Mary shook her head. "We will leave early in the morning and return the same day. After that we head for Duns—Libby wants us to visit Lord Home's castle where we will meet her mother."
Tapping a finger on the hilt of his sword, Michael did some quick calculations. "'Tis a ride of about five hours, if we keep a fair pace. Leaving at dawn we'd get to Hermitage around…midday." He glanced at the queen. "If a couple of hours would suffice for your business wi' Bothwell, we could be back to Jed in time for dinner. And," this time he caught Flam's eye, "we could stop at Stobs on the way, to break our fast."
The days and nights in their prison cell seemed interminably long. With nothing to do save talk, sleep, and eat the meagre rations provided three times a day—if they were lucky—Alex and Hob, already friends, became closer than ever.
They talked about their past escapades; about their hopes and dreams for the future; and about how they both missed their mothers. Hob's mother had been lost in a farming accident when he was just a youngster, and Alex's had died a few days after she'd been born.
From what she'd been told, her father's marriage to Cathy had been one of expediency rather than love, so he did not mourn his wife over long but threw himself back into the work of his lands and began to build a name for horse-breeding.
Never having known her mother, Alex did not grieve either. But when she saw the affection and interaction between her friends and their families, she knew that there was something missing from her life, and it made her sad.
Being brought up by a housekeeper, and with her father often away from home on clan business, Alex had unsurprisingly grown up independent and headstrong. But she got some of that family feeling from her friendship with Hob.
In their clan it was an open secret—known by everyone but never talked about—that Hob's mother had melted Iron Simon's heart not long after Cathy's death; and that Hob was almost certainly Alex's half-brother.
It was something they both knew but had never talked about until now, and somehow it brought them closer still. Of all their cold, dark days in the cell at Hermitage, it was one of the few good memories that Alex would retain. It was almost worth the deprivations and worry, for now she had someone she could call brother.
Chapter 23
Wednesday 16th October 1566
THE DAY OF their trip to Hermitage dawned grey and drizzly, putting a damper on the spirits of the group, and persuading all of the Maries, save Flam, that they would rather stay at home than face a long ride in inclement weather. However Libby Preston was not put off by the weather, so the queen had two ladies in attendance, plus a group of her lords, including Moray and Maitland, with Sir Thomas to aid Michael as the party's guide.
Their stop at Stobs was brief but long enough for Flam to appraise the tower and its outhouses.
In its secretive location, with a long approach through the narrow valley beside the Slitrig Water, the misty air gave the tower a sense of mystery and otherworldliness.
But no amount of romance or fantasy could make Michael's keep into an impressive castle on the scale of Edinburgh or Stirling, and he detected some disappointment in Flam's demeanour.
She had flirted with him less since that day in the garden at Jedburgh, and for the rest of their journey to Hermitage, she rode with William Maitland, the queen's grey old secretary who had little to commend him save the grand castle of Lethington, near Haddington.
Michael kept his thoughts to himself, but this was a development he was glad of, for Flam's sake as well as his own.
At Mary's first sight of Hermitage Castle, she pulled her white palfrey to a halt, swallowing hard. She saw now why this keep had such a fearsome reputation and why her grandfather, James IV, had taken it under the control of the crown. For whoever owned this formidable fortress would be virtually unassailable, and if it fell into the hands of the English—as it nearly had, in her grandfather's time—this part of the Borders could easily pass to enemy control.
I am glad Lord Bothwell is trustworthy. He had proven himself a staunch supporter of both Mary and her mother, when she was regent, on many occasions. But if he ever deserts me… Mary took a deep breath. She would just need to keep him happy and keep him loyal.
A jangling of keys at their cell door wakened Alex from dreams of a blond-haired laird sitting in sunny meadow, picking daisies and twining them into her hair.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to the light of day and a reality that had more in common with nightmares—cold, hungry and captured by a notorious earl.
Rubbing her eyes, she sat up stiffly then ducked as some objects came flying towards her and Hob.
