One
 

Mary handed the merchant the bundle that represented nearly three hundred hours of work and waited patiently as he examined the various purses, ribbons, and coifs with the same painstaking attention to detail he’d given the first time she’d brought him goods to sell nearly three years ago.

When he was finished, the old man crossed his arms and gave her a forbidding frown. “You did all this in four weeks? You had best have a team of faeries helping you at night, milady, because you promised me you were going to slow down this month.”

“I shall slow down next month,” she assured him. “After the harvest fair.”

“And what about Michaelmas?” he said, reminding her of the large fair in September.

She smiled at the scowling man. He was doing his best to look imposing, but with his portly physique and kind, grandfatherly face, he wasn’t having much success. “After Michaelmas I shall be so slothful I will have to buy an indulgence from Father Andrew or my soul will be in immortal danger.”

He tried to hold his scowl, but a bark of laughter escaped. He shook his head as a doting father might at a naughty child. “I should like to see it.”

He handed her the bag of coin they’d agreed upon.

She thanked him and tucked it into the purse she wore tied at her waist, enjoying the weight that dragged it down.

One dark, bushy eyebrow peppered with long strands of gray arched speculatively. “You wouldn’t need to work so hard if you agreed to take one of the requests I’ve had for your work. Fine opus anglicanum embroidery like this is wasted on these peasants.”

He said it with such disgust, Mary tried not to laugh. The customers who frequented his booth were not peasants but the burgeoning merchant class—people like him—who were helping to make Newcastle-upon-Tyne an important town.

The markets and fairs such as the one today were some of the best north of London. And John Bureford’s booth, full of fine textiles and accessories, was one of the most popular. In an hour, it would be crowded with eager young women seeking the latest fashions from London and the Continent.

He picked up one of the ribbons, a plush ruby velvet on which she’d embroidered a vine-and-leaf motif in gold thread. “Even on these they notice. The ladies of the town are vying to be the first to secure your talents for a surcote or a wall hanging. Even the hem of a shirt might satisfy them. Let me arrange it; you could name your price.”

She stilled, a flash of her old fear returning. Her voice dropped automatically to a whisper. “You did not tell them?”

He looked affronted. “I do not understand your wish for secrecy, milady, but I honor our agreement. No one needs to know it is you. But are you sure you won’t consider a few select items?”

Mary shook her head. Preserving her privacy was worth more to her than the extra coin. Three years ago she’d been left on her own, frighteningly ill-prepared to deal with her new circumstances, with no more than a handful of pounds to her name. She could have gone to the king as others in her position were forced to do, but she feared drawing attention to herself. She knew the fastest way to find herself in another political marriage was to put demands on the royal coffers. She might have gone to Sir Adam—indeed, he’d offered to help—but she did not want to be beholden to him for more than she already was.

With the rents from the castle barely earning enough to pay the servants and keep her and her solitary attendant fed, she knew that she had to think of something. What would Janet do? She asked herself that often, as she began the daunting prospect of fending for herself.

As a sheltered young noblewoman with little education and few talents, her options were decidedly limited. About the only thing she knew how to do was sew. She and her sister had shared a skill with the needle, and though it held painful memories for her, she began to embroider small items like ribbons, coifs, and eventually purses—things that would not draw attention to the craftswoman.

Unfortunately, that part of her plan had not worked as well as she’d hoped and her “trinkets” had attracted attention. She, however, had not. Edward the son didn’t seem to possess the same hatred toward her husband and the “Scot traitors” as his royal sire, and so far the new king had left her alone. She intended to keep it that way.

“I have all that I need,” Mary said, surprised to realize that it was true.

It would have been easy to fall apart after losing her sister and husband, having her son taken away again, and finding herself a virtual prisoner in an enemy land. A bittersweet smile played on her mouth. No doubt Janet would have fought against her velvet chains and railed against the injustice every step of the way. But Mary had always been the more pragmatic of the two, coping with the way things were, not the way she wished them to be. She didn’t waste time bemoaning things she could not change. The early disappointments of her marriage had prepared her for that.

