The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  Following Sir Hector and keeping his eyes lowered, he made an awkward bow when they stopped in front of the dais and the Lord Chamberlain announced Sir Hector’s name. The hooded Zeus sat quietly on Patrick’s glove and seemed perfectly calm to be meeting the King.

  “Welcome, Sir Hector,” James said. His voice held a note of boredom, doubtless from the strain of spending the whole day receiving nobility and gentry and accepting their gifts.

  Sir Hector said, “Thank you, your grace. It is my humble wish that you will accept this splendid hawk both as a small token of my devotion and to celebrate your birthday and the birth of your new little son. It is my hope that Zeus will give you great pleasure on the hunting field. I have brought with me the falconer who trained him, so if you have any questions about the hawk, he can answer them.”

  “Good day, falconer,” James said, sitting straighter in his chair. “Let us see this hawk of yours.”

  “Aye, sire,” Patrick muttered, keeping his head down.

  James, who prided himself on taking interest in even the least of his subjects, even to the extent of dressing as a beggar and walking amongst them to hear their views, said encouragingly, “Come forward, man. You’ve no cause to fear me. Here, chamberlain,” he added, “fetch me a glove.”

  The chamberlain having already anticipated the need, the glove was quickly produced, and James slipped it on. “Will it come to a stranger?” he demanded.

  “Aye, your grace,” Patrick said, hoping Zeus would not disgrace them both by shooting a stream of mutes across the audience chamber’s highly polished floor.

  As he stepped toward James, the hawk moved uneasily on his fist.

  In a different tone, James said, “Here now, have we met before, falconer?”

  Careful to maintain his submissive posture, Patrick equivocated, muttering, “I warrant I’d recall it if we had, your grace.”

  “I see,” James said, amused. “Well, give us a look at this handsome chap.”

  Nodding, praying the hawk would behave, Patrick held it out on the glove.

  As James’s fist neared, Zeus raised a talon and yanked the hood half off.

  James chuckled. “This lad wants a look at his new master.”

  “Aye, sire,” Patrick said. “Ye mun pull the ties tight, for he has the knack.”

  James touched his fist to the hawk’s belly, and Zeus stepped onto it. “Now, lad,” James said, “let’s have that hood off the rest of the way, shall we?” Twisting the leash around his gloved fist, he gently removed the hood with his free hand.

  Patrick held his breath, but Zeus did not bate. He gazed about in fierce disapproval at his surroundings, but when James stroked him, Zeus allowed it.

  “He seems amazingly tame,” James said. “Is he a good hunter?”

  “As tae that, he be young yet, your grace,” Patrick said. “He lacks experience, but he has the talent and bids fair tae be a splendid hunter.”

  The hawk’s behavior astonished him, for it continued to remain at peace while James stoked its wings and back, and when the King paused to express his delight to Sir Hector, Zeus nudged the royal hand with his head as if to demand that his grace get back to what he had been doing. The gesture was one Patrick had often seen from cats or dogs, but never from a hawk.

  James, too, was astonished. “Did you see that?” he demanded.

  Sir Hector said, “ ’Tis plain he admires his new master.”

  James turned to Patrick. “Is there aught else about him I should ken?”

  “Only that he be accustomed tae riding on me fist or shoulder most o’ the day,” Patrick said. “Likely, your lads will soon teach him his place, though.”

  “He’s a fine fellow,” James said. “I thank you, both of you.”

  He was clearly delighted with his gift, but Patrick was dumbfounded. Hard as it was to imagine, given Zeus’s youth, he was certain now that before he had captured the hawk, a master falconer or austringer must have begun its training.

  Perched above them, atop one of two great chandeliers in the chamber, Maggie Malloch watched the scene with satisfaction, certain that it could not hurt to give the King of Scotland reason to admire the trainer of such a splendid hawk. Making the bird behave like an affectionate kitten had been easy, a spell that would keep it behaving so was more difficult, but she was not one of the most powerful members of the Secret Clan for naught.

