The Bedeviled Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (28 page)

“More? What sinister thoughts are these?” Mar raised a brow. “What danger could the third son of the royal house of Stewart be in? ‘Tis Albany, and his warmongering ways, who lies in danger! Not I, Cameron.” He laughed incredulously.

“Aye, ‘tis but instinct only, my lord,” Cameron confessed. “I would ye were safe in France until I unseat Thomas from his ill-gotten place in court and unite the nobles under one banner.”

Mar smiled. “Already my heart is lighter to hear ye aim to do so, fair cousin. Never have I seen ye fail.” He looked wistful. “’Tis not a thing I could accomplish. There are those who would claim I sought the throne. But none could accuse ye of that.”

Cameron bowed a little and then said, ‘Promise me that ye’ll not endanger yourself again, my lord. Scotland may need ye yet, for more than hunting and hawking in the royal preserves of Fife.”

“I’ll not hear those words.” Mar set his lips stubbornly. “I will ever support James and his crown.”

“Aye, my lord.” Cameron bowed in respect. Mar truly was the noblest of the three. But he was foolishly noble. He would never fight his brothers to claim the throne, even if Scotland needed him to.

In silence, they rejoined the others, but it was not long before the horns sounded that the hunt was over, and they returned to the castle high on the rocky crag, bathed in the dying red light of the setting sun.

Swinging wearily down off his horse, Cameron briefly retired to his apartments, changing into fresh attire, before making his way to Stirling’s Great Hall for an evening feast.

Bedecked with flowering branches celebrating the victorious hunt, the hall flowed with wine and gossip, with the mysterious shaft aimed at Thomas the most favored subject of all. Few, if any, spoke sympathetically of Thomas. Most speculated that Albany had done the deed. There were even those claiming they had witnessed him in the act.

Cameron had just again extricated himself from yet another telling of the tale when Princess Anabella descended upon him, accompanied by Lady Nicoletta and Lady Elsa.

Lady Elsa’s rapt expression gave him momentary pause.

He recognized the look.

Many women had hunted him over the years, wearing that precise same face. He supposed she had taken the rumors of their impending marriage too much to heart. He grimaced. He’d have to speak with the lass soon and find her a husband.

Thrusting her precious dog into Lady Nicoletta’s arms, the princess shooed the other women away and drew Cameron into a private corner.

“Ye’ve been busy this day, Cameron,” she murmured in a low voice.

Cameron looked down at her, wondering how much she had managed to piece together.

With lips drawn thin, she asked, “Is Kate safe, lad?”

She only called him “lad” when concerned for his wellbeing. Curious at her sudden interest in Kate, he replied softly, “She is safe, your highness.”

The princess gave a rare smile. “The lass is a dangerously deceptive one. I admire that she outwitted Thomas this past night.”

Cameron blinked in surprise.

The princess sent him a withering look. “Dinna look so surprised, ye foolish lad. There is naught that goes on in a castle that the womenfolk dinna know.”

“I … see,” he replied, astonished.

“Though, ‘tis well enough Kate is gone for now,” she observed sourly. “I need ye to think on things other than bed-sport.”

He felt his cheeks redden, ever so slightly.

She heaved a sigh. “Many times, I have wished ye upon the throne—”

“Hush!” Cameron placed a finger upon her lips.

“James is ill-equipped to be king.” She glared at him, slapping his finger away. “He is a fool. He delights only in music and cannot govern the realm. Each year, we suffer more for it. The people grow ever more dissatisfied with their king, but neither Albany nor Mar would make a better one. I fear ‘tis only our young crown prince that will save us, lad. We must hold this land together for him at all costs.”

Cameron eyed her thoughtfully, wondering exactly how much she knew.

“I know ye share my mind, or else ye wouldna have spent the day as ye did, lad,” she said with a peppery smile. “Aye, we’ll keep Scotland strong until our crown prince can stand up to lead us.”

He couldn’t hold back the humph of laughter. Aye, the woman truly was astute. “I am grateful that I am not your enemy, your highness.” He couldn’t resist teasing.

With a sour look, she led him to the high table as Thomas Cochrane insolently strutted into the hall.

As the king’s favorite passed Albany, the prince leaned forward and viciously thrust his dagger to the hilt into a haunch of venison.

Cameron grimaced.

Ach, but the man was a fool in overtly challenging Thomas so. Why did the royal Stewarts all seem to believe they were immune to danger?

Then the king entered in a grand procession, slowly making his way to his canopied chair. He paused briefly behind Mar, but as the youngest prince rose to greet his brother, the king brushed past him, not even granting a cool nod his way.

Mar frowned in disbelief.

The feast began, elaborate course after course arrived, but Cameron found he had little appetite. It was an endless affair, filled with empty words and tasteless fare.

He had all but made up his mind to leave when a sudden gust of wind roared through Stirling’s Great Hall.

The candles guttered.

The king paled.

“Your majesty!” Thomas rasped, standing abruptly. “’Tis the sign! ‘Tis as the sorceress claimed!”

“Then bring her at once!” The king gripped the edge of the table.

Curiously, Cameron watched as a woman swathed in a red-hooded mantle was brought forth to stand directly before the king, and as she drew back her hood, he caught his breath in surprise.

It was the lass he had rescued that very morning.

With growing suspicion and a great sense of dread, he watched her curtsey low before the king.

“This is Maura, your majesty,” Thomas introduced her, bowing before her in respect. “She has walked among us for a time as a lowly chambermaid, seeking to gain a deeper understanding of her visions, my lord.”

Cameron held still.

Maura.

He clenched his fist. No doubt, she was the same Maura that Kate had spoken of, the very same woman who had planted the letters in Albany’s desk.

Ach, but the beating made perfect sense now.

