Tempted (12 page)

Ram’s eyes traveled about the hall, mentally noting the attractive women, most of whom had been mistress to the king at one time or another. Marion Boyd was the mother of the king’s eldest illegimate son, Alexander. Isobel Stewart, the king’s own cousin, had borne him a daughter he’d called Jean. He had other bastards—Catherine, James— and Ram remembered a dark-haired baby girl that James and his beloved Margaret Drummond had made together. Margaret Drummond had been the great love of James Stewart’s life. It was even rumored they had secretly wed. She had been exceedingly beautiful with her black hair and creamy, flawless skin. Ram wondered cynically how long it would have lasted if the girl hadn’t been poisoned. It had supposedly left the king brokenhearted, yet he had managed to console himself with the aid of endless courtesans like Janet Kennedy.

Suddenly, Ram became aware of a hand upon his knee.
It trailed up his thigh slowly in blatant invitation. He looked down at Margaret in disbelief. He was tempted to let her reach her goal and learn the unflattering truth that he remained flaccid and unaroused, but he found the invasion so distasteful, his hand closed about her fingers and firmly lifted her hand until it lay in her own lap. Margaret looked up at him with hurt bewilderment He held her eyes with a scorching look of anger and pressed her hand to her woman’s hot center. He deliberately used her own fingers to rub her until her eyes became dilated and glazed, her mouth slack with need. Once she was fully aroused, he swiftly let go of her hand and resumed eating. Thirty seconds later Margaret was on her feet, begging to be excused. She would have to finish what the wicked Douglas had begun.

Ram moved over to sit beside James, with whom he had much more in common. The king was intelligent, curious, high-spirited, warm-hearted, and generous. He could discuss ships, trade, crafts, politics, or alchemy. His latest passion was building up a creditable fleet in the royal shipyards along the River Clyde.

“Ram, I wanted to talk to ye about mounting cannon on your mercantile vessels to convert them to warships.”

“My ships are already armed, sire.”

The king raised his eyebrows. “Without my authority?”

Ram shrugged. “I’ve letters of marque against the Portuguese. My ships must be able tae defend themselves when I take my wool tae Flanders. I’ve ten thousand sheep, ye ken.”

“So it is feasible tae convert mercantile ships? Over two-thirds of Scotland’s vessels are the property of my subjects. We keep England, France, Flanders, and the Low Countries supplied with fish, wool, and hides. How many ships do ye have?” asked the king.

“I have only three vessels, sire. I could use more. One is here at Leith, the other two are anchored where the River Dee empties into Solway Firth.”

“Castle Douglas is on the Dee. Can ye sail clean up tae the castle?”

“Only with the smallest ship, sire, but we get close enough,” Ram said. “Angus has ships, of course.”

“Do his vessels bristle wi’ cannon?” James challenged.

“Ye’d best ask Angus.”

“By the Power, yer a canny bastard,” James said with a grin. Though technically the king’s authority was the highest in the land, if there was a power behind the throne, it was Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus. If ever James was absent or disposed, Angus was acting Regent of Scotland, but where the king was loved, Angus was feared. “I expect sometime tomorrow he’ll be returning from Stirling,” James said, and was amused at the look that came into Ram’s face. “Ye chafe under Archibald’s authority.” James laughed. “I didn’t think there was a man breathed who put fear into ye.”

Ram grimaced. “I don’t fear him—I fear myself and the injury I may do the bloody dictator one day.”

The king shook his head with forbearance. “Douglas men are all savages, yet I know that Archibald loves ye above every other Douglas, and only wants what’s best for ye.”

“Or what’s best for him—not always one and the same thing, sire,” Ram pointed out. Though they were discussing the iron-fisted authority of the Earl of Angus, Ram did not make the fatal mistake of underestimating the king. There were times when he was easygoing and intimately friendly, but his word was law, and he would assert his authority if it meant hanging every last one of his hardened Scots lords.

The next day brought not only Archibald Douglas and his son, the Master of Douglas, with two hundred men at their back, but a veritable horde of disgruntled nobles, each vexed and querulous and all clashing one with another. The king received them en masse, saw his error immediately and brought the audience to a close, banishing
them to the bowels of Edinburgh Castle until they could be summoned one at a time in strict pecking order.

This was enough to make them sink their teeth further into each other’s throats. When James summoned his admiral, James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, first, it immediately plunged Archibald Campbell, Earl of Argyll, into a black temper. He raged that though Arran was in charge of Scotland’s navy, that merely amounted to one new flagship and a ragtag of dubious floating arks.

