On Gavin’s return to Naughton Castle, McNairn the factor informed him that Marie was with the Queen at Holyrood. Two letters also awaited him. To his dismay, Gavin noted that the first was from the moneylenders. Their demands were becoming more and more outrageous. How much longer would he be able to keep these dogs at bay, he wondered, as he flung the parchment down in disgust. Picking up the other letter, he was cheered to see that it bore the seal of the Earl of Edinburgh. Guthrie Jamieson wanted to meet him that very day to discuss their joint endeavour. He would be at Naughton that afternoon. Gavin was impressed. Once Jamieson decided to do something, there was no stopping him.
But when the Earl arrived, he brought unexpected news.
‘My contacts tell me that my Lord Bothwell is soon to be handed over to Sir Henry Percy at Norham Castle on the Border. He will be held there under a much reduced guard.’
‘Excellent news!’ said Gavin. ‘That will make things much easier for us, will it not?’
‘Indeed it will, Gavin, indeed,’ Jamieson nodded; but perhaps not in quite the way you mean, he thought to himself. ‘Anyway, here is the plan,’ he continued. ‘I will assemble a raiding party of hand-picked men and then you and I will lead them in a dash across the Border. I have managed to bribe certain members of Sir Henry’s household, and they will smooth our way into the castle. Once we’re in, it will be a simple matter to find Bothwell and spirit him away.’
Once more, Gavin was impressed.
‘An admirable scheme, Guthrie,’ he said. ‘But should I not bring some of my own men-at-arms with me?’
‘There is no need, my force will be more than sufficient—they will all be battle-hardened veterans, have no fear! One more thing,’ Jamieson added. ‘If word of what we are planning gets out, then Bothwell will undoubtedly be moved far beyond our reach. So no-one must hear of our adventure, do you understand? No-one. Not even your wife—and especially not her mother!’
Gavin could see the sense in that.
‘Nobody will hear a word of this from me, I can promise you that.’
‘So that’s decided then,’ said Jamieson. ‘One week from today, we cross the Border and free the bold Earl of Bothwell!’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Gavin, and they lifted their glasses to toast the success of their venture.
Around this time all the gossip at Court was about Mary, Queen of Scots’ romantic attachment to the utterly unsuitable and shallow Lord Darnley. Although Marie was concerned for the Queen, she was preoccupied with her own problems. At the moment it seemed as though her own happiness at Naughton lurched from one extreme to the other, and sometimes she felt almost suicidal.
Gavin never seemed to be at home for long—he was always away, mostly in the service of his friend the Earl of Bothwell. During these absences the Earl of Edinburgh would often visit.
‘I would not neglect you, if you were my wife,’ he told her. ‘I always said that marrying Gavin McNaughton was the worst mistake you ever made.’
Marie protested, but she couldn’t help thinking that perhaps there was a grain of truth in what he said.
Mostly though, Marie felt like killing her mother. Effie had been living with them ever since the wedding, and Marie often lost her temper with her, actually attacking her once, after being driven to distraction by her reckless drinking. Effie had fought back as best she could but was no match for the maniacal strength of Marie’s fury. After much struggling and tearing of clothes and hair, the older woman had been sent reeling and screaming to the ground. With an effort, Marie fought to regain control. A servant, hearing the commotion, burst into the room, helped the dishevelled Effie to a chair, and poured her a goblet of wine.
‘No!’ Marie commanded, ‘take the wine away.’
Effie’s screams had withered into sobs.
‘You have shocked me beyond measure,’ she told her daughter. ‘Beyond all measure. It is no wonder to me now that you behaved so violently to poor, dear Machar McNaughton.’
Marie’s fists clenched again.
‘I warned you. And I warn you again. You are to put that night out of your mind. You must never divulge to a living soul—’
‘But I never have,’ Effie sobbed. ‘I have behaved on each and every occasion in the most circumspect fashion.’
‘No, you have not! You have been indulging in so much drink you do not know what you are saying or how you are behaving. Do you wish to continue living here, mother?’
