Highland Tides

by Anna Markland

  Macadam cackled like a crone. The cackle became a racking cough. Callum feared he might choke. “Love, ye say,” he rasped, wiping his eyes. “I’m nay a mon to relay such a message, but I’ll tell ‘er ye asked after ‘er. If it’s lodgings ye want, go to Mistress Beth in Canongate.”

  Callum took the risk of clamping a grateful hand on the ostler’s shoulder. “Good enough. I thank ye.”

  The auld man furrowed his brow and stared at his shoulder as if a spider had been foolish enough to land on him. Callum hastily removed his hand.

  “One more favor,” his brother added. “Tell her we need invitations.”

  Callum held his breath.

  Macadam stared at Braden for long minutes, sucking on the pipe before grunting. “Will she ken what ye want to be invited to?”

  Callum blinked rapidly, the smoke making his eyes water. “Aye. She’ll ken,” he replied hoarsely.

  ~~~

  On one of the rare occasions when Lexi came across her uncle not in the company of the Queen, she plucked up her courage. “My husband will be worrying,” she said nervously. “We’ve been back in Edinburgh three days now. It’s only right I return to him.”

  He looked up and down the empty corridor. “I doubt he remembers yer name, Alexandra,” he scoffed. “The wretch didna wish to wed ye, despite yer smuggling him into yer chamber.”

  Indignation soared up her spine. She had an urge to spit back that at least Callum knew she preferred to be called Lexi. However, James Hepburn wasn’t a man to challenge. “But we’re man and wife in the sight of God,” she pleaded.

  “’Twas a hasty marriage,” he replied. “Quickly set aside.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to reveal she and Callum had consummated their marriage, and that she intended to spend her life with the man she loved, but thought better of it. “Why do you need me here?” she asked, hating the whine in her voice.

  He scratched his beard. “Mary trusts ye,” he replied.

  Lexi doubted it was true. Once they’d returned to Holyrood she’d barely spent any time with the Queen. She suspected his desire to keep her at the Palace had more to do with Lexi’s awareness of the pregnancy. They wanted to keep her quiet. She would have to be wary. He’d already murdered the Queen’s consort and probably her own parents. Feigning compliance might save her life. She bowed her head submissively. “’Tis a great honor Her Majesty does me.”

  To her horror, he swatted her backside. “Ne’er forget it, Alexandra. Run along now. I’ve important matters to attend to. Mary intends to declare me Earl of Orkney and Marquis of Fife. I must prepare.”

  He hurried off, whistling a jaunty tune.

  “She heaps honors on ye,” Lexi whispered to the silent walls, “as if to make ye fit to be a king.”

  She was quickly understanding that the monarch was as out of touch with her people as Bothwell. Mayhap love had rendered them both witless.

  Braden’s predictions were coming true. There would soon be a royal wedding. Lexi’s heart lurched, knowing rebellion would follow.

  HOUSE OF FINE REPUTE

  When she’d arrived in Holyrood, Lexi’s first thought had been for her beloved Ryssa. The sentry refused to allow her to exit the Palace, until she persuaded him she only wanted to see her horse. The pimply youth accompanied her to the stables, where she met Macadam.

  Her obvious love for Ryssa seemed to win over the suspicious ostler. It had been a bittersweet reunion.

  Since the first day, she hadn’t ventured to the stables again. Much as she loved her horse, knowing the mare now belonged to the royal stables rankled. The mood of the mob outside the gates darkened when Bothwell’s new titles were announced. The guard was doubled, and it was unlikely she’d be allowed out again. The stables were now heavily guarded.

  She settled for paying a daily visit to the laundry on the pretext of making sure the Queen’s gowns were being properly taken care of. In reality, the door to the steaming hot place was usually left open and from there the stables were visible. Her spirits lifted when she caught the occasional glimpse of her mare.

  On the day the announcement was made of James Hepburn and Mary Darnley’s intention to wed three days hence, she made her way to the laundry, her heart heavy. She’d heard nothing from Callum.

  She leaned her head against the lintel of the open door, startled to see Macadam gesturing to her. She hazarded a glance at the sentry, busy inside charming a pretty laundress, and stepped out onto the path.

  She cringed when her boots crunched on the gravel, but Macadam quickly ushered her into the shadows of the stable. She expected he wanted to afford her another opportunity to pet the horse and was completely taken aback when he said, “He loves ye.”

  “What?” she replied.

  “The lad who sold me yer ’oss. Came with his brother. They’re lodging at Mistress Beth’s on Canongate. Need invites.”

  Callum.

  So near, all this time. He hadn’t abandoned her.

  “Didna ken what they needed invites for ’til today’s news came,” he said with a rasping chuckle. “I’ll see ’em delivered. ’Tis only right ye be accompanied by yer ’usband on yer uncle’s wedding day.”

