She squared her shoulders. I shall just have to be strong and rule for the two of us. Knox might think women the weaker sex, but Mary knew that he was wrong. I will prove it.
Chapter 18
Wednesday 9th October, 1566
MICHAEL WAITED THREE days before the queen and her party arrived in Jedburgh.
He spent the intervening time attending to Mist, hunting through every bookshop and stall in the town for books on equestrianism, and getting to know his new horse. He rode Spirit twice a day, through the town and up past the ruined castle towards Lanton Hill; along the banks of the Jed Water as far as Walkersknowe; or upstream passing Ferniehirst, Sir Thomas Kerr's castle. But he didn't dare stray too far from the town for fear of missing the arrival of Mary and the chance to deliver his message.
He was back at the Spread Eagle, ministering to Mist and checking the horse's sore leg, when the sound of cheering and a great clattering of hooves on the cobbles of the High Street alerted him to the approach of the queen and her court.
Running a hand through his hair and pulling his doublet straight, Michael ran through the close to the front of the inn, ready to greet his monarch.
It was the first time Michael had seen Mary, and he had a difficult job not to stare at her open-mouthed. Everything he'd heard about her was true—she was tall and graceful, with perfect white skin and laughing eyes. Dressed simply for travelling, she was still fashionable and comely, wearing a gold-embroidered velvet cloak over her heavy dress and white ruff, with her lustrous auburn hair looped up under a matching pearl-studded velvet hat, topped with a dancing white feather.
Sweeping a low bow as she passed, Michael knew he would be un-noticed, in the crowds and uproar that attended the queen's arrival, but felt safe in the knowledge that he'd left a message at the inn requesting an audience at her earliest convenience.
However, he was not unobserved. Rising from his bow, his eye was caught by one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. One of her eyebrows rose by the tiniest amount, her lips curling and her cheeks dimpling. With sparkling blue eyes, waves of dark hair peeking from under her embroidered cap, and an obviously curvaceous figure hidden under her riding clothes, she was beautiful. Possibly even more so than the queen.
Amused at himself for that treasonous thought, Michael smiled back at the lady and inclined his head, wondering if this noblewoman might suffice to occupy his mind and stop him thinking about Alexandra.
For, try as he might to force reason rather than emotion to rule his actions, the Englishwoman kept invading his dreams—and daydreams. Hard riding and hard drinking over the last days in Jedburgh had done nothing to dispel the image of her teasing eyes and lithe body that danced in front of him at every opportunity. Mayhap a well-educated and flirtatious lady from Mary's court would do a better job at clearing his mind and captivating his senses…
Quickly installed in the best rooms at the inn, Mary immediately got down to business. A messenger arrived for Michael, accepting his petition for an audience and requesting that he attend her immediately.
His pulse racing at the thought of meeting his queen for the first time, Michael's mouth was so dry when he was ushered into her presence that he wondered if he would be able to speak his message without croaking like a frog.
The place where Mary was holding her meetings was on the first floor of the inn. Normally used for banqueting, it was a spacious room overlooking the high street which allowed a glimpse of the clock tower at the top of the Canongate. With an oak floor, thick tapestries hanging on the stone walls, and a warm fire in the hearth, it provided good protection against October chills. And with two stout guards either side of the door, good protection against any ne'er-do-wells with traitorous intentions.
Rising from his bow, Michael was met by the clear green eyes of his sovereign. No longer dressed for travelling, the queen wore her customary black as a mark of respect for her late husband, young Francis II of France. But she was no dowdy widow. Instead—resplendent in satin, taffeta and velvet; bedecked in gold enamelled jewellery; with her hair arranged in fetching curls under a lace cap and a stiff white ruff to enhance the paleness of her face—she was breathtaking.
Even in his best doublet and clean shirt, Michael still felt dull and drab in her presence, and every word he had meant to say fled from his mind. Fortunately, protocol meant that he need not speak until addressed by the queen, and he had a moment to collect his thoughts.
"Sire," she said, with an inviting tilt of her head, "I am told you 'ave a message for me from my wardens?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Michael replied, swallowing hard. "Michael Cranstoun of Stobs, Deputy Warden of the Middle March, and Laird of Penchrise, at your service." He gave another small bow.