"Git yer boots on and come 'ere," said a guard who smelled as bad as she and Hob must, after over a week in Bothwell's prison.
Stuffing cold feet into her boots, Alex hobbled to the door, only to have her arms pinned roughly behind her back and her hands tied tightly at the wrists.
Beside her, a second guard tied Hob's hands, then the first commanded, "Follow me," and set off down the spiral staircase.
Hob caught her eye, his cheeks hollow and his freckles invisible under a layer of grime. He looked as worried as she felt. But they had no option but to fall in behind the heavily armed guard, following him down the stone steps and across the main court of the castle.
Alex chewed her lip, her stomach churning with worry about what fate might bring them next. Was the earl about to 'interview' her again? Or worse?
Chapter 24
ALEX STOOD IN the great hall of Hermitage once more, her heart in her mouth.
Again she faced the earl of Bothwell, but this time he was not alone, and there was no sign of his shrewish wife.
Instead, he sat swathed in bandages on a padded chair in pride of place beside a woman who could only be the queen of Scots, surrounded by a retinue of lords and courtiers. Resplendent in their velvets and jewels, the nobles reminded Alex of richly-hued peacocks and iridescent ravens—but they were very out-of place in this grey, colourless castle.
Alex felt out of place too; tired, dirty and malodorous after more than a week in the prison tower. But with Hob standing resolutely beside her, she took some small comfort from his presence. However, things didn't bode well; not with the might of Scotland ready to judge them and her nemesis, the earl, part of the jury.
Bothwell flicked a finger at the captives. "English reivers, ma'am. Caught them taking a horse from the Armstrongs."
"Not taking, retrieving," Alex burst out, heedless of protocol. If her hands hadn't been tied, she'd have put them defiantly on her hips. Instead she shook off her weakness and fatigue and stood tall and proud. "The Armstrongs had stolen Duke from our keep." She turned hot eyes on Bothwell. "We were on a trod."
"So you say," retorted the earl, "but I say that you saw the Armstrongs with a valuable stallion and, as an unrepentant reiver, decided you'd have him for yourself."
Bothwell's reply was like a slap to the face, and Alex had to steel herself to stop from reeling at his words. And then a movement behind the queen caught her eye, and her mouth fell open in surprise.
For leaning over, and whispering into the queen's ear was Michael, the last person she'd have thought to see here. But thoughts of those blue eyes, his kind smile and that glorious golden hair had sustained her during many a dark hour in the prison tower, and she would recognise him anywhere.
She was still recovering from the shock of seeing him here when she spotted the beautiful brunette who stood beside him, with a smile dimpling her cheeks and her gaze fastened adoringly on Michael.
The bottom fell out of Alex's world.
Michael had a—wife?
It was the first time Michael had ever been inside Hermitage Castle, and he hoped that it might be the last. Even with a fire crackling in the oversized hearth and thick tapestries hanging on the walls, it was a dank, soulless place that sapped at his energy and made his skin crawl.
Mayhap it was the reputation the castle had—there were stories of its wicked
first laird being boiled in lead by his servants, an enemy English baron drowning in suspicious circumstances in a deep pool, or an early owner starving a rival to death in the vile dungeons. And of course, the current incumbent, James Hepburn, was notoriously ambitious and cruel, even if loyal to Queen Mary.
'Tis not a place I want to tarry in, Michael thought with a shiver, as the guards brought in the first prisoners and everyone turned their attention to the open space at the centre of the great hall.
But when the two miscreants were pushed into the makeshift courtroom, Michael thought for a moment that his eyes deceived him; that he was now hallucinating about the Englishwoman as well as dreaming about her every night. However, as soon as she jutted her chin and contradicted the earl with her usual fearless spirit, he knew that it was Alexandra. His Alexandra. Bone-thin, grimy and dishevelled, yet still enchanting.
