The Captive Heart (42 page)

“Look what he has done,” Alix railed to her husband. “We cannot remain boxed up forever in our home because of this man.”

“I know,” the laird answered. “I mean to put an end to it as soon as possible. I will go to the queen and to Bishop Kennedy about the matter. They will straighten it out.” He bent and kissed Alix’s sweet lips. “If I left you for a few weeks, would you be all right, lambkin? I need only two men to travel with me. Beinn will see that the keep is well defended. And you will have Iver and Fenella in the house.”

“If it means this can be over, Colm, then aye! Go! But how do you mean to set the matter straight? Sir Udolf has his dispensation from York. You have seen it.”

“Father Donald does not believe the dispensation is legitimate, although certainly Sir Udolf does,” the laird told his wife.

“But it came from the archbishop’s palace. Father Peter took the request to York himself,” Alix replied.

“Monies were exchanged,” Colm Scott reminded his wife.

“Monies are always exchanged where the church is concerned,” Alix said scornfully. “But I cannot believe York’s archbishop would condone a match between me and Sir Udolf, given our prior relationship.”

“We will see, but no matter you are mine, Alix, and I am yours forever,” the laird swore to his wife. And several days later, after sending a messenger ahead of him and seeing that his keep would be impregnable, Malcolm Scott rode out with two men-at-arms by his side as he headed north to find the queen and Bishop Kennedy. It was high summer when he reached Ravenscraig Castle, the queen’s home and her favorite residence. He was not surprised to find Adam Hepburn there with the queen.

Queen Marie welcomed him graciously, the young king by her side. He thought she did not look as well as she had in the past. But very astute, she was taking advantage of the political confusion still existing in England and making it work to Scotland’s best advantage. Bishop Kennedy, having a quarrel with the English bishop of Durham, planned to lay siege to the bishop’s castle of Norham. The queen saw no point to this exercise but went along with her bishop in an effort to assuage his anger that her influence in her son’s government was perhaps a bit stronger than his.

The Laird of Dunglais bowed to both the young king and his mother. James III was eleven now. He was a tall, slender boy with black hair and amber eyes who resembled his mother more than the Stewarts. “I am pleased to see Your Highness in such good health,” Malcolm Scott said to the king.

“How is Mistress Fiona?” the boy asked. “We much enjoyed her visit and hope to see her again soon.”

“My daughter is well, Your Highness, though disturbed at the thought of losing her stepmother to whom she is devoted,” the laird answered the king.

“Is your wife ill, my lord?” Queen Marie queried the laird.

“We have had some difficulty with her former father-in-law, Sir Udolf Watteson,” Malcolm Scott said. “He holds a dispensation from Yorkminster that says he may wed her. He refuses to accept the fact Alix is my wife, the mother of my son and soon to birth a second child for me. At one point he kidnapped her, taking her back into England.”

“Adam Hepburn told me,” the queen said.

“He came again several weeks ago, but this time openly, to insist I turn my wife over to him as she was his. His priest traveled with him. He brought with him his dispensation from York as well as a letter he claimed came from St. Andrew’s backing York and Sir Udolf’s claim. My daughter became agitated at the thought of losing Alix. My son was frightened by this man. I put him from my house and warned him that if he came again I would kill him.”

“And rightly so,” the queen exclaimed. “Is the man mad that he continues to pursue your wife? Or is he just a fool?”

Malcolm Scott smiled slightly. The queen’s outrage was oddly comforting. “Perhaps a bit of both, Your Highness,” he answered her.

“You have obviously come to us for help,” Queen Marie said.

“I have, madame. Sir Udolf’s own priest is not certain, and we certainly are not, if this dispensation is legitimate. Monies were exchanged allegedly for the archbishop’s Christian work. But did York’s archbishop actually receive those monies, and did he approve such a dispensation allowing a father-in-law to wed his deceased son’s wife? My own priest says the letter from St. Andrew’s is a forgery. I need Bishop Kennedy to confirm that. I need Yorkminster to confirm whether the dispensation is legitimate or nay. And if it is, what action can we take? I have offered Sir Udolf an indemnity for any wrong he feels he has suffered. He will not take it. We are at a loss, Your Highness, as to what to do. But we cannot be harassed forever by this Englishman. Can you help us?”