‘Of course I do. It is my home now. Where else could I go?’
‘You could go back to Orkney and your eager suitor there.’
‘To such a rough, coarse fellow with all those wild children. No, I will never do that.’
‘If you are not careful, you will be forced to take that course, mother. If you don’t drink yourself into an early grave first!’
Later, she had told Gavin what had happened.
‘I know she has a problem with drink,’ Gavin said, ‘but that is no excuse for what you did to her. I confess I am disappointed in you.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It is to Effie you should be apologising.’
For an insane moment Marie was tempted to confess to her husband the real source of all her fears and anxieties. But the terrible confession stuck in her throat. How could she have said, ‘I killed your father’? It was absolutely impossible.
The mere idea filled her with horror. And she prayed to God that Effie would never reveal her secret. She didn’t believe her mother would betray her on purpose, but if she was drunk ...
Afterwards, Marie was shocked at her own behaviour. Although she knew she had a hot temper, she was not normally violent. At the same time, she realised there was nothing she would not do in order to protect her children and her life at Naughton Castle.
XXIX
AS Guthrie Jamieson waited patiently in the darkness of the woods just above the castle, he had time to reflect on how well things were going. Like the young fool he was, McNaughton had put his life in Jamieson’s hands. Very soon he would come to regret that.
Close by, Gavin McNaughton was feeling uneasy. As he looked around him in the silence of the moonlit clearing, he couldn’t help thinking what a murderous looking bunch of cut-throats the Earl of Edinburgh’s men had turned out to be. As soon as he had joined them earlier that day, he had remembered Bothwell’s warning and regretted not bringing any of his own men. Still, it was too late to worry about that now. At any moment there would be a signal from the tower that loomed in the darkness ahead, and they would ride down the wooded slope and into the castle of Norham.
On the way to this midnight rendezvous, Gavin had been puzzled by one thing. They had seemed to take a wrong turning at a crossroads, and he had asked Jamieson,
‘Surely we should have turned eastwards back there? I have been this way once before, and I am sure it does not lead to Norham.’
‘My friend, I fear the night plays tricks on you. Trust me, I have travelled this road a hundred times, and I can assure you we will reach our destination before daybreak.’
Gavin was not convinced, but he bowed to Jamieson’s experience.
Now, in the clearing, he felt in his bones that something was wrong. Just then, Jamieson whispered, ‘The signal! There is the signal!’ And, sure enough, Gavin could see the dim light that glowed briefly from one of the castle windows. Before Gavin could reply, the horsemen began to move off down the hill, with Jamieson in the lead. Gavin spurred his horse and followed them and almost at once they drew up, unchallenged, outside the castle walls.
Now Gavin was sure something was wrong. This castle was no more than a small fortified peel tower! Norham was a massive, ancient border fortress. This could not be Norham. But even as Gavin realised this, he found himself seized by two or three of Jamieson’s men and roughly dragged from his horse. As he crashed to the ground, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Guthrie Jamieson looking down at him, a look of devilish triumph in his eyes.
‘Guthrie!’
he gasped. ‘Why—’ but he got no further, as a heavy mailed fist hit him full in the face, and the world around him dissolved into blackness.
Marie had heard nothing from Gavin for over a week now. This was not unheard of, and she was only just beginning to worry. Who knows what ridiculous adventure Bothwell has dragged him into now, she thought, as she sat warming herself by the fire in the Great Hall of Naughton Castle.
Suddenly, a commotion rose up from the courtyard below, and she recognised the unmistakable sounds of horses clattering across the flagstones and the shouts of their riders. Marie rushed out of the hall and down to the courtyard, fully expecting to greet her returning husband. But Gavin was nowhere to be seen. A motley collection of evil-looking men-at-arms were dismounting from their horses, and in their midst she saw the unmistakable figure of Guthrie Jamieson.
‘Guthrie, what brings you here?’ she demanded.
‘Let us go inside,’ said Jamieson, ‘I bring news of your husband.’
Together they climbed the winding stair to the Hall, and Jamieson insisted that Marie sit down before he would speak to her. The grim look on his face filled her with anxiety.
