The Mer- Lion Read online

  At James's look of inquiry, he continued, "Besides acknowledging the boy, the child has been made Duke of Richmond and of Somerset. Two significant titles, wouldn't you say? If I recall rightly, Richmond was Henry VIII's title before he succeeded, and Somerset had been the king's own dukedom as well as that of his grandfather. Then there was the lad's elevation to Lord High Admiral. You know, I have even heard of some plan afoot to make him King of Ireland." This was court gossip of the highest caliber, and King James was all ears. Briefly, he wondered how a man sitting way off on the Continent would know so much more of the doings in England, a land on James's own doorstep. James, for the first time, could understand why Francis I's ancestor had become familiarly known as the Spider King of France and Europe—and Francis had evidently inherited that trait from his great grandsire.

  Now, de Wynter threw out a piece of gossip that might be the most revealing to his purpose: "The latest is the duke's proposed marriage. I understand that papal authorities have been sounded out and the Cardinal Campeggio himself has seen no moral objection to the duke's marrying the Princess Mary."

  Only by the slightest narrowing of the eye did James reveal special interest in this direction, but de Wynter had been watching for just such a sign. James's reply was quite casual, however. "You seem quite knowledgeable of events in England—and in Rome."

  "Sire, I have spent the past eight years in France," de Wynter said. "One learns to survive. As to Rome, that's easily explained. I was Albany's squire on the Italian campaign in '24. We took part in that ill-advised midwinter assault on Naples. There, besides developing a taste for rodents, I made some friends among the Neapolitans. Anyway, a year later, I was among the several thousand survivors evacuated by Madam Louise, the Queen Mother, who acted as regent for her imprisoned son. '

  "Ah," responded the king. "That's how you came to be called winter."

  "Not really. Although it was certainly appropriate. No, the name was given to an early member of my line by Eleanor of Aquitaine at one of her Courts of Love. Whether it referred to his sangfroid or, more logically, this strange head of hair, I know not. Anyway, when Francis was ransomed a year later, in the flush of his freedom from Charles V, he gave honors and benefices and titles to his fellow survivors of the Italian campaign. That's when I received Alais. Actually it was Queen Claude's decision to renew the honorific of de Wynter."

  "You still haven't explained your Roman connection."

  "Oh that. One of the Neapolitan friends I made is now a prince of the Church. It was he who had occasion to describe Clement's unofficial reaction to the marriage of Mary Tudor."

  There again, James's eyes gave him away. De Wynter was certain now. Mary Tudor was the object of James's interest. But de Wynter knew, he would have to lead up to the matter gradually.

  "There is another solution," de Wynter said, abruptly changing the subject.

  For a moment James feared his mind had been read. "There is?"

  "You could take you a Scottish wife and produce a legitimate heir, one the whole country would welcome."

  The king chuckled. Partly in relief. " 'Tis not a particularly original idea, cousin. Lives there a lord in this country with a marriageable gal who hasn't thrown her at me? And well though they might rally round such an heir, first let me make a choice among the women and I'll have the clans at each other." He laughed sardonically. "Such a marriage would make the Cleanse-the-Causeway look like good clean fun, the blood would run so."

  De Wynter was not deterred by the king's response. "A foreign princess then? One who could swell your coffers?"

  Now, the king was all ears. And his suspicions aroused. "You interest me, cousin, go on."

  "Consider the possibilities. There is, of course, England. The Princess Mary Tudor."

  Now, it was out in the open. Obviously this was James's hope. A marriage with England would mean a uniting of the two kingdoms on the one isle—under a Stewart. But James, de Wynter also realized, was not yet ready to reveal his dreams to a newfound cousin. Indeed, James went back, oh so casually, to fingering the tinny music piece.

  "Her father and my mother are brother and sister," was his only response.

  "No more consanguine than the marriage between brother and half sister which the Pope is prepared to bless in the case of Richmond and Mary. So, one. could assume a papal dispensation would solve Scotland and England's problems. That is, if the Pope were as inclined to grant one for James as he is for Henry. There is the embarrassment of your mother's marriage to Methven to consider, you know.