The king asked Arran about the seaworthiness of his new flagship, the
Great Michael
, then went on to tell him he intended to keep the shipyards busy building vessels from now on. The admiral eyed him, wondering if Rob Kennedy had been before him with his tale of the English attacking his ship. He kept his mouth shut about the incident and instead launched into a complaint about his cattle being raided James raised his eyebrows and assured him he’d get back to him when he got to the bottom of it.

When Archibald Campbell rolled into the presence chamber, James knew better than to expect a courtier. Only a trained ear could understand his thick Highland burr, and when he spat on the velvet carpet, James forced himself to remember the invaluable service this powerful earl had recently rendered in destroying the rebellious MacDonald, who had declared himself Lord of the Isles and become a traitorous law unto himself.

“I’m no’ best pleased yon whoreson Arran takes precedence o’er me in yer favor, Jamie!”

“No such thing, Archibald. You are invaluable to me. Are you not Master of the Royal Household?”

“A tinpot empty title, Jamie, when stacked against Lord High Admiral,” he said bluntly, and spat again.

James sighed. Argyll was a canny old bastard; land greedy to boot. The king’s other nobles feared Argyll’s growing might, feared that before he was finished, he’d have the whole of the western Highlands under his thumb. Still, it was the only way to keep rebellion down, so James
knew he must keep Archibald Campbell loyal. “Governor,” James said. “Governor General of the Northwest. I think that would be in order.”

The old chief grunted with satisfaction, was about to spit, saw the king’s forbidding eye upon him, and changed his mind. “Governor general,” he beamed. “Now that’s summat like a royal post,” he said with satisfaction.

“Now then, Archibald, what’s this complaint you’ve brought me?”

“Firkin’ Kennedys raided ma prize longhorns! Yer permission tae hang the bastards frae their ain trees?”

The king wasn’t amused. “I thought your daughter was betrothed to Donal Kennedy. I’m in favor of such a marriage bond.”

“The governor general’s daughter wed tae a bloody Kennedy?” he asked in outrage.

The king tried to hold his patience and failed. “It’s gone straight to your bloody head, Archibald. I can have it off you in a minute!”

“Ma haid or ma new office?” asked Argyll, in a heavy attempt at humor.

“Christ, not only do I have Kennedys and Hamiltons at each other’s throats, now I have Kennedys and Campbells! Settle yer differences, man! Ye’ll sign a bond of marriage and a bond of friendship. And ye’ll do it before ye leave.”

Argyll eyed Jamie, saw he was adamant and would brook no refusal, so he immediately acquiesced. “When the daughter of Argyll weds, it should be in the capital. The Highlands are too far off fer Scotland’s nobility,” said the canny Scot.

James shook his head at Archibald Campbell’s audacity. “Stirling,” said the king. “They can be wed in the chapel royal. I think even ye will agree it is a signal honor fer the Royal House of Stewart to offer the hospitality of Stirling.” James looked at Argyll fastidiously. “Have ye no other attire save sheepskins?”

Argyll drew himself up with pride. “That I ha’, Jamie. It shall be bearskins the nicht!”

James Stewart rolled his eyes heavenward, not really expecting help from that quarter, and gave audience to the next noble.

Archibald Kennedy, Earl of Cassillis, heaped every crime in the book upon the shoulders of the Hamiltons and the Campbells, then started afresh upon Clan Douglas.

“Christ Almighty!” swore the King. “Now ye’re dragging another clan into it! Wild accusations are useless, Archibald. I need proof.”

“Yer Grace, the Barbary that was meant fer ye was ridden tae Edinburgh by ma niece, Lady Valentina Kennedy. Black Ram Douglas sold it tae her and forged a legal bill o’ sale. I’ll show ye the horse, sire—it’s in yer ain stables.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “Make no mistake, Cassillis— I shall countenance no clan feuds. If I investigate the matter of raiding and find any of you involved, I’ll hang the lot of you.” Cattle reiving, then demanding mail for the beasts’ return, had been a way of life until he had clamped down on it with an iron hand and added robbery to murder, arson, and rape—the criminal offenses that were pleas to the crown and judged by the king. “Ye can send in Rob Kennedy,” the king said wearily.

