Highland Tides (18 page)

“By the saints. This marriage will cause a war.”

“Nay. According to Charlotte it won’t come to a full war. There will be a battle. Queen Mary will lose.”

“Lexi’s life will be in greater jeopardy then. What it is she kens?”

He became nervous when Braden narrowed his eyes. “I didna mention this before, mostly because it was a detail I’d forgotten, but the day before she’s forced to abdicate, Mary will miscarry.”

Callum’s throat tightened. “She’s pregnant? By whom?”

“With twins, and that’s the question worth one hundred guineas if ye can answer it. History doesna say for certain, but Bothwell canna know she carries twins, and if he thinks she bears his child…”

“
Crivvens
!” Callum croaked. “Prince James may be in great danger.”

“Be calm, brother,” Braden reassured him. “We have the benefit of knowing James will become king. Sixth of Scotland and First of England.”

Callum gaped, not understanding.

“Aye, Mary’s son will unite the kingdoms and rule over both.”

“How can that be?” he asked.

“When Mary abdicates, her infant son will become king of Scotland. The greater irony is James will be next in line for Elizabeth’s throne because she has no children.”

“Elizabeth?” He parroted.

“Aye. Mary’s cousin and the person many consider responsible for her execution, though she denied it.”

Callum slumped onto the tiny bed they’d taken turns sleeping in, his head in his hands. “Mary was executed? This is too confusing. Do ye ken what happens to my Lexi?”

Braden sat beside him. “’Tis a sad truth, brother, that history tells us naught about ordinary people.”

As frenzied preparations got underway for the royal wedding, Lexi, along with a myriad of other ladies-in-waiting, lackeys, and servants was kept busy running errands of one sort or another.

The Queen and Bothwell received delegation after delegation, some in support of the marriage, others not. The monarch dismissed opposition as minor, apparently believing most of the Scottish nobility were in favor of the match. From what she overheard of snatches of conversation, it was Bothwell who convinced her of this. It seemed to Lexi that Mary was like any young bride in love with her intended groom.

An atmosphere of high excitement mingled with dread pervaded Holyrood. Lexi searched for a means to procure invitations for Callum and Braden. She decided against asking her uncle directly, fearing what the answer would inevitably be. The Queen might be favorable, but the moment to be alone with the monarch never presented itself. And if Mary mentioned it to Bothwell…

The day before the ceremony she returned to the Queen’s solar after delivering a message to the kitchens with regard to a change in the menu for the wedding feast. The cooks had been none too pleased at the last minute change. Hot and flustered after a lengthy argument, she wondered what the demanding queen wanted next when a parchment was thrust at her.

“To the scriveners, Alexandra,” Mary commanded. “More names for the guest list. Hurry. If these people don’t receive an invitation, they’ll be slighted.” She glared at her secretary. “How they were omitted, I don’t understand.”

It was no secret the Queen still mourned David Rizzo, her Italian secretary slain by a jealous Lord Darnley. The man she hissed at was the third to take the position since Rizzo’s murder.

As she accepted the list, Lexi feared the pounding of her heart in her ears might result in permanent deafness. “Yes, Majesty,” she replied hoarsely.

She risked a glance at the names. She’d never get a better opportunity. “Forgive me, my Queen, are the Ogilvies of Oban on the list?”

Mary frowned. “Oban?”

Lexi feared the lie was written on her face. She had to hope her uncle hadn’t told his bride of her hasty marriage. “’Tis only that I overheard a knight of the Ogilvie family complaining he hadn’t received…”

Mary waved a limp hand. “Are they on the list?” she asked the red-faced secretary impatiently.

He reached for the parchment in Lexi’s hand. “I’ll add them. Ogilvie, you said?”

“Aye,” Lexi mumbled. “Sir Callum and Sir Braden, I believe.”

Mary watched him scrawl the names like a cat watches a mouse. He sanded the ink then handed the document back to Lexi.

“Well done, Alexandra,” the Queen muttered. “Now go quickly.”

To Lexi’s surprise her knees sustained her until she was in the corridor. Gulping down her excitement, she leaned back against the cold stone wall, fanning her overheated face with the parchment.

