They were interrupted by the noisy arrival of a group of Bothwell's clansmen, back-slapping, laughing, and it was plain he didn't keep all that charm for women alone. Obviously his men loved him and respected him as their leader.
Tam did not doubt that any one of them would have laid down his life for Jamie Hepburn. And in those frequent, fierce forays among the surnames that raged across the Borders, they were very often called upon to do just that.
As Tam prepared to leave, Bothwell followed him to the door. 'Do what ye can, Master Eildor. I'll be grateful and I'll make it worth your while.'
Tam bowed. 'One thing more, my Lord. What did Mistress Throndsen look like?'
Bothwell frowned, squinting heavenward. He bit his lip in an effort to remember. 'Black hair. I dinna rightly recall her eyes, but I think they were dark too. She liked to pretend she looked like a Spanish lady, fond o' dressing like one.'
Perhaps Bothwell deserved all he got, Tam thought, for the tale about his wooing of Anna did him little credit and worse was his neglect of his son in Morham.
His mind returned to Will Fellows, the only witness who had encountered the woman who might be Anna. Bothwell's description tallied with the lad's that she was 'foreign-looking'. Little enough, but something to go on. If only he could track down Will Fellows.
Tam decided that his best hope for information regarding the woodcutter who had seen better days and had been buried by rich relatives in Greyfriars kirkyard, lay with the local minister. But he would wait until tomorrow to call on him. It was already growing dark and the fine drizzle of a short while ago had turned into hail needle-sharp against his face.
Chapter Seven
Friday 6 December 1566. Morning
Tam skirted the woods to where the woodcutters had indicated Mr Cauldwell's church was situated. Last night's weather had worsened and melting snow did not improve the muddy tracks.
The church looked dismal indeed, framed against the bare branches, with a piercing wind blowing sleet showers. Only the raucous cries of corbies as glum as himself greeted him as they flew over the vast array of tumbled gravestones. Ancient and modern, crooked and straight, skull-and-crossbones, a melancholy reminder of the pestilence, with many indications that few children survived beyond infancy.
The church was old and ruinous, probably built in the time of the Templars, who had sought refuge in Edinburgh after the Battle of Jerusalem. Persecuted, they had been offered the protection of King Robert the Bruce and there were many connections with this band of warrior knights in the area.
He pushed open a door which creaked ominously, the sound echoing through the dark interior, its stone walls with niches now empty of holy water and statues of saints, all destroyed by Reformation zeal.
Tam stood in front of the altar. There was no feeling of holy presence or sense of awe inspired by the oak table, and not even a cross to denote that this was a place of Christian worship.
He shivered, for the atmosphere was cold and forbidding, hardly an encouragement for Sunday worship. Its darkness told of older gods, arousing thoughts of pagan worship still secretly practised in remote country areas.
He grinned. His lack of reverence suggested that he was unlikely to have been a priest in that other world he had lost. Just one more category to strike off a growing list.
In the tiny vestry the only sign of a minister was the cassock hanging behind the door. Walking back through the church on his way out, the door opened before him and a dark shadow standing against the light asked, 'Can I help you, sir, or is it your wish to meditate?'
Into the light, the minister emerged as a rotund, cheery-faced man and, observing the tonsured head before him, one more sign of Popery, Tam chuckled inwardly. Despite the black gown and Geneva bands, this man of God seemed at variance with his gloomy surroundings. More Friar Tuck than John Knox.
His hopes, raised by Mr Cauldwell's information that he had been minister here for the past ten years, were once more to be dashed.
'Will Fellows?' Mr Cauldwell shook his head. 'I knew Ben Fellows, of course, a fine Christian, but I was never acquainted with any of his kin. Two nephews, they told you.' He looked puzzled. 'I never met them.'
'What about Fellows' niece?'
'Ah, yes, the lady from Edinburgh. I met her briefly.' The minister brightened, for he had obviously been impressed. 'She was taking her uncle back to Greyfriars kirkyard. A very proper thing for a dutiful niece.' He shook his head. 'That is all I know. I only had speech with the lady as she was leaving.'
'What was she like? Her appearance, I mean.'