He had no idea how the Englishwoman had ended up in Bothwell's prison, and he hoped for her sake that the dungeons weren't as gruesome as he had heard, but he was sure that she told the truth. If the Armstrongs had somehow got hold of Duke, then of course she would try to rescue him. He would have done the same for Mist. And probably Spirit too, now that he had got to know the new horse better.
Michael cleared his throat, and it had the desired effect.
The queen's head tilted in his direction. "You 'ave something to say, Cranstoun?" she murmured.
He inclined his head. "Aye, Your Grace."
The queen lifted a hand, silencing Bothwell—and Alexandra too, surprisingly. "My Lord Cranstoun wishes to speak."
Michael stepped forward, wetting lips that had suddenly gone dry. "My Lord Bothwell, there is an easy way to prove this woman's claim." He opened an arm, indicating Alexandra and Hob. "Bring the horse here, and let the girl ride it. Then let one of the duke's men ride it, and see who has the mastery of the beast."
"No!" Alexandra cried out, and every eye turned in her direction again. "Let this man be the rider." She jerked her chin at Michael. "And I should ride second, lest he divines my methods or signals."
"That would be more fair, I think," said the queen. "Cranstoun is a skilled rider." She turned to Bothwell. "Have your men saddle the horse and bring it…" she paused a moment, her brow wrinkling, "to the courtyard below. The portcullis should deter any ideas of escape."
His heart in his mouth, Michael mounted the black stallion, with a crowd of curious onlookers scrutinising his every move.
Nudging Duke forward, Michael walked him around the makeshift arena, remembering Alexandra's cautions not to be too forceful with his commands. I have to be quick. And make this look good. But not too good. He needed to live up to the queen's belief in him, but leave room for the Englishwoman to dance and trick with the horse, as he knew she could.
He glanced behind him, wondering where Alexandra had got to, and at that slight change in his balance, Duke's shoulders swung around, and he ended up facing the other direction. Michael clenched his teeth, then gave the queen a small bow. Pretend you meant that. Then he urged the horse forward again, thinking to trot a circle, then canter, and leave it at that.
But it seemed Duke could read his mind. For rather than walking sedately around the circle, the horse took one step and then skipped into a slow canter, his shoulders light and his stride so comfortable it felt like riding on air.
For half a circuit Michael just sat there, unable to stop a grin spreading across his face. When they'd been escaping the Armstrongs, he'd not really had the chance to appreciate how remarkable this horse was. But now that he could properly appreciate riding him, he understood how Alexandra would risk the Armstrongs and Bothwell's prison in order to rescue him. He was an aristocrat among equines. A true Duke.
Passing opposite the stairs to the Douglas Tower, Michael finally spotted Alexandra on the other side of the ring. Without meaning to, he turned slightly towards her—and Duke took that as another signal. Suddenly he was pirouetting, almost on the spot, his shoulders skipping a yard or so with every stride whilst his hindquarters bounced around in a tiny circle.
Michael almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Without meaning to, he had made the horse dance. But I must stop, or there will be nothing left for Alexandra to show.
Once again, his thought was Duke's command. With a graceful 'one-two' of his front feet, the horse halted, happening to end up facing the queen.
Michael thought quickly and swept the bonnet from his head, bowing as deeply as he could manage from atop the black stallion, before leaping off.
The queen quirked an eyebrow. "Very impressive, Cranstoun."
Michael patted Duke's shoulder. "This horse has been very well trained."
"Indeed," Mary replied. "Now, let us see the prisoner ride him."
With that, Alexandra was pushed forward, rubbing her wrists where they'd been untied, her eyes blazing furiously at Michael.
His heart sinking, Michael realised that he must've made too good a show. He swallowed. How can I make it up to her? And then inspiration struck.
"Let me adjust the stirrups for you, my lady," he said, giving Alexandra a significant look then turning to adjust Duke's saddle. "I'm sure you will need your stirrups set right to ride this fine beast."
She took the hint. "No." Her nostrils flared. "Remove the saddle," she said imperiously, and a mutter went around the crowd. "And the bridle," she added, and this time there was an audible gasp from the onlookers.