Although her search for her sister had yielded frustratingly little, and her visits with her son were heartbreakingly few, she’d made a life for herself in England. A quiet, peaceful life, free from the destruction of war.

The constant danger that had been so much a part of her life with Atholl was gone, as was the hurt of being married to a man who barely noticed her. Without them, she felt as if a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying had been lifted off her shoulders. For the first time in her life she didn’t have a father or a husband to control her actions, or her sister to protect her, and her confidence in her own decisions had grown. She discovered that independence suited her; she quite liked being on her own.

The days had taken on a predictable rhythm. She tended her duties as the lady of the castle, worked on her embroidery every extra hour she could find, and kept to herself. She’d made the best of her situation and found herself if not happy, at least content. About the only things she could wish for were news of Janet and more time with her son, and she hoped Sir Adam would have good news for her on the latter soon.

She didn’t need to draw more attention to herself by taking on the additional work.

The merchant looked at her as if she’d blasphemed. “Need? Who speaks of need? One can never have enough coin. How am I ever to make a tradeswoman out of you if you talk like that?”

His outrage made her laugh.

The old man smiled back at her. “It is good to see you smile, milady. You are too young to hide yourself behind those dark clothes.” She was only six and twenty, but she looked ten years older. Or at least she tried to. He grimaced. “And that veil.” He held up one of her ribbons. “You make these beautiful things for others and will not wear them yourself. Tell me this time you will let me find you something colorful to wear—”

Mary stopped him. “Not today, Master Bureford.”

The drabness of her clothing, like her working too hard, had become a familiar refrain between them. But as everything else, her appearance was designed to draw little attention. How easily pretty could become plain. Black, shapeless clothing, thick veils and unflattering wimples in dark colors at odds with her coloring, long hours before the candlelight that cut into her sleep, and perhaps most of all the gauntness that pinched and sharpened her normally soft features. Half-starved sparrow. She recalled her sister’s words with a wistful smile. If Janet were here, she’d put a pile of tarts in front of her and not let her up from the table until she’d gained two stone.

Mary could see the old man wanted to argue, but their difference in rank held him back.

“I should be leaving,” she said, suddenly aware of the time. Dawn had given way to morning, and there were already people milling around the booths.

It was going to be another beautiful day. She’d come to quite love the north of England in the summer. The lush verdant countryside wasn’t that different from the northeast of Scotland where she’d grown up at Kildrummy Castle. She pushed aside the pang before it could form. She didn’t think of her life then. It was easier.

“Wait,” he said. “I have something for you.”

Before she could object, he ducked into the canvas tent that he’d set up behind the table, leaving her alone to watch his goods. She could hear him muttering as he tossed things around behind her and smiled. How he found anything in all those trunks and crates, she didn’t know.

Unconsciously, her gaze scanned the crowds for a golden-blond head attached to a woman of middling height. She wondered whether she would ever be able to go where a crowd was gathered and not look for her sister—and not feel the resulting twinge of disappointment when she didn’t find her. Sir Adam begged her to stop. She was only torturing herself, he said. But even if her searches had yielded nothing, Mary couldn’t accept that her sister was gone. She would know … wouldn’t she?

She turned at a sound, seeing that a mother with two small children had come up to examine a tray of colorful ribbons on the opposite side of the table. From their clothing, she could see that they did not possess the wealth of Bureford’s typical customers. She guessed the woman to be the wife of one of the farmers. She was clearly exhausted. She held one child in her arms—a babe of about six months—and another by the hand, a little girl of three or four who was staring at the ribbons as if they were a stack of gold. When the child reached for one, her mother pulled her back. “Nay, Beth. Do not touch.”

All of a sudden another little girl peeked out from behind her skirts and wrapped her chubby little fist around a handful of the ribbons. Before the mother could stop her, she turned and darted off into the crowd.

