A Dangerous Love (46 page)

“The king will be locked away at Stirling,” the bishop answered him.

“If an accident does not befall him first,” Arygll murmured.

“The prince will not condone murder,” the bishop said quietly.

“Two kings are dangerous,” Angus responded. “Two kings are too many kings.”

“The prince truly believes that this can be done without any harm befalling his sire,” Patrick Hepburn said quietly.

“Certainly he knows better,” Arygll replied san-guinely. “Jamie must know in his heart that his father cannot live if he is to rule Scotland successfully. There are those who will foment rebellion in James the Third’s name just to cause trouble for his son and to gain their own advantage. And the English are not above involving themselves. With luck the king will die in battle, and we will not have his death on our consciences.”

“The king is not a man for fighting,” Lord Home said grimly. “What if he attempts to solve this diplomati-cally?”

“We will give him no choice but to fight,” Angus replied as grimly. “We do not have any option. If we mount this rebellion it must either end with our prince on the throne, or all of us hanging from the gallows at Edinburgh Castle for our treason, my lords. And as many of our clansmen as our enemies can find as well.

We all have much at stake in this conspiracy, and it is too late to go back now.”

“My lords, calm yourselves,” the bishop said in silky tones. “I will personally absolve you from the sins of treason and any murder that may ensue over this matter. We are civil men, and we all agree that King James, the third Stewart of that name, must be removed from Scotland’s throne for Scotland’s sake. And we are all in agreement that his son, the fourth James, must replace him. I have prayed long on this before involving myself with you. It is God’s will that we do. Of that I am certain.”

“Angus is right,” Patrick Hepburn said. “When shall we muster and march?”

“I would suggest immediately after Easter,” the bishop replied.

“We will light the signal fires throughout the border when the time is right,” Angus said. “Where shall we meet?”

“Why not Loudon Hill?” the bishop replied. “As a battle was fought there almost two hundred years ago I think it appropriate we mass our forces there.”

The other men in the hall nodded in agreement.

“My lords,” Ian Armstrong spoke. “Will any of the Highland clans join us?”

The Earl of Angus shook his head. “It is unlikely. The Gordons of Huntley will certainly support the king, and they are very influential among the northern families.”

“I have it on the authority of the bishop in Ab-erdeen,” the bishop of Glasgow said, “that there is one family who may declare for Prince James. ’Tis a small branch of the Leslies. The Glenkirk clansmen. Their laird is a forward-thinking man, but of course the Gordons may attempt to stop the laird of Glenkirk if this is so. They certainly want no other family eclipsing theirs in the region.”

“We have enough men, and the right on our side,”

Patrick Hepburn noted. Then he stood and lifted his goblet. “To James Stewart, the fourth of that name,” he said.

The other men stood and raised their goblets. “To the fourth James!” they answered the Hepburn. Then they all sat back down and continued eating.

Adair had noticed that none of the gentlemen at her table wore their plaids, or any other sign of their clan af-filiation. She realized this was so they could not be identified if someone should notice them coming and going from Cleit and remark upon it publicly. She was grateful, for though she agreed with what they were doing, she still feared for Conal, his brothers, and the child in her belly.

She was not unhappy when she came into the hall the next morning to find her visitors had all departed in the very early hours of the dawn, when they were less apt to be seen.

And then on the second day of spring her waters broke, and Adair went into labor with her first child.

The midwife was sent to come from the village over the hill. Elsbeth left the cooking to Grizel and Flora that day in order to be by her mistress’s side. And it was not an easy labor. Adair tried to be brave, but as the day went on her pains became harder and harder. And they came closer and closer. There was no birthing table or chair to be found in the keep. A lack, Adair thought grimly, she would remedy as soon as possible. She paced the bedchamber she shared with Conal until she was no longer able to walk or even stand. The pains grew stronger and, unable to help herself, she shrieked, and tiny beads of sweat dappled her pale forehead.