  King and hawk would form a special bond that would last at least a sennight. After that, James would blame any failure on factors other than the bird’s initial training. Overall, she decided, it was a good day’s work, and it was good to oil the workings of any plan from time to time, especially since it could not be long now before the King discovered Sir Patrick’s true identity.

  Dismissed from the royal presence, Patrick excused himself to Sir Hector and went in search of Kintail, finding him by means of directions from the Lord Chamberlain in an elegant suite of rooms on the second floor of the new palace.

  Kintail greeted him with a handshake, a bear hug, and a demand for a report of his activities since their parting. Patrick complied, telling him everything about his time in England. He ended by saying that he had taken shelter at Farnsworth and trained a hawk there, but he left out nearly everything about Beth. He was nearing the end of his account when the door to the chamber flew open with a bang.

  “Patrick! You’re back!”

  Leaping to his feet, he opened his arms, and Molly ran into them, hugging him tightly. Her long, thick red-gold curls were loose and flying, much the way they had been the first time Kintail and he had seen her.

  “You look like an untidy bairn,” he said fondly. “I’m very glad to see you.”

  “Here is someone else I hope you will be glad to see,” she said, stepping back and gesturing toward the doorway, where his beautiful, dark-haired sister stood watching them, her blue eyes sparkling with mischievous delight.

  “What the devil!” he exclaimed.

  “Hello, Patrick,” Barbara MacRae said, grinning impishly at him.

  Still stunned, he said only, “How did you get here, Bab?”

  “Mother became as bored as I was at Ardintoul, so she brought me.”

  “Our mother is here?” Their mother detested court life.

  Bab looked guilty, but she said, “She wanted to see Molly and Fin, and when she grew tired of court, she agreed that I should bear Molly company until his grace allows Fin to go home.”

  Her eyes were wide and innocent, but Patrick had known her all her life.

  He glanced at Kintail. “How long did my mother stay, Fin?”

  He grinned. “Less than a sennight.”

  “Patrick, you won’t send me home. I won’t go!”

  Fin said, “Silence, brat, or I’ll tell him all the mischief you’ve been up to.”

  Patrick turned a stern eye on his sister, but she ignored it, rushing up and hugging him hard. “I’m so happy to see you,” she said. “Oh, Patrick, don’t be cross! Indeed, you must escort me later when Molly and I attend the court. There… there is someone I particularly want you to meet.”

  He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Fin. “Molly attends the court?”

  “Aye,” he said. “Jamie permits it, and some of us have indulged the hope that our wives may persuade him that at least a few of us are harmless.”

  “Do you also attend?”

  Fin chuckled. “Nay, we men are too dangerous, and even the women will not attend the fête or the ball Monday night. We are comfortably housed, Patrick, but we are prisoners nonetheless.”

  Barbara tugged on Patrick’s sleeve. “You will escort me later, won’t you? At least…” She eyed him disapprovingly. “You do have more presentable clothes to wear than those dreadful things you’re wearing now, I trust.”

  “If I don’t, I’ll borrow some from Fin,” he promised her. “I want to meet this particular someone so I can tell him what I think of his impudence.”

  “Impudence!”

 
; “Aye, what else can it be if he is singling out my sister for his attentions without first applying to me for permission to address her?”

  “You were not here!”

  “Fin is here. Did your particular someone apply to him?”

  She evaded his gaze.

  “Just so.”

  “But, Patrick—”

  He scowled. “You’d better be on your best behavior for a while, I think.”

  Unimpressed, she said, “You can be ready by four, can you not?”

  “Aye, lass, I can and I will,” he said, smiling and hugging her tightly.

  He kept his word, but after tedious hours negotiating the social maze of the court, dancing attendance on Molly, and dealing with a steady stream of his sister’s panting swains, he longed for open countryside again. He met Bab’s “particular someone,” one Francis Dalcross, and thought little of him. He also encountered a friend, Sir Alex Chisholm, whose land abutted Kintail to the east, but Bab had known Alex from childhood and had no interest in chatting with him, so Patrick was drawn away willy-nilly to meet more of her friends.