The young woman shouted after her in a panic. “Meggie, no!” Seeing Mary standing there and obviously assuming she was the merchant, she shoved the baby in her arms and put the little girl’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I’ll fetch them back for you.”

It had happened so fast, it took her a moment to realize she was now holding two children. Mary didn’t know who was more shocked, she or the children. Both the baby and the little girl were staring at her with wide eyes, as if they couldn’t quite decide whether to cry.

She felt a small twinge in her chest. She remembered so precious little of those few months she’d had with David after he was born, but that look was one of them. It had terrified her. The baby had terrified her. She’d been scared of him crying, of every sound he’d made in his sleep, of how to hold him, of whether he was getting enough to eat from the wet nurse.

Of him being taken away from her.

She pushed the memory aside. That was a long time ago. She’d been so young. And now …

Now it was in the past.

But the twinge sharpened when she gazed into the baby’s soft blue eyes. David was younger than this when he was taken from her, and she didn’t think she’d held another baby since. She’d forgotten what it felt like. How they instinctively latched against your chest. The pleasant warmth, and the soft baby smell.

Apparently deciding she wasn’t a threat, the baby gave her a big, gummy smile and started to babble at her like a sheep. “Ba, ba …”

Mary couldn’t help smiling back at him. He—or she, it was impossible to tell at this age—was a cute little devil, with big blue eyes, a velvety cap of short brown hair, and bright, rosy cheeks. Brimming with healthy plumpness, he was quite an armful.

All of a sudden, she felt a tug on her hand. She looked down, having almost forgotten about the little girl. Apparently, she’d decided not to cry either. “He wants his ball.”

Mary bit her lip. She thought she was too young to be talking, but the girl possessed a confidence Mary would have envied at her age. “I’m afraid I don’t have one.” She looked around, not seeing anything that resembled a toy on the table. Recalling the coins the merchant gave her, she dug in her purse and retrieved the small leather bag. “How about this?” Holding it up before the baby, she started to shake it and was rewarded when he flapped his arms and started to laugh. He grabbed for it, and she grinned as he mimicked what she’d done by jingling it up and down, albeit with far more enthusiasm. She hoped the bag was tied tightly.

The little girl—Beth—must have read her mind. “Careful he doesn’t open it. He puts everything in his mouth—especially shiny things. He nearly choked on a farthing last week.”

Mary frowned, realizing she hadn’t thought of that. This little girl knew more about babies than she did.

She was also older than Mary had realized. “How old are you?”

“Fournahalf,” she said proudly. Reading Mary’s mind again, she added, “Da says I’m small for my age.”

Mary noticed her cast another longing glance toward the ribbons. “It’s all right,” she said. “Would you like to hold one?”

The girl’s eyes widened to enormous proportions and she nodded furiously. Not giving Mary a chance to reconsider, she immediately reached for the bright pink one embroidered with silver flowers. She took it between her tiny fingers so reverently Mary couldn’t help smiling.

“You have an excellent eye. I think you’ve picked the prettiest of the bunch.”

The child’s smile stole her breath. Longing rose up hard inside her before she tamped it firmly down. In the past …

The mother returned in a flurry of excited breathing and excuses, the wee bandit clamped firmly by the wrist. “I’m so sorry.” She placed the purloined ribbons back down on the table and relieved Mary of the baby with her newly free hand.

Mary was surprised by how much she wanted to protest. She felt suddenly … bereft.

Forcing the oddly maudlin moment aside, she managed a wry smile. “You seem to have your hands full.”

The woman returned the smile, relieved by her understanding. “This is only half. I’ve three lads helping their da with the livestock.” Suddenly, she noticed the bag the baby held in his hand. Her eyes widened like her daughter’s had. “Willie! Where did you get that?”

“Don’t worry,” Mary said, taking it back. “I let him play with it.” Anticipating a similar reaction to the ribbon in Beth’s hands, she added, “I hope you don’t mind. But I should like Beth to have this.”