‘I am afraid the news I bring is not good. There is no easy way to tell you this. Gavin is dead.’
For a moment Marie could not believe what she had just heard. Then, in a shocked whisper, she tried to speak.
‘Dead? How can Gavin be dead? What has happened? For God’s sake, Guthrie, what has happened?’
Jamieson explained how they had been trying to free Bothwell from his captivity in England.
‘Unfortunately, Gavin underestimated the forces we would be up against. As we approached Norham, we were ambushed by Sir Henry Percy’s men. We never had a chance, and I was lucky to escape with my life.’
‘But Gavin? What happened to Gavin?’ Marie repeated.
‘He fought like a lion!’ Jamieson told her. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, I doubt any of us would have escaped. I was standing right next to him when he fell. It was a crossbow bolt. There was nothing I could do.’ Jamieson paused and the silence of the Great Hall was broken only by Marie’s sobbing. Jamieson continued, ‘Before he died, Gavin gave me this ring.’ He showed her Gavin’s signet, a ring Marie herself had given to him. ‘And he made me swear on my honour as a gentleman that I would look after you and the children. I told him you would want for nothing as long as I lived.’
‘Oh Guthrie,’ said Marie, ‘I cannot bear it any more. …’
Then she broke down completely and Jamieson called her maid, who led her away to her chamber.
Alone in the Great Hall, Jamieson reflected on his part in the downfall of the house of McNaughton. He remembered how it had all begun—at the banquet, held so long ago in this very hall, the night he had murdered Machar. First the father, he thought, and now the son! Machar, a greedy, lecherous old man who deserved everything he got, and now Gavin, a naïve young fool who didn’t deserve a woman as passionate and spirited as Marie. Still, the success of his schemes had far exceeded his expectations. Now he would have both Marie—after all, who else could she turn to but her dear friend Guthrie?—and all the lands of Naughton. Not a bad day’s work, he laughed, as he poured himself a glass of the Duke of Glasgow’s wine. Then, in the silence of that vast hall, his voice rang out, as he raised his glass,
‘To Gavin McNaughton! Wherever he may be!’
Huddled on the bare stone floor of the dungeon, Gavin McNaughton awoke with a start. At first he couldn’t remember where he was or what had happened. Then the pain of his broken nose, the dried blood caked around his face, and the fact that his hands were securely tied behind his back, brought it all flooding back.
After he was knocked unconscious, he had been flung into this dungeon. He had regained consciousness, only to find himself face to face with Guthrie Jamieson.
‘You treacherous dog!’ he had screamed, as he tried to fling himself at Jamieson. But his hands were tied, and a single vicious blow from Jamieson sent Gavin reeling, his head swimming. As he fought to remain conscious, he sank to his knees once more.
‘Why are you doing this to me, Jamieson?’ he gasped.
The Earl smiled. ‘Ah, my friend, why do any of us do anything? Let us just say that you took something that was mine, and now I want it back.’
Gavin had no idea what he was talking about.
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Why your precious wife, of course. Before you came along, she and I had a most amicable … how shall I say … arrangement,’ and he laughed as Gavin’s face fell. ‘I’m sure you know what I mean. Anyway, now that she won’t be seeing her beloved husband again, we will be able to take up where we left off. Who knows, I may even take her as my wife—after a decent period of mourning for your tragic death, of course!’
Gavin struggled against his bonds, but to no avail.
‘You arranged all this just to steal my wife?’ Gavin said in a voice filled with bitter loathing for the man he had so recently considered a trusted friend.
‘Not entirely. There is also the small matter of your lands. I believe you have been troubled by the debts you owe to certain moneylenders. Well, I hope this will not be too much of a shock, but I have recently acquired the deeds to your estates from those very same moneylenders. And I am afraid when you inevitably fail to pay what is due, your estates will be forfeit. I will then be the Lord of Naughton. So you see, this little escapade has won me not only your wife, but also your ancestral home and everything you hold most dear.’
Jamieson paused for a moment.
