If Bothwell did indeed intend to kidnap the Queen, why would he bring her to a royal holding. Unless…
Her thoughts were interrupted by Joseph’s return. He’d procured another horse. At least she would ride into Dunbar on her own mount.
Ravenous, she was grateful he’d brought food and willingly accepted a heel of brown bread and a chunk of crumbly cheese. She wolfed the food down as they mounted and were off again.
~~~
At first sight Dunbar Castle appeared to have risen from the sea. It wasn’t until Lexi and her abductors reached the outer curtain wall that she realized the main part of the castle, topped by an impossibly tall tower, perched on a rock detached from the shore. She supposed there must be a passageway over the waves crashing against the rocks below.
Relief mingled with surprise when she espied her uncle waiting to greet her at the gate, mounted on his favorite stallion. Since childhood she’d marvelled how he always succeeded in finding a copper-red stallion. She used to believe his hair was cut from the mane of his horse.
Horace took her down from her mount. Smiling, her uncle dismounted and held out his arms in an uncharacteristically warm gesture. She had rarely seen a smile on his freckled face. Deciding there was perhaps more to be gained from being compliant, she walked into his embrace. He seemed ready to offer an explanation.
“Welcome, Alexandra,” he gushed, as if naught amiss had happened between them and he was a long-lost relative welcoming her to his demesne.
“Uncle,” she replied cautiously.
“Come,” he said, taking her arm. “Let me show you this magnificent edifice. Still wearing the same riding attire, I see. Don’t worry. I’ve had new raiment brought to your chamber.”
Apprehension prickled up her spine. Apparently he intended she be here for a while. “Thank you,” she murmured, aware he would reveal his plans in his own time. James Hepburn wasn’t a man to be trifled with. Her parents had learned it the hard way. However, he didn’t know she’d been forewarned of his plans, thanks to Braden.
He pointed to a black cavern off to the left, below the curtain wall. “Leads to the dungeons,” he explained. “Nasty place. Looks like the mouth of the Acheron, don’t you think?”
This was the uncle she remembered. When she was a child he’d told her in lurid detail the myth of Charon ferrying the newly dead across the river of woe to the Underworld. It had plagued her dreams for months. If Bothwell incarcerated anyone in the black hole they’d likely never emerge. Her throat tightened. Surely he didn’t intend to imprison the Queen there?
He led her into the keep and thence along a very long passageway. It was unnerving to think she was walking over the sea. They came to a gate set into a wall. Hepburn gestured to the armorial bearings affixed over it. “George, Tenth Earl of Dunbar,” he explained.
For the life of her she didn’t recall any connection between her family and the Earls of Dunbar, but her uncle carried on as if expounding on his own ancestral history. “He succeeded his father in 1369. Beside the Earldom of Dunbar he inherited the Lordship of Annandale and the Isle of Man from his heroic aunt, Black Agnes of Dunbar.”
She risked a sideways glance as he gazed up at the three-legged symbol of the Isle of Man to the left of the impressive coat of arms. She’d never heard of this apparently memorable woman. Not for the first time, it occurred to her he was not in complete control of his wits.
She grew more uncomfortable as he stared for a long while, lost in his own thoughts, then he seemed to recollect where he was and ushered her through the gate. “This leads to the main apartments,” he said. “First I’ll show you where Queen Mary stays when she’s here.”
An alarm sounded in Lexi’s head. “She’s been here before?” she asked.
“Several times,” he replied. “She likes it here. You’ll be her lady-in-waiting. It’s a great honor.”
~~~
Callum and Braden heard the hubbub in the main room of the tavern before they descended the stairs a day later.
Perspiration beading on her forehead, Ainslie bustled here and there, toting a tray laden with bowls of oats. She plopped two down in front of them. “Yon rascal Bothwell has kidnapped the Queen,” she exclaimed. “Who knows what he’ll do next.”
They did know, but held their peace, feigning outraged surprise at the news.
Braden tucked into his oats. “Keep yer ears open,” he muttered.
Callum nodded, listening to the lively exchange of opinion.