"Come closer so I may 'ear you more easily." After five years in Scotland, Mary's voice with its clipped vowels and lilting tone held just a hint of her French upbringing.
Taking a step closer, Michael cleared his throat. "As ye may know, ma'am, we Scots wardens meet regularly wi' the English wardens to dispense justice."
The queen nodded and waved a hand at him to continue.
"When we met on Friday, the English wardens were extremely concerned about clan Armstrong. They're said to have an army of three thousand men and are the most feared reivers in the whole of the Marches. We wardens worry that if the Armstrongs invade England, there will be—" Michael paused, and for the first time since he'd entered the room, cast his eye around the other occupants. Seated on stools on either side of the queen like jewels on a crown, were her ladies-in-waiting, and one dark-haired beauty in particular…
"—reprisals," he continued with a lift of his eyebrows. "Lord Scrope, in particular, made me uneasy, as he talked about asking Queen Elizabeth to send reinforcements to Carlisle Castle." Standing taller and taking a deep breath, he caught the lovely brunette giving him an appraising look from under her lashes. "We—the Scottish wardens, that is—wondered if it might be politic to quash these troublemakers before they pitch us into a war wi' the English?"
"Aha!" Mary smiled and clapped her hands. "It is already taken care of! We 'eard word of their exploits some days ago, while still in Edinburgh, and I sent my Lord Bothwell with three-hundred 'orse to deal with them."
A great weight lifted from Michael's shoulders, and the tightness in his chest eased. But he also felt foolish.
His errand, and all his hurry, had been in vain. He could have stayed at Stobs and saved poor Mist his injury, or waited in Liddesdale with Alexandra… He nipped that thought in the bud. "My apologies for wasting your time, ma'am. But I thank ye for receiving me at such short notice." He gave another bow, and would've turned for the door, but could not leave until the queen dismissed him.
However, some of his disappointment must have shown on his face, for the beguiling lady-in-waiting leaned in to the queen and whispered in her ear.
Inclining her head, Mary addressed him again, as a little terrier nosed its way from behind her skirts and scrambled onto her lap. "It 'as been a pleasure to meet you, sire, but the occasion 'as been too short." She petted the small dog absent-mindedly. "Would you do us the 'onour of joining us for dinner this evening, when we will 'ave more time for conversation? I 'ave to formally open the assizes this afternoon, but would learn more about your wardenship and your castle."
Michael had to work hard to stop himself from looking like a stranded fish as he gaped at the queen, heart hammering. Swallowing hard, he gathered his wits together. "I would be honoured, Your Grace. My humble thanks to ye."
Mary gave a small nod. "Until then."
His duty done, Michael left the chamber walking on air. Who would have thought that he, Michael Cranstoun, would dine with the queen? It was a great day for his clan and, if the pride swelling in his chest was any indication, a great day for him as well.
Chapter 19
AS IT TURNED out, Michael had very little opportunity to talk with the queen over dinner, for he was placed at a table with Sir Thomas Ker
r of nearby Ferniehirst, nephew of Michael's warden, Walter Ker, and the queen's senior ladies-in-waiting. Those, he discovered, were all four of them called Mary, collectively known as 'The Maries', thanks to their childhood upbringing in the French court. They were: Mary Beaton, Mary Seton, Mary Livingston and the temptress with the dimpled smile who had caught his eye that afternoon—Mary Fleming.
To distinguish them from the queen, who it seemed was only ever called Mary—the Mary—he discovered that they all had nicknames.
The chauvinistic churchman John Knox had made mistaken assumptions and called Livingston 'Lusty'—Michael raised his eyebrows at that—but the girls called her 'Livvy'; Beaton was called 'Beth', her surname deriving from Béthune in Flanders; Seton, who had vowed to eternal chastity, went by 'Ebba' after the Scots' Saint Ebba, who cut off her breasts to keep men away from her—Michael's eyebrows again went skywards; and finally, Fleming was 'La Flamina', so-called, he was told, because of her flamboyant personality.