‘Do you remember Pinkie, Gavin?’
‘How could I forget? You saved my life. Because of that, I had always considered you a true friend.’
‘Ah yes, those were heroic times, were they not, Gavin!’
He paused again, looking thoughtful.
‘I shouldn’t really tell you this, but I see no reason not to now—after all, you will never have the opportunity to repeat this to anyone else. Do you remember how I saved you?’
Gavin nodded.
‘Well would it surprise you to know that I saved you for one reason, and one reason only—to hand you over to the enemy in return for English gold?’
Gavin could not believe what he was hearing.
‘I see from your expression that you never suspected me. Did you never think it strange that I escaped with ease, while you ended up a prisoner? No? You poor fool! Ironic isn’t it, that all those years ago at Pinkie you thought I’d saved you, when in fact I’d set you on the road to ruin. If I hadn’t betrayed you to the English, you would never have had to mortgage your lands. And I could never have taken them from you. So now you see how the cards have all fallen in my favour, and how excellently the chain of events I started has worked out for me.’
Gavin’s head was spinning. He could hardly take in what he had just heard, but he was also filled with a steely determination—to survive long enough to take his revenge on Guthrie Jamieson.
‘Have you nothing to say?’ Jamieson continued, as Gavin maintained a stony silence. ‘No matter. I expect all this has somewhat overwhelmed you. There is just one last thing. No doubt you’re wondering what I intend to do with you. I could, of course, have you killed here and now, but I feel inclined to be merciful and to let you live—just a little longer. It will give me great satisfaction to think of you rotting away in this Godforsaken place, while I enjoy all the comforts of your former home. And now I must leave you, for I have much to attend to—after all, Naughton Castle and its mistress await their new master!’
And with a courtly bow, Jamieson turned to climb the dungeon steps, saying as he went,
‘Farewell, my Lord of Glasgow, I fear we will not meet again.’
‘I’ll see you in hell, Jamieson!’ Gavin shouted after him.
‘Quite possibly, quite possibly …’ replied Jamieson, as he slammed the heavy oaken door shut behind him, his laughter echoing around the walls as his footsteps faded into the d
istance.
XXX
AT Norham Castle Bothwell waited in vain for the arrival of his friend the Duke of Glasgow. As first weeks, and then months dragged by with no word from Gavin, he realised something had gone wrong, and it wasn’t long before his thoughts turned to Guthrie Jamieson. He had warned Gavin against trusting the Earl of Edinburgh, and now he felt sure, if the plan had misfired, Jamieson was responsible.
Fortunately for Bothwell, Sir Henry Percy allowed him the freedom to exercise in the courtyard and converse with those who visited the castle. One day, Bothwell came upon a tall powerfully-built man, his face disfigured by a distinctive scar that ran from his left eye to his chin. In an instant, Bothwell recognised him as Jock Armstrong, a borderer who had ridden with him on many raids into England.
‘Jock, is it really you?’ he cried out.
‘My Lord o’ Bothwell! Glad am I tae see a friendly Scots face here in England!’
‘I could say the same, my old friend! What brings you here?’
Armstrong told Bothwell of his most recent exploits, but he also mentioned how, a few months before, he had accompanied a raiding party led by the Earl of Edinburgh. Bothwell immediately demanded to know more.
‘Aye, a strange business that was. The young Duke of Glasgow was wi’ us. A bad affair indeed!’ And he went on to tell how McNaughton had been betrayed and cast into a dungeon in some isolated tower-house. Once he realised what was going on, Armstrong had wanted no part in such treachery.
‘You know me weel enough, my Lord, I have done much that I regret, but I have never betrayed anyone. I never did see such black-hearted villainy. But I had to hold my tongue, or I would have joined the Laird of Glasgow in that very dungeon!’
As soon as he had been paid off, Armstrong had taken his leave of Jamieson’s cut-throats. He had been paid well for his trouble, but now the money had run out.
‘And that is how ye find me here, my Lord, looking for new adventures to fill my purse.’
Burning Ambition Page 18
