The courier felt a sudden loss at her departure. She was nae a pretty woman, but by God she had such great charm a man could forget that her face was plain. He wondered just what the Earl of Duin would do with that small scrap of information he had given the countess. And what had been in the message that the earl needed to know from where he had ridden, and whether he had ever been to Dumbarton before. Turning from the cell door, he lay down on his cot. It wasn’t likely he would ever get the answer to his questions, but he had enjoyed his brief conversation with the Countess of Duin.
Annabella had returned to the hall to find Angus waiting. “The Hamiltons move their encampment every few days,” she told him. “And our courier is for hire. He had never been to Dumbarton before. It’s perfect, my lord! I can dress as the young man I was in France and carry this message to Lord Fleming. The castle will afford me its hospitality until they need me to carry a message for them. I will be able to overhear all sorts of gossip, for no one pays particular attention to servants or men who carry messages. And then I will return to ye wi’ the answers we seek!” Her voice was excited, and her eyes alight with her enthusiasm.
“Nay,” he said. “’Tis too dangerous for ye. Listen to me, Annabella. When ye followed me to France ye had little contact wi’ others. Aboard ship ye were careful to avoid the company of the other passengers or the crew. Ye kept well to yerself. It was easy for ye to pass yerself off as a young serving man under those circumstances. But Dumbarton is a large fortress, and ’tis filled wi’ many soldiers. Fleming’s family will be there, but they are few. Mostly ’tis a male population. It will be difficult to keep yer identity hidden, and if ye are found out, God help ye. If ye can even reach Lord Fleming to beg his mercy, he is nae apt to give it. Instead he’ll gie ye to his soldiers. Ye’ll nae survive in their tender care.”
Annabella gasped as the implication of her husband’s words struck her. Then she said, “But we need to know when these assassinations are to take place so we may gie Moray warning. We canna just let them happen, Angus.”
“We may hae no choice in the matter, sweetheart,” he told her.
“I’ll go,” a young voice piped up.
They turned to see Annabella’s protégé, Callum Ferguson, who was now fifteen, standing there. “I overheard,” he said apologetically, blushing slightly. In the years since Callum had come to live in the castle, he had grown tall, and become very clever with his mathematical skills, helping out in the household steward’s office now.
Chapter 16
Nay, ’tis too dangerous for ye!” Annabella cried. “Ye’re still a lad!”
“I can do it,” Callum insisted. “Ye need a pair of sharp ears inside of Lord Fleming’s fortress. There are couriers as young as I am, my lady. I can do it!”
“He could,” the earl said; then he looked at the boy, who was now almost six feet in height. “But it is indeed dangerous, lad. Ye dinna hae to do it.”
“Lady Annabella hae educated me. I can beg a place of the castle steward, and when he learns I can read and write and do numbers, he’ll consider himself lucky. He’ll gie me a place in the household, and I’ll learn much.”
“Aye!” Angus said enthusiastically. “He could do it, sweetheart!”
“But what if they discover he is a spy?” Annabella fretted.
“I think if Callum is careful, and takes nae chances, there will be nae reason to suspect him of anything,” the earl said.
“But should he overhear something that will be of value to us, how will he be able to leave Dumbarton wi’out causing suspicion so he may tell us?” Annabella wanted to know. She was not about to send this intelligent young lad into needless danger. She had not educated him to face death, but rather life.
“I will place someone in the town below the castle,” the earl said. “Callum will determine an excuse to go into the town, meet up with our agent, and pass the information on to him. Then he will return to the castle to tell the steward that while he was in the town he met up with someone sent from his village, come to tell him his mother was dying. He will ask permission to return home. They will gie it to him and he will be back at Duin before we know it, safe and sound.”
“Ye make it sound simpler than I suspect it really is,” Annabella said.
“I can do this, my lady,” Callum repeated. “I can!”
The Countess of Duin looked to her husband. “Angus?”
“He’s a braw lad wi’ a good head on his shoulders, sweetheart. All he needs do is listen, remember anything of import should he hear it, and return home to Duin wi’ whatever small knowledge he hae gained,” the earl said.
