After the disaster at Solway Moss, the king fell into a deep depression. Returning to Edinburgh, he ordered a defense of the Borders immediately. Then becoming quite ill, he had retired to his beautiful Falkland Palace. His doctors sent the queen a message that the king was ill from eating shellfish. She had been at Linlithgow for her lying-in, and she could not go to him. Marie later always wondered, had she been able to go, whether she could have drawn him out of the darkness into which he had fallen. Instead, to her disappointment, she had given birth to a daughter.
When word of his daughter’s birth was brought to James Stewart at Falkland, it was the last straw. A son might have brought him out of his depression. Instead he declared, “It cam wi’ a lass, and ’twill go wi’ a lass.” After that he spoke no more, and refused to even acknowledge his priests. His handsome face to the wall, James Stewart died six days after his daughter’s birth, leaving Scotland once again in the hands of an infant monarch.
And Marie de Guise was furious at the selfish self-indulgence of her husband that had now left her alone in a cold, gloomy country. She would have to rally from her childbed as quickly as she could to defend the rights and person of her infant when at this point all she wanted to do was gather up petite Marie and return home to France.
But her daughter was now the queen of this cold, gloomy country. Marie de Guise was determined that this last child she had been able to bear her husband would survive to adulthood and rule with glory. Now, however, the young dowager queen would have to gather allies to protect her and her petite Marie.
The first order of business was to have the infant baptized. It was quickly done a day after her father’s death at the kirk of St. Michael’s near Linlithgow. At that point a struggle had begun for custody of the new queen. Two parties emerged, one led by the leading Roman Catholics of the land; the other by the leading Protestants. Cardinal Beaton produced a will allegedly signed by the king on the day of his death, which set up a regency council consisting of the cardinal himself; James Stewart, the Earl of Moray, the late king’s half brother, and the little queen’s uncle; the Earl of Huntly; and the Earl of Argyll. The man next in line for Scotland’s throne, the Earl of Arran, was ignored.
The Scots nobles favoring England, however, rallied under the leadership of the late king’s hated stepfather, the Earl of Angus, Archibald Douglas. Angus had been in exile in England since 1528. Now he returned, a large purse from King Henry in his possession, which allowed him to influence many. Cardinal Beaton was arrested and accused of forging James V’s will. Talks began to investigate the possibility of a marriage between the English king’s son and heir, Prince Edward, and the infant Scots queen.
It was an alliance that actually made sense. Mary Stewart had a claim to England’s throne by virtue of her paternal grandmother, Margaret Tudor. An eventual marriage between these two royal children might have led to a peaceful union between the two lands. Unfortunately, England’s king was a bully. He began making demands that could not, would not, be met. He wanted Scotland’s alliance with France repudiated. He wanted Edinburgh, St. Andrew’s, Dunbar, Tantallon, Dumbarton, and Stirling castles turned over to the English. But most impossible of all, he wanted the little queen sent to be brought up in England as soon as she could be weaned. That he actually believed any, let alone all, of his demands would be met was astonishing.
The Scots attempted to negotiate these terms. No castles would be turned over to England. The little queen, who had spent her first nine months at Linlithgow, was now moved to the more fortified Stirling Castle where she was crowned in the Chapel Royal with a gold bracelet of her mother’s while seated in Marie de Guise’s lap. She would remain in Scotland, which would maintain its independence. Two more treaties were attempted. Neither could be agreed upon, and Henry Tudor’s bullying continued.
The two political factions were actually moving closer to each other courtesy of Henry Tudor’s intractable attitude. A possible marriage was discussed between the Earl of Arran’s son, also an heir presumptive, and baby Mary. Cardinal Beaton returned as Scotland’s chancellor. Arran was made regent, and Marie de Guise was appointed head of the sixteen-member advisory council. Henry Tudor was not pleased by this turn of events. He wanted Scotland’s queen for his son. He began what was called his rough wooing of Scotland, and the Borders became a powder keg.
