“My liege,” Kipp St.Denis said quietly, “my brother, Piers, murdered the earl of Bartram with his own hand. He lured him outside of his gates and drove a dagger into his heart because he feared that you might grant Lord Stokes custody of your grandson, Charles Frederick Stuart. He coldly removed his rival, then he attempted to place the blame upon the Leslies of Glenkirk. Fortunately Your Majesty was too wise to believe such ill of them. Then he made certain that the message telling the Leslies to remain in England, which Your Majesty sent to the Leslies, was never dispatched. That is why they were gone from England when Your Majesty, again at my brother’s suggestion, I would remind you, invited them back to court.”
“Ohh, the wicked devil!” the queen cried.
George Villiers, however, listened, not without some admiration for the marquis of Hartsfield’s machinations. No one, except the clever old Madame Skye, had considered him the culprit in Stokes’s murder. He would have gotten away with it, too, had not his brother confessed. He might have gotten away with it all had he not been so impatient for his revenge. It was a lesson to be learned. Sometimes revenge must wait, even if it meant a very long time.
“Cousin,” the earl of BrocCairn said, “ye must do something else Jasmine and Jemmie be killed at St.Denis’s hand!”
“Ye must write to your governor in Edinburgh that the Leslies are innocent of any crime and that it is the marquis of Hartsfield who is the traitor,” the queen insisted.
“And I will carry the message myself for Your Majesty,” George Villiers said. “This matter requires a bit more authority than a plain royal messenger, my dearest lord.”
“I will accompany him,” Alexander Gordon added. “They dinna know yer pretty favorite in Edinburgh, Jamie, but they know me.”
“Barclay!” the king snapped. “Where are ye, mon?”
“Here, my lord!” the secretary said, stepping quickly forward.
“Ye hae heard,” the king told him. “Write it down, but keep it simple, for my Scots are simple people. Do it now, and then bring it back to me wi my seal to sign.” He slumped against his cousin. “I am weary, Alex. I canna take this excitement any longer. My years tell upon me, I fear.” He looked at the still kneeling Kipp St.Denis. “Ye may rise, mon. I know how hard it was for ye to come to me, but giving yer loyalty to yer king first was the proper thing to do. Ye will nae suffer for it, laddie.”
“I only ask mercy for Piers, my liege,” Kipp said. “Let me take him home and look after him. His mother was frail of mind, and I fear he has inherited her tendencies.” He brushed his knees off.
“We will see,” the king responded. “We will see. For now I would hae ye remain here at court, Master St.Denis, where I can speak wi ye when I need to again. Answer me one question before ye go. Why did ye nae kill Lord Stokes for yer brother?”
Kipp St.Denis almost recoiled at the query. “I could not harm an innocent being, my liege,” he said. “I vomited afterward, for Piers insisted that I accompany him. I shall neverforget the look in the earl of Bartram’s eyes when he realized what had happened.” He hung his head in shame. “God forgive me that I could not prevent my brother from his wickedness.”
The king nodded his head. “Ye may go now,” he dismissed the man. “Does he tell the truth, I wonder?” he said after Kipp had gone.
“I have heard it said,” Viscount Villiers noted, “that it was Kipp to whom the ladies were often drawn, and not Piers. I have heard it said that he is a decent man, but for his brother. What a pity he was not the legitimate son, my dearest lord. How sad that the house of St.Denis will die out now. It is, I have been told, an old name.” Then, pouring a goblet of wine from a sideboard tray, he gave it to the king. “Drink, my dear lord, and be strengthened,” he said sweetly. Then he turned his attention to the queen, while the king and his cousin of BrocCairn talked together.
“What plot do you have in your head, Steenie?” the queen inquired.
The viscount’s fine dark eyes glittered, and he brushed the errant lock of chestnut hair from his forehead. “St. Denis may or may not be mad, madame, but I will wager he will never forget his position. Yet it is unlikely that he will ever have a wife, and the name will die with him and his brother.”
“Unless?”The queen smiled, light blue eyes twinkling. “What scheme are you contemplating, my fine young coxcomb?”
“Kipp St.Denis was born first, madame, and someone only recently suggested to me that there might be something he desired above all things, but he did not think he would ever have.”
“He is a bastard sprig,” the queen said softly.
“So is your grandson, Charles Frederick Stuart,” Villiers said daringly, “and yet Prince Henry saw that he was ennobled, and had him created a duke. Do you not think Kipp St.Denis hascontemplated his accident of birth many times? He would have to be a saint not to have thought about it, and I do not think he is a saint, madame.”
“You are suggesting that the king take away Piers St.Denis’s title and inheritance, and give it to his half brother?”
“The marquis is mad, and a danger to himself and everyone else about one who offends the king. He must be confined or executed, madame. The king will have no choice but those two.”
“Aye,” Queen Anne agreed. “There is no other choice but death or imprisonment for Piers St.Denis.”
“But what of Kipp, madame? If the king creates him marquis of Hartsfield, the family need not die out. I even have a possible bride for him. Margaret Grey, the widowed countess of Holme. She is just nineteen, has a modest inheritance from her late husband which would serve as a dowry, as well as a two-year-old daughter, proving that she is capable of childbearing.”
“Such generosity of heart, my dear Steenie,” the queen murmured. “Why do you care what happens to Kipp St.Denis or their family name?”
“Because, madame,” Viscount Villiers said, “I can think of no greater revenge upon Piers St.Denis for all his arrogance and unkindness to my dear lord than to have him aware that his titles, his inheritance, his estate, and indeed even the bride he thought you would choose for him, have been ripped away and given to his bastard half brother.”
“If he is mad, will he understand?” the queen wondered.
“Mad, he may be, madame, but he is not insensible to what will go on about him,” George Villiers said. “It will eat into him each day as the years go by, and he will be incapable of doing anything to relieve his suffering or to regain his former status. It is the worst thing that could happen to him, madame. Execute him, and it is over for Piers St.Denis. Take and give what was histo Kipp St.Denis, and you will inflict upon him a punishment of the subtlest kind, one that will burn into his very soul.”
“You are cruel,” the queen said.