Alex gave her hands a shake to ensure that they worked properly after being tied so tightly. Then she circled her shoulders gingerly, testing how well her broken bone had knitted, and faced Duke.
It felt so good to see the horse again, and she had enjoyed watching Michael ride him, even if she was upset about his wife and annoyed because he'd ridden better than she had hoped. But that is why you like him, she told herself. Liked him, she corrected. Because he rides well and wants to ride better.
Michael took a step towards her, to leg her up onto Duke, and caught her eye. The intensity of his stare made her heart beat faster, and she had to make a conscious effort to break his gaze before anyone watching would suspect that they knew one another, or that she felt anything towards him. For in this evil earl's lair, with Michael's wife standing nearby, that could be fatal—for both of them.
But that one look, and the effect he had on her pulse and her emotions, was enough to remind her that she didn't just like him because of his skill on a horse. But I must put that behind me. He is not for me.
As Michael boosted her onto the horse, he gave her calf a quick squeeze of reassurance, a signal that would be invisible to the onlookers, but helped calm her nerves, even as it confused her emotions. Had he been married, just days ago when he kissed her so passionately? He didn't seem the type to cheat on a wife—and especially one so beautiful as the maid beside the queen. He was an enigma.
Taking a moment to settle herself on Duke's back, Alex took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind of thoughts of Michael, for that would not help her now. She focussed her attention on the horse, sat tall, then gave the tiny nudge with her calves that would send him forwards.
After a week of inactivity and hunger in prison, her muscles were not as strong as they should be, and her shoulder was still damaged, so she would need to keep this display short—but impressive.
With a nudge of her knee, she gave Duke the signal to start 'Spanish walk', and the impressive and imperious lift of each foreleg in turn raised a murmur of awe in the watching crowd.
Turning across the centre, Alex halted Duke in front of the queen, then lifted her weight slightly until he started to walk backwards. Once he'd gone far enough, she stopped him, then mimed a curtsey, before sending him forward into the hovering trot the Italians called 'passage'. After one circuit, she slowed him until he was trotting on the spot. In piaffe, she pirouetted him until he faced the other way, and then nudged him into canter.
Michael had already stolen her thunder by performing a canter pirouette, so
instead she made Duke perform 'flying changes' every second stride, which made him skip along as if he were dancing.
This was more taxing on her muscles and energy, and after one circle she had to slow Duke to a walk and then stopped, again in front of the queen. Heart in her mouth, she gave a command she'd only ever practised from the ground, hoping that Duke would remember what to do, even without her standing in front of him and pointing.
"Bow!" she said, and, after a moment's hesitation, Duke bent and lifted a foreleg, leaning his neck and head towards the ground.
Alex used the momentum of his movement to throw her leg over his neck and slide to the ground, landing on her feet beside his shoulder, where she, too, bowed deeply to the queen.
Rising from her bow, she felt a moment's trepidation. Did I do enough? It was not only her own fate that depended on this, but also that of Hob, Duke, and their other two horses. And as heiress to Kersdale, the fate of her family name depended on her too.
Chapter 25
MICHAEL LET OUT a deep breath as Alexandra finished her dramatic display and bowed to the queen, hoping that it was not only he who had been impressed.
But he need not have worried. The queen's face was wreathed in smiles, and she clapped her hands in delight. At this signal, the lords and ladies surrounding her burst into applause.
As Alexandra stood up from her bow, for a moment she looked bewildered at the reaction, and then she blanched, and her legs began to give way.
In a heartbeat, Michael leapt forward and grabbed her around the waist. He looked angrily at Bothwell. "When did you last feed these prisoners? This woman faints from lack of nourishment."
Bothwell had the grace to look embarrassed, but the queen forestalled his answer.
"Call the boy over," she commanded, "and bring some water for the girl."
A Love Divided: A Scottish Historical Romance (The Reivers Book 1) Page 10