Cauldwell thought about that, rubbing his chin. 'She was in mourning, a veiled hood, but I would say comely, young by her voice and well educated. I had an impression of dark hair and eyes, but I couldn't be sure.'
'She was alone when she called on you?'
'Yes - apart from the carter, that is. He was waiting outside.' The minister made a grimace of distaste. 'A very low fellow. It goes against one's Christian duty to be uncharitable, but he is of a family known to be habitual wrongdoers and, alas, somewhat notorious in this parish.' He frowned. 'I did wonder about warning the lady. In fact I hinted that she should take care. But she merely laughed, said she had the matter in hand and was able to look after herself.' He sighed. 'One can only presume she was paying the young rogue well for his services.'
'What do you know of the deceased, Ben Fellows, sir?'
Cauldwell seemed surprised by this request. 'Very little. He was an incomer to the district. I believe from Dunbar, but I might be mistaken. Most likely it was Edinburgh, and you will doubtless see his grave at Greyfriars. The sexton will have kept a written account regarding his niece's instructions.'
As Tam was leaving, the minister asked, 'Pardon my curiosity, sir, but why is it that you seek this lad Will Fellows?'
'It is none of my own business, sir. A matter concerning a member of the Queen's court.'
As Tam returned to the castle he was very thoughtful. The documents he was preparing for his mistress's signature needed all his concentration, but drifting forcefully to mind were those discrepancies concerning the behaviour of Ben Fellows' devoted niece. The minister's account had suggested this was no ordinary fine lady, but a woman of strong character and determination who could bargain with a known rogue and thief.
The logical reason for her deep mourning was that she was recently bereaved - but not of her uncle. How she could have received information and made arrangements for his burial at Greyfriars and bribed a dubious character like the carter to transport her, within hours of the old man's death was beyond him.
Later that afternoon, Tam went in search of Lord Bothwell and was told he was walking in the gardens. Head down, still brooding on the minister's information, or lack of it, he turned a corner and narrowly missed colliding with the royal party.
Bothwell with Mary, leaning on his arm. This was her first day abroad since her illness and she looked pale and frail and so very trusting as she stared intently into his face, smiling, inclining her head, for she was half a head taller. But what Bothwell lacked in inches he more than made up for in power and masculinity. In truth, he gave the illusion of being a tall man, until you stood up alongside him, Tam thought, as he bowed low.
With one glance Bothwell quickly resumed his urgent whispered conversation with the Queen. This indication that he was not to be interrupted left Tam no option but to follow at a discreet distance in the hope that an opportunity for a private word would present itself.
As he stood undecided, the four Maries approached. Seton detached herself and came to his side. Her excuse, if she needed one, was something he did not overhear, but arch looks from the other three, their smothered mirth and Marie Seton's rosy face, suggested that all were aware that Tam Eildor had found favour with her.
The thought was encouraging as they walked together behind the little group, until he noticed that Marie was somewhat distracted, hardly listening to his conversation. All her attention was d
irected towards her royal mistress and Bothwell. At one time it seemed that she was quickening her steps in the hope of catching up with them.
Tam put a delaying hand on her arm. 'Stay, Mistress Seton, or we will be on their heels.'
Marie frowned and, with a despairing glance at the two ahead, she slackened her pace. Her obvious anxiety confirmed Tam's suspicions that rumours concerning the Queen's growing affection and dependence on the Earl of Bothwell were common knowledge in the court.
Quite suddenly, Marie put it into words for him. 'I believe I can trust you, Master Eildor. Beaton's aunt has told us that we can rely on you.' She gave him a sideways smile. 'You have an honest look about you and, God knows, there are few but enemies surrounding us here.'
Tam bowed. 'What is it that troubles you, Mistress Seton?'
Again she smiled. 'I would that you call me Marie,' she said softly.
'Gladly I will. And your trouble?'
Marie took a deep breath. 'It is not my trouble - Tam.' She added his name in a whisper, acknowledging it with a brief curtsey, which pleased him. 'I fear for my lady, for Her Grace.' She nodded towards the couple in front so absorbed in each other. 'There is no other man close to her who can exert a good influence. No husband, alas, and as for her half-brother Lord Moray, she will hear no ill of him. She believes that he loves her, has her welfare at heart - alas.' She shook her head sadly.