“Bothwell’s a madman.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if the Queen was in on it.”
“Nay.”
“They say she knew of the plot against her husband, Darnley.”
“We’re not sorry he’s gone.”
“Papist fop.”
“Bothwell’s no better. They say he’s divorced his wife.”
“Mayhap that’s so he can wed the Queen.”
This remark prompted guffaws of laughter.
Braden raised an eyebrow. “Amazing how quickly the common man can add things up,” he said softly. He turned to face the ruffians seated at other tables. “That’s my guess too,” he said. “But where would he take her to convince her of the merits of his proposal?”
They gaped at him. Callum feared his brother might have spoken too much like a gentleman. However, Braden stood his ground, nonchalantly chewing his oats.
“Mayhap she won’t need convincing.”
More laughter.
“John Knox’ll ‘ave summat to say if they do wed.”
“Surely she’d nay marry the mon who murdered ‘er ‘usband.”
A peculiar sense of being witness to an unfortunate episode in history he was powerless to change swept over Callum. “Are ye sure they wed?” he whispered to Braden. “Seems folk will be outraged.”
His brother nodded. “Aye. It will prove to be Mary’s undoing, but according to Charlotte she never did make wise decisions. And I recall her telling me the Earl went mad at the end of his life, in prison in Denmark.”
“Denmark!”
There was loud laughter from a nearby table. “Nay, laddie,” one of the fellows exclaimed. “He’ll nay take her that far. My guess is somewhere impregnable, like…mayhap Dyn Barr.”
“Dyn Barr?” Callum asked.
“Aye. On the coast. Dunbar.”
Murmurs and grunts of agreement had Callum thinking Dunbar might be a possibility. “Where in the name of the saints is Dunbar?” he asked Braden.
ANTS
Lexi waited nervously in Queen Mary’s apartment. Unable to stand still, she paced from one richly decorated wall to the other, counting her steps over and over. Always the same. Fifteen one way, fifteen the other.
She made an effort to take an interest in the ochre paintings of Saint Christopher carrying the Christ Child who cradled the world in his tiny hand, praying fervently for the saint’s protection for her and Callum. If ever there were travellers in need of help—
She marveled at the still incredible notion of how far her husband had come to wed her.
Her uncle had told her the Queen would be with him on his return, but she had no notion if the monarch was coming willingly or nay. If it was nay, Lexi might end up with her head on the chopping block, or at least on the receiving end of a Queen’s wrath.
The apartment was isolated from the rest of the castle, the crashing waves of the North Sea far below drowning out all else. If Mary was unwilling she’d have no recourse here against James Hepburn. He was obviously excited at the prospect of her visit. She’d never seen him show nervousness. He was like a youth intoxicated by a lass.
Lexi shivered, despite the hearty fire blazing in the hearth. Surely he wasn’t lunatic enough to rape a queen?
Her thoughts flew to Callum and his refusal to take Lexi against her will. Little did she suspect then how she would come to crave his touch.
For the hundredth time she smoothed a hand over the blue damask bedspread, then folded and refolded t
he exquisitely embroidered nightgown and bedrobe made ready on the bolster. She glanced around to make sure everything was in perfect order. The shadows would lengthen soon, but was it too early to light candles? She patted her hair and once more examined the skirts of the new woollen gown Uncle James had given her. No point providing a monarch reason to…
Her heart leapt into her throat when the door was thrust open and her uncle strode in, beaming a big smile, a scowling Queen Mary on his arm. She fell to her knees in a full curtsey, head bowed low.
“Who is this?” the Queen asked haughtily.
“My niece, Alexandra Hepburn,” he replied, as if the marriage he’d insisted on had never taken place. “She is here to serve you, Mary.”
Mary!
Lexi suddenly noticed a tiny black ant crawling amid the fibres of the woollen rug on which she knelt. By rights she should reach out and squash it. An ant never travelled alone. But as she watched the insect valiantly climb up one thread and down another, allowing nothing to deter it, she recognised she had to do the same. One challenge at a time.
