sophie says. “We will travel in disguise and Isobel carries the bond you and William signed in case any do discover you. It is dangerous, but what choice do you have? Danger is everywhere. It may be none of us can escape it. Red and I will sail with you and stay away from Edinburgh until this uprising is over.”

  Isobel comes to my other side. “What will you do?” I ask her.

  She smiles as if she has not a care. “Leave the bond at Blackadder, bid my aunt farewell, and come with you to France, of course.”

  I stand and cross to the window. On the street below, men and women go about their business. Edinburgh has its own life in which its citizens trade, barter, fight, wed, seduce, befriend, and betray each other. But our lives are inextricably entwined with the life of Scotland’s sovereign. There is not a person on the street, down to its lowest beggar, who is untouched by the Queen. She has been ravished and they believe she has colluded with her ravisher and that he has murdered her husband. Bothwell imprisons her in the very heart of her own kingdom in her own castle. Under such a rule, where can truth or safety be found?

  Sixty-two

  Leaving Edinburgh this time is a physical pain in my body. The thought of the Queen in thrall to Bothwell, not knowing that her lords are to rebel again, twists in my gut as we slip through Netherbow Port and Cowgate Port and into the Pl
easance to retrieve the horses. She makes men love her, but it seems that nothing she does can make them loyal to her.

  It is not only the Queen I am abandoning. I am riding away from William and in such an uprising what hope does he have of surviving?

  I speak little to my companions as we wind through back tracks and byways, through the Lammermuir Hills and into the Borders region. At last we come through the hills to a place where we can look south. A small stream rises there, a slender vein of water running through the grass.

  “It’s the Blackadder Water,” Isobel says, dismounting. “They say the water from here can give you prophetic dreams.”

  Red helps Sophie down and I dismount too, stiff from the long hours of riding.

  “If it can prophesize how I am to enter Blackadder Castle and escape again without detection, then I will drink it,” I say. I kneel on the bank and cup the water in my hands. It is cold and sweet in my mouth, as innocent as I remembered.

  “You will arrive at Blackadder as a physician from the Queen’s household, sent as a favor to our family,” Isobel says. She is rummaging through a saddlebag and she draws out a richly embroidered doublet. “Wear this. It’s smart enough to fool them.”

  “What about you?” I ask.

  “I will wear a woman’s riding habit, like the Queen does, and a wig so they do not see I have cut my hair,” she says.

  I look at Sophie, who is smiling. “Did you know she was such a plotter?” I ask. “I must remember to stop thinking of her as a child.”

  “You were in the Queen’s service yourself at sixteen and plotting constantly, I recall,” she says.

  “How do you and Red fit into this scheme?”

  “It will take persuasion and gold to get us a passage, even from Berwick. While you are at Blackadder, Red and I will ride on to Berwick to arrange it. We will come back and collect you from Allanton.”

  I stand up, and wipe the water from my mouth with the back of my hand. “I am the last to know the plans, once again.”

  “Be pleased we had the wit to work out a plan while you were imprisoned with the Queen,” Sophie says.

  “Let’s go,” Isobel says. “It’s not far. If we ride hard, we will be at Blackadder by nightfall.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Isobel and I ride across the bridge, the river tumbling and tossing below us. I am afraid to see the castle again and when at last I do, it is as I remember, an ancient creation of stone rising out of the riverbank. My breath catches in my throat to see it.

  We ride around to its formal front and into the courtyard. Last time I came here at the Queen’s side and no one could touch me. This time I feel small and vulnerable. Beside me, Isobel keeps a jaunty demeanor but there is a tightness in her jaw. Her red wig falls in ringlets around her face.

  The stable master comes out and greets her.

  “Does my aunt yet live?” she asks him as she steps down to the mounting block.

  “Aye, though it’s said not for long.”

  “Keep our horses ready to leave at short notice. There is a war brewing in Edinburgh; who knows what will happen?”

  “Very good.” He bows his head and leads my horse to the block so I may dismount.

  Isobel jumps down nimbly. It is possible she has all along intended some evil in bringing me here, and I will gasp my final breath inside these walls this day. Every Blackadder who has trusted a Hume has died for it. How could I have agreed to this?

  Alexander’s wife, Catherine, comes to greet us and Isobel embraces her. “Cousin, I have brought Arnault, the Queen’s own physician, to see Beatrice.”

  I bow and take Catherine’s hand. “Bonjour, Madame.”

  She looks at me uncertainly. “Does he speak Scots?”

  “No,” says Isobel. “He came from France with the Queen. How is my aunt?”

  Catherine’s eyes fill with tears. “She has not long to go, I fear. Do you think he can help her?”

  “Perhaps,” Isobel says.

  Catherine reaches out and clasps her hand. “I don’t understand what has happened. Why did they take the castle from Alexander? Why did they move us from the rooms we’ve always lived in? Alex has been sent to fight and he barely knows how to hold a sword. If Beatrice dies and something happens to him, I am alone in the world with my children, owning nothing.”