“How long must he remain at Dumbarton?” Annabella wanted to know.
“No more than two months, laddie,” Angus Ferguson said, “and ye’re to come home earlier if ye learn what we need to know sooner. The Queen’s Men plan to assassinate several important lords. I need to know when this wickedness begins. The three men who are likely to be targeted are James Stewart, the Earl of Moray, the regent; Matthew Stewart, the Earl of Lennox, the wee king’s grandsire; and John Erskine, His Majesty’s royal governor. The targets I am certain of, but I know not when these murders are planned. If I am to warn Moray, I must learn that if I can.
“Do ye understand, Callum? Ye are nae to put yerself in any danger. Ye’ll tell them at Dumbarton the messenger took ill upon arrival at Matthew Ferguson’s house. That because he believed the message to be urgent he asked Matthew to send one of his serving people to Dumbarton with the packet he carried. When ye hae delivered the message, linger about for a day or two before ye ask the household steward for a place. Remember to tell the steward ye read, write, and can do numbers.”
“Aye, my lord!” Callum Ferguson was very enthusiastic and excited to be entrusted with this mission.
“And when ye return,” Angus Ferguson told him, “I’ll want ye to help me wi’ my correspondence, if it would please ye to remain at Duin. I find I am in need of a secretary, Callum Ferguson. If ye’re old enough now to take on such a mission as ye’re about to take on, then ye’re old enough to serve me.”
“Thank ye, my lord!” The young man’s eyes were shining.
“Ye’ll leave Duin early on the morrow,” the earl said. “Tell the stable master I said ye are to hae a swift and sturdy horse.”
“Aye, my lord!” Callum hurried off.
“Are ye certain he will be safe?” Annabella asked her husband.
“If he follows my directions, he will be,” her husband answered her. But later in the evening, when Annabella was seated with her sister and their children, he sought out the lad, reminding him once again not to take any chances.
The following morning Callum Ferguson rode forth from Duin and took the road to Dumbarton. The horse he rode was young and quick. Callum carried no coin, only the packet for Lord Fleming. There was a dirk in his belt but nothing more. He reached Dumbarton after almost two days of riding. He could see it long before he reached it. The great fortress of a castle had been there in one form or another for so long that no one could quite remember when it had first come into existence. Massive and built of dark rock, it sat high on a great black cliff above the River Clyde, a town at its feet.
Callum urged his horse up the narrow path leading to the castle’s entry. “Urgent message for Lord Fleming from the Hamiltons,” he called out, and he was admitted through the portcullis gate. He dismounted in the courtyard. His animal was taken from him and led away. A man-at-arms came up to him.
“I’ll take yer packet,” he said.
“Nay,” Callum replied. “I have been told to put it into Lord Fleming’s hand, and nae one else’s.”
The soldier shrugged. “This way,” he said, leading the boy into the castle.
Callum carefully memorized the way so that, should he need to retreat in a hurry, he would know it. They went upstairs and through ill-lit corridors, finally stopping before a door. The soldier knocked, waited, and the door was finally opened by a small ma
n who looked rather harassed.
“Messenger for His Lordship,” he said. Then he went off.
“Well, give me the message, lad,” the rumpled man said.
“Are ye Lord Fleming?” Callum asked, suspecting he wasn’t.
“I am my lord’s secretary,” the man said, peering closely at the boy.
“I was told to only place this message in His Lordship’s hands,” Callum replied.
“His Lordship is a busy man,” the secretary said.
“I’ve ridden two days wi’ little rest for me or my horse,” Callum said politely. “My master told me to place this packet in His Lordship’s hands, and His Lordship’s hands only. I would be a poor servant if I disobeyed him because I am hungry and tired.”
“Let the lad in, Allan,” an amused voice called from the depths of the chamber.
“Very well, come in then,” the secretary said irritably. “There is His Lordship.” He pointed across the chamber, where a man sat in a high-backed chair before a rectangular table spread with parchments.
Lord Fleming beckoned Callum. “What is it ye hae for me, lad?” he asked.