Tam knew from Janet Beaton that Lord James Stewart, foiled in his many unscrupulous and nefarious attempts to gain the throne, had resorted to trying to prove that King James V was not his true father. That way, as Mary was not his sister, he could wed her and win the Crown Matrimonial.
'The man is a scoundrel of the first order,' had been Janet's caustic comment, he remembered, as Marie continued. 'Her Grace sees my Lord Bothwell as the one man she can trust. When they are apart for even a few days, she writes to him. Such long letters, which she thinks of as innocent outpourings of her heart to her dearest friend, her most loyal subject.' Marie sighed. 'She often reads them to us, anxious to know if she has said too much - or, more often, too little. For he never replies, not my Lord Bothwell,' she added bitterly.
And Tam thought about those innocent outpourings and the dire consequences should they fall into the wrong hands as, with another sorrowful glance at the two ahead, Marie went on. ‘I fear that she already loves him deeply, even if she does not know it or refuses to admit such feelings. For it is like a candle lit behind her eyes for him whenever he enters her presence. Poor lady, we have known her since childhood. It is hard to conceal secrets from such close companions . . .' She paused before adding, 'Or from her enemies here in the court and the spies of the Queen of England who covets her throne.' She sighed again and looked up at him. 'Love is a dangerous game, Tam.'
Her blush confirmed what he already knew, the truth behind her friends' teasing. It made his heart leap with longing for her. Suddenly he didn't care about Bothwell, or Will Fellows. All he knew was his desire for this woman, his yearning to seize her in his arms, kiss her, drag her into those trees, strip off all those garments, hold her . . .
'. . . not see it too?'
She was waiting for comment and he realized he hadn't heard a word she was saying. She looked down at his hand, tightly clenched over hers.
'Tam,' she said softly. 'Oh, Tam.'
He stared at her tear-filled eyes, knowing that all her heart too was in that single word as she spoke his name. And in that moment a sense of bleak despair came over him, for a future that could never be, for a love doomed to be lost for ever.
Leaning down, he kissed her cheek and gently released his hand. But she seized his hand again, raised it to her face and held it, trembling. A tear splashed. He touched it with his tongue and tasted salt.
Dear God, this could not, must not, happen. He must not let it happen.
With considerable effort, he moved away from her. 'What were we talking about, Marie? Her Grace, was it not?'
And with an effort equal to his own, she sighed once more. 'Two marriages, yet she has never known a real man.' Aware of that dangerous ground between herself and Tam again, she whispered, 'Until now.' And with a hasty change of subject, 'Rumours abound that she and my Lord Bothwell were lovers when she visited him in Hermitage.'
‘A wounded man, lying at death's door,' said Tam wryly. 'So I have heard.'
'Talk of divorce from Lord Darnley will add fuel to that fire,' Marie continued anxiously. 'Especially when she does not trouble to conceal that my Lord Bothwell has replaced poor Davy Riccio, who was always her devoted friend.'
Pausing, she looked up into Tam's face, held his gaze intently. ‘We who sleep in her chamber can vouch he was never more than that. None but Lord Darnley ever shared her bed. She would never have believed tales of his depravity, his chasing whores in Edinburgh. Whores and worse - young pages from the court.' She nodded towards the distant figures of the three Maries, and well ahead, laughing and talking together, Bothwell and Mary. 'Do you wonder that we tremble for them both, though truth to tell I must confess that I have never held my Lord Bothwell in high regard.' she smiled wistfully at Tam. 'I have never desired to throw myself into his arms as other females do. I can resist him because I know my limitations—'
'Your limitations?' Tam interrupted softly. 'Surely you are mistaken. You have a mirror . . .'
'Nay, Tam. He would use me and soon tire. And I have no wish to be one of a string of mistresses.' With a shrug she added firmly, 'I want to love and be loved by one man alone. And for ever.'
