The Raven's Heart

by Jesse Blackadder

  I take a deep breath. “Alison Douglas. My grandmother’s name.” If I cannot ride there under my own name, hers is one I may bear with pride, and the Douglas clan is so huge that it should not attract attention.

  She frowns. “Very well. The Douglases are not in my favor, but that name should be welcome in the Hume family.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  When we set out from Jedburgh, she has fought her way back to sufficient good health to rule again. Lord James, ever the statesman, shows no sign of disappointment. Maitland maintains his usual calm in the face of chaos. Seton still carries the face of a woman reprieved from heartbreak, her smile never far from her lips. The Queen herself rides tall and only her remaining Marys and I know how pale she is under her face powders.

  The people of Jedburgh come out to see her off as though it is a great day. Most country people will be lucky to see a monarch once in their lifetimes and many have a relative who escaped the noose because of the Queen’s unwillingness to punish them harshly. She rides at the head of a long line of her lords and menat-arms. She smiles and waves at the people who line the streets of Jedburgh. They wave back and kneel as she passes. For now she is beloved here.

  The day is exquisite as only autumn can be. This is my own air, my hills, my earth under the horses’ hooves, my eagles circling in the sky, my water trickling in the streams, the land I was born to, the land whose name I carry, my homeland.

  It is also the heartland of the Hume family, which holds much of this corner of Scotland: Hume Castle, Wedderburn Castle, Langton Castle, and Blackadder Castle here in the Borders. As we wind our way toward Wedderburn, fear begins to take over my excitement. No Blackadder has walked on these lands and survived unscathed since William was a boy. I am here to avenge them, and even the Queen’s party does not feel like enough protection. I wish suddenly that Bothwell was with us.

  I see the Hume army from a long way off, his pennants and standards fluttering in the morning breeze, his men mounted in neat rows. Lord Hume himself rides out to meet the Queen, followed by the men of his clan. They are fighters; I can see by the set of their hands on the bridles and their armor. Lord Hume is at the front of his men. To his side, David Hume of Wedderburn, whom I spied talking to the King before Rizzio’s murder. I look farther, wondering which is Alexander.

  “Your Grace.” Lord Hume pulls up his horse, dismounts, sinks down on one knee, and bows his head. “You have brought the sun in its full glory as your worthy companion.” Behind him, his men also dismount and kneel.

  “Indeed.” The Queen inclines her head. “It shows off your realm to great advantage, Lord Hume.”

  “In truth it is your realm and God’s realm; I am but the keeper.” Lord Hume smiles and rises to his feet. “We are honored to have you as our guest at Wedderburn.”

  “You are most hospitable.” The Queen nods for them to rise. The men stand and go to mount their horses again.

  “There is just one thing. I have long wished to see your castle at Blackadder. I have heard it spoken of in Edinburgh. I would like to stay there if it does not inconvenience you.”

  I am watching closely and I see one head snap up at the mention of the castle. Alexander.

  Lord Hume turns to the man, eyebrows raised in inquiry. Alexander stumbles forward to Lord Hume’s side. He is fat, as befits one who was simply born into the lands his family stole, and I can see he is sweating in his ceremonial clothing.

  “We have not prepared—” he stammers, looking from the Queen to Lord Hume.

  “Your Grace, it is a small castle only and not especially well-favored,” Lord Hume says. “I pray you, come and be settled at Wedderburn, and we will ride across to Blackadder tomorrow when my cousin may offer you his full hospitality.”

  The Queen smiles, and the smile widens into one of her bell-like laughs. Lord Hume, sure of himself, joins in.

  “Lord Hume, I have such rich fare when I am in Edinburgh that I have come to long for the plain food that ordinary people eat, and to live a while as ordinary people do,” she says. “What I most desire today is to visit your castle as an unexpected friend, not as a royal guest. I will come to Blackadder with just a few of my ladies and the rest of the party will go with you to Wedderburn to feast. We will require only a couple of rooms and a simple meal with your family, as if we are passing travelers.”