The woman started to protest that it was too much, but Mary insisted. “Please, it is a trifling, and she—” she stopped, her throat suddenly thick. “She reminds me of someone.”

It hadn’t struck her until now, but the girl bore a distinct resemblance to her and Janet when they were girls. Wispy blond hair, pale skin, big blue eyes, and fair, delicate features.

Seeming to sense the emotion behind the offer, the young woman thanked her and hustled her children away.

“I leave you alone for a few minutes and you are giving the merchandise away for free? That’s it, I wash my hands of you. You will never be a tradeswoman.”

Mary turned, surprised to see the merchant standing there watching her. Though his words were chastising, his tone was not. From the glimmer of sadness in his eyes, Mary could see that he’d seen more than she wanted him to.

She gathered the frayed ends of her emotions and bundled them back together. That part of her life was over. She’d been both a wife and a mother—even if neither had turned out the way she’d planned. There was no use dwelling on what was past. But the brief exchange sent a ripple of longing across the quiet life she’d built for herself, reminded her of all that she’d lost.

She might never be able to get David’s childhood back, but she was determined to have a part in his future. The handful of opportunities she’d had to see him the past few years hadn’t brought them any closer, but she hoped that would change. Her son would be leaving the king’s household soon to become a squire, and Sir Adam was doing his best to see him placed with one of the barons in the north of England, close to her.

The merchant handed her a small wooden box.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Open it.”

She did so and gasped at what she saw. Carefully, she removed the two round pieces of glass framed in horn and connected by a center rivet from the silky bed upon which they rested. “You found them!”

He nodded, inordinately pleased at her reaction. “All the way from Italy.”

Mary held them up to her eyes, and like magic the world had suddenly become larger. Occhiale, they called them. Eyeglasses. Invented by an Italian monk more than two decades ago, they were still quite rare. She’d mentioned them once when she’d realized how much of a toll the long hours working by candlelight were taking on her eyesight. It was getting harder and harder to see the tiny stitches. “They are magnificent.” She carefully placed them in the box and threw her arms around him, giving him a big hug.

“Thank you.”

He blushed, chortling happily.

Such displays of emotion weren’t normal for her—at least not since she was a girl—and she was surprised at the emotion welling in her chest. She realized she felt more affection for the old merchant than she had for her own father.

Just for one moment, her arms tightened as if she would hold onto him for dear life.

Then, suddenly embarrassed, she pulled away. What must he think of her? But her usual reserve seemed to have deserted her. “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

He bristled, waving her off as if she’d offended him. “They are a gift.”

She eyed him sharply. “Giving the merchandise away for free? You should be ashamed to call yourself a tradesman.”

He chuckled at her attempt to sound like him. “It’s an investment in future returns. How can you sew if you cannot see? I intend to make quite a healthy profit off you, milady.”

Mary’s eyes felt suspiciously damp. “Careful, old man, your reputation as a ruthless negotiator is in jeopardy.”

His eyes seemed to be shining a little brighter than normal as well. “I shall deny every word. Now you’d best take yourself away from here, or mine isn’t the only secret that will be in jeopardy.”

With one more hug, Mary did as he bade.

Though she would have loved nothing better than to enjoy the bright sunshine by wandering around the fair for a while, she knew it was better if she did not. The instinct not to draw attention to herself went deep.

If there was a slight wistfulness in her heart after the exchange with the children and the merchant, she knew it would pass. She had everything she needed. If at times she felt as if she were missing something, she reminded herself to be grateful for what she had.

Finding the groomsman waiting for her where she’d left him, Mary mounted her horse and started on the long ride back to the castle.

With the silver in her purse, the sun shining on her face, and no longer the need to look over her shoulder, she felt a sense of peace that she would have thought impossible three years ago. Against all odds, the frightened, sheltered, overlooked wife of a traitor had built a new life for herself. On her own.

