Chapter 7
Fiona loved the Gilten Herbar, named for the arched and gilded arbors under which its paths wended past beds of aromatic herbs, flowers, shrubbery, and fruit trees. Wherever sunbeams broke through the canopy of vines, they danced on those golden frames and many other gilded decorations. The only sounds were birdsongs and the crunch of gravel under their feet. Any Blackfriars currently residing there, rather than traveling as mendicants, were at their prayers or reciting their rosaries.
The Herbar served as the monastery’s kitchen garden, but Fiona loved the flowers, their scents and colors, the noisy birds, the squirrels’ chatter, and the changing light on the gilded arches and ornaments. As she and Malvina wandered along a path, her imagination danced with the sunbeams and peopled the flowerbeds with fairies and other wee folk. Realizing that Holy Kirk would likely frown on thoughts of fairies capering through a monastery garden, she smiled.
“I just wondered, that’s all,” Malvina said rather abruptly.
“Wondered what?” Fiona asked, glancing at her.
“Faith, were you not listening to me?” Malvina demanded indignantly.
Guiltily, Fiona said, “I fear I was lost in thought, comparing our gardens at home with this one.” Her mind raced, seeking a way to sound sensible without encouraging discussion of imaginary wee folk. “So, prithee, forgive me and I shall listen most intently to you. What did you wonder?”
With an injured little sigh, Malvina said, “Art sure you want to know?”
“You have been my best friend since I joined her grace’s court,” Fiona assured her. “Aye, sure, I want to know.”
“Very well, then,” Malvina said, brightening. “Do you recall meeting my two cousins last night, before the incident with Caithness? You left so hastily after that that I could not be sure you would.”
“I do, though. I talked to the one you deemed handsome.”
“A tedious prattler, I thought, and not wealthy,” Malvina said with a dismissive wave. “In troth, I was irked when he talked to you instead of to me, because I had to talk to Hamish, whom I have often thought rude and disagreeable. But now, I think I might marry him, Fiona. What do you think of that?”
Fiona gaped at her. “Why would you want to marry a rudesby you dislike?”
Grinning, Malvina said, “Because, although he teases me in a most uncivil way, he is no longer so horrid. Sithee, I learned last night that he is to inherit his grandfather’s estates. Hamish will be wealthy, Fiona. I shall have a household steward and more servants than my mother has. We will even have a house in Edinburgh’s Canongate. I shall command every elegancy of life!”
Dryly, Fiona said, “Only if he asks you to marry him.”
“But he has . . . that is, my father and his have talked for some time of such a match and have settled the arrangements. Hamish told me as much last night. I said then that I was not certain that I wanted to marry him, but of course, I will.”
“Then, I think Hamish is a lucky man and you will be very happy,” Fiona said sincerely. She had been aware for some time that Ormiston was seeking an acceptable match for her. She knew, too, that he would not simply present someone and tell her that he and the young man’s father had already made the arrangements.
What he had told her was that, in Scotland, a woman could refuse any man.
Inside the towering, empty monastery chapel, James, King of Scots, stood at the center of the transept in front of the high altar.
“I recall ye well, Sir Àdham,” the King said. “Sakes, I recall every man I have knighted. I even recall your clan war leader, Sir Ivor Mackintosh, although I was but a bairn when he won his knighthood.”
Gazing in awe at a kirk more magnificent than any other he had seen, Àdham said, “Sir Ivor is Shaw Mòr Mackintosh’s son, your grace. He is also my foster mother’s brother. So Ivor is as an uncle to me.” Collecting his wits and facing James directly, he added, “Mayhap you also know my paternal uncle and foster father. Men call him ‘Fin of the Battles.’”
The King smiled reminiscently. “I do remember Sir Fin, aye, for that is what I called him. Nearly three decades have passed since last I saw him, but I owe my thanks to him and to Sir Ivor. As I do to ye, lad. However, whilst I ken fine that the Mackintosh is a good friend to me, yon Clan Chattan Confederation has got so big that I do wonder if all of its members remain as loyal to me as your captain does.”
Àdham was silent. It was no business of his to speak for other members of the confederation.
James added gently, “I have heard rumors of ructions within your own confederation. Likewise do I hear tales of fractious factions within Clan Cameron. If I recall correctly, your father is Ewan MacGillony Cameron, aye?”