  There is silence, and Lord Hume faces Alexander. I cannot see what passes between them, but Alexander bows to the Queen clumsily. “We would be honored to have you in our home.”

  “That is settled, then.” She smiles. “Lord Hume, I would be grateful if you would entertain Maitland and my brother this day and see the rest of my party settled at Wedderburn. I will take my two ladies-in-waiting and my guards with me to Blackadder.”

  There are muttered consultations and bemused expressions. Maitland and Lord James must know nothing of this, for they appear as confused as the Humes. Alexander sends a rider off at a gallop in the direction of the castle. He heaves his bulk back into the saddle and rides forward to join the Queen, his face a mixture of emotions.

  Lord Hume is tight-lipped. When the Queen bids him farewell, he bows his head low again, though this time he does not go down to his knee. He gathers the reins in his hands and swings onto his horse lightly.

  The parties are rearranged. Lord Hume rides off toward Wedderburn with most of the Queen’s train, and our smaller party, with a force of guards, sets out in the direction of Blackadder. As we move out of sight of the main party, the Queen rides across to Alexander.

  “It is so slow, traveling with such a large group,” she says, smiling at him. “I feel that I have been cooped up for weeks. Shall we go a little faster?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she spurs her horse, which leaps into a canter. Alexander must gather his wits, shout to the guards to keep up, and push his own, heavier horse to catch up with them.

  I canter behind them and the ground is soft under the horse’s hooves. Away from Lord Hume, my fear lessens and when finally we slow to a trot, I ride up close behind the Queen and Alexander. I see him point, and up ahead I can see a stone tower rising above the trees. My heart begins to pound.

  We wind around the side of a small hill and drop down to the river. The Blackadder Water. As we reach its banks I turn my eyes to follow it downstream, and see the castle on the far side of the water.

  The sight of it at last runs through me in a rush. Built where the bank rises steeply into a cliff, the castle appears to have grown out of the land itself, chiseled from earth and stone.

  I have always imagined a fortress, like Tulliallan, but there are windows and walkways opening out to the riverside. Where Tulliallan presents a sheer face of stone to the world, and clear lands all around so that anyone may be seen approaching, the castle of Blackadder is more like the mountain of Arthur’s Seat, something from the earth.

  “A most unusual setting,” the Queen says.

  “The river makes a natural moat,” Alexander says. “My wife and I like the sound of it rushing past. The front of the castle is more traditional, but I like to show guests this face of it first.”

  We ride back up the hill and around to the front of the castle, where a group awaits us. From a distance I stare hard at them, trying to pick out William’s surviving sister. There are so many women and children waiting to greet us as we ride into the courtyard that I am confused. A younger woman steps forward and curtsies.

  “My wife, Catherine,” Alexander says.

  “Your Grace, we are honored to welcome you into our home,” the woman says, and they all kneel or curtsy to the Queen.

  As they rise to their feet, I search their faces. An older woman who waits at the back resembles William a little, but she does not have his bitterness carved into her face. She looks intelligent and kindly and she holds a young child by the hand.

  I dismount, looking around me as my feet touch the ground. William has only one surviving child, and I could easily reach old age without bear
ing children myself, but David Hume the elder begat six children from my grandmother Alison in five years, before he died. William knew some of the lines and the names, but the Hume clan has kept itself close and William lost track of the children born. I realize now he would have hated to hear of each new birth.

  Catherine and Alexander invite us inside as stableboys take our sweating horses. I follow the Queen, who stops every few steps to exclaim over the castle’s construction, its outlook, the tapestries hanging on the wall, allowing me to look around as we enter.

  It is too much to take in. All I can feel is my pounding heart, the shortness of my breath, the tightness of my dress around my ribcage. As we walk through the entranceway and into the great hall, the buttresses of the ceiling feel as though they are pressing upon me. I cannot breathe. The cold of the floor seeps up through my feet; the very walls seem to cry out.