  To Patrick’s relief, he did not have to face the King, for although Jamie was present when they entered the great hall, courtiers and their ladies crowded the room, and he was on the royal dais surrounded by his favorites. No presentations were made during the afternoon, and by suppertime, his grace had disappeared.

  The truth was that Patrick was bored. The Scottish court was no worse than its counterpart in London, but by the end of the long evening, all he wanted was to breathe fresh air and talk with Beth.

  By the end of her second day in St. Mary’s Wynd, Beth had decided that she would have preferred a beating to the tense, disapproving atmosphere that she had had to endure instead. At least, by now, the beating would be over.

  After Sir Hector left for the castle, Lady Farnsworth had scolded her harshly and at length, but when a vision of Patrick flashed into Beth’s mind, strong and reassuring, the scolding became no more than a sea of words that left her unscathed.

  Dealing with Drusilla was worse.

  “I do not know how my father allows you to be in our presence,” she said tartly. “After spending days with that falconer, doing heaven knows what with him, you should not even be allowed in this house.”

  Beth could not quite bring herself to insist that she and Patrick had never been alone together, to assure Drusilla that Jock had been with them the entire time. It was true enough, but she knew that Jock would not have interfered if they had decided to ignore his presence. Indeed, they nearly had done just that.

  Jelyan was kinder than Drusilla. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “A town maidservant would not know how we like things done. We’d have to show her.”

  Both young ladies meant to accompany their mother to the Chapel Royal for Palm Sunday service the next day and to the grand ball on Monday evening. They were excited and not easily pleased, for they wanted their appearance to be perfect.

  Each time one of them snapped at her, Beth felt her temper stir, for she found it harder now, after her brief taste of freedom, to return to service. Several times that afternoon she had been tempted to rip up at Drusilla just as she had at Patrick.

  Nell had spent most of the afternoon with the court. For a time, James was busy chatting with favorites and friends, and kept her at his side, but when he retired to receive gifts in his audience chamber, she had taken the opportunity to find Jane Geddes, to tidy her hair and brush her skirts.

  James returned to the hall briefly about four o’clock, and once again invited her to join the group on the dais, but less than half an hour passed before he whispered, “Do you recall where to find my private chamber, Nell?”

  “Aye, your grace, I do.”

  “Meet me there in ten minutes then. I’ve something to show you.”

  She grinned, certain she knew what he meant, but when he let her into his private chamber, he did not take her in his arms. Instead, with schoolboy delight, he said, “Look at my new lad there! Is he not splendid?”

  To her astonishment, a sleek, brown hawk wearing a red and black Dutch hood with a white plume occupied a low perch in a corner of the room.

  “Godamercy, sire, have you set up a mews in here?”

  He chuckled. “Is he not magnificent? Watch this!”

  He moved to the perch, taking up a glove from a nearby chest and slipping it on, murmuring to the bird as he did. “This fine gentleman is Zeus,” he said as the hawk stepped onto his fist, and he stroked its wings. “Look how tame he is!”

  When she had admired the bird to his satisfaction, James set it back on its perch and turned to her. “Come here,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire. “I like that gown but I’ll like it more when you are out of it.”

  Smiling, she untied her bodice lacing. “Do you mean to let Zeus witness our activities, sire?”

  “Zeus is hooded and cannot see you. I reserve that delight to myself.” He reached for her, and she soon stood naked before him. “Ah, Nell,” he said, “you are as bonny as ever. You do not even seem to age.”

  Nell stifled a sigh of relief. She worked hard to maintain her looks, but she was nearly seven years his senior and had feared he might not still admire her. Giving thanks that such was not the case, she dampened her lips invitingly.

  James kissed her passionately, letting his hands make free with her body for some minutes before he stood back, murmuring, “Now you may undress me.”

  Their first coupling was swift, and after a burst of furious activity, James collapsed atop her, burying his face in her neck and breathing deeply.

  “You still wear the same French perfume,” he said. “I like it.”

  Drawing a deep breath and easing herself away from an encroaching elbow, she noted movement in the corner.