The queen was thoughtful for several long moments, and then she said, “I can have inquiries made, my lord, through my own private channels. And Bishop Kennedy is here at Ravenscraig. He will search his memory, and also make inquiries at St. Andrew’s.” She looked to her son, the king. “Your Highness, will you add your name to the correspondence I will have written?”

“Mistress Fiona loves her stepmother,” the boy king said. “And you say this Englishman caused her distress, my lord?”

“Aye, Your Highness, he did. So much so that my daughter attacked him, beating him with her fists,” the laird responded.

“Oh! I should have liked to have seen that!” the king exclaimed, and he grinned. Then, turning to his mother, he said, “Aye, madame, I will add the weight of my kingship to this matter. If the letter from St. Andrew’s was a forgery then certainly the dispensation from Yorkminster must be suspect as well.”

Malcolm Scott was surprised by the boy’s astuteness. He had been king only two years, and yet he already had an instinct for what was truth and what was not. “Thank you, Your Highness,” the laird said, bowing deeply before the king.

“My lord Hepburn,” Queen Marie spoke. “Please take the Laird of Dunglais to meet with Bishop Kennedy. We must straighten this matter out as soon as possible.”

Adam Hepburn bowed and led Malcolm Scott off. “Your request comes at an ideal time,” he told the laird. “The queen would do anything to deter Kennedy from this ridiculous quarrel with the bishop of Durham. But of course our good bishop thinks that since Edward of York is still busy consolidating his position, he can war in England with impunity. Norham Castle, however, is unlikely to be taken.”

“What is the quarrel between these two holy men about?” the laird asked.

“Who knows?” Adam Hepburn said. “A relic, the question of who is greater. Churchmen are no less vain and ambitious than normal mortals. Kennedy’s nose has been out of joint ever since the old king died. He expected to take charge of the young king to the great advantage of his family, just like the Crichtons and Livingstones did in the time of a young James II. But the queen was there before him, and her people remain in the key positions. She’s a clever lass and compromises with the bishop just enough. He’s not a bad fellow, but the queen is more sophisticated because of her upbringing. Between us, however, she influences her son a bit too much. This is not the civilized court of her father, Duke Arnold of Gueldres, or her uncle, Duke Philip of Burgundy. This is Scotland, where a man is expected to ride well and fight well. Our young king does neither, nor does he speak the old language still used in the Highlands. He loves the things his mother loves. Music. Art. Beautiful clothing. He speaks of bringing artists and musicians here to Scotland, of building a great hall at Stirling. This is not what his lords want to hear. I have tried to advise him, but he doesn’t listen.”

“You love his mother,” the laird said quietly.

Adam Hepburn laughed wryly. “Aye, God help me, I do. But my love for the queen is not important, for I am no Black Knight of Lorne to sweep a widowed queen off her feet and wed her, nor is she like her predecessor, Queen Joan. My queen will not wed again, for her son’s sake. If he were grown perhaps I should convince her, for while she loves the others they are not important to her as the young king is important to her. But here we are. Bishop Kennedy is housed here.” Adam Hepburn rapped sharply upon the door, and it was opened by a young page who bowed and ushered the two men inside.

Bishop James Kennedy was not a young man, but neither was he in his dotage. A big, tall man, his head was tonsured, the fringe of hair snow white. His blue eyes were fathomless and offered no show of emotion. He nodded in acknowledgment of his visitors’ bows, and waved them to seats opposite him by the fire. “Well, my lords, what is it that brings you here today? You are usually close by the queen, Hepburn. A bit more discretion would be appreciated, sir. And who is this with you? He looks like a borderer.”

“Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais,” Adam Hepburn replied, ignoring the bishop’s pointed remarks about his relationship with the queen.

“And I am indeed a borderer, Your Grace,” the laird said.

“Aha! The man who has as priest in his borderer’s lair the best secretary I have ever had,” Bishop Kennedy grumbled. “I don’t suppose you would be of a mind to give him back to me, Scott of Dunglais.”

“Only if he wanted to return, Your Grace,” the laird answered with a small grin.