  "There is still another hurdle to cross if we get over the papal one. What assurance would one have, once thoroughly wedded and bedded, that Henry would not prevail again on the Pope and have his marriage to Catherine of Aragon annulled? With the mother put aside, would not the daughter be? And what if the king should beget himself an heir on this Boleyn girl he's so hot to marry. What, then, would already poor Scotland have purchased for its money?"

  De Wynter had all the king's attention, and a small appeal to his for whom Boleyn served as maid of honor for about three years, tells me the girl, besides being an exotic beauty, is an enchantress. Clever, intelligent, witty, the type of woman who would appeal to you."

  De Wynter had the king's attention now, and a small appeal to his vanity did not hurt. Now, to capitalize on his advantage. "Unfortunately, Anne Boleyn is not available. But Madeleine of France is. She is everything that Anne is and more. Unlike Mary Tudor, her legitimacy is assured, her sons would rule—and France would not demand monies of you, as England has. Just the opposite. A full 50,000 crowns will be the princess's dowry."

  The talk of money Stirred James as little else could. Fifty thousand crowns? For that, his mother'd forgive him anything. Even the murder of Methven—or two Methvens. But it would not do to let lee Wynter know he'd struck a responsive chord. Besides, twice now de Wynter had mentioned, in veiled terms, of course, as England's demand that Scotland pay for the privilege of marrying their king to England's princess. If word were out in Europe—James didn't want to think on that—it would kill all chance of a marriage between Mary and himself.

  De Wynter was continuing. "I have myself seen the girl. She is a lovely girl, and sweet but not lacking in a sense of adventure. One who would do anything to please her lord." His voice became more confidential; and though the two were alone in the dank empty room, James moved closer so as better to hear.

  "Naturally, being the daughter of a renowned lecher and womanizer like Francis and his most prolific and fecund queen, you can be assured that the girl would not be a disappointment in bed. However, I assure you that French monarchs watch over the virginity of their daughters like the jewel it is. The Lady Madeleine would come to you ignorant of any other man."

  That, thought James, would be a novelty. Since Douglas began pandering to his stepson with cast-off leavings, James was more accustomed to well-used women. It might be nice to stretch a rich virgin.

  Casually de Wynter reached into the pouch he carried at his side, and produced a small red leather box. "Perhaps you'd care to see her likeness?"

  James as casually reached for the box. It fit comfortably within the palm of his hand. On its cover the fleur-de-lis of France was heavily stamped in gold. Within its Mack velvet interior was a small oval portrait. The girl's likeness he dismissed with a glance. "Sweet" adequately described it. But the frame. That was a work of art. Blue enamel with traceries of gold throughout and a studding of diamonds at the end of each golden tendril. At the top of the frame like a crown, a large pear-shaped pearl surmounted a cluster of rubies and diamonds in the shape of some exotic flower with leaves that were oval-cut emeralds.

  James was impressed. The frame was priceless. If Francis should send such a gift as this just to tantalize the prospective bridegroom, the 50,000 crowns might be only the first offer. But it wouldn't do to seem too eager. Besides, there were negotiations under way for an Infanta from Spain—not to mention the English marriage. And the Hol
lander one. Ah, it was good to be young and unmarried if one were a king, even the king of a poor country.

  In the meantime, the French princess must not be refused, nor her ambassador discouraged. Thus, James temporized, "Cousin, I am disappointed in you. A man with such a reputation with women should have been able to scare up more flattering words to describe such a young beauty. I shall keep this portrait with me always, to gaze on her—how did you characterize it?—her sweet face whenever my soul needs mending. As to the marriage itself. Though she is in truth a most desirable wife, and her dowry is—how would I describe it? adequate—I cannot at this time think of marrying this or any other princess."