“I carry a message from the Hamiltons, my lord,” Callum answered politely, holding out the leather packet.
“Ye look young to be a messenger,” Lord Fleming said as he took it from the boy. “From where do ye come?”
“I am nae the Hamiltons’ original courier,” Callum said. “Their messenger was verra ill when he reached my master’s house. ’Twas my master who sent me to ye, my lord. The Hamiltons’ man seemed to think the message was of some importance.”
Lord Fleming had opened the packet and taken out the parchment within, which he spread open before him. He scanned it quickly, then refolded it. “ ’Twas nae really that urgent,” he said to Callum with a smile, “but I thank yer master for his diligence in seeing it was brought to me. Who is yer master?”
“The steward of Duin, my lord,” Callum answered him. “His dwelling is a way station for the Queen’s Men coming from the borders.”
“Ahh,” Lord Fleming said with a nod. “I hae heard that, though I am told yer earl does nae support the queen.”
Callum said nothing.
“Well, then, lad, go to the hall. Tell my steward I said ye were to be fed and sheltered for yer service,” Lord Fleming told the young man. He turned to his secretary. “Allan, direct our young messenger to the great hall. Then come back. We have much work to do, and the day is almost gone.”
“Thank ye, my lord,” Callum said with a small bow.
Grumbling beneath his breath, the old secretary led the boy to the wide corridor leading to the great hall. “It’s at the end of this hallway,” he said. Then he turned about and hurried off.
Callum found the great hall easily. He inquired of a servant for the castle’s steward, who granted him a place at one of the lower trestles and said he might sleep in the hall itself. The boy lingered for the next few days, speaking little but listening a great deal as he moved discreetly about the hall itself. He learned that while, discouraged, she had fled into England, where she was now more prisoner than honored guest, Mary Stuart was still beloved by those within the castle. He heard whispers of a plot to restore the queen to her throne, but he learned nothing that was not really common gossip in all of Scotland. Finally, after two days, he sought out the castle steward once again.
“Would ye consider gieing me a place here?” he asked the man.
“Who are ye?” the steward said.
“I’m the courier who brought a message to Lord Fleming several days ago,” Callum reminded him. “I can read. I can write. And I can do numbers. There is opportunity here for me. If I return home I must toil in my father’s smithy.”
“I dinna know,” the steward said slowly. He looked the boy before him over. His hair was a bit shaggy, and his clothing was hardly elegant, but if he told the truth about reading and writing, he might very well be of use. Allan, His Lordship’s secretary, had been complaining about having to write letters for Lady Fleming when he was so busy with more important things to do for His Lordship. His hair trimmed, the rough clothing replaced, the boy might serve as Lady Fleming’s scribe. “Perhaps I have a place for ye,” the steward said. “But first I must hae yer hair trimmed, and find more respectable garments for ye.” He then went on to explain to Callum that Her Ladyship could use him to write her letters. She was a great letter writer.
“Thank ye, sir!” Callum bowed to the steward, who was further pleased by this show of manners.
The boy was sent to the kitchens, where his hair was trimmed and he was bathed so that the stink of horse would not offend Lady Fleming and her woman, and then he was given fresh garments of a more suitable sort for a lady’s scribe. Callum made certain, however, to retain the breeks and shirt he had formerly worn. The old laundress told him she would wash his garments and return them to him. He had to admit he was surprised by all this fuss just so he could serve Lady Fleming.
He returned to the hall, presenting himself to the steward once more.
The steward nodded, pleased. The lad had cleaned up nicely. “Follow me,” he said, and led Callum to Her Ladyship’s apartments, where Lady Fleming and her women were now gathered. He bowed, and Callum followed his lead. “Here is the lad I’ve found to be yer scribe, my lady,” he told her. “His name is Callum and he will serve ye well.”
“I must see an example of the boy’s writing,” Lady Fleming said. “Ye say he can write, but how he writes is more important than the fact that he can.” She spoke directly to Callum. “Go to the table there. There is parchment and ink. I would see an example of yer skills, Callum.”