Mary’s hard-won contentment turned to barely restrained excitement when she saw who awaited her on her arrival. Sir Adam! Did he bring news of her son? Please, let him be squired nearby …

She burst into the room. “Sir Adam, what news of—”

But the rest of the question fell abruptly from her lips when she realized he had not come alone. Her eyes widened. The Bishop of St. Andrews? What was William Lamberton doing here? The former Scottish patriot, who most thought responsible for Robert Bruce’s bid for the crown, had been imprisoned by the first Edward for over a year before making peace with the second last year and given partial freedom in the diocese of Durham. In her mind, Lamberton was inextricably connected to the war.

Unease wormed its way through her excitement. She suspected, even before she heard what he had to say, that the day she’d feared had just arrived.

After a quick exchange of greetings, it didn’t take the men long to tell her what they wanted. Her legs wobbled. She fell to the bench, which was fortunately behind her, in shock. Just like that, the walls of the life she’d built for herself came crashing down.

Part of her had known this day would come. As the daughter of a Scottish earl and the widow of another—even one hanged for treason—she was too valuable an asset to ignore forever.

But she hadn’t expected this. Nay, she couldn’t do it.

She stared at Sir Adam, her fingers clenched in the black wool of her gown. “The king wishes me to go to Scotland?”

Her old friend nodded. “To Dunstaffnage Castle in Lorn. Bruce”—the Scottish barons who’d sided with the English refused to call him King Robert—“is holding the Highland Games there next month.”

Mary knew the former MacDougall castle well. She’d been there once with her husband years ago on a visit to his sister who had married the MacKenzie chief and resided at Eileen Donan Castle, which wasn’t too far away.

“You will be part of our truce delegation,” the bishop added. Mary couldn’t believe the king would grant the recently released prelate—and man so closely tied to Bruce—permission to go to Scotland and negotiate on his behalf. It was like handing the prisoner the keys and telling him to make sure to lock up after himself. Unlike her, Lamberton didn’t have a son in England to ensure his “loyalty.”

“The king has granted permission for you to represent the young earl’s interests,” Sir Adam explained.

Mary eyed him sharply. Surely Edward had to see the futility in sending her to plead on her son’s behalf for lands in Scotland? With a few notable exceptions such as the Balliols, Comyns, and MacDougalls, Robert Bruce had taken great care not to forfeit the lands of the earls and barons who still stood against him like Davey, in the hopes of eventually bringing them back into the fold and winning their allegiance. But neither would he recognize the claim—and the right to the rents—for those who refused to do him homage. Essentially, they were at a stalemate. Davey was a Scottish earl in name without the lands in Scotland to show for it.

Edward had to realize she would have little hope of success—not while David remained in England. There had to be another reason. “Is that all?”

Sir Adam’s mouth thinned, unable to hide his displeasure. “He knows how fond Bruce is of you.”

Ah, so that was it! Edward wanted her to spy. Aware that the bishop seemed to be watching her intently, she kept her expression impassive. “How fond he used to be of me. I have not seen my former brother-in-law in many years. Even were I inclined,” which she was not, “he’s hardly likely to confide in me.”

“I told him as much,” Sir Adam said with a shrug as if to say, but you know the king. Fortunately, she didn’t, and had done her best to keep it that way. “But Edward is determined that a woman join our group. He thinks a feminine voice would set the right tone for our negotiations, and who better than Bruce’s former sister by marriage?”

More like, who could be counted on to return? “So I’m to soften him up to accept Edward’s terms, is that it?”

Lamberton couldn’t quite bite back his smile at her blunt assessment. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“I thought you would be pleased,” Sir Adam said, studying her with a worried frown on his face. It was an expression she’d grown quite used to over the past few years.

“I am,” she said automatically. She knew she should be. Three years ago she’d wanted nothing more than to go home. But she was surprised to realize there was a part of her that didn’t want to go. A large part of her that didn’t want to stir up painful memories.

