When the Earl of Dunmor, coming last, had given his oath to his nephew, the young king raised his uncle from his knees himself, saying, “I thank ye, Tavis Stewart, for yer fealty and for yer support of my cause. I know how verra much ye loved my father.”
“Ye loved him too, laddie,” the earl said. “None of this was yer doing, but ye would be well advised to exercise yer authority over yon pack of unruly dogs immediately, else ye find yerself in yer father’s position one day, but perhaps nae. Jemmie was a hard man to know, but ye hae yer mother’s charm and sweetness about ye. Just be strong, laddie.”
The prince nodded. “I will take yer advice, Uncle, for ‘tis both good and honest advice, lovingly given.” Then his blue eyes twinkled. “I hae heard that yer countess did nae agree wi’ ye in our cause.”
The Earl of Dunmor flushed and muttered, “Ye know Arabella hae a mind of her own, yer majesty. I canna seem to curb her.”
“Perhaps ye should nae, Uncle. I like yer wife the way she is, and I suspect ye do too. If ye change her, she will nae be the woman ye love,” the king said wisely.
Tavis Stewart chuckled. “Aye, yer right, nephew.” He hesitated a moment, and then he said, “Just one more word of advice, Jamie Stewart. Ye intend stripping Ramsey of his earldom, do ye nae?”
The king nodded. “I do,” he replied low.
“Then gie the earldom of Bothwell to Patrick Hepburn. Home is a good man, but he hae a tendency to get above himself, and he is riding perhaps a wee bit too high at the moment. The Hepburn of Hailes will balance him off nicely. Since they’re related, there should be no bad blood between them over this, and besides, Hepburn hae earned his earldom. He’s a true border lord, and a good man in a fight.”
The king smiled, and it was a relieved smile. “Ye hae saved me a great deal of trouble, Uncle, for although I intended taking Bothwell from Ramsey of Balmain, I didna know to whom I should gie the tide, but yer right. Patrick Hepburn is the perfect man!”
“Yer quick to assess a situation, Jamie,” the earl told his nephew. “‘Tis a good trait. Would that yer father had had it. Hae ye been able to learn yet who was responsible for his death?”
A shadow passed over the king’s young face. “Nay, Uncle, I hae not. Ye know how poor a horseman my father was. He either fell or was thrown from that large gray he rode outside of Beaton’s mill at Bannockburn. He was still conscious and sent the miller’s wife for a priest. She brought back a man claiming to be a cleric, who asked to be left alone wi’ my father to hear his dying confession. After a time she returned to the room where the king’s grace had been carried and found my sire stabbed to his death, and the ‘priest’ gone.”
“Could the miller and his wife hae been involved, Jamie?” the earl asked.
“Nay, Uncle. They hae both been questioned thoroughly, and were horrified and frightened by the whole event. The poor goodwife kept repeating over and over again: ‘He were nae a strong king, but he were a guid man. I could see it in his eyes.’ She kept telling me that I should ne’er forget my father, for a man hae but one father. God’s bones, Uncle, I feel so guilty over my father’s death!” the young king admitted miserably.
“Ye hae nae found the murderer or the men behind the murder, Jamie?”
The king shook his head.
“So be it then,” the Earl of Dunmor said. “Ye must get on wi’ yer own life, Jamie, and wi’ this business of ruling Scotland.”
“Do ye nae care?” the king said half bitterly.“He was yer brother!”
“Aye, Jamie, I care, but Jemmie is gone and nothing will ever bring him back to us. If we could find those responsible, I would slay them wi’ my bare hands myself, but if ye canna apportion blame, then ‘tis best to let it go and move on, laddie. Yer father is safe for all time wi’ yer mother at Cambuskenneth, and ye are Scotland’s king. ‘Tis the fate for which ye were bom.Now rule!”
His nephew upon his throne, the Earl of Dunmor departed for his home. Despite the turn of events of the past few weeks, he found his countess not one whit more disposed to the new king. As always, her main concern was for the return of Greyfaire.
“Did you not ask Jamie if among his late father’s correspondence there was not some reply from King Henry regarding my petition for the return of my home?” She was looking particularly beautiful on this hot summer’s day. Her long hair was braided into a single thick plait, and she wore a simple gown of pale blue silk.
He had missed her, he thought to himself as his eyes feasted greedily on her smooth, creamy skin, which was just faintly damp with the heat of the day. She smelt of heather, her favorite fragrance. Drawing her into his arms, the earl kissed his wife and said with some humor, “Between the battles, the state funeral, and the coronation, lovey, there was nae time to discuss yer Greyfaire.”
“But you will speak to your nephew about it soon?” she replied.
“I will try, lassie,” he told her honestly, “but Jamie hae much to do before he sits solidly upon his throne. He must mend many fences, dole out new offices and honors, and gain creditability wi’ the kings of both France and England. Yer wee problem is the least of Jamie’s trials.”
Arabella opened her mouth and as suddenly shut it. They had been over this ground a thousand times, and they were still at opposite ends of the spectrum. For Tavis everything took precedence over Greyfaire, but for Arabella, Greyfaire was paramount. She had gone to James III to help her solve her problem, and she would probably end up having to go to this new king as well, for her husband had his Dunmor, and Greyfaire mattered little to him. He would have been just as happy if Maggie wed with a Home, or a Douglas, or a Hepburn one day.
“Yer thinking again,” he accused, half playfully.
“Aye,” she admitted.
“When ye think,” he told her, “ye hae a tendency to do dangerous things.”
Arabella laughed. “I dinna think so,” she teased him.
“Come to bed,” he said.
“Why, my lord!” She feigned shock. “‘Tis not even sunset yet.”
