by Sondra Grey
The pair had ridden in that morning and left their horses at the palace before taking to the streets. Leith knew that, upon returning to the palace, they’d no doubt have a summons from the King, beckoning them to an audience in front of his court. But that would be a few hours away. Leith had time to wander before he was forced to settle in and play courtier. The thought made him vaguely nauseous.
That he was forced to attend James’ court at all was a frustration he’d yet to come to terms with. But James had insisted.
In his effort to unite Scotland under one rule, James had made several forays into the highlands. His latest project: The Isles. Just last summer, he’d succeeded in wresting the Lordship of the Isles away from the MacDonalds. And while it was sour medicine to lose any control of the island to outsiders, the Macleods couldn’t gripe too much about the decline of the MacDonald clan. The Macleod blood-feud with the MacDonalds had caused many deaths over the years – to see the MacDonalds status lessoned on the Isles almost mitigated the presence of the crown. James had gifted control of most of the Macdonald land to The Earl of Gordon, who – in turn – had bequeathed it to his son Christopher – now married to Leith’s sister Anne. The King had also bestowed a good chunk of Macdonald lands to Leith’s father, and so the Macleods found themselves in possession of fresh territory and beholden to King James.
The alliance between the crown and the Macleods was an uneasy one, which is no doubt why James had summoned Leith to court. As his father’s successor, Leith suspected that James would want to make a friend and confident of the Macleod scion. Well – James would find Leith’s friendship and confidence not at all easy to earn. The Isles had always been their own entity, and the Macleods had never bowed to any King. That Leith had to do so now rankled him to his core.
Leith’s reluctance to enter James’ court was also why Leith’s father had sent along his nephew, Richard. While Leith was happy and amiable under the right circumstances, he was also prickly as a porcupine. Richard was far more affable and diplomatic than Leith – who wore almost all of his emotions on his sleeve. The Macleod had warned his son against revealing his true thoughts to the king.
I’m half convinced that James might push you, might look for an excuse to strip the Macleods of their lands and take the whole of Skye – gift it to Gordon, or that worm Argyle.
“Try to smile a little,” Richard said, giving his cousin an elbow to the ribs. “Those women were looking at us, and your scowl sent them away…”
Leith bared his teeth at Richard who muttered, “Never mind then…”
The pair strode up the Royal Mile and towards the palace. Their highland dress earned them a few glances, but no one looked too hard. Highlanders in Edinburgh were unusual, but not at all unheard of.
The King’s castle sat on the top of Castle Rock, and the closer the cousins came to it, the more of Edinburgh they could see, stretched out over seven hills. Behind Leith, in the distance, loomed Arthur’s seat, where the white stag had spared King David not 300 years earlier.
Oh yes, Edinburgh was rich with history, but that mattered to Leith not one bit. The city reeked of smoke, and piss, and unwashed bodies. There was no spruce, or pine, no rough and rugged mountains, or raw stretches of rocky plains and heathered hills.
Leith wanted nothing more than to saddle his horse and ride back towards the coast. But he wouldn’t be able to do that. Not for quite some time.
CHAPTER 4
U pon entering the castle, the cousins were informed that the King expected them to present themselves to the court that evening. Leith had expected no less and went to his room to freshen up. If a highlander knew anything, it was how to make an entrance. He shaved away the small beard that he’d let grow on his travels to the capital. He dressed in a fresh white shirt and his crisp blue and green tartan pinned with his silver crest. He’d let his hair grown long in the last year and he tied it back, securing it with a navy-blue ribbon. The shorter ends fell rakishly about his face. He grinned at himself in the looking glass – a luxury that his father would have spit at, but one that Leith didn’t mind in the least. He was a handsome man and he knew it, took pride in it.
When Richard knocked on his door Leith answered, nodding at his cousin who also looked well. Richard wore the clan colors. A few inches shorter than Leith, Richard had dark brown hair, shades lighter than Leith’s inky locks. Though handsome, Richard didn’t share his cousin’s impressive physique or magnetic presence. But there were some similarities between them. Both cousins shared their mothers’ green eyes and knife-bridge noses.