In the hall below the laird and his brothers waited for someone to bring them word of the birth. They drank Bruce whiskey, and diced for stones. The day faded into night. Grizel served the table twice. Outside they could hear the wind rising, and heavy rain hitting the wooden shutters. The fire in the large hearth that heated the hall crackled and snapped as it burned. Then suddenly Beiste arose from his usual place, his head cocked toward the stairs. Slowly, slowly Elsbeth descended, a swaddled bundle in her arms.

Walking to the laird, she offered the bundle. “Your daughter, my lord. Bless her, for she’ll not live the night through, I fear. Murdoc, my lad, ride for the priest, for the wee mite must be baptized.”

“Adair?”
Conal Bruce was pale with fear, and his brothers were surprised. They knew, though he said it not, that Conal loved Adair, but she was, after all, only a woman.

“She’s had a difficult time, my lord, but she will be fine once she gets over the disappointment of losing her bairn. She needs you,” Elsbeth said.

Conal Bruce took the infant from Elsbeth. She was so terribly tiny and pale. She had a little tuft of black hair upon her small head. Her eyes were closed, the lids
shadowed purple. Her nose and mouth were miniatures of her mother’s. She was scarcely breathing, and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes. His daughter. This was his daughter. And she was dying.

“What is her name?” he asked Elsbeth.

“Adair has not yet named her. She is waiting for you, my lord,” the woman answered him. “Will you go to her?”

“Aye,” the laird said, and, the baby still in his arms, he crossed the hall, mounting the stairs to the corridor that led to their bedchamber.

Adair lay wan and listless in their bed. Her cheeks were wet with tears. The midwife had just finished tidying everything up. Seeing the laird, she bowed and murmured her regrets. Then she left the room. Conal sat down on the edge of the bed, and carefully tucked the baby into the crook of Adair’s arms.

“I am so sorry,” Adair whispered. “I wanted to give you a son, and ’tis naught but a daughter who is not even strong enough to live.”

“She is too beautiful,” the laird replied softly. “God sent us a perfect little angel, but he grew jealous and wants her back. We cannot argue, my honey love.” He ached with her sorrow and her disappointment. “What is her name?”

“May I call her Jane after my mother?” Adair asked.

“ ’Tis a good name. Jane Bruce. Aye.” He reached out and touched the infant’s cheek with the tip of his finger.

The child did not stir. “I’ve sent for the priest, Adair.”

She nodded. “Aye. We must baptize her at once.”

Adair looked down at the baby in her arms. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

He reached out and took her hand in his. It was like ice. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed the little hand and kept it in his own. “Very beautiful,” he agreed. Then he sat holding the infant’s hand as she cradled their daughter.

The priest arrived bearing his oil, salt, and holy water.

Elsbeth and Murdoc stood as godparents for the baby.

The priest baptized Jane Bruce, who did not even let out the faintest cry as the water was laved over her tiny round head, and a cross signed in holy oil was sketched upon her forehead. She did make a small moue of distaste as the salt was smeared upon her tiny lips. The priest and godparents departed immediately after the deed was done, while Conal Bruce sat by his wife and daughter’s side the night long. By the time the spring sun arose over the hills the infant had breathed her last.

A grave was dug for her on the hillside, and Jane Bruce was buried in a little wood coffin that a carpenter in the village had quickly built when the midwife brought him word of the tragedy.

Adair grieved deeply for her daughter. “Better you had kept me as your mistress than wed me,” she said to Conal. “I have failed to give you a son, as my mother failed to give John Radcliffe one.”

Hearing her, Elsbeth spoke up. “The earl’s seed was not fruitful seed,” she said. “None of his three wives conceived of him. Not once. Your mother was not barren; nor was he who sired you.”

“We will have other children,” the laird added in an attempt to comfort her. “Sons and daughters too, my honey love. I will gladly give them to you.”

Adair wept at his words. She had wept a great deal in recent days. Her breasts ached with the milk she had readied for her child, until Flora mixed an herbal draft that helped to dry the milk up. It was some weeks before the sadness began to ease for Adair. The weather grew milder with each passing day. Easter came, and then several days afterward the beacon fires appeared upon the hillsides, calling the supporters of Prince James to gather at Loudon Hill, as had been previously arranged. Conal Bruce, his brothers, and their men departed the keep.