James was thunderstruck when he heard Robert’s tale of attack on the high seas. While his bloody earls were savaging each other, the English had committed what amounted to an act of war. “Too bad I didn’t have the good sense to fetch ye in first, Rob. My governor general and my admiral are haggling over sheep and cattle while Scotland’s ships are being attacked and destroyed. When my borders and my ships are attacked by the enemy, I need unity in the realm, but unity is abhorred by all!” He crashed his fist upon the black walnut table, making the inkwell and sand-caster dance about. Men often said the king was gifted with the second sight, and he often wondered himself if it were
not so. For a long time now he had known an inner urgency to build warships and amass a navy. He had built the
Lion
, the
Margaret
, and the
Michael
with seasoned oak from Fyfe, but he had the feeling now that he would need many more vessels and men with experience to sail them.

“Thank you, Rob, for coming to me directly with this news. Nothing good ever came out of England.” James thought of his dumpy wife the moment the words were out of his mouth, and inevitably Rob Kennedy thought of his. “I hear that Lady Valentina accompanied ye. I shall be delighted tae make her acquaintance.”

“Thank ye, Yer Grace,” replied Rob, wishing he had left her at home where James’s roving eye could not fall upon her. Then James smiled and added, “Janet will be delighted tae have her kinswoman here for a visit.” The king looked appreciatively at Rob. “The Kennedy women are said tae be the most beauteous in the land with hair like fire.”

“Oh aye, my Tina’s a firebrand, sire.”

“We are tae be entertained by a play tonight. I hope ye and yer daughter will join us.”

The firebrand was almost without breath at the moment as Ada pulled mercilessly upon the strings of her corset. Although they had been at court less than a full day, both women were aware of the contrast between Tina’s gowns and the costumes displayed by the courtiers.

Men’s doublets were now wide at the shoulders with
padding, the sleeves slashed with silken undershirts plucked through the vents. The women’s gowns were quilted and embroidered, and the queen’s were decorated by dangling jewel egrets. Bodices were so low in the front, they were shocking, and so high in the back, they were wired so that the high collars were like frames for the face.

The fashion that Valentina had immediately fallen in love with and that Ada had already copied for her was a frilled and pleated creation worn under the chin like a small plate and called a ruff. Ada’s needle had lowered the neckline on Tina’s most vivid gown, an emerald green velvet, and when she fastened the snow-white ruff and brushed out her silken mass of flaming copper hair, she hoped she would not look too gauche.

Tina shared a chamber with Meggan Campbell, and when the two girls entered Edinburgh Castle’s long, dim banqueting hall, they were vastly relieved to see Donal Kennedy and Patrick Hamilton walk a direct path to claim them. Meggan clutched Donal’s hand almost desperately, and the couple sought a quiet corner where they could talk

Tina smiled up at Patrick with genuine pleasure. “I’d no idea you were in Edinburgh.”

“Nor I you,” he said, his eyes telling her how lovely he found her, his brain giving thanks that his nose was no longer swollen.

Tina placed her hand upon his arm and bent toward him confidentially. “Your father descended upon Doon accusing us of cattle rustling, and then my father accused yours of not keeping the seas safe. It was like a circus, especially when the clowns arrived. The upshot was our families rushed to the king to lay their complaints and have him settle the disputes. I was afraid we’d never be allowed to see each other again.”

He covered her hand and squeezed it. “Sweet, I think I would die without ye.”

She withdrew her hand and slapped him playfully. “Flatterer!”
Suddenly she felt nervous. The hall seemed to be filled with Douglas men, easily identified by their dark dress tartan and their Bleeding Heart crests. Two of the dark-visaged fellows were openly staring at her now, and she felt her cheeks suffuse as Patrick said curtly, “Keep yer eyes tae yerselves!”

She whispered, “The ugly fellows seem to be everywhere.”

Patrick told her, “The earl rode in today—afraid tae move without two hundred at his back.”

Her eyes danced, but she whispered a warning: “For God’s sake, Patrick, have a care for your tongue. The Earl of Angus is all-powerful and ruthless.”

“I’m no’ afraid of Archibald Douglas,” he said with reckless bravado.

Tina shuddered. “The name Archibald turns men into monsters.”

“Where’s Meggan?” demanded a rough voice. The piercing eyes of Argyll bored into her so that she did not dare to lie. “She’s with my brother, my lord earl,” Tina managed.

To her vast relief he grunted and replied, “That’s good. I dinna want her flauntin’ hersel aboot the hall until she’s raped.” The narrow morals he set for his daughter in no way applied to himself. He leered down the front of Tina Kennedy’s gown and in a coarse whisper that carried said, “Yer bonnie enough tae make an auld man scorch” Then he thumped Hamilton on the back. “Careful ye dinna receive a hornin’!”