“Time to beard the lion in its den, then?” asked Richard cheerfully.
“Lead on,” grumbled Leith. “And be prepared to do the talking. I’ve nothing pleasant to say and should try to keep my mouth shut.”
“Sensible of you.”
“I don’t know why you’re in such a good mood,” Leith said, raising a dark black brow at his cousin.
“It’s not every day you get presented to the King at Court,” argued Richard. “James might be a lowlander, but he’s the Scots king. The best chance we have against England.” Richard glanced over his shoulder. “You remember what you’re to do?”
“Get on my bloody knees and pledge the fealty of the Macleods,” muttered Leith. “Hang my father…”
The closer the duo came to the great hall, the louder the din became. There were servants running about with trays, and courtiers dressed in an exotic rainbow of colors. Rich silks, velvet, wool, and the most ridiculous outfits on the men. Hose, cod-pieces, doublets, surcoats, jerkins, garters. You could tell the lowland lords by the bonnets they wore.
“What on earth?” Richard murmured, leaning into his cousin and casting his eyes towards the corner. A dark-skinned man wearing a plumed turban with a golden feather was holding court with several elegantly dressed women.
“A Moor,” said Leith, testily. “I’d heard James had a few Moor’s in his court. What a ridiculous costume.”
“You sound like our grandfather,” said Richard, catching a passing server and grabbing a cup of wine. “Will you look at that,” he said, flicking the end of his wine glass and hearing the ting. “Do you think that’s crystal?”
“So. They let the riff-raff off the islands did they?” A sharp, amused voice sounded over Leith’s shoulder, and he turned to see another man in highland dress approach. Leith blinked.
“Maclean,” he said, not hiding the surprise from his voice. “What on earth did you do to your face?”
“What this?” Adam Maclean touched the angry red welt that spoiled what had once been a flawlessly handsome countenance. Second son of the Maclean Chief, Adam Maclean was well known as a braw and courageous warrior. Leith had fought with the man side by side against the MacDonalds and the Camerons in at least a few skirmishes.
“A gift from Ewen Cameron. And I’m lucky he didn’t do more to disfigure me.” Adam shrugged. “And that was two years ago. I haven’t seen you in ages. What on earth brings you to James’ court?”
“What brings you?” countered Leith.
“Oh we’re quite beholden to James,” murmured Adam, coming close. “Confirmed the charter on our castle, he did, when he annexed the Isles. I suppose I’m here same as you.”
“Tell me,” asked Leith, taking a long draught of the wine, wishing it were ale. “What is your opinion of James?”
Adam cocked his head, scanning the room and considering the crowd before them. “Beyond all this ridiculous extravagance is a keen and calculating mind. You’ll not outwit James, so don’t think to try it. He’s friendly enough till you cross him. Don’t do it. Not here at least. I’ve seen a fair few lords taken down a peg because it pleases James to see them flounder before an audience. You’re here to pledge allegiance, aye?”
Leith nodded.
“So, make your pledge and make it genuine enough. And remember, when speaking to him in confidence, any piece of information you give him is a piece he can use against you.”
“He’s a king trying to unify his country against the threat of England and the old promises that France holds. He’ll do what he needs to do. Sold out his own father to win the crown, didn’t he?”
Leith snorted, eyes scanning the room. There was no sign of the king, nor would there be until the audience was called. Leith had already realized that this room was antechamber of sorts. That there was a grander hall, a dining room, beyond this one, where no doubt the king was sequestered with his advisors.
As was his wont, Leith’s eyes began to travel over the court women. He preferred the simpler way that highland women dressed, but he had to admit that all the face paint and finery did much to enhance the appeal of the court women. And there was a gaggle of young ladies all hovering close to each other near the antechamber door.
“Is the new queen in residence?” asked Leith, eyeing the young women. Adam glanced over, smile widening as it took in the remarkably pretty retinue waiting near the doors. “Keen eye, sir. Those are Margaret’s ladies, yes.”