Already at ease in their company, Michael laughed at those last words from the pretty Beth Beaton and was treated to a mock bow by the mischievous Flamina, who had seated him beside her.
"But you, sire, must call me 'Flam', as my friends do." She placed her hand on his arm.
"Only if you will call me Michael," he agreed, heavily aware of her touch.
"Of course! And after dinner, we must dance," she announced, turning back to the group. "If we can find musicians." Her forehead crinkled. "Do you dance, sire?"
"After a fashion," he said with a shrug. He gestured at the packed banqueting hall; every table surrounded by members of the queen's retinue and overflowing with the food and wine the innkeep and his staff had provided; tureens of thick broth, bowls of spiced trout and platters of steaming venison. "But there wilna be much room for festivities. Mayhap something more sedentary?"
Flam gave him a sideways look. "Or we could take a turn outside. You could show us something of your town?"
"Oh, it's not my town," Michael took a sip of Bordeaux. "Sir Thomas would be a better guide—my castle is some miles hence." He jerked his chin westwards. "Nearer to Hawick than Jed. But I'd be happy to accompany ye."
The way he pronounced Hawick provoked some laughter from the ladies. "Hoik!" exclaimed Livingston. "How quaint!"
Michael lifted a shoulder. "'Tis the way they call it hereabouts. Galashiels gets 'Gala', and Kelso becomes 'Kelsie'. 'Tis merely our manner of speaking here in the Borders."
"Well, I, for one, would like to learn more of these Borders," said Beth.
"Yes," agreed Flam. "Let us start with Jed after dinner. If Sir Thomas is game?"
Thomas, who was as dark and wiry as Michael was fair and broad, opened his hands. "Of course, my lady."
With a flash of her blue eyes, Flam touched Michael's arm again. "And then perhaps Michael can show us his castle? During the time when the queen is busy with her council? Beth and Livvy have left their husbands at home to join the queen on this trip, so we want to have some amusement in this new place!"
Michael swallowed. What had started out as a simple dinner invitation was now turning into something more lengthy, with proposals for after-dinner perambulations and now a trip to Stobs. He had thought to return next day, but… "I would be glad to," he replied gallantly. "'Tis a pleasant ride which is easily done in a few hours."
"Well, that's settled, then!" La Flamina clapped her hands and looked round at her friends as the servants delivered sweetmeats and spiced apples to their table. "Shall we do that on the morrow?"
There was little moon that night, but the air was crisp and clear, with stars pricking through the firmament and only the faintest wisps of cloud to be seen over towards the west.
As they left the Spread Eagle, Flam hooked her arm through Michael's. The ladies had dressed in simple dark cloaks, to hide their finery, and had been joined by a fifth—who, when Michael caught sight of the little terrier scampering along behind her, he realised was the queen! "Mary joins us?" he whispered to Flam.
Flam lifted a shoulder. "She loves to explore. And to dress as a commoner." And, indeed, the queen had left her jewels and satins behind, dressing like the others in dark colours and simple fabrics.
Sir Thomas directed them to the right, up towards the marketplace. And then he, too, noticed the queen, and stopped in his tracks. "Your Grace! If you are to join us we should take some of your guard."
"Nonsense," Mary said, taking Thomas's arm. "We 'ave you and Cranstoun to protect us, fierce Borders men both, and well-armed." She looked pointedly at the knight's longsword, hanging menacingly at his side. "No-one would dare harm us."
Clenching his jaw, Sir Thomas gave a curt not. "As you wish." He caught Michael's eye, then added. "You know I would give my life for you, ma'am."
"As would I, Your Grace," Michael agreed, picking up on Ferniehirst's apprehension and hoping it would not come to that. Few locals would be foolish enough to take on a knight, let along two well-armed and fit young men. But there was always the possibility of a plot or assassins sent from England. He squared his shoulders and resolved to be on his guard.
"So, 'tis settled." Mary's smile was charming. "Henceforth you shall be known as our protectors."
"You are too kind," Thomas replied with a small bow. "Now," he straightened and pointed to the town square. "From the marketplace, I thought we could walk up to the old castle."