“Aye, your grace,” Àdham said.
“Yet ye call yourself MacFinlagh,” James said.
“I fostered with Uncle Fin. So I have associated myself for years now with Fin and Castle Finlagh.”
“Yet Ewan MacGillony Cameron—if what I hear be true—has at times spoken against my policies.”
Àdham met the King’s quizzical gaze and said, “I speak for no man save myself, my liege, not even for Ewan MacGillony. I am your man and will remain so. But I would remind you, with deep respect, that Ewan did lead the MacGillony Camerons at Lochaber against Alexander of the Isles. He has not taken up arms against your grace since that day. Nor, to my knowledge, has he spoken against you since then.”
“Aye, he fought for me, and I ken that other Cameron factions followed his lead. But others under Lochiel, the Cameron Captain, fought for Alexander, aye?”
“I was in the thick of battle, my liege, so I cannot answer your question of mine own knowledge. But I did hear that Lochiel supported Alexander.”
“There is also the matter of mine own uncle, Atholl,” James said softly.
A ripple of unease stirred in Àdham. If James knew that Atholl’s second wife, the lady Elizabeth Graham, was Àdham’s grandaunt, would he assume . . . ?
Accepting Àdham’s silence with the same ease he had the first time, James said, “Ye must ken fine that I dinna trust my uncle Atholl or some of his kinsmen, including your uncle, the so-eloquent scoundrel of Kinpont. He and Atholl make plain their antipathy for my belief in a rule of law for all, and Blair Castle overlooks the main route from here into the Highlands. If Atholl decides to keep the next royal army from passing that way, he could make a damned nuisance of himself.”
“So I have heard,” Àdham said. “But I have met Sir Robert only a few times and have never spoken to the Earl of Atholl. Nor do I ken aught to Atholl’s discredit unless it is discreditable now merely to speak against potential royal policies.”
Aware of Ormiston shifting his feet, Àdham wondered if he’d said too much.
“Ye do speak your mind, sir,” James said, his lips quirking into a slight smile. “Methinks such candor may be a long-held Highland habit. I’ll own, though, that many of my Borderers and trusted Lothian lairds do oft show a like tendency.
“Sithee,” he added, “I recall times past when speaking truth to one’s ruler could lead to one’s death. I pray that I never become such a ruler. Mentors of my youth, here and in England, taught me a few maxims that nearly all of them held in common. Two that I have never forgotten are to listen to mine enemies as if they were my friends and to keep them as close as I can whilst still keeping safe.”
Àdham nearly asked if that was why he had imprisoned the Lord of the Isles at Tantallon, which was less than a day’s journey from Edinburgh Castle. He held his tongue, though, because Fin had said more than once that although he had oft regretted his speech, he had never regretted his silence.
“My intent,” James went on, “is for our Parliament to become the primary source of laws for Scotland. To accomplish that, I must reduce the powers of a few stubborn noblemen who prefer to create their own laws—not just Alexander of the Isles, who claims title to all Scotland north of the Forth and insists he will seize every stick and stone of it—but Atholl, too, and others. I do welcome opposing views, but I will suppress active resistance wherever I find it.”
“I’ve heard that many Scottish noblemen believe that Parliament should not assume such great powers, your grace. They suggest that you are merely trying to undermine their inherited and heritable rights.”
James exchanged a look with Ormiston, who raised his eyebrows ironically, as if, Àdham thought, he had expected such an exchange. Then, turning, he looked down the length of the nave as if tacitly removing himself from the conversation.
“I do know that such qualms exist,” James said. “’Tis why I need your help.”
“I am yours to command, sir,” Àdham said warily. “What am I to do?”
“First, I’d have ye keep your eyes and ears open whilst ye visit certain areas of the Highlands in my stead to learn where troubles may arise. Sithee, if I know of discontent before it spurs rebellion, we might ease such tensions before they erupt.”
“Do you mean that I am to spy for you, your grace?”
James, looking surprised, said, “Ye may be unaware that I had my early schooling at St. Andrews with the bishops and was likewise well-schooled during my English captivity. In neither country does one gentleman spy on another. I learned, as doubtless ye did yourself, that such behavior is unacceptable. In either country, the penalty would be death. And no landowner would suffer for hanging a man or a woman who pried into his personal affairs.”