  ~~~

  Callum paced the dark garret, four stories up atop Mistress Beth’s Lodgings of Fine Repute.

  In reality the street level comprised a house of ill repute, but the hovel was the only place he and Braden had enough money for. He took some comfort in the sight of the towers of Holyrood from the narrow window. Did Lexi pace in one of those turret rooms, thinking of him?

  They’d tried to meet with Macadam in the stables, but been turned away. The ostler had sent a lad a few days ago to tell them he hadn’t seen Lexi again.

  “I canna understand why the Earl doesna let her go,” he complained to his brother. “We must get her out of his clutches.”

  Braden put a hand on his shoulder. “It might be Lexi knows a secret.”

  “Aye,” he replied grimly, “she kens Bothwell and Mary were rutting like dogs in Dunbar. We should have trusted our first instinct and gone there.”

  “And done what? By all accounts the place is a fortress, though I’ve heard rumor of cannon being moved from there.”

  “To where?”

  “No one can say for sure, but they reckon the armaments are coming in this direction.”

  “By the saints. This marriage will cause a war.”

  “Nay. According to Charlotte it won’t come to a full war. There will be a battle. Queen Mary will lose.”

  “Lexi’s life will be in greater jeopardy then. What it is she kens?”

  He became nervous when Braden narrowed his eyes. “I didna mention this before, mostly because it was a detail I’d forgotten, but the day before she’s forced to abdicate, Mary will miscarry.”

  Callum’s throat tightened. “She’s pregnant? By whom?”

  “With twins, and that’s the question worth one hundred guineas if ye can answer it. History doesna say for certain, but Bothwell canna know she carries twins, and if he thinks she bears his child…”

  “Crivvens!” Callum croaked. “Prince James may be in great danger.”

  “Be calm, brother,” Braden reassured him. “We have the benefit of knowing James will become king. Sixth of Scotland and First of England.”

  Callum gaped, not understanding.

  “Aye, Mary’s son will unite the kingdoms and rule over both.”

  “How can that be?” he asked.

  “When Mary abdicates, her infant son will become king of Scotland. The greater irony is James will be next in line for Elizabeth’s throne because she has no children.”

  “Elizabeth?” He parroted.

  “Aye. Mary’s cousin and the person many consider responsible for her execution, though she denied it.”

  Callum slumped onto the tiny bed they’d taken turns sleeping in, his head in his hands. “Mary was executed? This is too confusing. Do ye ken what happens to my Lexi?”

&
nbsp; Braden sat beside him. “’Tis a sad truth, brother, that history tells us naught about ordinary people.”

  INVITATION TO A WEDDING

  As frenzied preparations got underway for the royal wedding, Lexi, along with a myriad of other ladies-in-waiting, lackeys, and servants was kept busy running errands of one sort or another.

  The Queen and Bothwell received delegation after delegation, some in support of the marriage, others not. The monarch dismissed opposition as minor, apparently believing most of the Scottish nobility were in favor of the match. From what she overheard of snatches of conversation, it was Bothwell who convinced her of this. It seemed to Lexi that Mary was like any young bride in love with her intended groom.