  I reach out my hand for some support, unnoticed as everyone crowds around the Queen. The wall feels icy against my hand and at my feet the flagstones are crimson and gleaming. My head spins and I feel myself falling.

  Forty-three

  The first thing I’m aware of is the press of a hand holding a damp cloth to my forehead. A tender touch; a female touch. I lie still with my eyes closed to savor it.

  “Do you feel a little better?”

  I open my eyes. The woman I had identified as William’s sister is sitting beside me. The softness of her voice brings tears to my eyes.

  “There, lass.” She puts down the cloth and smoothes my hair back. The feel of her hand fills some old ache.

  “Alison?” she says. “I am Beatrice.”

  She is my aunt, though she does not know it. She wipes my forehead. “You’re not the first to be taken over so in that room. Some say it is haunted by the past. Did you see something?”

  “Blood, I think.”

  “I have seen it too,” she says softly. “I do not care for that room over much.”

  “But this castle seems very beautiful.”

  “I have never known another, so I have nothing to compare it to. I was born here and I have left it no more than half a dozen times in my life.”

  I look up at her. “I will ask the Queen to invite you to accompany us back to Edinburgh. Holyrood Palace is as magnificent as a French court, and in parts of the city the buildings tower seven or eight stories high!”

  “No!” She draws back suddenly.

  “But there is much for you to see.” I sit up.

  She gets up and backs away from me. “Please,” she says, putting her hand up. “I have no wish to leave here.”

  I rest back against the pillows. “It is said you were kept prisoner here as a child,” I say.

  Her eyes widen. “What?”

  “I heard your mother was forced into marriage with David Hume and that you and Margaret were kept prisoner here until you were old enough to be forced into marriage with his brothers,” I say, emboldened.

  I do not know what to expect, but she laughs. It is not a bitter laugh like William’s, but genuine mirth.

  “My Lord.” She laughs again. “That is the stuff of legend, Alison. Why would we have been imprisoned?”

  “Is it not true, then?” My chest begins to hurt.

  “Margaret and I were betrothed at a young age, that’s true, when our mother married David Hume. But not imprisoned! I wanted nothing more than to stay here and I was glad to marry a man who lived here too.”

  I take a breath. “What about your brother?”

  “Which one? There are many.”

  “Your full brother. Robert’s son.”

  “William.” She looks down at me for a long moment. “Margaret and I were so sad when he died. But our mother had her next son within the year and soon the place was full of children. I have not thought of him these many years.” She peers at me more closely. “You seem to know much of our family.”

  “I am distantly related to your mother, on the Douglas side.”

  “She was an extraordinary woman,” Beatrice says, her eyes softening. “If you are related to her, then you are an honored guest here. What is the lineage?”

  I look away. “I do not know exactly. My mother was a Douglas and she told me before she died that she was some kind of cousin to Alison.”

  “It is hard to lose your mother, is it not? My mother has been dead this past quarter century, but I still miss her dreadfully. Almost more than I missed my husband when he died.”

  “Did you miss him much?”

  “Yes,” she replies. “Two of our sons died as babies, Alison. When John died, all I had left was Alexander and I lived in terror that something would happen to him too. But now he is master of this castle and has two children of his own.”

  “What of Margaret?”

  Beatrice smiles. “Margaret liked to ride and hunt. Before she even married Robert, she would ride out with him at every chance. They were well-matched, those two. She fell from a horse. Her two sons died in childhood too and Robert never got over the loss. He took a fever and died as well.”

  “So Alexander is the only one who survives from the Blackadder side?”

  She wrinkles her forehead. “Why, yes, I suppose you are right.”

  There is a loud knock at the door and before I can gather my wits a young woman strides in.

  “The Queen sent me to find out if you are all right,” she says abruptly, and looks at me with some curiosity.

  I stare back. She has a strong stance and a direct gaze. Her hair is the color of burnished copper and her eyes are an unusual green.