Even as she said the words, Tam felt the agony of knowing he could not be that man. After all, what if returning memory presented him with a wife - and children too. And God only knew what other commitments. What if he was or had been a criminal on the run? Certainly he had been the victim of some violence and that would account for why he had turned up, mindless and wounded, in Janet Beaton's gardens at Branxholm. And it would account for his nightmares, which were sinister and violent enough for anything to be possible. Even murder.
With difficulty he brought himself back to the present. This woman had chosen him to love. He was sick for love of her too. But he must never make the fatal move that might destroy her happiness, her future, for ever.
Far ahead now, the Queen and Bothwell had reached the courtyard and disappeared into the royal apartments. The three Maries trooped after them and his Marie, with a brief curtsey and her heart in her eyes, touched his hand.
'I must go, Tam.'
'A moment, if you please. Know you a lady by the name of Anna Throndsen?'
'Anna Throndsen.' Marie frowned. 'Why yes, she and my Lord Bothwell were betrothed - some years ago - in Denmark. She was in hot pursuit of him when he returned from France escorting Her Grace to Scotland.' She shrugged. 'Poor lady. She must have gone home long ago, abandoned all hope of marriage now that my Lord Bothwell is wed. Why do you wish to know about Mistress Throndsen?' she asked with a puzzled glance.
Ignoring the question, Tam said, 'I gather then that she has not been in the royal court for some time.'
Marie shook her head. 'She was never in the royal court, or allowed access to the Queen's circle. There was an incident - once—'
'So you have met the lady?'
'Once only. On that occasion. She made a great fuss, insisted on her rights to be recognized as Countess of Bothwell.' Marie smiled. 'Much to my lord's embarrassment.'
'So you would recognize her again, if you met?'
'I believe so. She was not a lady one would easily forget.'
'In what manner?'
'A very vivid creature. Why do you ask, Tam?' she repeated.
'She has not been in your company recently?' Tam persisted.
'No.'
'Seton! Come!' Fleming and Beaton were beckoning frantically from the castle doorway.
‘At once, Seton. Her Grace awaits you.'
With a brief curtsey, and looking somewhat bewildered, Marie rushed towards her companions.
&nbs
p; The door closed and Tam was making his way back to the west tower when he was hailed by Bothwell, hurrying towards him.
He bowed. 'My Lord, I wished to see you.'
'I guessed that, but, as you would note, I couldna leave the Queen right then. Well, what news have ye for me?'
Tam told him of his visit to the minister and of Ben Fellows' niece and of the advice to see the sexton at Greyfriars for further information.
'I intend visiting the sexton tomorrow.'
‘Aye, and I will go with you,' said Bothwell. 'Her Grace is feeling low at present and there is an apothecary in the High Street who makes a grand collation of herbs - Lady Buccleuch's recommendation, ye might guess. I have other matters to attend to in Edinburgh on the Queen's behalf, so we will kill twa birds with one stone, as they say. You call upon Fellows' niece, see what she can tell ye about young Will.'
'I talked to Marie Seton, my Lord.'
‘Aye, your dalliance was noted, Master Eildor.' Bothwell gave him a leering glance and a knowing nudge.
Tam ignored that. 'I was asking about the Spanish lady Will Fellows said he saw walking with her in the garden.'
Bothwell swung round. 'And?' he demanded sharply.
'Alas, my Lord, she did not recall any such occasion or a Spanish lady. However, she did remember Mistress Throndsen and said she would have recognized her again.'
As Bothwell bit his lip, Tam said, 'I thought this information might be a relief to you, my Lord.'
'Well, well.'
'It seems that the lad was mistaken.'
'He must be found. He must be somewhere around here. Someone must know him. And I need that dagger.' He nodded eagerly. 'Man, I am quite hopeful we are going to find him and that soon.'
As Tam left, he wished he shared Bothwell's optimism. It had been a long, bitter day and as he made his way to Janet's apartments he hoped that her summons to a simple supper together was all she had in mind. Since Bothwell's obvious infatuation with the Queen, Janet had been eyeing him in a predatory manner and he guessed she needed a substitute lover, if for nothing else then to arouse Bothwell's jealousy. In his own present need, he realized he might succumb to her advances and that was more than likely to end with Bothwell's dagger in his back.
Dagger in the Crown (Tam Eildor mystery no.1) Page 6
