The Gilded Crown

by Catherine A. Wilson

  Cécile smiled wistfully. ‘Jealous?’

  ‘I do not trust him.’

  ‘Hush!’ She palmed his cheek. ‘Such words are dangerous within these walls. Besides, I would be more concerned for your own sake. This is no Sunday pique-nique you attend in Bordeaux.’ The ramifications of his failure manifested in her mind and the thoughts flittered across her face for him to see. In a moment of panic, she clasped his doublet. ‘Gillet, what if you are caught? All for which you fight will be lost and this time Edward will hang you. What care have I if the noose is English or French? It will be around my husband’s neck!’

  It was Gillet’s turn to smile. He dropped a quick kiss onto her nose. ‘Worry not, my sweet. Edward is busy in London. My purpose is to intercept Arnaud-Amanieu before the Prince arrives. To the unsuspecting courtiers we shall merely be two cousins catching up on family gossip.’ His fingers brushed the curved neckline of her gown. He took hold and tugged. Fire danced in his eyes and he bent to kiss her, his hand seeking the fleshy softness of her breast. ‘Merde!’ He pulled away suddenly.

  ‘What is it?’

  Gillet grimaced at her. ‘Ready yourself for our bed, sweetheart. I shall not be long,’ he said, rising to his feet.

  ‘But where do you go at this hour?’ whined Cécile.

  ‘To gain pardon from the Vicomtesse. I am bidden to present my apology and I shall deliver it in true chivalric fashion!’ He gave a theatrical bow and, throwing her a kiss, headed for the door.

  Cécile tucked up her knees to sulk and yelled after him. ‘Make sure that’s all you deliver.’ Her voice lowered into a grumble. ‘I did not care for the way she looked at you tonight!’

  Catherine was enjoying the solitude rarely found in a hall, drawn to the warmth of the well-fuelled fires. Scotland was far colder than she imagined, even though summer was waiting expectantly to breathe fresh life into the frozen landscape. She shivered as Beatrix Odistoun of Craigmillar ushered a number of children into the room.

  ‘Lady Wexford, may I present my offspring?’ Her sister-by-marriage stood behind the small group and pushed the tallest child forward.

  ‘You must be Elizabeth. I am so pleased to meet you.’ Catherine smiled as the pretty girl curtsied.

  ‘May I call you Aunt?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘I would be honoured.’ Catherine blushed as a burst of affection engulfed her.

  ‘These are my brothers,’ the girl explained. ‘Robert, the Earl of Clyde, and David, Earl of Doune.’

  The two boys shuffled forward and Catherine was struck by the difference between them. The elder boy was tall and quite muscular, his auburn colouring reflecting his Stewart ancestors. David was more like his mother, stocky and heavy-set. His strawberry-blonde curls gathered around his neck and tumbled over his shoulders. Catherine imagined Simon’s hair would look much the same should he ever choose not to cut it. ‘I have heard a great deal about you. Lord Wexford tells me you are both gifted riders?’ she asked in the hope of drawing conversation from either youth.

  Robert narrowed his eyes and stared defiantly, his lips clamped in a surly grimace. David peeked through his overly long fringe and hesitantly crept closer, stopping only when struck by Robert. ‘He punched me!’ the younger bellowed, rubbing his thigh.

  ‘Quiet, boys,’ Beatrix commanded.

  ‘I’m ’gonna rip off your ear wit’ my teeth,’ David threatened as he took a strategic step away from his sibling.

  ‘Try it,’ goaded Robert.

  ‘Henry is visiting us from the nursery which he shares wit’ John and Lionel,’ interrupted Elizabeth, dragging the toddler along with her.

  ‘You have five brothers, Lady Elizabeth?’

  ‘Aye, Aunt.’

  ‘How fortunate you are!’ Catherine remarked.

  ‘I am glad you think so, Lady Wexford.’ Beatrix bustled her way between the group and landed a harsh slap to the back of Robert’s head. ‘Show Lady Wexford some respect!’

  Robert glared at his mother before reluctantly bowing.

  Catherine reached out to assist Henry who was struggling to remain upright on bandy legs. He locked his baby fingers around hers and took two faltering steps, then wiped his face on the folds of her gown. ‘I am told, Elizabeth, that you are soon to be married?’ Catherine inquired, brushing away the sticky mess and wiping her hand on Henry’s stained smock.

