“The MacDonald is a wily fox,” the bishop replied.
“What of the king?” the Earl of Angus asked. “I need assurances that my family and I are safe from him. After all, ’tis my clan that is believed to have kidnapped young Jamie in order to foment this rebellion.”
“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.
