The Kadin (43 page)

Next into the fray jumped the duke of Norfolk, anxious to get back on Henry’s good side since both his nieces, Anne Boleyn, and Catherine Howard, had the unpleasant distinction of being the only two of Henry’s queens to be beheaded. He was more successful putting Roxburgh, Kelso, and some smaller towns to the torch. Henry then pulled out the old English chestnut of suzerainty over Scotland, and James was forced to fight.

James mustered a force, kissed his again-pregnant queen good-bye, and marched off. He got as far as Fala Moor, and there his nobles refused to go any further. Without them he had no army, and they would not they said, spill Scots blood for France, which was what it all boiled down to in the end. They disbanded, but three weeks later on November twenty-first James marched out of Edinburgh at the head of ten thousand men recruited with the help of Cardinal Beaton, and the earl of Moray—the other James Stewart

With the king, and leading a combined force of men, rode Charles, his uncle Adam, his cousins, Ian and Hugh. Their neighbors, James and Gilbert Hay, rode with them. The master of Grayhaven had been ill, and left behind at Sithean. Colin had angrily protested, but Janet having a premonition, drugged his wine, and he slept for two days.

It was for naught Awaking early on the morning of the twenty-third of November, Colin Hay crept softly from Janet’s bed, dressed himself warmly, slipped into the stables, saddled his horse, and left Sithean to join the others.

He reached the battlefield in time to help Red Hugh, and what remained of the Leslie-Hay contingent collect the bodies of their dead. Both families had escaped the tragedy of Flodden, but they did not escape Solway Moss. Among the dead were Adam Leslie, earl of Glenkirk. His son and heir, Ian. His nephew, Charles Leslie, the Earl of Sithean. James Hay, heir to Grayhaven. His brother, Gilbert And close to two hundred young men and boys from the three estates. The remaining men were able, by commandeering wagons, to transport the bodies back to Glenkirk, Sithean and Grayhaven.

Epilogue—August 1566

P
ATRICK
L
ESLIE
, fourth earl of Glenkirk, came in from the sunny warmth of a summer’s afternoon and descended to the cool, damp burial vault of the Leslies, located behind and below the altar in the family chapel. A dozen vigil lamps glowed softly.

Sitting quietly on the marble bench that had been placed for prayer and meditation, he gazed at the plaques that marked each tomb. All the plaques but one were marked simply with the occupant’s name and birth and death dates.

There was his great-grandfather Patrick, the first earl, for whom he was named. He had died peacefully in his bed at the age of eighty. The earl could barely remember him—a tall, grizzled old man with thick white hair and a deep voice. Near him rested his wife, Agnes Cummings.

His grandfather Adam, his father, Ian, and his great-aunt Janet’s son Charles, all of whom had died at the battle of Solway Moss in 1542, were next Each lay beside his wife. His grandmother Anne MacDonald and the tiny tomb of her oldest son, who had died at the age of three. Fiona Abernethy, Charles’s wife, dead in childbed of her fifth child. The earl’s own mother, Jane Dundas, who upon hearing the news from Solway Moss fell dead in the courtyard of the castle, leaving five orphaned children.

Along with Charles’s children, they had been raised by their great-aunt Janet Leslie. His heart swelled with love at the memory of her. She had been sixty-two then—a venerable age—but it hadn’t stopped her. Shouting down some distant cousins who had appeared in an attempt to take over both sets of children and the Leslie goods and chattels, she had taken immediate charge.

Stunned at the loss of both his parents, the nine-year-old earl had wanted to cry. Softly but sternly, she had warned him that a peer of the realm, no matter how young, did not weep publicly. Later that night he had privately sobbed his heart out in her loving arms.

She and she alone had been responsible for the happiness of them all. His sisters and his female cousins had all been married to fine, loving, wealthy men. His brothers and his male Leslie cousins, Aunt Janet’s grandchildren, had settled down with good livings.

The one memory that would remain with him as long as he lived was the fact that she had never seemed to grow old. For as long as he could remember, her hair had been a soft peach color, and her wonderful eyes a green-gold. He knew from a portrait of her that hung in the Great Hall, painted when she had been betrothed at the age of thirteen, that her hair had once been the same red-gold as his.

“Bless you, Cyra,” he was startled to hear his voice say. Then he laughed. No one had heard him; and even if they had, they would not have understood that Patrick, fourth earl of Glenkirk, knew the wonderful secret of his aunt’s past

Slowly he withdrew the letter from his doublet—a letter from Esther Kira to his great-aunt. Their letters had obviously crossed in passage—his to Esther, telling her of Cyra’s death, and Esther’s to Cyra, telling of the death of Sultan Suleiman on April 14, 1566.

In the years to come, those who read her epitaph, “Born a Scot she died a Scot” would think her a poor, sad spinster. They could never even begin to imagine those fantastic years between her birth and her death. As the irony struck him, his laughter echoed strangely in the silent burial vault

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he moved toward the doorway. “Godspeed, Cyra,” he said, and, ascending the steps, Patrick Leslie walked back through the chapel and out into the bright August afternoon.

Other Avon Books by
Bertrice Small

L
OVE
W
ILD AND
F
AIR

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 1978 by Bertrice Small
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 77-99226
ISBN: 0-380-01699-0
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