  ‘Aye, in the spring. I am betrothed to Lord Preston.’

  Robert and David both sniggered.

  ‘And you like Lord Preston?’

  ‘I hardly think that matters,’ Beatrix interjected. ‘Lord Preston is a mature gentleman who will treat Elizabeth well. Surely, that is all for which a mother can hope.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Catherine replied, unconvinced.

  ‘Ah ha! What have we here?’ bellowed Simon as he stormed into the room. The older siblings charged their uncle, throwing themselves into his outstretched arms.

  ‘Uncle Simon,’ screeched David in his high-pitched voice. A tumble of arms and legs all but knocked Simon off his feet as he gathered them to him.

  ‘We have been waiting to see you,’ Elizabeth squealed as Simon kissed her forehead.

  ‘Well, you wait no longer for here I am! Now tell me, what mischief have you three been about?’

  ‘Robert bit me on the leg,’ accused a sombre David.

  ‘’Cause you kicked me in the shin!’

  ‘Robert made David cry,’ Elizabeth chimed in. ‘He called him a wee bairn.’

  ‘That’s because he is a baby,’ taunted Robert.

  ‘And you’re a bully,’ declared Elizabeth.

  ‘Cry baby, cry baby,’ chanted Robert.

  Catherine lifted Henry onto her lap and watched in fascination as the older Odistoun children turned on each other like a pack of wolf cubs, their Uncle Simon seemingly forgotten.

  ‘I’m gonna rub your face in a cow pat.’ David stood fearlessly in front of his brother, even though Robert was a clear four inches taller.

  ‘Not before I make you eat pig swill—’

  ‘Enough!’ Beatrix screeched. ‘If you cannot behave I will summon English Mary.’

  The children, decidedly affected by the threat of the maid’s intervention, backed away from one another. Elizabeth slipped her hand into Simon’s and directed him towards the long oak table. ‘Tell us about your adventures, Uncle Simon. Did you visit Morocco?’

  ‘No, wee one, I travelled no further than Paris.’

  ‘Paris,’ Elizabeth mused. ‘I would love to see France.’

  ‘Perhaps your husband might take you once you are married,’ Catherine suggested as she bounced Henry on her knee.

  ‘Lord Preston is too old to travel,’ Robert sniped.

  ‘He is not!’ Elizabeth exclaimed.

  ‘He is so old he might die before spring.’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘He’s so old he can’t even ride his horse!’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Aye, it is. I heard father say so. Said ’e may not be even able to ride you!’

  Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s cheeks. ‘I hate you! I hate you!’ she shrieked and ran from the room.

  ‘Robert, that was uncalled for,’ reprimanded Simon. ‘You should not mock your sister.’

  Robert lowered his gaze and turned from his uncle.

  ‘You should go after her and make amends,’ Simon suggested.

  ‘I dinna apologise to women below my rank.’ Robert daringly kicked the leg on the wooden bench. ‘Nor do I take direction from those who have no authority over me.’

  Simon rose slowly to his feet and cast his nephew a look of menace.

  Beatrix was beside her son; the colour had drained from her face. ‘Robert, apologise immediately.’

  Robert lashed out at the table once more before looking his uncle in the eye. He thrust out his chin and placed his hands on his hips. ‘Sorry.’

  Beatrix raised her arm as though to deal her child a second swift slap
but Robert’s impudent glare was enough to make her lower it. She backed away and allowed the boy to storm from the hall.

  Catherine grasped Henry, though he had stilled, perhaps sensing the tension. David glanced from one adult to the next, then turned on his heel and fled.

  ‘Your son requires a strong hand.’ Simon’s eyebrows rose as he watched his nephew’s departure. ‘How old is he now?’

  ‘Nay sufficient for what you suggest. I want him home, here, wit’ me.’ Beatrix retorted angrily.

  ‘A boy does not become a man by clinging to his mother’s skirts.’

  ‘Walter will decide Robert’s future.’

  ‘Your husband holds out for a position above your son’s worth,’ said Simon. ‘Robert should be in service. It would certainly help curb the viper that is his tongue!’

  ‘I dinna care what you think. He is the Bruce’s grandson! He’ll no be someone’s lowly page. We’ll wait ’til he’s offered a place to squire for a knight of the highest standing.’