“In a town, someone might get away with such prying,” Àdham said. “But a clan controls an entire area, so strangers are ever suspect. If one were too nosy . . .”
“I do not expect ye to sneak about, lad, let alone in another clan’s territory. But contact between your central Highlands and Edinburgh, Stirling, or even Perth is slow, difficult, and often nonexistent. However, your affinity with the two great clan confederations provides ye with a vast and scattered kindred, which makes ye ideally suited to serve as a distant set of eyes and ears. If ye’ll aid me so, I’ll be less blind and deaf to aught that threatens the peace of my realm from that part of it.”
After brief consideration, Àdham nodded. “I’ll do what I can, my liege. The Mackintosh and Sir Ivor will likely have duties for me, too, as you may suppose.”
“I expect so,” James said, glancing at Ormiston, who was still apparently fascinated by the long aisle of the nave. “There is another matter I would put to ye,” James added. “I believe ye be neither married yet nor promised, aye?”
“Aye, sir,” Àdham admitted uneasily.
“Excellent,” James said, flashing his charming smile. “The best way I know to build friendships where enemies have existed is through tactical marriages. I hear that ye’ve met Ormiston’s daughter, the lovely lady Fiona, and likely ken her better than any other lass hereabouts. Come to that, I also heard ye were moved to intervene last night when a close cousin of mine accosted her ladyship.”
Stunned by the obvious suggestion that he should consider marrying Lady Fiona, and suddenly aware that he would not reject that notion out of hand, Àdham wondered nonetheless if the King had mentioned the incident with Caithness as a subtle threat of consequence if he should reject it.
Àdham said, “’Twas but a natural impulse to aid her ladyship, my liege. I failed to recognize Caithness from behind when he grabbed her arm, startling her. Such behavior at a court festivity being . . .”
“Utterly unacceptable,” James said with a smile when Àdham paused to seek the most diplomatic word. “Such an impulse speaks well o’ ye, lad. In any event, ye should ken that I’d be pleased to bless a union betwixt yourself and her ladyship. Not only did ye serve me well at Lochaber, but mine own lass is gey fond of Fiona. Also,” he added firmly, “her lord father does favor such a match.”
A certain portion of Àdham’s body, certainly the least cognitive part, stirred with delight at the thought of having the lady Fiona as his wife. However . . .
Glancing at Ormiston to find his lordship looking at him with the same sternly enigmatic stare he had encountered on the Inch soon after meeting the lass, he felt an inexplicable, nervous urge to clear his throat.
Reminding himself that his lordship did not intimidate him, Àdham said, “Is that true, sir? You would approve such a marriage?”
Ormiston’s hazel eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together before he said evenly, “Wouldst accuse his grace of a lie, sir?”
“You ken fine that I do no such thing,” Àdham replied in the same tone. “I’d wager, though, that her ladyship will be loath to accept me as a husband.”
“You will leave Fiona to me,” Ormiston said.
“Nae, then. I want no wife who must be forced to accept me.”
“And I would not force my dearling lass to marry,” Ormiston said with an edge to his voice. “I meant only that I know her well and will talk with her. Sakes, lad, I favor the match chiefly because, although I have never seen her show interest in any man before, I saw straightaway that you have piqued her curiosity. In troth, I doubt that she would reject this notion of his grace’s outright. However, she may claim to agree only because it is proffered at his grace’s behest.”
“I cannot say that I’d like that any better,” Àdham said. “She thinks all Highlanders are barbarians.”
“Then persuade her otherwise. Give her cause to agree. . . . Unless you are unwilling. Are you opposed to the match, Àdham? Do you favor someone else? If you do, I’ll not press you further. Nor will I allow his grace to do so.”
Wondering at the word allow in reference to James, Àdham squelched an impulse to question it. In fact, he believed that Ormiston would do as he said and without a qualm. Even so, Àdham was sure Fiona would refuse to marry him and realized, to his own surprise, that he hoped she would not refuse. Yet . . .
“Her ladyship does not speak the Gaelic,” he said, looking from Ormiston to the King and back again. “I fear, too, that she would become gey lonely in Strathnairn and yearn for her home, her family, and familiar surroundings.”
James said, “Or she may be fain to learn your language, visit new places, and meet new people. My beloved lady had no qualms about moving to Scotland, and Fiona has seemed curious about everything she has seen these two years past.”
