Chapter 2
In the company of six of the king’s men-at-arms Janet rode to Edinburgh, going to the stone house with the slate roof that sat off the street known as the Royal Mile, below the walls of Edinburgh Castle. She had sent a messenger ahead, and Fingal Stewart was waiting for her. His serving man ushered her into a small book-filled chamber.
“I bring you greetings from yer cousin, the king,” Janet said, kissing his cheek.
“I wasn’t aware mycousin, the king, was even mindful of my existence,” Fingal Stewart said wryly. “And what, pray, my pretty, does he want of me? Sit down, Jan.”
“Today a border clansman came to him with an interesting tale,” Janet Munro began, seating herself as she spread her skirts about her. Then she went on to tell Fingal Stewart of Ewan Hay’s visit. When she had finished she said, “Neither Jamie nor I liked the fellow. He isn’t telling the whole story. It’s obvious the fool hopes the king will gift him with this old laird’s holding because this pass is said to be valuable.”
“And the heiress,” Fingal Stewart murmured. Land and a woman, he considered, were always the makings of a volatile situation. There would be wealth to be gained by whoever got the lass.
“Nay! He said he didn’t want the girl. He claimed she had refused his suit,” Janet Munro replied. “I think he lies. He wants the lass.”
“But his true interest lies in this Aisir nam Breug,” Fingal Stewart said slowly. “He would get the king to disinherit the lass who turned him away for his own benefit. A prince of a fellow indeed. But what has this to do with me?”
Janet shook her head. “I’m not sure, Fingal, but I believe the king would have you go into the border to reconnoiter the situation and bring him back the truth of the matter.”
“Why me?” Fingal Stewart was curious. Although he was Lord Stewart of Torra, he was but distantly related to the king. They had shared a thrice-great-grandfather, and the royal Stewarts had rewarded their small loyalty when James I came to the throne with their name, a title, and this undistinguished house. They were not wealthy, nor influential, and had no place among the court or the powerful. Fingal Stewart hired his sword out when he needed funds. His father had done the same.
The rest of the time he lived quietly, gambling with a few friends now and again and enjoying the favors of one of the town’s pretty whores for a night or two. His funds did not extend much beyond that. He had been decently educated, but he had no pretensions, for there were plenty of others bearing the name Stewart who kept him from thinking he was someone special. He wasn’t, and he didn’t want to be.
“The king wants someone not associated with him, but he also wants someone he can trust, Fingal,” Janet Munro told her cousin. “Ye are nae just his kin. Yer mine too.”
He thought a moment, and then grinned. “Aye, I am related to ye both. Maire Drummond gave David Stewart, Duke of Rothsay, heir to King Robert the Third, a son. She was enceinte with the bairn when Rothsay was murdered by Albany, so James the First followed his father after his exile in England.”
“The Drummonds protected the bairn whose mam died birthing him,” Janet said.
“And Albany was so busy with his plotting to supplant his nephew, he forgot all about the child who grew up, married an heiress, and sired two sons and two daughters before dying in his bed at the age of fifty-four,” Fingal said.
“Which of the sons do you descend from?” Janet asked, curious.
“The elder, who was christened Robert after his father. He had a son, David, who wed Jane Munro, and sired James, who sired me at the advanced age of fifty-six.”
“God’s mercy,” Janet exclaimed. “I did not know that! How old was yer mam?”
“Sixteen,” Fingal Stewart said. “She was the granddaughter of an old friend. Her entire family was wiped out in a winter plague. She had nothing, so she sent to my father, begging his help. There was nothing for it but to marry her, for she had virtually naught to bring any man for a dower. Even the church did not want her. I was conceived on their wedding night. My father wanted to be sure that my mother was safe if he died because, while he was hardly a wealthy man, he did have this house and a small store of coin with the goldsmith. He believed if they shared a child, none would dispute her rights. And she loved him, strange to say. She died when I was ten.”
“But your father lived to be eighty,” Janet Munro said. “I remember my father remarking upon it. He said he had never known a man to live that long.”
“Do ye love him?” Lord Stewart asked her, suddenly changing the subject entirely. “Do you love James Stewart, Jan?”
.Janet Munro thought a moment, and then she said, “James Stewart is nae a man who inspires love, but I like him well enough, and he is good to me. He wants a lover who pleases him and asks little of him. Actually he is more generous that way.” She laughed. “My influence with him is coming to an end, for he plans to go to France in the autumn. He wants a queen, and Marie de Bourbon, daughter of the Duke of Vendôme, is available. I have just discovered I am enceinte, and so I will retire to my father’s house when the king leaves, and only return at his invitation, which is unlikely. He will nae offend his new queen, nor would I make an enemy of her.”
Fingal Stewart nodded. “When would he see me?” he asked.
“Come back to Linlithgow with me today,” she said.
He nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. “I suppose today is as good a day as any. But first I must see if Archie can find me more respectable garb in which to meet the king.”
“I’m not sure ye have a good enough garment to go to the court,” Archie said dourly when asked. Turning to Janet Munro, the serving man complained, “I keep telling him he must keep one fine thing, but he says the expense is not worth it.” He sighed. “I’ll see what I can find for him, my lady.”
“He’s quite devoted to you,” Janet noted with a small smile.
“He fusses like an old woman with one chick,” Fingal replied.
Archie managed to dress his master in a pair of brown and black velvet canions, which were tight knee breeches. The stockings beneath them were brown, and his leather boots almost covered them. The matching black velvet doublet was embroidered with just the lightest touch of gold breaking the severity of the garment.
Standing before his cousin, Lord Stewart, now fully dressed, said, “I have no idea where he managed to obtain such garb, or keep it so well hidden from me.”