  ‘And in the meantime, he becomes a bored, little swine who bullies his siblings and menaces his mother.’

  Beatrix sat down at the table, filled an empty goblet and drank the entire contents. ‘That’s no concern o’ yours, dear brother.’

  ‘I am simply offering advice, dear sister,’ Simon retorted sarcastically. ‘The solution to a problem is often clearer to those who are some distance away.’

  ‘Perhaps you should take care o’er the hens in your own coop than roost o’er mine!’ Beatrix smirked at Catherine as she refilled her goblet. ‘Eh, sister dear?’

  Catherine’s cheeks coloured and she looked away.

  Simon scowled and reached across the table to remove the half-empty jug. ‘It does you no good to drown in your ale.’

  Beatrix gulped down the remainder in her goblet and rose. She gathered Henry into her arms and huffed, ‘I am required in the kitchen. I trust I will see you at supper.’ With a dignified waddle, she left the room.

  ‘Lady Odistoun seems most unhappy.’ Catherine wound her fingers through her husband’s. She’d caught the look of disgust Simon had shot his sister.

  ‘Beatrix has many obstacles to overcome if she wishes to find joy in her life, but none more than the relationship she has formed with her goblet.’

  ‘I will ask the Lord to send her strength for I fear for the sanctity of her soul.’

  ‘And her health,’ Simon agreed. ‘Now, there is a matter I must discuss with you.’ He turned his penetrating gaze upon her, his grey eyes sparking in the dim light. ‘I am told you were unwell again this morning?’

  Catherine released her grip and sat back from him. The moment had come. ‘I had thought to tell you in Cambridge, but we had to depart so quickly I decided to leave things be.’

  ‘If you are ill you must inform me immediately. Even a minor ailment can easily fester. Why would you have me worry so?’

  Catherine blushed. ‘You misunderstand, Simon. I am well. It is only that … I am with child.’

  Simon shook his head several times, as though attempting to clear his confusion. He rose from the bench and walked away from her, his back rigid.

  Catherine sighed with despair. ‘I know I should have told you sooner but I feared you would leave me behind in Cambridge.’

  ‘You are with child? Simon sounded astonished.

  ‘Yes.’

  He turned. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am quite sure.’

  A broad smile lit up his face as he fell to his knees and rested his head lightly within her lap. ‘Lady Wexford, you have made me far happier than I ever believed possible and I vow to honour and protect you until I am no longer able to draw breath.’

  ‘I love you, Lord Wexford.’

  ‘And I, you, my wife, and I, you.’

  ‘I think your sister suspects.’

  ‘That you are with child?’ Simon asked. ‘That would certainly explain her comment about my hen house.’

  Simon and Catherine sought the privacy of the walled garden and located a sturdy wooden bench covered in summer ivy, the thriving pea-green leaves vibrant against the darker winter growth. ‘I fear she will not share our joy,’ Catherine remarked as she rested her hand in Simon’s.

  ‘No, I think not, but we must not allow the Odistouns to tarnish our happiness though my sister will try.’ Simon brushed a stray curl from Catherine’s forehead. ‘You have much to answer for, Lady Wexford, keeping such information from me. I would have made different choices had I known your condition.’

  ‘And that is precisely why I chose to wait.’

  ‘When did you know?’ he asked.

  ‘I suspected before we left France, but it was not until we reached Denny that I was sure. Please do not be angry with me.’

  Simon placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his embrace. ‘Nothing would have prevented us from travelling to Cambridge and though I may have struggled with my decision, I believe we would have arrived in Edinburgh, just as we did.’

  ‘With me atop either a skittish pony or a stumbling mare?’ Catherine jested.

  ‘Well, perhaps not precisely the same.’ Simon laughed. ‘But you did take unnecessary risks.’

  ‘I wanted to be with you,’ she shyly admitted.

  ‘Catherine, we want the same things, you and I. You must trust me. Promise me you will?’

  Catherine nodded. ‘I promise.’

  Simon rested his palm upon the swell of her abdomen. ‘Other than sickness at dawn, how do you fare?’

  ‘I am well.’ She grinned. ‘I am very, very well.’