The view from castle hill was spectacular, even in the dark. Standing on the grassy mound, under the ruined walls, the wide panorama of rolling hills before them was dissected by the dark, wooded valley of the Jed Water.
His voice low, Sir Thomas indicated the crumbling ramparts behind them. "The castle was occupied by the English so often that, around a hundred and fifty years ago, Balvenie ordered it demolished so they could no longer have a stronghold in our town."
As they stood taking in the night air and enjoying the view, Flam whispered to Michael, "Can we see your lands from here?"
"No," he replied in a low voice. "We face north-east. Stobs lies to the west. And there are too many hills in the way."
She nodded. "And," she looked at her hands, "will we meet Lady Cranstoun when we visit your castle tomorrow?"
Michael's eyebrows raised, unseen by Flam. Was she fishing for information? "No. There is no Lady Cranstoun. And I am laird, no' a lord."
"My apologies. You have never married?"
Michael shook his head.
"That is…surprising." She turned her face to look up at him. "You have your own castle, you're the warden. Surely you could have your pick of marriageable daughters…"
"Deputy warden," Michael corrected her, partly to give himself time to frame his reply. "I have lands but no title." He shrugged. "Father's title wasnae hereditable, and King James never corrected that in his lifetime. I am less of a prospect than you've so kindly implied."
"Ah. So you must find a titled lady. And marry for love?" She gave him a coy look.
Does she flirt with me? "That…is an option, aye."
Michael broke off. Coming up the Castlegait towards them was a dark figure, breathing heavily. Michael placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and stepped between the approaching man and the queen, pushing Flam behind him. On the other side of the queen, Ferniehirst too had jumped to attention.
"Who goes there?" Michael demanded, and the newcomer stopped.
"'Tis only I, Livingston," came the reply.
"Brother!" Mary Livingston pushed forward and went to greet him.
"I heard you were taking the night air and wished to join you," Livingston said with a small bow. A wide man, with curly dark hair and a strong jaw, Michael was relieved to see that Livingston wore a sword. So now there were three to defend the queen, should it be necessary.
Better odds, Michael thought, catching Sir Thomas's eye and glancing significantly at the weapon.
"Welcome, Lord Livingston," said the queen, then put her hand on Thomas's arm. "Now, shall we continue with our expl
oration?"
From the castle they descended to the abbey, the ladies exclaiming with wonder at its size and glorious architecture.
"The English destroyed the abbey not that long ago, when Your Grace was a child, but we still use a part of it as our parish church," Sir Thomas was explaining, when the sounds of shouting and a hullabaloo came on the night air from the direction of the high street.
Spinning on his heel, Michael's jaw dropped. For a glow lit the dark sky, and it seemed to come from the direction of their lodgings. "Make haste," he shouted to their party, "It looks like a fire!"
Chapter 20
WHAT TROUBLE HAVE my enemies caused now? Mary's skin chilled at the sight of the menacing flames, and she bent to pick up Jupiter.
In the market square, two brawny men manned the town's water pump, passing buckets of water down a hastily-formed chain of willing hands who appeared to have exited from a nearby alehouse. Their efforts were being directed by the town's red-faced blacksmith.
Stopping a safe distance from the Eagle, Mary and her group stood, open-mouthed, gazing at the nightmarish scene before them.
Mary wrung her hands. She would never forgive herself if any of the townsfolk here in this royal burgh got hurt or killed because of her rebellious lords, for they were surely responsible for starting the fire.
But maybe Flam's interest in young Cranstoun had been fortuitous, as it had taken Mary and her friends away from the inn at the time the fire was being set. If it had been an assassination attempt, it had failed…
Standing on the cobbles outside the burning building, the innkeep wrung his hands in his ash-greyed apron, his face smeared with soot and tears.
Nearby, Lord Seton, Master of Mary's household, was directing operations. A small man with a cleft chin, long nose and sandy hair, he was sending servants into the smoke to retrieve the trunks and boxes that had come with the queen's party, then directing them to stack the belongings in the centre of the street.
A Love Divided: A Scottish Historical Romance (The Reivers Book 1) Page 8