“Can she be trusted?” the Queen asked.
“Implicitly,” Hepburn replied. “That’s why I brought her.”
The monarch’s skirts swished as she walked by Lexi to the window. “That’s as well for you, James,” she said. “You’ve already done serious damage to my reputation.”
Still studying the intrepid ant, Lexi was yet unsure if the Queen was in Dunbar of her own accord.
“Get off your knees, Lady Alexandra. I am fatigued after a long ride. You may undress me.”
Lexi scrambled to her feet, careful not to step on the ant. “Your Majesty,” she murmured, taken unawares when the Queen tossed her riding cloak at her.
~~~
Braden sympathised with his brother’s growing frustration. In the sennight since Queen Mary’s disappearance they were no closer to finding out for certain where she’d been taken. They’d been obliged to hand over some of their nine shillings to Mistress Ainslie in payment for staying on at the inn and both had invested in new raiment more suited to the time.
Dunbar had been a popular option among folk at first, but then rumor had swirled it was Fawsyde, then Stirling, then it was widely believed the lovers were holed up in Holyrood Palace itself.
In the minds of most, Mary Darnley and James Hepburn had contrived the entire kidnapping scheme. Ill-feeling towards the monarch threatened to boil over.
Most expected the pair to resurface in Edinburgh already wed.
Braden reassured Callum such was not the case. “I hate to say this, but Bothwell and Mary will return soon to Edinburgh. When they do they aren’t wed, but the marriage takes place shortly thereafter.”
Callum’s shoulders slumped. “Then there’s no point our rushing off like ants the length and breadth of Scotland.”
Braden put a hand on his brother’s. “True, but dinna give up hope. I’m sure Lexi is safe. Bothwell willna want questions about the death of a niece on people’s lips. We have to hope she returns with them.”
Callum smiled weakly. “She is still alive, I’m sure o’ that,” he replied. “I’d have known if…”
He looked away, the words trapped in his throat.
Braden understood his brother’s torment. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed in Charlotte’s life since he’d left her, but his heart sensed she still lived. Somewhere.
THE SPIDER'S STICKY TRAP
The morning after the Queen’s arrival, Lexi tapped lightly on the door of the royal apartment and crept in. She stopped abruptly, astonished at the sight of her uncle strutting round the bedchamber, clad only in his nightshirt, masses of red hair blazing from his barely covered chest like the proverbial burning bush. Bile rose in her throat.
Queen Mary sat propped up in bed, her pale face expressionless, hair dishevelled.
The chamber reeked of sweat.
Lexi turned hastily, intending to leave.
“If you please, Alexandra,” her uncle said politely, “get the cook’s lads to bring up hot water and fill the tub in the garderobe.”
Her head full of an unwelcome image of James Hepburn cavorting in a bathtub with a Queen, she must have babbled some response before quitting the chamber.
Upon her return, she waited outside the door after tapping, unwilling to intrude again where she wasn’t wanted.
Her uncle opened the door, dressed in a shirt and leggings. He pecked a kiss on each of Lexi’s cheeks then sauntered off, a bemused smile on his face.
Feeling like a fly stuck in the spider’s sticky trap, she glanced over at the Queen, still sitting in bed, clad in the embroidered nightgown. To her dismay, the monarch suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in the linens.
Did she weep because James had assaulted her, or because she’d given herself to him willingly, or for some other reason? Lexi had been known to weep for no particular reason, and she didn’t bear the heavy burdens of governance. However, after making love with Callum, weeping had been the last thing on her mind.
It was unlikely the Queen would unburden her troubles to one such as Lexi Hepburn, but she had to say something. She tiptoed to the massive bed. “Majesty, I—”
Queen Mary dabbed at her eyes, her mouth drawn in a tight line. “Are they coming with the bathwater?” she asked, sounding like the Holy Roman Empress.
Chastened, Lexi cocked an ear towards the adjoining garderobe, relieved the scullery lads had responded quickly. “Yes, Majesty. Shall I help you prepare?”