There was nothing left for her in Scotland. Her brother Duncan had died with Bruce’s brothers over two years ago in the failed landing at Loch Ryan when Bruce made his bid to retake his crown. All that remained of her family was her son and her nephew, the five-year-old current Earl of Mar, who had been captured with his mother, Bruce’s sister, and the rest of the queen’s party at Tain. But both of them were in England. Like her son, the young Earl of Mar was a favored prisoner in Edward’s household.

But why now? Why after nearly three years had the king decided to notice her? Just when she’d found some small modicum of peace far from the battlefield of war and politics, he wanted to drag her back in. Resentment she hadn’t even realized she had came bursting forward. Hadn’t they taken enough from her? Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?

Aware that both men were watching her with troubled expressions, and knowing she didn’t have the words to explain what she was feeling, she attempted to cover her reaction. “I was merely hoping you’d brought other news.”

Sir Adam guessed to what she referred. “The king is quite fond of David. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to relinquish him. A decision as to which of his barons will have the Earl of Atholl as his squire has not been made. But I think there is a good chance Percy will win the honor.”

Her fingers clenched even harder. It was almost too much to hope for. Lord Henry Percy, 1st Baron Percy, had just purchased the Castle of Alnwick in Northumberland. Her son would be so close. “Do you think …”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

Sir Adam finished for her. “I don’t see any reason why you should not be allowed to see him as often as his duties permit. That is—” He stopped.

But she guessed what he was about to say. “That is as long as I do Edward’s bidding.”

He shrugged apologetically. “Davey—the earl—is most eager for you to go on his behalf.”

Her heart leapt with embarrassing eagerness. “Did he say so?”

Sir Adam nodded. “He has not forgotten that it was you who petitioned the king two years ago to return the English lands that had been forfeited upon Atholl’s death.”

It was the only time she’d ever purposefully brought herself to the English king’s attention. With the help of Sir Adam and Sir Alexander Abernethy, who’d raised the coin to pay off de Monthermer, who’d been temporarily given the earldom, her petition had been successful. Her son had half his patrimony—the English half.

If she’d ever had a thought to refuse, she knew she could not. Her son had never asked her for anything before. This was her chance to do something for him. He was nearly ten and three, and still almost a stranger to her. The divide between them would only widen as he approached knighthood. This might be her last chance to bring them closer.

It was time to hold to her vow to see her son restored to the earldom. And perhaps this was a chance to hold to her other vow as well. There was one question that had haunted her the past three years, despite the improbability: Could Janet have somehow made it back to Scotland? It seemed unlikely, and Lady Christina had assured her the men had returned to the Isles alone, but Mary had never asked Robert if he knew anything. Now she could.

Echoing her thoughts, the bishop urged gently, “It is time, lass.”

Mary met the prelate’s gaze. The years of imprisonment had not been kind to William Lamberton. Like her, he was thin to the point of gaunt. But his eyes were kind, and oddly understanding. His words tugged at her, almost as if he were trying to tell her something.

Resolved, she nodded. “Of course. Of course, I shall go.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t be as painful as she feared. It could be worse. She’d thought when Edward finally remembered her, it would be to try to marry her off to one of his barons. She shuddered. Being a peace envoy to Scotland was infinitely more palatable than that.

She had no intention of spying for Edward, but she would do her duty and return to her quiet life in England, hopefully with more opportunities to see her son.

Sir Adam looked much relieved. He took her hand, patting it fondly. “This will be good for you, you’ll see. You’ve been too long alone. You’re only six and twenty. Far too young to lock yourself away.”

Having heard similar words a few hours earlier, Mary bit back a smile. No doubt the proud knight turned respected statesman would be surprised to realize how much he had in common with a merchant. Sir Adam didn’t approve of her choice of attire either, but she suspected he’d guessed the reason for it.

“I haven’t been to the Games in years,” Lamberton said. “As I recall, your husband was quite a competitor.” She remembered. It was where his armor had begun to shine. “It will be fun.” Then, apparently forgetting which side he was supposed to be on, he added, “Perhaps one of the competitors will catch your eye.”

Mary thought she was more likely—and perhaps more eager—to catch the plague.