The Border Lord's Bride (22 page)

"Indeed, my lord, indeed," the innkeeper agreed heartily. He grabbed at a passing serving man.

"Find Lord Brodie in the taproom, and tell him we have had to move him to the main floor. If he asks why tell him I must house the king‘s kin tonight."

Duncan Armstrong smiled just slightly, his gaze meeting that of his half brother.

"Just a few minutes, my lords, my ladies," the innkeeper assured them. "May I offer ye a wee dram in my own privy room? Please follow me." He led them to a small chamber off the noisy, bustling taproom.

"You‘ll see to the horses and our men," Conal Bruce said, and the innkeeper assured him he would. "And send my captain to join us here," he continued, effectively dismissing the man.

"There is refreshment on the tray," the innkeeper said with a wave of his hand, and then he hurried off.

A good fire burned in the room‘s hearth, and both women went to stand by it, pulling off their gloves and holding out their hands to the warmth. Then two men poured small dram cups of smoky peat-flavored whiskey for themselves and the ladies.

Duncan Armstrong drank his down in a single gulp. "By God‘s own nightshirt, our host keeps good stock." He poured himself a second dram cup.

"At least for himself," Conal Bruce agreed, joining his sibling in another libation.

Both Ellen and Adair sipped more delicately, letting the liquor warm them slowly as they now sat by the fire.

"I‘m not certain I can feel my toes," Ellen said. "Today was bitter riding."

Adair nodded. "Aye, and I‘d rather be home at Cleit with my brood. My bottom has turned to leather these last few days." She didn‘t look happy at all.

"He needs you," Ellen replied softly. "You know he does."

"‘Tis a fool‘s errand," Adair said. "My half brothers are both dead."

"But maybe, just maybe—" Ellen began.

"Edward and Dickon are dead," Adair responded firmly. "Anthony Tolliver did not lie to me. If you had seen him when he came to my home at Stanton and begged sanctuary of me, Ellen. His eyes were positively haunted. He had had to hide in my brothers‘ bedchamber watching while they were murdered, in fear of his own life. He never got over it. He could barely sleep because he dreamed of that terrible night over and over again. And poor Anthony always felt guilty that he had been unable to do anything to help Neddie and Dickie. He was a lad himself. Had he stepped forward, or even cried out, they would have killed him too. So Anthony fled to me in the confusion of Uncle Richard‘s defeat so someone would know the truth. He was killed, poor laddie, when Willie Douglas raided Stanton and carried me off. I think now that it was a mercy,"

Adair said softly. "I do not know who this man claiming to be my half brother is, but I know he is an impostor."

"The king needs to be certain," Ellen answered her. "You know that is why he has asked you to his Christmas court."

Adair shook her head. "Bless you, my little Highland sister-in-law, you are still an innocent despite your year at court. The king is a ruthless man like all the Stewarts. Whatever he does, he does with a purpose in mind. But then, he is, I expect, no different from any other king in any other land. I think you must be unflinching in your direction in order to rule successfully." She sighed.

The innkeeper returned and personally escorted them to their rooms above. They were surprised to find a pleasant dayroom along with a large bedchamber with two large beds. "Lord Brodie was anticipating entertaining this evening," the innkeeper said dryly.

"A large entertainment, no doubt," Duncan Armstrong responded with an amused quirk of his dark bushy eyebrow, and the laird of Cleit laughed aloud.

"He was more than pleased to give up the apartment to ye," the innkeeper answered. He did not tell his guests that a strong sleeping draft had been put into Lord Brodie‘s cup when he protested the move, and that when he collapsed he had been carried off to while away the night in a deep and dreamless slumber. By the time the man awoke the following day, the two border lords and their wives would be reaching Linlithgow, the innkeeper would declare that none of it had ever happened, and Lord Brodie would leave for court himself, bemused and confused. "I have arranged to have a good hot supper brought up," their host said, smiling and bowing again. "I hope it will be to your liking, my lords and my ladies." He then bowed himself out even as the serving women were coming up the stairs with their plates, platters, and bowls.