  Zeus had removed his hood and was glowering at her in fierce disapproval.

  Beth’s prediction that Lady Farnsworth would not let her attend them at court proved accurate. Her ladyship did not even allow her to go with them to kirk on Sunday. Instead, she left orders that Elspeth was to help in the kitchen when she had attended to her own duties.

  Beth liked Oscar Farnsworth’s cook and kitchen maid, who were kind and cheerful, so she was happy to help prepare dinner, although, according to the cook, it was doubtful that anyone would return from the castle to partake of it.

  “No wi’ the court in such a stir over the birth o’ our wee royal duke!” Cook said comfortably. “If ye’ve finished wi’ them beans, lass, tak’ a measure o’ grain and scatter it for me chickens in the hen yard back o’ the garden. Ye can gather any new eggs, too, whilst ye’re there.”

  The kitchen maid, pouring a measure of grain into Beth’s outstretched apron, said, “Mind the rooster now. He’s a mean ’un, and he pecks!”

  Slipping out the side door, through the kitchen garden, Beth found a fenced yard crowded with clucking chickens. The rooster eyed her suspiciously as she entered, but when she began scattering grain, his attention shifted to his dinner. So engrossed was she in her task that when a large, firm hand grasped her shoulder, she started violently and only managed to suppress a scream when she saw that it was Patrick, albeit a Patrick dressed more splendidly than she had ever seen him.

  “Easy, lass,” he said with amusement.

  “Mercy,” she said, taking in his blue velvet doublet and puffed hose, both embroidered and slashed with snowy white silk. His blue velvet cap boasted a silver brooch set with amber and a white plume.

  “I did not mean to startle you,” he said, glancing warily around the yard. “But I’ve been watching the house for what feels like hours and this is the first chance I’ve had to speak to you.”

  She wanted to throw her arms around him, but she managed to say matter-of-factly, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “Don’t be daft. When I saw Sir Hector, his lady, and those two viragos she gave birth to entering the Chapel Royal, I decided it was an excellent time to lea
ve.”

  “I hope you left before they recognized you!” Only days ago, it would have seemed absurd to think of him anywhere near the Chapel Royal, but now, dressed as he was, she could easily imagine it.

  “I do not think they’d recognize me in this rig unless I walked bang up to them,” he said, looking down at himself. “I look very dapper, don’t you think?”

  “Aye,” she said, chuckling. “Too dapper for a hen yard, sir. You should go before someone demands to know your business here.”

  “Do you think I cannot deal with such impertinence, sweetheart?”

  “I know you can,” she said, “but I might not fare so well afterward.”

  With a near growl in his voice, he said, “Has it been dreadful?”

  “Only Drusilla. The rest have not been so bad. They say my reputation is ruined, of course, but I expected worse. Whatever did you tell Oscar Farnsworth?”

  “Just that I’m close to Cardinal Beaton,” he said glibly. “I said I was grateful to Sir Hector for his kindness and knew he would extend the same kindness to you as he always has. Thus, he could have no cause to fear my telling Beaton about anything I might have learned whilst in residence at Farnsworth Tower.”

  “Merciful heavens! That explains why he asked if you had spoken of anything unusual you might have learned there. What does he think you know?”

  “I suspect he may have had traitorous contact with the English,” Patrick said. “But it does not matter what he thinks I know, only that he treats you well.”

  “He is no traitor! He couldn’t be. He’s the only one who’s been kind to me.”

  “So your judgment may be tainted,” Patrick said gently. “In any event, whilst he thinks you are under his eminence’s protection, he will be prudent.”

  “But the cardinal does not know me. He would not protect me.”

  “No, and I hope he does not learn how I depicted my relationship with him.”

  “How did you dare?”

  “Fortitude,” he said, grinning. “One does what may work. I see that you do not approve, but be kind to me, sweetheart, for I have spent nearly a day in my sister’s company. She chatters incessantly, and she has a host of drooling suitors, but I think constantly of you, and I’m burning to kiss you. You won’t deny me, will you?” He put two fingers under her chin and lifted it gently.