Tina’s cheeks flamed, and Patrick flushed. “Old lecher! No lady is safe from his coarse tongue.”

“See what I mean about the name Archibald? Meggie Campbell is incapable of flaunting herself.” Her eyes lit with amusement again. “While I …” She let her words trail away, and Patrick finished her sentence “While ye attract every man from sixteen to sixty. Damn, the hall is crowded tonight. As soon as the meat is ready, there will
be such an undignified rush for seats, I think I’d best go and secure ours, or we’ll find ourselves below the salt.”

“That would never do for the admiral’s son.” She laughed.

“Nor his betrothed,” he murmured low.

Her eyebrows rose at his presumption, but she was far from displeased that he was beginning to commit to a serious relationship. Suddenly she stiffened as a pair of very possessive hands squeezed her waist and a beautifully modulated voice said from behind, “Honey love, slip away before the play is done, and I’ll join you in bed as soon as I can get away.”

With an angry retort upon her lips she swung about and looked into the face of an extremely handsome man with dark auburn hair and beard. The king’s hazel eyes widened as he realized the lady was not his mistress, Janet Kennedy. “I beg yer pardon, my lady. I mistook ye for another.”

At that moment the other radiant redhead appeared at his elbow, and the women’s resemblance was so marked that they all laughed and knew each other’s identities immediately

“You could only be Lady Valentina Kennedy,” the king said, kissing her hand.

“And you could only be the king.” She curtsied gracefully and with mock innocence asked, “Your Grace, does that mean your invitation is withdrawn?”

His hazel eyes held warm admiration mixed with the secret amusement they alone shared. “Nay, it is an open invitation that will stand through the years.” James introduced her to Janet, who was thicker than Tina through the middle, but no man’s eyes would ever notice with her nipples deliciously exposed and painted red like two ripe cherries. James excused himself to join the queen on the dais and murmured to Janet, “Later.”

A pair of pewter eyes across the room had watched as the king laid familiar hands upon Valentina Kennedy. It merely confirmed what he had always known—that Kennedy
women were whores, he thought with contempt. As the tall, slim figure of Patrick Hamilton claimed Tina Kennedy, Ram Douglas felt pity for his enemy. He’d be wearing horns before he was even a bridegroom. He had no idea he was the third man to think of a horning within minutes of glancing at the honeypot.

Janet joined her Kennedy cousin and Patrick Hamilton, surprised that coarse Rob Kennedy had bred such a dazzling creature. She remarked upon it: “The contrast between the men and women of Clan Kennedy never ceases to amaze me.”

Tina’s eyes swept over her brother Donal’s barrel-chest and sparse carroty hair, then they passed over her father’s coarse, ruddy person and on to the Kennedy chief, Archibald, Earl of Cassillis. She repressed a shudder and smiled at Janet’s radiant beauty.

Janet said, “I remember your aunt Damaris at her wedding. I was only a young girl at the time, but I was quite overcome with envy for her delicate beauty and for that sinfully handsome Alex Douglas.”

Both women thought of Damaris’s death, and Janet, on a sigh, said softly, “He was a man to die for.”

Tina almost said something about the degenerate Douglas men, then bethought herself that Janet had been mistress to the Douglas chief and shuddered instead.

Patrick put an arm about her shoulders. “Surely yer not cold in this crowd?”

She arched her brows at his familiar hand, and he removed it with a murmured apology. He knew better than to treat her like one of the easy ladies of the court.

Janet and Tina had instantly decided there would be no rivalry between them. They were fast friends upon the briefest acquaintance, and Tina spoke quite intimately with Janet, who filled her in regarding half the people at court.

“Is it true that the king wears an iron belt of remorse because he feels guilt over his father’s death?” Tina asked.

Janet’s lips tightened momentarily. “‘Tis true, though I
rail against the obscene thing. ‘Tis so heavy, it would cripple any other man.” She leaned closer. “I do talk him out of wearing it to bed since I’ve been with him. Hell’s teeth, ‘tis penance enough to have to live in Edinburgh Castle and be wed to Margaret Tudor!”

After the meal, while the court remained seated at table, the play began. Valentina was caught up with the novelty of it all, when suddenly the gnarled Argyll, resplendent in his black bearskin, confused the actors with reality and joined the argument and the swordfighting. The king and the more sophisticated of his courtiers were helpless with laughter until it became apparent that Argyll was going to dispatch the actors with his mighty swordarm.