A slight nod of response prompted her into action. Trembling from head to toe, she helped Mary disrobe and bathe. She had no experience being a lady-in-waiting. It was probably an awesome task at the best of times. In these circumstances it was nerve-wracking. She had noticed the previous night that the queen’s gown was cut too small for her belly and breasts, as if she’d gained weight and grown out of it.
From the armoire she retrieved one of the gowns her uncle had provided for his captive. He had evidently based his selections on her wardrobe. This gown also fitted snugly. Lexi deemed it inappropriate to comment on regal overindulgence, but when their eyes met for the briefest moment, the Queen’s anxious glance startled her.
Her heart raced. If Mary was with child…
Darnley’s? It was well known the Queen had visited her husband at Kirk o’ Field on the eve of his death and many claimed they’d reconciled.
James Hepburn’s? The implications were terrifying. It explained her uncle’s haste to wed Mary and his obvious infatuation, but would condemn her as an adulteress.
Completely exhausted after assisting with the bathing, drying and dressing of a Queen, Lexi was nervously fumbling to get shoes on the monarch’s feet when her uncle entered without knocking. His hair was damp, his doublet and hose splendid. He was a swain come wooing. “Leave us, Alexandra,” he commanded. “We’ll send for you when you’re needed.”
She scrambled to her feet and hurried away to her own chamber, mightily relieved to escape from the disturbing tryst.
The scene repeated itself over and over for eight days; her uncle in a nightshirt, the queen sobbing, the bath, the ill-fitting clothes. What the pair did during the day was anyone’s guess, but Lexi became more and more certain the queen was with child.
After waiting in vain for two days to be summoned, Lexi took to walking the battlements, looking out to sea. The always-brisk wind blew away the cobwebs from her numbed mind. The roiling waves drew her gaze and she shivered with fear at the terror Callum and his brother must have experienced when they drowned. Yet Braden had willingly undergone the ordeal twice more, once for his sister and again to reunite with his love, his Charlotte. He would try again. Would Callum go with him? Mayhap they had left already, believing her dead. Or perhaps he didn’t care.
The wind and the mocking gulls quickly dispelled the notion. The Ogilvies were men of their word. Callum had promised never to leave her.
Braden had foretold the wedding w
ould happen in Edinburgh. She fervently hoped her uncle would take her with them when they returned to the city. Or perhaps he’d kill her, the only witness to their sinful coupling.
RETURN TO HOLYROOD
It didn’t take long for the mob to gather outside Holyrood Palace once word spread of the Queen’s return. The news Bothwell had accompanied her caused outrage.
Callum and Braden made their way to Holyrood, anxious for any indication Lexi had been seen with the royal party.
Callum was surprised by how quickly they arrived. “Seemed to take forever before.”
“It’s easier when ye ken the route,” Braden replied. “Besides, everybody seems to be heading there.”
The front gates were protected by the Queen’s Guard. The mob had no chance of swarming the Palace. The brothers sought out Macadam in the stables.
“Ye mean the young lass whose ‘oss ye sold?” the ornery fellow replied to their enquiry.
Callum’s hopes rose. “Aye. Ye’ve seen her?”
“Came first thing. With a guard, mind.” He chuckled, scratching his stubbled chin. “‘Oss knew her right off.”
Braden winked at his brother. He too probably took it as a good omen Lexi had apparently impressed the cantankerous ostler.
“Did she appear well?” Callum asked.
Macadam eyed him suspiciously. “What’s it to ye? She’s Bothwell’s niece.”
“She’s my wife,” he replied. “I care for her more than he does.”
Macadam shrugged and sucked on his pipe. “Yon Earl cares about naught but the throne o’ this country. Mark my words, folk willna stand fer it. He’s an assassin.”
“Can we trust ye to give her a message next time ye see her?” Braden asked.
The auld man blew out a ring of sweet smelling smoke. “Aye. However, I willna betray my Queen.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Callum reassured him. “Though best if the guard doesna overhear. Tell her I know she’s here, and that I love her, and that we’ll seek lodgings nearby.”
Highland Tides Page 13