  He stopped with a woeful sigh, but he neither looked nor sounded sincere. De Wynter had not expected otherwise. A decision of this magnitude would take careful study. Francis knew it, too. This .was only France's opening gambit. For, while Scotland was being offered one bride, Mary Tudor was being sought for the Dauphin. Marriage was as good a way as conquest to unite kingdoms. Francis with his brood of children had more confidence in marital maneuvers than martial ones. He had, after all, been notoriously unsuccessful in his attempts at the latter.

  Since James was obviously expecting some response, de Wynter looked properly perplexed.

  "Yes, indeed," James continued, "I've taken a vow not to marry until the matter of my mother's marriage is solved. Perhaps your friend, the cardinal?" By the time de Wynter wrote to Rome or to Naples or wherever the prelate might be, and got a response, whatever it might be, which was of no real import to James, weeks would go by. By then, James was sure he'd come up with another delaying tactic. These marital negotiations could drag on for years. After all, unless one were lucky, one married only once or at the most twice in one's life. Except for death in childbirth, women seemed immune to early ends.

  In the meantime, it would be best to sever the relationship between Margaret and de Wynter. His mother, in her cups, was notably loose-lipped. An ardent lover who was in the employ of a foreign country might well learn too much from her. To accomplish the breakup would take some doing, the king already being in her bad graces. James suspected he would have to buy his way back into her favor with the French frame. Then, he had a inspiration. So diabolically clever was it that James very seriously came close to considering himself a diplomatic genius, especially when he heard what next de Wynter had to say.

  CHAPTER 9

  "Well, what did he say?" De Wynter had barely closed the door to the music room behind him when the Lady Islean was upon him.

  "Not now, on our way back to Alva. How long will it take you to pack?" Although .his words seemed to convey some urgency, his tone of voice was preoccupied.

  "Why are you eager to leave?" Then, she couldn't resist the opportunity. "Don't you wish to renew your acquaintance with Margaret?"

  He refused to rise to the bait; instead, he started off briskly. "The king has agreed to make my excuses for me."

  The Lady Islean had to follow along at a good pace if she wished to continue the conversation. "I doubt that. He'd rather beard twenty boars than tell his mother something she doesn't want to hear. You should have heard the row last night."

  "Oh? Tell me about it as we ride. As to my question?"

  "To pack? Just a few minutes for my own clothing. Your father always insisted I be ready to move on at a moment's notice. But I had planned to stay and collect my belongings, taking them back with me. Not that I don't trust the Campbells."

  "If I were you, I'd worry more about the Stewarts. In fact, I should assign one of the Alva housemaids to assist the Queen Dowager in her packing. From what I saw in her room, she has a habit of collecting loose objects."

  The Lady Islean was shocked. Not at petty thievery—it happened all the time—but by the Queen Dowager? "She only has to admire and she'll be given what she fancies."

  "With some sort of largess expected in kind. Mother, the woman hasn't two shillings to rub together. I felt her purse while she slept It was empty. Her wardrobe? It's half the size of yours and many of the dresses have been turned. Her jewels are glass. But if you don't believe me, check the harpsichord in the music room. In it, you'll find two of your goblets and a salt that I retrieved from her room three nights ago."

  Shocked, the. Lady Islean twirled and began to retrace her steps, but de Wynter caught her by the arm. "Later, Mother. Those things are safe. It's the others I'd worry about."

  "What do you suggest? That I strip the place while the king is still here?"

  "How well do you trust the Campbells?"

  The two stared at each other, so much alike other than that hair. Then, the Lady Islean dimpled and laughed. "Not at all. I'll do it. You see to the horses and carts."

  To the courts' amazement and the Campbells' chagrin, servants began to remove the castle's furnishings—the chairs, the linens, the serving plates, the very kettles in which the many meals had been cooked—then the servants themselves clambered aboard clumsy conveyances and were driven away. Last to leave was the Lady Islean. As Fionn helped her mount her jenny, she was tempted to say something biting in the way of goodbye, but desisted when she saw the expression on the young chatelaine's face.