Once Archie was finally healed and strong again, Maggie and Grizel managed to slip him from the keep one morning, sending him out in a cart taking manure from the stables to fertilize the fields. It did not occur to the Hay men-at-arms that the cart returned with one man, and not two. Maggie had arranged to have a horse provided for Archie in the village. Carrying a letter of instruction to the Kiras and a few coins in his purse, Archie rode to Edinburgh. Upon his arrival in the city, he learned that the English king had in an effort to gain favor with Scotland released without ransom a number of nobles. They had just been brought to Edinburgh. Archie knew if his master was among those men, he would first go to his house beneath Castle Hill. He hurried to reach his destination.
As he turned into the lane where Fingal Stewart’s house was located, he saw a tall thin man slowly making his way on foot down the little street. From the back, there was something familiar about the man; yet Archie did not remember his master being so slender. The man stopped before Fingal Stewart’s house. His face was turned in silhouette. Archie stared hard. The face was gaunt, but it was familiar. “My lord! My lord!” Archie called, kicking the horse into a trot to reach his master. Yanking his animal to a halt, Archie jumped from its back. “My lord! Yer alive, praise be to Jesu and his Blessed Mother Mary!” He grabbed Fingal Stewart’s hand and shook it heartily, tears visible in his blue eyes.
Fin looked at the little redheaded man who was practically dancing a jig in the street. The little fellow seemed to know him and had addressed him by name. Who was he? Was he the man called Iver? No! He was Archie, wasn’t he? “Archie?” he said.
“Aye, ’tis me, my lord, come from Brae Aisir to see if I could find ye,” Archie said. “Aah, the mistress will be so happy to have ye home. She never gave up hope!”
Fingal Stewart sighed. “Archie,” he said, “I barely know ye, as memory has failed me since the battle. But tell me, who is Iver?”
“Why, my lord, Iver is yer captain,” Archie said. Then he reached for a key hanging from his belt, and opening the door to the empty house, ushered Fin in.
Reaching the hall, Archie was relieved to find a pile of fuel, which he used to start a fire in the hearth. “Are ye hungry, my lord?” he asked. “Ye look painfully thin to my eyes.”
Fin nodded. “Aye, I am hungry,” he admitted.
“I’ll go right to the cookhouse two streets over,” Archie said, “and get us something to eat, for I’m hungry myself. Will ye wait here for me, my lord? I’ll not be long, I swear it.”
Fin nodded again. He wanted to walk about this house, for to his relief much of what he had seen so far was familiar. He had been born in this house, he realized, and grown up here. “Aye, go and fetch us something to eat, Archie, and then I shall tell ye of my adventures these past months.”
Archie ran from the house and to the cookshop where he obtained a dozen hard-cooked eggs, a large rasher of bacon, a loaf of fresh bread, and a quarter of a small wheel of cheese, to which he added a covered container of ale. He paid for his purchases with a coin from his carefully concealed purse and hurried back to Lord Stewart’s house. He found his master dozing by the fire. Archie was very disturbed by how thin and pale Lord Stewart was. He had always been healthy and strong. Right now he didn’t look up to the task of taking on even a coward like Ewan Hay. What had happened to him? Had he been in an English prison?
The serving man brought plates and cups from the sideboard and set out the meal.
Then he woke Fin, and seating themselves at the board, the two men ate. Archie noticed that his master ate slowly and that his appetite was not what it had formerly been. This, he knew,
was the result of a poor diet over the past months. Finally Archie could no longer contain himself. “What happened to ye, my lord? Where have ye been?” he asked. “I would have remained with ye on the battlefield, but Iver would not allow it.”
“Ye were wounded grievously,” Fin said slowly. “I began to remember more when I saw yer face. Yer left arm?”
“Aye, healed now, but it will ne’er do battle again, I suspect,” Archie said. “It stiffens, especially in cold wet weather.”
“But can ye still sew a fine seam?” Fin asked him.
“Ye remembered that?” Archie chuckled. “Aye, I can still play the tailor for ye, my lord, and from the looks of what yer wearing, I had best see to something more suitable before we return home to Brae Aisir.”
“Brae Aisir?” It had a sweet sound to it, but he could not quite remember.
“I’ll explain, but only after ye tell me what happened to ye,” Archie said, attempting to keep his master from being diverted.