Bishop Kennedy snorted, and then he smiled sourly. “You say that because you know he doesn’t. Why Donald preferred serving our Lord in a border keep to serving him here in the halls of power I will never know. He could have gone as far as Rome, Scott of Dunglais. Did you know that?
Rome!
He is intelligent and clever. And, God help us, humble!
Truly
humble. Why I was blessed briefly by his company and skills only to lose him I will never know.”

“He is invaluable to us, Your Grace,” the laird said.

“But do you appreciate him? Understand him?” the bishop wanted to know.

“I know he is wise and brings comfort to my Dunglais folk,” the laird answered.

“Bah!” the bishop said. “I can see you deserve each other. Well, border lord, what is it you want of me? You have not come all the way from your border keep simply to pay me a visit. And you seem to have the queen’s ear or Hepburn would not be accompanying you.”

“My lord Hepburn is an old friend,” Malcolm Scott said.

“And so was James, the second Stewart of that name,” Bishop Kennedy said quietly. “I remember you now, Malcolm Scott. The boy who came from the borders, and when the others fell away, or were subverted by Crichton and Livingstone, you remained true to your king. When you had to return home after your father died I remember he was saddened by your loss. I remember how he looked forward to your visits. Well, now I do not feel quite so badly about losing Father Donald.”

The Laird of Dunglais nodded his acknowledgment of the bishop of St. Andrew’s words. Then he said, “I desperately need your help, Your Grace.” And he went on to explain the situation affecting him and his family to the churchman.

James Kennedy listened carefully as the laird spoke. Finally he said, “I will check with my people, for the truth is few of them are so totally honest they would not accept a bribe. And a quarrel between two men over the right to marry a widowed woman would seem a small matter to them.” Reaching out, he poked at his page, who was dozing by his chair. The boy immediately jumped up. “Go and bring the secretaries to me one by one, in order of precedence,” the bishop said.

The boy quickly ran off.

“If they would take a bribe, would they not lie to you as well, Your Grace?” Malcolm Scott asked the prelate.

“Ah, but I know when they lie, so usually they will not dare” came the answer.

Then the door opened, and one by one the bishop’s secretaries entered his privy chamber to be questioned. There were six of them, and each one of them denied having composed, signed, or sent such a missive to Yorkminster.

“Father Donald said the letter was a forgery,” the laird told the bishop. “He did not recognize the hand, nor was your seal affixed.”

“Then it is likely this dispensation is false as well,” Bishop Kennedy declared. “I do not see York giving such a permission. I know there have been cases where a father-in-law has taken his dead son’s widow to wife, but those marriages usually involved men of wealth and power who do not choose to lose the woman’s large dower portion. It is a nasty business, but an unimportant English baron would be unlikely, no matter his measly bribe, to gain such consent from York.”

“His own priest was at York,” the laird reminded Bishop Kennedy.

“A country priest who had probably spent most of his life at this Wulfborn” came the reply. “You met him, Scott of Dunglais, did you not? Would you call him quick-witted and clever?”

The laird shook his head. “He was not a fool, but neither did I think him particularly wise. Kindly. Loyal to Sir Udolf, but deeply concerned by what was happening and becoming suspicious that perhaps his master had been misled. He was very anxious to get Sir Udolf to consider several women of respectable lineage who were capable yet of bearing children and lived in the vicinity of Wulfborn. Sir Udolf would have none of it.”

“I will make inquiries for you, although I am not on the best of terms with the church in England right now. Still, my quarrel is with Durham, not York. I will send one of my people south, and we will see if we can find the answers to your questions.”

“Your Grace, I thank you with all my heart,” Malcolm Scott responded, and then, kneeling, he kissed the hand with the bishop’s ring that was held out to him. Standing again he said, “And shall I tender your compliments to Father Donald, Your Grace?”

The bishop gave a snort of laughter. “Aye, you may. And tell him I miss him, his wry wit, and invaluable counsel.” And turning to Adam Hepburn he said, “Can you do nothing with the king, Hepburn? His ability to control a horse seems to get worse, not better. Some of the lords have begun to look to his brother Alexander.”

“They would do well to cease their hostility towards His Highness,” Adam Hepburn said. “It is true he rides badly, but he is intelligent and civilized, unlike his brother, who is bad-mannered and prone to make foolish choices even though he rides like he was born on a horse. Is that all the earls want? Someone to ride, drink, dice, and wench with them? If that be the case, then any man might be king.”