  Lady Ann was mortified. And her husband was obviously furious with her. The king, guessing what had happened and realizing what was likely to follow, intervened. After all, he owed Ann something for those two nights, regardless of the disappointments of the third, that she had entertained him royally in his bedchamber. And so he made the Lady Ann a most low obeisance, and kissed her hand most tenderly.

  Not looking at her at all, but at the red-faced head of the Campbell clan, he said, "You are a man most fortunate in your mate. I should wish myself to be as lucky as you when I take a woman to wife. Cherish your. Lady Ann most carefully; we should be upset to discover that our royal visit had caused her any discomfort"

  The use of the royal "we" would, as he knew, impress the Lord Campbell. His words had the effect of a command. To reinforce his words, he slipped the small silver ring from his little finger and placed it upon her small thumb. "Take this token of my esteem, lady, and send it to me if ever 1 can be of service to you."

  Then, he mounted and rode off, leaving the young girl romantically holding the ring to her lips. It was the most precious thing she'd ever owned. Her husband, glowering next to her, waited not a minute longer than courtesy demanded, then turned about and stomped inside to seek solace in a large tankard of wine. If only he could find a cup from which to drink.

  James, as he rode at the forefront of the royal caravan, thought to himself that his investment in that score of silver rings was wise; he must remind the Earl of Mar to order more.

  James had not yet made it a habit to take himself up into the Highlands to visit the clans. But after seeing the wealth of the Earl of Seaforth, he decided he would soon rectify the matter.

  The troop bound for Alva had not gone far when they were joined by another, de Wynter having rounded up the huntsmen from their temporary camp and, with the bounds running underfoot, started them back to their more familiar haunts. Amidst much barking and bugling and shouting the troops merged, organizing themselves with a few well-chosen words from de Wynter. With Fionn again bearing the Mer-Lion banner in the fore, the Mackenzies, lord, lady, and clansmen, returned from their first royal hunt

  To the Lady Islean's disgust, de Wynter did not immediately seek her out; not until he had ridden inspection on all of the wagons and horses and hounds, assuring himself that all was in order. It made no difference to Islean that that was exactly what her husband would have done. Finally, her son urged the ugly, surefooted mare forward, bringing her alongside the Lady Islean's jenny.

  She had, during the time he was busy, gone from eager impatience to outright anger to calm resolve; she would wait and let him bring up the subject. She was tired of appearing the younger of the two.

  But he seemed not eager to talk. Eventually, she broke the silence: "That's an ugly mare you ride."
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  "Is that what you wanted to speak to me about?"

  "You know damn well it's not."

  "Well, then, what would you like to know?" He was all agreeableness and she would have liked to turn him over her knee and administer a good paddling.

  "You could start at the beginning," she replied, exasperated, "but perhaps that's too logical." -

  He reached over and put his hand on hers, his expression all contrite. "I didn't mean that as you took it. I really don't know how to begin; you're not going to like what you hear."

  "He didn't agree to your renunciation of the throne?" was her shocked question.

  "He didn't quite disagree. Wait, let me explain. The way he put it, he rather liked having two bodies—I had not yet told him about Jamie—between him and Margaret Douglas. He said he slept better that way. Besides, he liked having his heir near at hand here in Scotland."

  "Well, that's just too bad. I'll ride right up to Mercat Cross in Edinburgh and announce my renunciation to the world at large. You'd better do the same. Comforting, indeed. Who does the bastard think he is?"

  "Mother, you have it wrong. We're the bastards, remember?" She ignored that. "Is that all he said?" "Not exactly. He finally admitted he'd reconsider the matter if a way could be found to persuade Margaret Douglas to return to Scotland." "You joke!"

  "Not at all. That's what he said in so many words. However, he did understand our rightful concern for our own skins. He was sorry, of course, about the death of Albany's heir... and of your brother, the Earl of Moray... and of your husband." For the first time, his voice betrayed him, and Islean realized her son did care. It was her turn to reach for his hand. They rode awhile, hand in hand. Then, with his voice back under control, de Wynter continued. And this time, if anything, his voice was bitter. "And out of his great and real love for us, when I told him of my son, he refused to confirm Jamie as my heir."