A male servant preceded them, and he quickly laid the table for four. Then he directed the women to set the serving dishes down, poured the goblets full with wine, and departed. It was a surprisingly good meal. There was a large pie with a flaky crust that oozed gravy and was filled with a mixture of game birds. There was a platter of roasted rabbit, already cut into pieces. There was a platter of sliced salmon laid upon a bed of watercress that caused both lairds to raise an eyebrow, for salmon did not show up in public houses as a rule. It had obviously been poached, but the innkeeper was not fearful of being caught, which meant he had obtained it from an important servant of some lordling, maybe even the king. A round plate held a small ham. The bread was hot and very fresh. The cheese was of the best quality, and there was a tub of sweet, newly churned butter. And finally a dish holding several warm roasted apples with cinnamon and honey, along with a little pitcher of thick golden cream.

"No wonder the place is so crowded," Duncan Armstrong observed as he quaffed some wine.

"The man keeps a good table, and has a good cellar."

"And probably preys on the unsuspecting," his brother replied.

There was a knock at the door, and both men let a hand go to their sword. But the door opened to reveal the Bruce captain, who stepped quickly into the room. "The lads, both ours and

Duffdour‘s, have all been fed, my lords," he reported. "I shall set four men at arms at the door in two-hour shifts for the night. Is there anything else?"

"We‘ll depart at first light," Conal Bruce said. "Make certain the men are fed, and see that the innkeeper is paid."

"Aye, my lord," the captain responded, and then, bowing again, departed the room.

The two couples each took a bed and slept. Used to awakening early, they arose while it was still dark and dressed quickly. But Ellen and Adair each took more care this early morning, for they would arrive at court just after midday. Their gowns were velvet and all of one piece, although the fashion in England and France was now to have bodice and skirt separate. The garments were tight fitting, with long sleeves and deeply veed necklines that exposed their breasts. Adair was garbed in a rich burgundy color, and Ellen in a vibrant green. The long hooded cloaks, lined in warm fur, that they would wear on their ride matched their gowns. They departed the inn at first light, having eaten oat porridge and fresh bread with butter and cheese.

Linlithgow Palace was located between Edinburgh and Sterling. It sat on a headland that projected out into the southern end of Linlithgow Loch. It was called the fairest royal house in Scotland, and the Stewart kings loved it. It was in a perfect defensive position, surrounded on three sides by water. They were not the only ones going to court that day, and the kirk gate leading to St. Michael‘s Church was crowded with horses and traveling carts.

"I thought never to see this castle again," Ellen said softly.

"You did not expect to return to court?" Adair asked.

"Nay, like you, I am happiest in my home. And I am not of any importance."

"He asked you so I would come," Adair replied softly.

"Aye, that is exactly why he asked us," Ellen answered, chuckling. "So, here we are, and I suppose we might as well enjoy ourselves, for how likely is it that either of us will ever come again to the king‘s court? James Stewart is fortunate I was not with child and refused to travel."

Adair grinned. "Damn!" she said. "I should have pleaded my belly!"

Linlithgow Palace was of a simple design. There was a gateway that led to the outer close.

Beyond and to the left was the peel, or palisade, that had been built by the English king, Edward I, to defend the fortress. The inner close had square towers at each of its corners. Spiral staircases known as turnpikes gave access to each tower. At the southwest was the king‘s tower. The great hall and the chapel were housed in the southeast tower, the kitchens in the northeast. The northwest tower was the queen‘s, although James IV had no queen currently, and his aunt resided there.

The ground floor of the palace housed the guardrooms. Below them were the wine cellar, the kitchens, and a large prison chamber where prisoners were thrust from the guardrooms above.

The main living quarters were on the first floor. The great hall had been built between two towers, and was called the Lyon Chamber for the great tapestry that had been woven in Bruges and hung there. Its design was of the lion rampant of Scotland‘s royal house. The hall had a hammer-beamed roof but for its southern end above the fireplace, which was vaulted into the stone walls. It was there that the dais supporting the high board was set. At the north end of the Lyon Chamber was an oak screen supporting the minstrels‘ gallery above.