  An atmosphere of high excitement mingled with dread pervaded Holyrood. Lexi searched for a means to procure invitations for Callum and Braden. She decided against asking her uncle directly, fearing what the answer would inevitably be. The Queen might be favorable, but the moment to be alone with the monarch never presented itself. And if Mary mentioned it to Bothwell…

  The day before the ceremony she returned to the Queen’s solar after delivering a message to the kitchens with regard to a change in the menu for the wedding feast. The cooks had been none too pleased at the last minute change. Hot and flustered after a lengthy argument, she wondered what the demanding queen wanted next when a parchment was thrust at her.

  “To the scriveners, Alexandra,” Mary commanded. “More names for the guest list. Hurry. If these people don’t receive an invitation, they’ll be slighted.” She glared at her secretary. “How they were omitted, I don’t understand.”

  It was no secret the Queen still mourned David Rizzo, her Italian secretary slain by a jealous Lord Darnley. The man she hissed at was the third to take the position since Rizzo’s murder.

  As she accepted the list, Lexi feared the pounding of her heart in her ears might result in permanent deafness. “Yes, Majesty,” she replied hoarsely.

  She risked a glance at the names. She’d never get a better opportunity. “Forgive me, my Queen, are the Ogilvies of Oban on the list?”

  Mary frowned. “Oban?”

  Lexi feared the lie was written on her face. She had to hope her uncle hadn’t told his bride of her hasty marriage. “’Tis only that I overheard a knight of the Ogilvie family complaining he hadn’t received…”

  Mary waved a limp hand. “Are they on the list?” she asked the red-faced secretary impatiently.

  He reached for the parchment in Lexi’s hand. “I’ll add them. Ogilvie, you said?”

  “Aye,” Lexi mumbled. “Sir Callum and Sir Braden, I believe.”

  Mary watched him scrawl the names like a cat watches a mouse. He sanded the ink then handed the document back to Lexi.

  “Well done, Alexandra,” the Queen muttered. “Now go quickly.”

  To Lexi’s surprise her knees sustained her until she was in the corridor. Gulping down her excitement, she leaned back against the cold stone wall, fanning her overheated face with the parchment.