  ‘Our children will bring us great joy.’ Simon placed his lips upon Catherine’s and gently kissed her. ‘And I will love each without measure, but it is you, my wife, who will always occupy the centre of my heart.’

  ‘Are we to have many?’

  ‘We will – ten at least,’ Simon teased, ‘and they will be a good deal better behaved than my nephews!’

  That afternoon Walter and Beatrix Odistoun removed themselves to court, leaving Simon and Catherine to enjoy the relative quiet of Craigmillar. Simon could not decide whether his sister and her husband’s sudden decision to go was as a result of his disagreement with Beatrix about Robert’s future or rather, Walter simply wanted to whisper in the ear of his half-brother. Regardless, Simon did not care for it provided him the unexpected opportunity to spend precious time with his wife. Though he suspected the Odistoun’s knew of Catherine’s condition, he decided not to make an announcement. ‘No need to upset an already unsteady apple cart.’ He cut a slice of cheese and passed it to Catherine. They were partaking of the evening meal in the solar, savouring the opportunity to dine alone.

  ‘I want nothing more than to declare my joy from the highest tower,’ Catherine declared, ‘but …’

  ‘You cannot allow others to steal this away from you.’

  ‘’Tis not that Simon.’ Catherine hesitated. ‘I was thinking of Cécile.’

  ‘I know your sister will be overjoyed when she hears your news.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but … but I worry that it will rekindle the pain the she shares with Gillet. Do you forget she can no longer bear children?’

  ‘Argh! Catherine, she loves you beyond measure. She will not be thinking of herself, only of you.’ Simon put down the knife and grasped Catherine’s fingers. ‘Write to Cécile. I will have Prescott dispatched to France. He can personally deliver our glad tidings. And trust me, Catherine, they will be happy for us.’

  ‘What’s this? Dining alone?’ Roderick barrelled into the room, a swirl of road-dust drawn along behind him. ‘Where are my sister and her pet weasel?’

  ‘Gone to Edinburgh Castle.’ Simon embraced his sibling.

  ‘Lady Wexford, as beautiful as ever. Could it be you are more radiant than when I saw you last?’

  ‘She might be,’ Simon beamed. ‘Ale, brother?’

  ‘You need ask? My throat is as dry as a … well, I’m parched.’ He winked at Cathe
rine.

  ‘I will have the maid bring another platter,’ offered Catherine as she slipped away to the kitchen. Her husband’s mirth could be heard from the outer corridor, along with Roderick’s infectious chortle. It would be difficult for anyone to remain melancholic in their company. On her return the men were deep in conversation.

  ‘Gods bones! It’s as impenetrable as a fifty-year-old virgin and just as unappealing.’ Roderick swilled the remainder of his goblet then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Took me all the first day just to glean the name of the steward!’

  ‘And was he obliging?’

  ‘He was, brother.’ Roderick pushed the bench seat with his foot and sat with his back to the fire. ‘I convinced him I was kin to the Wallace, and the coin spent on wine was not to waste for it certainly loosened his tongue.’

  ‘And?’ Simon asked expectantly.

  ‘The tour of the castle was most informative.’ Roderick grimaced. ‘I had to concentrate all my efforts on keeping my hands from his throat as he went on and on, exalting the Wallace prowess. So laborious was his tale that by the time we reached the keep I thought to throw myself from the highest turret!’ Roderick stretched out his legs, revelling in the telling of his escapade. ‘So, you can imagine how difficult it was to hide my surprise when the drunken idiot unlocks a large chest and asks me if I wish to view the Wallace sword.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was so taken aback I nearly fell out of the turret. Fortunately, Angus was oblivious as he hands me this massive great lump of a weapon.’

  ‘What does this mean?’ asked Catherine, her gazed fixed upon the flushed face of her husband.

  Simon shook his head. ‘I can only assume that once the theft was discovered, Sir John de Menteith replaced the “Lady” with a fake.’

  Catherine reached for her goblet. The warm mead helped settle the queasy feeling that had flooded her stomach. ‘Sir John? Was he the original custodian?’

  ‘Menteith was appointed Governor of Dumbarton by King Edward Longshanks, who personally selected him to guard the sword,’ Simon explained.

  ‘If I had been in Sir John’s boots,’ Roderick paused to fill his tankard, ‘I am damned sure I would have done the same thing.’