“After ye were taken from the battlefield I fought on, but an English horseman rode at me, and I had but a moment to duck his blade. It caught the side of my head, and the blood obscured my vision so that I lost control of my horse, and fell and hit my head, I recall. When I came to, it was almost night, and the scavengers were among the fallen. My boots were being yanked from my feet, and my family’s signet ring from my finger. I attempted to fight off the thief, but I was still weakened from the loss of blood. He gave me a hard smack upon my pate. I drifted in and out of consciousness for I don’t know how long. I was obviously picked up from the battlefield, and when I came fully conscious again, I found myself in a tiny cottage with an old woman.
“She had seen me being carried along with the other prisoners and swore that I was her son, Bobby, come home from battle. She was so insistent that I was her lad that they let her have me. She nursed me back to health, and while I knew I wasn’t her son I could not at that time recall who I was. I spent the winter in that cottage with Old Mother, as I called her. Bits and pieces of my memory began to return slowly. My name. And I had dreams of a man called Iver, and then of ye.” Fingal Stewart smiled weakly.
“Old Mother grew ill with the approach of spring,” he continued. “I could see she was dying, and as she did, her mind, confused until then, gained clarity. She knew I was not her son who went off to fight at Flodden years ago and never returned. I remained with her until the end and buried her respectfully. As I was now dreaming of this house, I knew I must get to Edinburgh where perhaps I might gain some answers. It was here ye found me this morning just arrived.” He left out his sojourn with the Fifes.
Lord Stewart’s tale had been fascinating, and it certainly explained why no ransom demand had come to Brae Aisir. Now it was Archie’s turn to help his master regain his full memory. “Ye asked about Brae Aisir,” he began. “ ’Tis where ye have made yer home these past few years. Yer wife is the heiress to Brae Aisir. Ye have two fine lads, and a wee lass born just over two months ago.”
“She didn’t want me to go,” Fin said slowly. “She grew very angry, didn’t she?”
“It was last summer she tried to stop ye, but before Solway Moss she was resigned to the fact ye would support yer kinsman, the king. Did ye know the king is dead, and our new queen just a six-month-old infant?” Archie asked him.
Fin shook his head. “Ever faithful,” he said. “ ’Tis my family’s motto, and why I insisted upon going. I remember I mocked Maggie. . . .” He stopped. “That’s my wife’s name, isn’t it?” he said excitedly. “Maggie! Maggie mine!”
“Aye, my lord,” Archie said, grinning. “ ’Tis yer lady’s name.”
“And my sons are David and Andrew,” Fin replied.
“Aye, my lord, Davy and Andrew. And yer new lass has been baptized Annabelle,” Archie told him.
Suddenly Fin’s excitement died. “I can’t remember what she looks like,” he said.
“Ye will, my lord,” Archie assured his master. “When we get home to Brae Aisir, ye’ll remember it all. I’m certain of it.”
“Tell me about Brae Aisir,” Fin requested of his companion.
And Archie did. He explained how they had been sent by the king. He had Fin laughing at how Mad Maggie Kerr would wed no man who could not outrun, outride, and outfight her. Lord Stewart’s eyes lit up with an obvious burst of memory that Archie’s tale prompted, and he nodded. Then Archie told his master the true value of Brae Aisir and its history; about the Aisir nam Breug, and its value. Finally he said, “The lady needs to know that yer safe, my lord, for Ewan Hay has made a wicked pact with the Netherdale Kerrs. Old Lord Edmund thinks to control the entire traverse so he may enrich himself further while Ewan Hay thinks to steal it from the Kerrs, and have the lady for his own as well. He is certain yer dead. Many at Brae Aisir believe it to be true, although they will not give voice to it for fear of offending yer lady wife. And they are not yet ready to give their loyalty to the Hay. But if he makes a marriage with a woman he believes widowed, the Kerr clan folk will have no choice but to give the bastard their loyalty. Ye have to get home, my lord.”