The Earl of Angus directed his son, young Archibald Douglas, to get Argyll under control and explain matters to him, a formidable task that the faint at heart would not attempt. Douglas did a creditable job of controlling Argyll, and the assembly applauded him with many a ribald comment about Lord Bleary.

Janet said, “There is something splendid about Douglas men.” She was not looking at the young Master of Angus, however, but at his powerful father, the highest earl in the land. Valentina could see she was still half in love with him.

Janet sighed and arose. “It is time for me to withdraw, I think. I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Perhaps we could ride together.”

As the tables were cleared away for dancing, Patrick Hamilton presented Tina to the queen. Though her face and figure were heavy and plain, her gown was not. It was black velvet, embroidered all over with white silken Tudor roses whose centers were diamonds, pearls, and rubies. As Tina went down before her, Queen Margaret looked her over, saw no array of jewels, and decided she was no rival. She chose to overlook the fact that the girl’s face and hair were adornment more radiant than any jewels.

“Lady Valentina, how sweet of you to honor me by wearing my green and white Tudor colors.”

Tina had not been aware of it until the queen pointed it out The queen continued, “Your dear mother is English, of course. That is why you have such pretty manners and a cultured voice. This is Nan Howard,” said the queen, introducing her lady-in-waiting. Beside the queen’s sallowness, the Howard girl looked like a flower from an English rose garden. She was all lovely round curves with golden hair and blue eyes, yet the look she cast Tina was most unlovely. It was sullen, in fact, which was puzzling until Valentina saw her glance at Patrick Hamilton with accusation in her eyes.

Tina was almost amused. She negligently shrugged one pretty shoulder before she turned away from the girl to be introduced to her father Lord Howard, Earl of Surrey, was acting as ambassador to Scotland at the moment. He was a close confidant of the queen and acted as secret liaison between Margaret Tudor and her brother Henry, the new all-powerful king of England. Howard’s daughters had inherited his blond hair and fine English skin, which gave him a youthful appearance, belying his almost fifty years.

Howard raised Valentina’s fingers to his lips and made her an elegant leg. Though dressed in the height of fashion, his clothes were in impeccable taste. The contrast between Howard and the Scots nobles clearly showed he was from a more civilized culture. He was no fop, however. He had a military bearing and had commanded forces for the old Tudor king when he was alive. “Lady Valentina, may I tell you that you are more breathtaking than your mother? In my youth I spent time in Carlisle, and I admit freely that Elizabeth broke my heart when she married Robert Kennedy.”

Tina rewarded him with a smile, thinking how nice it would be to have a father with such polished manners.

“Will you save me a dance, my lady? I intend to give these younger men a run for their money.”

Farther down the hall, Ramsay Douglas praised his cousin Archibald in front of his father, the Earl of Angus,
in hope of raising his uncle’s opinion of his own son. “That took both courage and diplomacy,” Ram said.

The rash Master of Douglas replied, “It felt good tae ha’ control of Argyll, even if only fer a few minutes.”

Ram made no comment but thought it showed a lack of self-control to display his lust for power quite so openly. Still, his father was so dominant, it was hard to get out from under his shadow. Though aging, Angus still ruled the whole Douglas clan, not just his son, with an iron fist. Ram smiled wryly. At least a dozen women had their eyes upon them as they stood talking, and he knew that if he spurned their offers, they would gladly settle for the powerful Earl of Angus, despite his age.

As the music started for the dancing, Ram said low to his cousin, “Here comes the queen. I would rather avoid her advances.”

“What do ye mean, man?” asked young Archie.

Ram cast him a cynically amused glance. “She seems tae have developed a craving for Douglas flesh.” Ram saw raw speculation come into his cousin’s eyes.

“By God, I’ll ha’ at her!” he said aggressively, and Ram suppressed a shudder, thinking it would take a great deal of either fortitude or ambition to ride that gray mare. He was cynical enough to wonder if his cousin acted on orders from his father; then his cynicism went one step further, and he wondered if Angus had pushed Janet into the king’s bed for his own devious purpose.

Patrick Hamilton led Valentina Kennedy onto the floor for the slow and sensual pavane. She concentrated on the gliding steps, carefully keeping pace with Patrick, who had obviously danced at court before. There were many elegantly gowned ladies dancing, and Tina did not wish to appear unsophisticated before that polished assembly.