There was one, standing slightly apart, who caught Leith’s attention. Medium height, she wore a beautiful burgundy gown that made much of a trim waist and high, rounded breasts. Her face was beautifully proportioned, skin milky, hair shimmering and honey brown beneath the sconce lights. She was listening with half an ear to the story the Moor was telling, and seemed lost in her thoughts. She looked quietly sad. Her eyes, large enough to balance and make beautiful an unusually bold nose, were trained on a spot on the floorboards in the center of the room.
“Who is she?” asked Leith, interest piqued, though whether it was the girl’s beauty or her melancholy he couldn’t say. He knew only that he wanted, suddenly, to make her smile.
Adam looked over and grunted beneath his breath. “She arrived two weeks ago,” he said. “Caused a bit of a stir here those first few day, though she’s done well enough to keep herself. I didn’t even see her there.”
How could he not have seen her? Her beauty was bold and alluring. That was not a woman made for blending in.
“Doesn’t answer the question of who she is,” pressed Richard. Leith realized he hadn’t responded. That he’d been lost in his observations.
“She’s one of the Earl of Argyle’s brood. Illegitimate, if rumors are true.”
“A bastard. And she’s in the queen’s retinue?” That alone was enough to shock Leith back to his present company.
“Well there are mixed stories regarding her presence here.” Adam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There are eight ladies in waiting. Margaret brought four women with her from England, and James chose the other four, honoring some of his closest allies by selecting their daughters to serve at court. James has a roving eye, and some are guessing that he chose to include the girl, himself. Other’s think that it’s Argyle’s doing, his way to subtly scorn Margaret’s Englishness – as we all know he was against this marriage. And those who think Argyle is thumbing his nose at Margaret think that James is too besotted with his new queen to notice.”
Leith frowned. “And what do you think?”
Adam shrugged. “James is a hedonist. I doubt Argyle would dare insult the King. The man has four other daughters. I think James sent for the girl himself. Just look at her.”
Leith was looking. “So she’s James’ then?”
Adam shrugged. “Nobody has seen them together. Though we’ve all seen James looking. Then again, most men are looking.”
“Not you, Adam? You don’t sound impressed,” asked Richard.
“I’ll not cross the king or queen by engaging with Argyle’s bastard. She’s pretty enough. But I’ll look from afar.”
A bell sounded, loud and clanging across the din. Adam straightened up, throwing his shoulders back and sent Leith a brilliant smile. “Ready, Macleod? You’re about to swear fealty. And you better make it good.”
Leith dragged his eyes away from the pretty, sad, young woman and mentally girded himself. “Right,” he said. “Best make this believable then.”
CHAPTER 5
E dane did her best to stay towards the back of the room, to keep herself in the thick of the crowd and keep as many eyes as possible away from her. The more she could keep people from seeing and speaking about her, the better. Perhaps Margaret might even forget about her. The king could lose interest and they’d send her back. Argyle would be furious, but Margaret’s slap had bruised her cheek and the queen’s threat from yesterday was still ringing in Edane’s ears. “If you touch him, I’ll kill you. Don’t think I won’t.”
The other women had avoided Edane like the plague, isolating her from any company beyond the occasional lord who’d come up, leered down her bodice and found an excuse to touch her: a hand on her low back, or the stroke of a finger down an arm.
Only the Lady Maxwell dared kindness. The old woman hated the English more than she loved reputation, and she despised the new queen as “soft stuff” with “mean eyes.” She also, apparently, detested the Earl of Argyle. When Edane had arrived, the Lady Maxwell had approached and began speaking of Argyle in thinly veiled barbs. When Edane had not objected, the Lady Maxwell had deemed Edane a “girl of good sense” and had decided to befriend her.
“What care I for the queen’s displeasure? She has no standing here, and certainly no hold over James. The man goes where he pleases.”
Edane was relieved to feel the old woman’s pinch above her elbow. “Hiding girl?” asked Lady Maxwell.