Fingal Stewart nodded. “I do,” he said, closing his eyes a moment, “but how can I return to a place, a responsibility, and a woman I cannot fully remember, Archie? Weak and confused as I now am, I should not be able to defend and protect any of them. I need time, and I am safer here in Edinburgh in my own house than back at Brae Aisir. I am hardly the man who outran, outrode, and outfought Mad Maggie Kerr.”
It was true, he realized as he spoke. His wounds still pained him. He had walked forever, it seemed. He hadn’t had enough to eat in months, and the ten days he had spent with Parlan Fife’s daughters had soothed his lust but exhausted him further. He needed a little more time to rest, to heal, to remember. And then he would return to Brae Aisir and kill Ewan Hay.
“At least send a message to the lady at Brae Aisir telling her yer alive and will return home shortly,” Archie said. “I’ll remain here with ye. With good food, and rest, yer memories are certain to return. Many already have. And ye’ll have me to help ye.”
“It’s as good a plan as any,” Fingal Stewart said.
“And I’ll tell Boyle, yer estate agent, that ye’ll not be renting the house for the interim,” Archie told his master.
“Who has been renting it?” Lord Stewart was curious.
“Ye’ve let the agent rent it out to lords and churchmen with no homes, but business here in Edinburgh. Kira, the goldsmith, has yer funds, my lord. We can live comfortably while ye remain in the town.”
Fin nodded. “Where is the queen now? Not the bairn; her mother.”
“Still at Linlithgow. The wee queen has become a prize to be squabbled over by the Protestant lords and those who hold with the old faith,” Archie said.
“Does Queen Marie ever come into Edinburgh?” Fin wondered aloud.
“I can listen to the gossip in the streets, my lord,” Archie replied.
“I would pledge my loyalty privily, but I suspect it is better I not go to Linlithgow where I might be seen. My loyalty is to the royal bairn, and not to the factions that seem to arise in cases like this. I remember when King James was a lad being fought over. The lords were like dogs with a particularly meaty bone.”
“It was not a good time,” Archie agreed.
“Angus was a bad stepfather, and Lord Methven little better. Queen Margaret was not the woman Queen Marie is. This Queen Mother will not take another husband as her predecessor did.”
“I believe yer correct, my lord,” Archie said. “Everything she has done so far has been done with measured carefulness for her daughter.”
That same day Archie went into the market to purchase parchment, ink, and a fresh quill. Bringing the items home, he helped Lord Stewart compose a brief missive to his wife.
Madam, he began, I have just returned home from England. I am quite alive but have been unable to communicate with you until now. Archie has joined me, and we will remain here whil
e I complete my business. You may expect me home within another month. My felicitations to your grandsire. It was signed, Your loving husband, Fingal Stewart. While his signet ring had been stolen from him, he had a another seal in his house. He pressed it deeply into the thick wax he had drizzled onto the parchment.
The next morning, Archie took the tightly rolled parchment and went to the small square where men who hired themselves out as messengers were waiting for employment. He stepped up on a square stone put there for the very purpose of hiring a man. “I need someone to ride into the Borders for me and deliver this message to the lady of the keep at Brae Aisir,” he called out. “There’s a silver piece in it for the man I hire.”
“The Borders grow more dangerous every day,” someone in the crowd of waiting men said. “Just where is this keep?”
“In the mid-Borders,” Archie said. “Away from Berwick and Carlisle.”
“Just deliver the parchment? Nothing else?” the voice inquired further.
“Just deliver the message to the lady of the keep,” Archie repeated. “Ye dinna have to wait for a reply. Just deliver.”
“I’ll do it.” A rough-looking bearded man stepped from among the crowd. “Where’s the silver?”
“Do I look the fool?” Archie said, glaring up at the fellow who stood at least six inches taller than he was. “My master is Lord Stewart of Torra House beneath Castle Hill. Come there when ye return with the name of the person at the keep into whose hands ye placed this message, and ye’ll have yer coin. Here’s a copper to show my good faith. Now will ye take the commission or nay? I’ve no time to haggle with ye. The price is indeed more than fair, but because the ride is long, my master is inclined to be generous with ye.” He tapped the rolled parchment against his boot impatiently.
The Border Vixen Page 31