As they passed through the palace‘s gateway and into the outer close, Ellen found the memories flooding back. The memory of departing Linlithgow in the dark heading north for Lochearn. The memory of returning, numb with shock after the murders of her grandfather and Donald

MacNab, terrified of being forced back and into marriage with Balgair MacArthur. Leaving and returning, and then leaving again as Duncan Armstrong‘s wife. She had always liked Linlithgow, but it had always seemed that something affecting her life happened whenever she left it.

The king was in the great hall surrounded by his friends and those who would be his friends.

There were several ambassadors, and many ladies, including the king‘s aunt and hostess, Princess Margaret Stewart. The two lairds and their wives joined the throng of guests greeting acquaintances and friends as they made their way to the king to pay him their respects. He was speaking with his good friend Patrick Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, but he saw them, his eyes lighting up with pleasure.

Duncan Armstrong and Conal Bruce bowed. Adair and Ellen curtsied.

"We are pleased you accepted our invitation," James Stewart said.

"How could we refuse you, cousin?" Adair said sweetly.

Both the king and the earl chuckled.

"You are a headstrong woman, my lady of Cleit," Patrick Hepburn said.

"And here is my bonny Ellen," the king noted. "You look happy, poppet."

"I am happy," Ellen told him, smiling, "but I should far rather have spent my first Christmas as the lady of Duffdour in my own home, my lord. You do not need me for the nefarious purposes you have in mind," she said boldly.

"But I did," the king admitted. "My good cousin would not have come without you, would you, Adair?"

"Nay, I would not," Adair responded candidly.

"We will speak privily on it later," James Stewart said. "Now go and enjoy yourselves, but first pay your respects to my aunt."

"Go and find yourselves some wine," Ellen suggested to her husband and brother-in-law. "We will visit with the Lady Margaret." She turned to Adair. "Have you ever met the princess? She is a woman of much intellect."

"I have not met her before," Adair replied as Ellen directed their steps across the Lyon Chamber to where Margaret Stewart sat holding her own small court.

The princess‘s eyes lit up as she saw Ellen. The younger woman knelt prettily and, taking the lady‘s hands up, kissed them. Margaret Stewart smiled warmly. "Ah, here you are, Ellen MacArthur. Jamie said you would be coming. And who is this beauty with you? The lady of Cleit, if I am not mistaken."

Ellen stood up, drawing Adair forward. "Aye, my lady. May I introduce to you my sister-in-law, Adair Bruce."

Adair curtsied to the king‘s aunt. "I am honored, my lady," she said.

"Come and sit by my side, lasses," the princess invited, offering them seats on two low stools.

"Tell me of your journey."

"Slow and cold," Ellen said succinctly, with a mischievous grin.

The princess laughed. "My nephew will have his own way," she noted.

"What is this gossip we hear in the borders of an English prince?" Ellen asked innocently. "They say he is King Edward the Fourth‘s son. Is it so, my lady?"

"Whether it is so or not," Margaret Stewart replied, "I have no idea."

"Is he here? At Linlithgow?" Ellen queried. She looked about the hall. "Is he in this hall now? I have never seen a prince of England."

Margaret Stewart chuckled knowingly. "Ellen, for shame! Do not play the gullible fool with me, for I know you far better. You know you were asked to court in order that the lady of Cleit be pressed into obeying my nephew‘s summons. Your husbands, bless them, are good, loyal border lords, and would bring you to any place that the king demanded of you." She turned to Adair.

"King Richard, for my nephew insists he be addressed thusly, is not in the hall tonight. He is dining with the Gordons of Huntley and their daughter, Katherine. Would you know your half brother as a grown man, my lady of Cleit? Would you know young Richard of York after all these years?"

"Aye," Adair said quietly. "I would know Dickie, but my brother is dead, madam. He was murdered at Middlesham, as I told King James several years ago."

Margaret Stewart nodded. "This will be something for you and my nephew to determine," she said. "I know you do not believe it, but there is always the faint possibility that your brother survived the attack that took his elder sibling‘s life."

Adair‘s lips compressed themselves in a thin line. "As I was not there at the time of my brothers‘

murders, I will concede that anything is possible, but the page who brought me word of the foul deed was an honest lad."

Margaret Stewart nodded. "I will admit," she said, lowering her voice so that only the two young women could hear her, "that I am not convinced of this man‘s authenticity." She sighed.