“Aye, my lady,” the boy said, going immediately to the desk, seating himself, and taking up the quill. He spread a piece of parchment out carefully, thought a moment, and then wrote quickly. They could see the words forming upon the vellum. When he had finished he silently handed it to Lady Fleming. She read it and laughed.
“What did he write? What did he write?” demanded her women.
Their mistress read from the parchment: “‘Madam, I will consider it an honor to be in yer service. Yer most humble servant, Callum Ferguson.’ ”
“Ye write very well,” Lady Fleming said. “Who taught ye?”
“The Countess of Duin,” Callum answered truthfully.
Lady Fleming nodded. The name was vaguely familiar but of no importance to her. “He will do very nicely,” she told the steward.
Callum was pleased that so far the plan formed by the earl and his wife was working so smoothly. Now a part of the family’s household, he was apt to hear things he might not otherwise hear. He made certain not to be absent from Lady Fleming’s presence. He was always available when she needed someone to fetch something for her. He was young enough that she felt no shyness in speaking before him. Soon Lady Fleming found Callum, her scribe, indispensable. He was allowed a place at the far end of her table, even as Lord Fleming’s secretary was given a place at the opposite end. He ate quietly, and he listened.
And then one day his listening was rewarded. When Lord Fleming spoke at his high board, those seated with him did not speak over or around him, so Callum heard him quite clearly as he spoke with his wife.
“It hae been decided,” he said.
“Must more blood be shed?” Lady Fleming said.
“Do ye truly believe that Moray will ask his sister back to take up her throne again now that he hae all the power in his own hands?” Lord Fleming said. “It will nae happen, madam. They want a Protestant king, and the only way to gain one is to raise one.”
Lady Fleming sighed. “How soon will it be?” she inquired. “And how soon before we may welcome our dear queen home?”
“Moray will be the first,” Lord Fleming said. “As soon after Twelfth Night as we can. Then the others as quickly as we can run them to ground. Once Moray is dead the others will know the hunt is on and make provision to defend themselves. And remember too that they hold the
wee king. The queen cannot return until we have destroyed her enemies. And after that we will have to go down into England to rescue her. It will be several months, but hopefully by summer Scotland’s queen will be restored.”
“She is fond of James Stewart, despite everything that has happened between them,” Lady Fleming noted. “She is sentimental when she recalls her childhood before France at Stirling. He was the oldest of the bairns. She looked up to him.”
“Which is why it is better to dispose of him quickly, and first,” Lord Fleming said. “She detests Lennox and will weep no tears over him. As for Erskine, it is a necessary evil we face, for he also is kin, but it must be done.”
Lady Fleming nodded. Then she crossed herself and continued eating.
At the far end of the table Callum listened while he ate, and stored away the small nugget of information. In the days that followed he heard nothing more. When Lady Fleming asked him to go into the town to fetch her a supply of a particular sweet she loved, he knew he must use this opportunity to execute his escape. He visited the sweetshop and was pleased to learn he would not have to come back.
“She always orders these sweets near the holiday,” the sweetshop owner told Callum. “We have them in readiness for her,” he said, handing the lad a large square box. He thanked the man and then continued on his way, walking through the town until he heard a familiar voice at his elbow. Turning, he saw one of his kinsmen and stopped. “Rafe, ’tis time for me to return to Duin, isn’t it?”
“Aye, lad, it is,” Rafe said.
“I’ll tell them, and meet ye on the morrow just after dawn on the road to the borders,” Callum said.
Rafe nodded, and then disappeared into the crowded marketplace near where they had met. Callum rode back up to the castle. He brought his mistress her sweets, saying, “May I speak wi’ ye, my lady?”
Lady Fleming popped a sweet into her mouth, and a look of delight passed over her features. She waved a hand at him. “Aye, Callum.”
“I must beg yer permission to leave ye. When I was in the town I was approached by a kinsman who had come to find me. My mam is very ill, Rafe said. They think my mam may be dying. He was sent by our priest to fetch me home to Duin,” Callum said.
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