She had begun to weave back and forth, rolling her eyes into the back of her head. And then in a low, hissing voice, she claimed that a spirit had visited her during the night, imparting the final words of prophecy for the king.

“And those words?” The king’s voice rose to an almost hysterical pitch.

She paused for effect, and then answered in a loud, ringing tone, “A lion in Scotland shall be slain by one of his own
kindred
, your majesty.” She stressed the word.

“Kindred?” The king sprang to his feet. “Not whelp, but kindred?”

“Aye. Kindred, your majesty.” Maura curtsied low.

Albany abruptly banged his goblet down onto the table as Mar rose to his feet in disgust. And as one, both brothers left the hall.

When they had gone, the hall erupted into the sounds of shocked, loud voices and Cameron decided he had quite had enough.

“Shall we leave the table?” he asked the princess at his side.

“Aye.” The woman sighed. “I am weary of these fools.”

He sent his men to fetch Maura immediately, but they returned a short time later.

She was nowhere to be found.

* * *

A torturous week passed. A week that saw the tense relationship between the king and his brothers grow even more strained, and one that saw Thomas strutting about the castle with a perpetually pleased expression.

Cameron and the princess repeatedly suggested to both Albany and Mar that they should escape to France, but they refused to listen.

By the end of the week, there was still no news of Julian, and even though he knew of no other man that could match Julian’s courageous daring, Cameron sent one of his own men to the Borderlands for news.

The only joy that week brought was the secret missive from Sir Arval informing him that Kate was safe at Craigmillar, and had been introduced as his distant cousin, Lucinda MacKenzie. For some odd reason, the name made him smile.

The uneasy days marched on.

Cameron’s man returned with the news that the Lord Julian Gray could not be found. Cameron responded by sending more men, but a week later, they returned with the same tidings.

Growing more concerned by the day, Cameron focused on banding the nobles together and relentlessly eroding Thomas’ support at court, and for the most part, succeeded quite well in all respects, save one—King James remained Thomas’ faithful protector.

And then one evening, as the month of June was nearing an end, Lord Julian Gray finally strode through the door of his private chambers, travel-stained and weary.

“Julian!” Cameron exclaimed with relief, rising to clasp the man’s shoulders.

Heaving a long sigh, Julian collapsed upon a chair, running his hands through his fair hair. “I rode to the Borderlands and found even more crimes to lay at Albany’s feet. But half were lies spread by the Humes and Hepburns so that they might gain his lands. They care little for true justice even though Albany truly is guilty of murdering John of Scougal.”

“Aye.” Cameron nodded courteously. He did not have the heart to tell Julian that he already knew it.

Julian read his expression anyway. Rolling his eyes, he snorted in disgust. “Ach, Cameron! Why do I exhaust myself if ye pry the news from others afore I can return?” He grinned, but shot him an exasperated look.

“I sent men after ye thrice, Julian.” Cameron handed him a goblet of warm, spiced wine. “Where did ye go?”

“London,” he replied grimly.

“London?” Cameron raised a curious brow.

“Edward is indeed eyeing Scotland as a tasty morsel, ready to be eaten. Already, he is planning with the Duke of Gloucester to levy taxes to wage war against us. Ach, ye were right, Cameron.” Julian clenched his jaw. “We canna afford to reveal Albany’s crimes. Half the country, though weary of James, would rise to defend him, whilst the other half would dance with joy, calling for his execution forthwith. We’d split asunder.”

“And deliver ourselves into Edward’s hands,” Cameron finished for him, tapping his long finger lightly on the arm of his chair.

They exchanged grim looks.

“Thomas is up to some new devilry, but he has few supporters now,” Cameron said after a time. “And the king remains in his chambers, speaking only with Thomas and fortune tellers.”

“How is it that Thomas yet lives?” Julian growled.

Cameron grimaced. “He does not stray far from the king’s side, and when he does, he is heavily guarded. Even I cannot find a way to slay him now.”

They spoke long into the night, sipping spiced wine. Gradually, exhaustion and the fire entranced them both.

It was almost dawn, when Cameron leaned his head back against the chair and closed his burning eyes. The last thing he recalled was smiling over Julian’s loud snores of exhaustion and then men were shouting.

Both Cameron and Julian sprang to their feet, awake in an instant.

The door to the chamber crashed open.

“My lord!” one of his men gasped as he entered. “Albany has ridden to Dunbar to prepare for war!”

Cameron’s lips parted in surprise.

“Why?” Julian demanded harshly.

The man paused, clearly shaken. Licking his dry lips, he continued, “In the dark of the night, Mar was rousted from his bed and accused of consulting with sorcerers and witches to conspire against the king’s own life! Thomas Cochrane spirited him away, imprisoning him this very night!”

They stared at the man numbly.

“Where?” Cameron pressed. “Where did Thomas take him?”

“Craigmillar, my lord.”

Cameron felt all color drain from his face.

What strange twist of fate had sent Thomas Cochrane directly to Kate?

Chapter Twelve - Craigmillar

Kate leaned against the round tower housing the pigeons at Craigmillar, taking enjoyment in their soft, peaceful coos while soaking in the last warmth of the setting sun.

Already, she had been at Craigmillar for over a month.

After pounding through the mist-shrouded woodlands on the back of Julian’s charger, they had arrived at Craigmillar before the noon bells tolled in the nearby town of Edinburgh. And after Julian had introduced her to the kind Lady Preston, he had stayed by her side until both her father and Sir Arval had arrived. Then with a brotherly kiss on the top of her head, the young lord had bade her farewell, and mounting his horse, had galloped off to the Borderlands. She had watched him go with a sense of loss.

But the days passed pleasantly, and while her father recuperated comfortably in a well-cushioned chair before the fire in Craigmillar’s main hall, Sir Arval insisted on teaching her how to read and how to ride a horse.