“Enjoying the ceremony from afar,” Edane corrected, crossing her arms. “What’s tonight’s entertainment to be?” It seemed James was amassing nobles for his wedding tournament. Each day had brought a new set of young men pledged to the tournament.
“There are a few new clansmen who’ll pledge tonight. And jugglers, from my understanding. What a bore.”
Edane smile froze in place as the King strode into the hall and towards his throne. James was a handsome man, to be sure, and Margaret was already besotted with him. She sat at his side, her English ladies hovering close. The new queen was young and spoiled. When bored she pouted, when amused, she tittered. Her outfits were always overdone, their styles more current than those of the Scottish courts. Edane didn’t hate many people, but she hated Margaret.
Upon meeting Edane, Margaret had immediately petitioned the king to send ‘That Slut’ home, and when the king refused Margaret had taken it out on Edane, slapping her, belittling her… Catherine Gordon, one the queen’s ladies, had warned the queen that such behavior wasn’t queenly, and so Margaret had taken to giving Edane menial tasks. Edane was called upon each morning to dispose of the Queen’s chamber pot. It was a royal honor to stitch the torn hem in the queen’s favorite gown, to get the wine stain out of the queen’s ivory silk…
Edane felt her fists curling at her side and willed her fingers to relax. While she wished she could return home, to Castle Campbell, there was a part of her that wished James would in fact, turn his attention her way. She’d take great pleasure in humiliating Margaret. But she knew that pleasure would be short-lived. She believed Margaret: if Margaret thought Edane was sleeping with James, the queen might, indeed, kill her.
Edane’s attention was recaptured when the herald called forward “The Macleods of Harris.”
“Who are they?” Edane asked Lady Maxwell. She couldn’t see the front of the room, could only see the back of their heads as two gentlemen strode forward. They were dressed in highland garb: Wool tartans instead of silk hose, and crisp shirts free from doublets or collars. There were a few highlanders in James’ court. Adam Maclean, Duncan Makenzie, Brian Lesley... The ladies in waiting gossiped about them incessantly: Just look at the turn of their calves! Such manly physiques!
“If they’re the Macleods of Harris, then they’re from the Isles,” responded Lady Maxwell. “James spent most of the past four years trying to gain ground on the Isles. He finally made headway with the decimated MacDonalds, and granted Lord Gordon the stewardship of the
Isles. Rumor has it he defeated the MacDonalds with help from the Macleods, and so they’ve come to pledge fealty, no doubt.”
Edane could barely hear the words that the pair of highlanders were exchanging with the king, but she could see the King’s face. He was watching the two men carefully. The shorter, paler of the two did most of the talking. And one point, both men took a knee, and when the taller man spoke, Edane couldn’t make out the words, but could feel the deep timber of his voice vibrate through the floorboards. One of the women standing near the front fanned herself. She saw Catherine Gordon’s eyes go round. A looker, was he?
When the young men were finished speaking, the King made a flowery speech about loyalty and a united Scotland. He claimed it was an honor to have the two Macleods fighting in his tournament. And then he dismissed them.
The highlanders stood and turned. Oh my.
Edane felt her own cheeks grow hot. The shorter one was attractive enough, but the taller one had a face that would make an angel weep. Angular cheeks, sharp nose, lips and lashes that any woman would die for. His eyes blazed dark green in his face, set off against the midnight black of his hair. He looked like a warrior, with broad and muscular shoulders, a lean, trim waist and firm, strong legs. Edane felt her mouth go dry. No wonder some women were fanning themselves. This was perhaps the most beautiful man that Edane had ever seen.
She watched as the highlander’s eyes roved over the crowd and could barely breathe when they landed on hers and held. Edane knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. She was trapped by that gaze. But he broke it eventually, and Edane tried not to stare as the two young highlanders fit themselves into the crowd at the back of the room.
“Looking a bit flushed, lass,” laughed Lady Maxwell quietly. Then she sighed. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be in your shoes.”