  A squeal of victory rose in her throat as she set off again for the library where a dozen scriveners worked feverishly to pen the invitations. She would have to convince them to work on this list immediately. The Queen had demanded it.

  ~~~

  Callum and Braden had spent an exhausting and fruitless day trying to find someone to forge an invitation to the royal wedding. It was risky business. They were strangers in this city and thus suspect. Most common folk they spoke to were outraged at the upcoming nuptials, but none seemed willing to aid them, especially when they were reluctant to explain why they needed the documents.

  Returning to Mistress Beth’s they bumped into Macadam exiting one of the chambers on the lower floor. His face was flushed, his clothing dishevelled, but he beamed a bright toothless smile when he caught sight of them. “There ye be,” he exclaimed. “Just biding me time ’til yer return,” he said sheepishly with a glance over his shoulder. “Mistress Beth is always happy to see me.”

  “Is there news?” Callum asked impatiently.

  “Aye,” Macadam rasped, a finger to his lips. “Quietly, though.”

  He ushered them to the rear door of the house and reached into his jerkin. “I canna climb up to yer garret, so I’ll gi’ ye these ‘ere.”

  He passed two somewhat crumpled parchments to Callum. “Sorry. Creases dinna matter. Yon lassie managed to get the real thing for ye.”

  Callum unfurled one of the documents, more worried by the dirty fingermarks than the creases. “How did she achieve this?” he asked as Braden perused his own invitation.

  Macadam shrugged. “Dinna ken, but she had a whole pile of ’em in ‘er arms when she gave me these two. Canny lass.”

  “Aye,” Callum breathed. “Canny indeed.”

  He elbowed Braden in the ribs. “Looks like we’re off to a wedding, brother. What on earth shall we wear?”

  Macadam’s eyes lit up in the dim hallway. “Come wi’ me,” he chortled. “If ye’ve a bob or two, I ken where ye can get fine raiment.”

  They had precious little money left, but Braden’s nod assured Callum he agreed this was a necessary expense.

  Feeling more confident than they had in days, they followed the whistling Macadam into the dark street.

  THE ANGEL AND THE DEVIL

  The guards at the gates of Holyrood Palace had cleared off the angry mob.

  The sentry eyed the black smudges on the creased documents, but a smiling Braden muttered something about his messy brother, and they were waved on, much to their relief.

  Macadam had indeed found them clothing fit for the occasion. Callum liked the white satin doublet with matching padded hose, but he’d have preferred if the embroidered black jerkin didn’t have skirts down to his knees. Macadam had insisted the bases as he called them were the fashion.

  “Beggars canna be choosers,” Braden had remarked with a wink, strutting around the darkened alley behind a tailor’s shop in a fine light grey doublet slashed and trimmed with gold braid. But he’d balked at the rose-colored puffed out hose Macadam told them were pansied slops. “I suppose the style hasna arrived in Oban yet?” the auld man asked.

  They’d decided it was better not to argue lest he start to get suspicious abut their lack of familiarity with current trends.

  Once inside the immense Great Hall of Holyrood, they were relegated to the rear of the crowd. Callum craned his neck for a glimpse of Lexi.

  His heart raced when he caught sight of her among the other ladies-in-waiting attending the Queen. The bride was resplendent in an elaborate white and yellow gown with puffy sleeves and a high collar of lace stiffened somehow.

  “Do ye think she’s trying to look the part of an angel?” Braden quipped.

  But Callum only had eyes for Lexi. She wore a front-laced red gown trimmed with black. Her hair was tucked into a jewelled net-like affair. The long sleeves were trimmed with lace cuffs and the same lace adorned the edges of the high-necked black partlet. The gown was severe, yet it emphasized the luscious curves of her body. All the ladies-in-waiting wore the same outfit, but Lexi shone like a jewel among shards of pottery.

  His eyes darted briefly to Bothwell standing at the Queen’s side. “Armor seems an odd choice for a groom,” he remarked to Braden through tight lips.

  “Aye,” his brother agreed with a chuckle. “Mayhap he fears someone might set upon him.”

  As the Protestant right of marriage progressed Callum didn’t hear a word of Braden’s whispered explanation of the Reformation and the emergence of protestant sects. There was no way for Lexi to know he stood at the rear of the hundreds of guests, but it was enough that he could see her. He hoped she sensed his presence. “We must get her out of here,” he rasped to Braden. “I’m nay leaving without her.”

  Braden tapped a cautionary finger to his lips. “Patience. We can do naught in the Hall. The banquet will provide more opportunity.”

  Callum turned his attention back to the br
ide and groom. The Queen did indeed look like a shining angel in her voluminous gown. Bothwell’s pointed beard gave him a devilish air. It struck him neither seemed happy, but then his own marriage to Lexi hadn’t been an occasion for smiles.

  “It’s sad to ken their union willna last,” he whispered to his brother. “But what can ye expect when two redheads wed.”

  ~~~

  Callum was for seeking out Lexi once the ceremony was over and the bride and groom paraded off to the courtyard to greet well-wishers.

  Braden put a hand on his brother’s arm. “We must make sure our names are on the guest roll,” he said.

  “Why?” Callum asked impatiently. “The queue is already overlong.”

  “It’s important we leave a mark of our presence here in this century,” he replied. “Just in case.”

  He didn’t elaborate that it was just in case Charlotte sought to track down what had happened to him. He sensed Callum was tired of his constant talk of Charlotte when he was preoccupied with rescuing Lexi. He didn’t fault his brother for it, but worried what would happen to Callum and his bride once he left.

  Men shifted their feet, women fanned themselves with elaborate ostrich fans as the heat in the Hall became uncomfortable and the line seemed not to get any shorter. Most folk were acquainted with others and eyed the two strangers with suspicion.

  At last their turn came.

  “Name and place of origin,” the sweating scrivener asked without looking up.

  “Sir Callum Ogilvie, gentleman of Oban,” Callum replied curtly, his attention elsewhere.

  The clerk laboriously penned his name in the roll, then glanced up at Braden.

  “Sir Braden Ogilvie,” he said slowly.

  “Also of Oban?”

  An idea struck him. Let there be no doubt. “Nay, Knight of Inbhir Nis.”

  THE ENDS OF THE EARTH