  “Isobel, you need to wait after you knock,” Beatrice says. “This is our guest, Alison. She’s related to your grandmother. So you are probably cousins, distantly.”

  “Half of Scotland is cousin to the other half.” She bobs her head impatiently and turns to Beatrice. “The Queen wants to go riding after lunch, and I’m to join the party.”

  “I will come too,” I say.

  “Then you’d best get yourself ready,” she says. “They are almost finished eating. We’ll be leaving from the front courtyard. Do you need a fresh horse?”

  “Do you have one that could better my own?”

  Her green eyes regard me with interest. “Why, how good is your own?”

  “My own is fit for royalty,” I say. “Coming from the Queen’s own stable. He will hunt all day and still fly over a wall at the end of it. But he does not know this country, and I would not have him injured by a rabbit hole or such like.”

  “The Queen says she will ride one of our horses astride. Will you?”

  “Aye.”

  “I believe we have just the mount for you, then,” she says, with a dangerous smile. She turns and disappears from the room.

  “That girl!” Beatrice says, in half annoyance. “She has worse manners than a servant.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She is the daughter of Alison’s son David, the Baron of Wedderburn. That family lives at Wedderburn, but Isobel is staying here. Wedderburn is very grand and the boys of the family spend time there, while the girls tend to come here. But Isobel is one of those girls, like Margaret, who cannot abide the staid, indoor life.”

  I throw back the covers and swing my legs out of the bed.

  “Are you fit to ride?” Beatrice asks, coming to my side. “You are still pale.”

  “I am fit.” I get to my feet. “I must find my riding clothes so I may be seated astride.”

  Beatrice sends for the bags and a servant, who helps me out of my dress and into the breeks and fitted jacket that I wear to ride with the Queen when there are few others to see. It is not male clothing, but masculine enough to raise eyebrows. I sit on the bed while the girl helps me pull on my boots. Beatrice stares.

  “You have very unusual fashions in the Queen’s court,” she says, her expression scandalized. “I have heard that the Queen sometimes goes about dressed as a man, but I dismissed it as gossip.”

  “It’s true, though she does it
for fun only,” I say. “You should try it sometime.”

  She shakes her head. “I couldn’t, I’m sure.” She cannot take her eyes off me.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  When I emerge into the courtyard, the Queen comes to my side and takes my hand.

  “Are you quite recovered?” she asks softly.

  “Yes. I was a little overcome, that is all.”

  “We have shocked our hosts with our riding attire.”

  We smile conspiratorially and she releases my hand.

  Isobel cannot stop herself staring as I approach. “You are dressed like a man!”

  “It is much easier for riding. And for many other things too.”

  “Like what?”

  I take the reins from her and put my face close to the horse. It will not hurt her to know of my standing in court. “When the Queen wishes to mingle with the ordinary citizens of Edinburgh, she and I disguise ourselves and go out into the streets at night.”

  It seems impossible her eyes could open any wider as she looks at the Queen. “Are men in Edinburgh such fools?”

  “We spend more time perfecting our disguise in Edinburgh,” I say. “When we are clothed and wigged, I would defy you to pick us as other than a couple of merchants looking for entertainment. Now, what should I know of this fine beast?”

  She brings her gaze back from the Queen with difficulty. “He is strong-willed. You must let him know you’re in charge. But he is the fastest horse in the stable and, if he respects you, none will try harder.”

  Our party mounts up. Most of the household wants to ride out with the Queen and there are more than twenty, plus a handful of guards. We move off at a sedate pace and I ride beside the Queen.

  The land feels at once familiar and strange. It is soft country, undulating gently, traced by the river and its small tributaries. Sheep and cattle graze, the fields lay bare waiting for next year’s crop. There are tiny dwellings scattered around in which the bondsmen and field workers live.

  The estate is large—it would take us all day to ride around it, Alexander says with pride. He points out landmarks and evidence of the farm’s success. It seems he does not know the game that nobles play, hiding evidence of their wealth and speaking only of how much toil and effort is required to manage it.