A squeal of victory rose in her throat as she set off again for the library where a dozen scriveners worked feverishly to pen the invitations. She would have to convince them to work on this list immediately. The Queen had demanded it.

~~~

Callum and Braden had spent an exhausting and fruitless day trying to find someone to forge an invitation to the royal wedding. It was risky business. They were strangers in this city and thus suspect. Most common folk they spoke to were outraged at the upcoming nuptials, but none seemed willing to aid them, especially when they were reluctant to explain why they needed the documents.

Returning to Mistress Beth’s they bumped into Macadam exiting one of the chambers on the lower floor. His face was flushed, his clothing dishevelled, but he beamed a bright toothless smile when he caught sight of them. “There ye be,” he exclaimed. “Just biding me time ’til yer return,” he said sheepishly with a glance over his shoulder. “Mistress Beth is always happy to see me.”

“Is there news?” Callum asked impatiently.

“Aye,” Macadam rasped, a finger to his lips. “Quietly, though.”

He ushered them to the rear door of the house and reached into his jerkin. “I canna climb up to yer garret, so I’ll gi’ ye these ‘ere.”

He passed two somewhat crumpled parchments to Callum. “Sorry. Creases dinna matter. Yon lassie managed to get the real thing for ye.”

Callum unfurled one of the documents, more worried by the dirty fingermarks than the creases. “How did she achieve this?” he asked as Braden perused his own invitation.

Macadam shrugged. “Dinna ken, but she had a whole pile of ’em in ‘er arms when she gave me these two. Canny lass.”

“Aye,” Callum breathed. “Canny indeed.”

He elbowed Braden in the ribs. “Looks like we’re off to a wedding, brother. What on earth shall we wear?”

Macadam’s eyes lit up in the dim hallway. “Come wi’ me,” he chortled. “If ye’ve a bob or two, I ken where ye can get fine raiment.”

They had precious little money left, but Braden’s nod assured Callum he agreed this was a necessary expense.
 

Feeling more confident than they had in days, they followed the whistling Macadam into the dark street.

The guards at the gates of Holyrood Palace had cleared off the angry mob.
 

The sentry eyed the black smudges on the creased documents, but a smiling Braden muttered something about his messy brother, and they were waved on, much to their relief.

Macadam had indeed found them clothing fit for the occasion. Callum liked the white satin doublet with matching padded hose, but he’d have preferred if the embroidered black jerkin didn’t have skirts down to his knees. Macadam had insisted the
bases
as he called them were the fashion.

“Beggars canna be choosers,” Braden had remarked with a wink, strutting around the darkened alley behind a tailor’s shop in a fine light grey doublet slashed and trimmed with gold braid. But he’d balked at the rose-colored puffed out hose Macadam told them were pansied slops. “I suppose the style hasna arrived in Oban yet?” the auld man asked.

They’d decided it was better not to argue lest he start to get suspicious abut their lack of familiarity with current trends.

Once inside the immense Great Hall of Holyrood, they were relegated to the rear of the crowd. Callum craned his neck for a glimpse of Lexi.
 

 
His heart raced when he caught sight of her among the other ladies-in-waiting attending the Queen. The bride was resplendent in an elaborate white and yellow gown with puffy sleeves and a high collar of lace stiffened somehow.

“Do ye think she’s trying to look the part of an angel?” Braden quipped.

But Callum only had eyes for Lexi. She wore a front-laced red gown trimmed with black. Her hair was tucked into a jewelled net-like affair. The long sleeves were trimmed with lace cuffs and the same lace adorned the edges of the high-necked black partlet. The gown was severe, yet it emphasized the luscious curves of her body. All the ladies-in-waiting wore the same outfit, but Lexi shone like a jewel among shards of pottery.

His eyes darted briefly to Bothwell standing at the Queen’s side. “Armor seems an odd choice for a groom,” he remarked to Braden through tight lips.

“Aye,” his brother agreed with a chuckle. “Mayhap he fears someone might set upon him.”

 
As the Protestant right of marriage progressed Callum didn’t hear a word of Braden’s whispered explanation of the Reformation and the emergence of protestant sects. There was no way for Lexi to know he stood at the rear of the hundreds of guests, but it was enough that he could see her. He hoped she sensed his presence. “We must get her out of here,” he rasped to Braden. “I’m nay leaving without her.”

Braden tapped a cautionary finger to his lips. “Patience. We can do naught in the Hall. The banquet will provide more opportunity.”

Callum turned his attention back to the bride and groom. The Queen did indeed look like a shining angel in her voluminous gown. Bothwell’s pointed beard gave him a devilish air. It struck him neither seemed happy, but then his own marriage to Lexi hadn’t been an occasion for smiles.

“It’s sad to ken their union willna last,” he whispered to his brother. “But what can ye expect when two redheads wed.”