Adair had not wanted her husband to go. “You’ll be killed!” she told him. “The last time I sent a husband off
to war he never returned. What will happen to us all if you die in battle? I beg you do not go!”

“I owe the prince my allegiance,” the laird of Cleit told his wife. “I am an honorable man. Clan Bruce is an honorable family. I must go.”

“You repaid the favor done you,” she cried. “You allowed the conspirators to meet here at Cleit. Do not go, Conal, I beg you!”

“I will come home to you, riding my own horse,” he told her.

Suddenly it didn’t matter that he couldn’t tell her that he loved her. Adair swallowed hard and brushed the tears from her cheek, nodding. “Godspeed, my lord,”
she said. “Return to me safely. All of you.” She included her brothers-in-law in her blessing. “But please be careful. I need you, Conal.”

“To make another bairn,” he murmured low as he bent to kiss her lips.

“Aye,” Adair answered him. “To make another bairn, my lord.” Then she had stood on the keep’s hilltop watching as the men of Bruce and Armstrong had ridden off, banners flying. She was both relieved and surprised when they returned some ten days later. No battle had ensued, for the king, not comprehending that his heir was a willing party to this rebellion, had refused to fight. Instead he had treated with them diplomati-cally, much to the disgust of the Earl of Angus and the others. They didn’t want this James upon Scotland’s throne. They wanted his son. This king was useless, and what little prestige Scotland had was almost gone. But James III had promised the lords that he would consult with them more frequently. He would seek their advice and that of his son, Prince James. The rebel army faded away from Blackness on the Firth of Forth, where they had attempted to engage the king’s forces; but wisely it did not disband, for past experience had taught the earls that James III was not to be trusted.

Adair didn’t care which king sat on Scotland’s throne.

She was just relieved to have Conal home safe, and his brothers with him. Her happiness was infectious, and the sorrow over her daughter’s loss had greatly dissipated. She had come to understand that Conal simply wasn’t a man for pretty speeches. He was not like any of the men previously in her life, who knew how to weave an enchantment around a woman with words. He was a rough border lord. Her husband. And she did love him.

Perhaps it had been the loss of wee Jane that had made her realize that the life she was now living was the life she was going to continue to live. England was a memory, and Stanton was gone. When she thought back on the last two years, Adair understood how fortunate she was to have been brought to Cleit. Her fate could have been so much worse. Her child’s death had brought Adair to the truth that she did want children.

She wanted Conal Bruce’s children. He had been patient with her, and now she meant to repay his unspoken love in a way that would be most pleasing to both of them. She intended to seduce her husband.

They had not coupled since Jane’s birth. The laird was eager for the pleasure of his wife’s body. The night of his return she had left the high board, murmuring an invitation in his ear before she departed the hall. Duncan, far quicker than young Murdoc, had waited a short while and then stood up.

“The lad and I are going to visit Agnes,” he said, pulling his sibling up from his chair. “We’ll not be back until morning, so lock up, Conal.”

“I had heard that Agnes has not been satisfied with any lover since the prince,” the laird remarked. “Jamie has ruined her for the rest, I fear.”

Duncan chuckled. “That is why we are going together,” he explained. “It takes two men to please the wicked wench now, and Murdoc is not averse to sharing; nor am I. We’ll keep her busy the night long, and have her exhausted by the dawn. She has a particular fondness for our little brother. What he lacks in finesse he
makes up for in his youthful exuberance and enthusiasm. I’ve seen him fuck her for almost an hour without flagging,” Duncan said with a broad grin. “A bit dull for me after a while, but I must admit to standing in awe of his endurance.”

Conal Bruce laughed aloud and, standing, ruffled Murdoc’s dark hair. “Our father, God assoil him, would be proud of you,” he told his younger brother. “Go along then. I will see you both in the morning. We must continue to drill our men, for this business with the king isn’t over yet. By summer it will surely be settled one way or the other.”

“Which way?” Murdoc asked.

“The king’s way, but which king is the question,” the laird said. “I think the sitting king too weak to withstand his son’s ambitions.”

“But the Highlands will rally to the king,” Duncan noted. “Their forces are great in comparison to Prince James’s.”