  “Lord Hume decides what is best for the family and we must accept that,” Isobel says. “I’m sorry to rush, but Arnault should see Beatrice at once. Afterward we shall join you for dinner.”

  Beatrice has been moved from her generous chamber into one that is mean and dark and on the northern side of the castle. A fire flickers in the corner but does little to reduce the cold. Isobel crosses the stone floor to the bed.

  “Beatrice?” she asks, taking her hand. Beatrice opens her eyes. There is a sickly pallor to her skin.

  “William?” she asks.

  “I could not bring him, dear Aunt,” Isobel says, her voice tender. “But I have brought William’s daughter.”

  Death is not far from Beatrice. I can see its shadow on her face as I come close by the bed.

  “Beatrice? Do you remember me?”

  Her eyes flicker and roam over my face; her mouth works. “Alison Douglas.”

  “Yes, though it’s really Alison Blackadder.”

  She reaches out a hand and takes mine, her fingers cold. “I must see William,” she whimpers.

  I squeeze her hand. “He is protecting the Queen. But he has sent me in his stead. Isobel tells me you have something for him.”

  She draws her hand away. “I can give it only to him.” She pulls the covers up to her chin and begins to shiver.

  Isobel’s face is hard in the candlelight. “This room is not good for you. I shall see if I can have you moved back to your own room.”

  Beatrice shakes her head restlessly. “Do not trouble yourself. The room matters little now.”

  Isobel strokes her forehead until she calms. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Vise a la fine,” Beatrice says. “A dram of whisky will help.” For a second I can see the ghost of a smile.

  “What do you mean?” Isobel asks.

  “Don’t you know?” I say. “The Blackadder credo. See it through to the end.”

  “I will leave you with Alison a little while and come back with the whisky,” Isobel says, stepping back. Before she leaves she calls a servant to build up the fire and light some more candles.

  I take Beatrice’s hand. She turns her head and for a moment I see a younger woman’s face under her creased skin.

  “Lord Hume took the castle from Alexander with a snap of his fingers, as though he had no right to it,” she whispers. “I looked in my mother’s papers for the old documents of ownership when Isobel told me about the bond you and William were to sign. I found a casket, well hidden. It contains a letter addressed to William.”

  “Did you read it?”

  She shakes her head. “I could not. I have thought William dead for most of my life. But why would my mother have written to a son who lies buried just outside? I can think only that her son must have lived.” She squeezes my hand tightly. “It must go to William and no other.”

  “I am his only child. Can you not give it to me?”

  She tosses her head. “I do not know who to trust! It cannot fall into the wrong hands. Whatever she has written must be dangerous for her to have hidden it thus.” She stares at me again, wild-eyed, and her voice rises. “I myself signed the Blackadders’ ownership of this castle over to the Hume family. What if I was wrong to do so?”

  “Hush,” I try to calm her. “It is done now.”

  Her face collapses and she begins to weep. “What injustice have I done my brother, if he lives?”

  I take both her hands. “Beatrice, you cannot change it. But I swear to you, I will take the casket to William. You can do that for him at least.”

  The door opens and Isobel hurries across the room to the bedside. She holds the whisk
y to Beatrice’s lips. Beatrice sips at it and closes her eyes.

  Isobel takes me by the arm and draws me away from the bed. “A rider has been sent to Wedderburn to report that I’ve returned,” she says quietly.

  I straighten up, my heart thudding. “What will we do?”

  “They will come for me and you will be discovered,” she says. “We must leave at once.”

  “Who can you trust?”

  “There is a lad in the kitchen who got the warning to me. I have sent word for the stableboy to take the horses outside and wait for us at the graveyard. I can trust him. We’ll take the secret way out of the castle.”

  “I must bring the casket for William,” I say. I step back to the bedside. Beatrice has sunk down into the pillow, her eyes closed. I shake her shoulder gently, but she doesn’t stir. I shake it again, harder, and her eyes open suddenly.

  “Alex, my boy?” she cries.

  “It’s me, Alison.” I lean close. “Where is the box for William?”

  “Under the bed.” She tosses her head, agitated.

  I bend down and draw out a small wooden casket, well carved, bound with iron and fronted by a stout lock. The key is inside it.

  Isobel kisses her on the brow. “We must flee. Goodbye, Aunt.”

  I come to the side of the bed, bend low, and kiss Beatrice’s cheek. “God be with you, Aunt.”

  “And you, my dear,” she says, in a second of lucidity before her eyes close again.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  The boy is waiting for us near the heat and bustle of the kitchen. He leads us round through the bakery and into the storeroom where the passage begins.

  “I thank you,” Isobel says to him, and I hear the clink of coin. “We may owe you our lives this night.”

  The three of us tug the stone out of the way. Isobel and I crawl into the tunnel and there is a loud grating as the boy slides it back into place behind us. It is dark at the other end and I put my hand on my dagger. The roar of the water rises up like a live thing as we emerge.