~~~

Callum was for seeking out Lexi once the ceremony was over and the bride and groom paraded off to the courtyard to greet well-wishers.

Braden put a hand on his brother’s arm. “We must make sure our names are on the guest roll,” he said.

“Why?” Callum asked impatiently. “The queue is already overlong.”

“It’s important we leave a mark of our presence here in this century,” he replied. “Just in case.”

He didn’t elaborate that it was
just in case
Charlotte sought to track down what had happened to him. He sensed Callum was tired of his constant talk of Charlotte when he was preoccupied with rescuing Lexi. He didn’t fault his brother for it, but worried what would happen to Callum and his bride once he left.

Men shifted their feet, women fanned themselves with elaborate ostrich fans as the heat in the Hall became uncomfortable and the line seemed not to get any shorter. Most folk were acquainted with others and eyed the two strangers with suspicion.

At last their turn came.

“Name and place of origin,” the sweating scrivener asked without looking up.

“Sir Callum Ogilvie, gentleman of Oban,” Callum replied curtly, his attention elsewhere.

The clerk laboriously penned his name in the roll, then glanced up at Braden.

“Sir Braden Ogilvie,” he said slowly.

“Also of Oban?”

An idea struck him. Let there be no doubt. “Nay, Knight of Inbhir Nis.”

Lexi escaped from the courtyard, confident no one was paying attention to her. All eyes were on the golden queen and her armored groom. Not everyone in the crowded space looked happy at the turn of events, but Braden had forewarned her the people would turn against the monarch. Naught would change that.

Her priority was to locate Callum and Braden, assuming they had received the documents and come to the Palace. If there was any chance of escape, it had to be attempted now while her uncle was distracted.

She sneered.
Distracted
was an understatement. He pranced like a fop, holding court, lapping up the blatantly insincere congratulations.

Harried servants were setting out trestles in the Great Hall as the last of the guests filed through the Honor Roll stations. Her heart raced when she espied Callum and his brother walking away from the scrivener’s table.

She’d an urge to rush into her husband’s arms but was mindful over-exuberant behavior would draw attention. Instead she curtseyed before him. His eyes widened as a broad grin split his face. How she had missed those brown eyes, the sensuous mouth.

It came as a relief that he too sensed the need for discretion. He took hold of her hands and kissed her knuckles, the warmth of his lips sending rivers of longing flowing in her veins. “I have missed you, my lord,” she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Not as much as I have missed you, Lexi Ogilvie,” he whispered.

Braden loomed. “We must leave now while the Hall is being set up for the banquet. We walked from Canongate. It’s ten minutes. Can you make it, Lexi?”

She took a breath. “I’d walk to the ends of the earth to be with Callum,” she murmured.

Callum’s gaze smoldered, but his brother frowned. Perhaps he had sensed her momentary hesitation. Braden had made no secret of his intention to travel beyond the ends of the earth to rejoin Charlotte. If Callum decided to go with him, what would happen to her? Did she have the courage to join them when there was no guarantee they’d be together wherever the tides took them? If Callum stayed, what would become of them, two penniless orphans in a perilous political climate?

Callum took her elbow and guided her toward the ornate double doors. Sentries stood on guard but made no attempt to stop the flow of people in and out. She directed their progress to the deserted laundry and thence to the stable. The aroma of Macadam’s pipe hung in the air, but he was nowhere to be seen. “I wanted to thank him for his help,” she said, “but I’ll have to make do with a final kiss for Ryssa.”

Determined not to cry, she stroked her beloved mare then, sensing the men’s impatience, pecked a quick kiss on her nose.

“We must walk sedately,” Braden warned. “As if we are out for a breath of air.”