“She does expect to marry someday,” Ormiston said. “Whilst I’ll admit that I never imagined her living at such a distance from us, if you do this, our family will not abandon her. I would not impose my company on your journey home, lad, but I would expect to visit you there, if possible, before the snows fly.”
“I am willing,” Àdham said, although he found it hard to picture the wealthy Ormiston at rustic Finlagh, let alone to picture the lady Fiona there after living with the Queen’s court.
Exiting the monastery chapel with the King and Ormiston, who had asked a lay brother to summon Fiona to the parlor, Àdham stood silently in the courtyard with his lordship and watched James go inside.
Ormiston said mildly, “Art sure of this, lad?”
Although he was anything but sure, Àdham said, “I said I am willing, and I keep my word, sir. By my troth, I’ll be gey pleased if her ladyship does agree. I’m thinking, though, that I’d be wise to put the matter to my people first. If they have strong objection to the union, to pursue it further could lead to trouble.”
“His grace did discuss it with the Mackintosh,” Ormiston said. “Malcolm approves, so no one else should object. However, if you have concerns that someone might, you must relieve them if you can. Find Sir Ivor and talk with him.
“Meantime,” he added, “I will talk with Fiona. If you will meet me at the house when you hear the bell for Vespers, I will give you her answer.”
“Aye, sure, sir,” Àdham said. “But the decision must lie with Lady Fiona.”
Fiona and Lady Malvina were returning from the Gilten Herbar when they perceived Fiona’s maidservant, Leah, hurrying toward them.
“Your lord father be a-waiting in the parlor, m’lady,” Leah said. “He would speak wi’ ye straightaway, Brother Porter said.”
Hoping that Ormiston had not come to scold her for the small part she had played when Sir Àdham hit Caithness, Fiona hastily straightened her caul and veil. Then, pinching more color into her cheeks, she headed for the wee parlor where maids of honor and other attendants could meet and talk with their visitors.
Her father, standing by a window that overlooked the monastery’s orchard and his grace’s new tennis court, turned toward her when she entered.
“Should I shut the door?” she asked him.
“Aye, I’d like this conversation to stay between the two of us for now.”
“Have I displeased you, sir?”
“Nae, lassie. I fear the boot is on the other foot, or soon may be.”
She raised her eyebrows, stifling an urge to smile at the absurd suggestion that he might fear angering her.
“I can see that my comment amuses you,” he said. “I’d best spit out what I’ve come to say, then, so we can discuss it. I hope your amusement won’t turn to ire when I tell you that his grace and I have come to an understanding that significantly affects your future.”
“Am I no longer to serve Joanna then?”
Looking surprised at the question, he said, “You’ve done naught to displease her grace, my dearling. I believe she loves you nearly as much as I do. But you cannot act forever as a maid of honor. You have your own life to live, after all.”
A sense of foreboding shot through her. Not true fear but wary anticipation . . . of what, she knew not. Surely, her father would not say she had to leave Joanna and go home simply because he had offered for Lady Rosalie’s hand in marriage.
“Does it have to do with what happened last night, sir?”
“In a way, I suppose it does. However, his grace has asked a boon of me and suspects that his notion will not discomfit you. I am not certain of that, though. I ken fine that you have enjoyed a comfortable life at Ormiston Mains and have also enjoyed your service with her grace.”
“I love Joanna dearly, so my service is a pleasure for me. Does his grace want me to live elsewhere?” A chill shot up her spine at the next thought that occurred to her. “Do I truly have a say in this matter, sir, or have you and his grace made up your heads that I must do as you have decided?”
“You have every right to refuse what we propose. But I hope you will give it due consideration first. I have seen for myself that you are friendly with Sir Àdham MacFinlagh and that he cares enough about you to act as your protector.”
A place deep inside her warmed at hearing that Sir Àdham cared about her. However, trepidation followed. How was it that, just when one began to find life interesting, Fate should threaten to upend all that one had come to take for granted?
“Faith, sir, you cannot mean— That is,” she amended hastily, when his eyebrows knitted together, “surely, Sir Àdham has not offered for me. Sakes, I was thinking only seconds ago that mayhap you had offered for Lady Rosalie.”
To her surprise, Ormiston, looking like a boy caught in mischief, shifted his gaze from hers to a portrait on the wall beside them of St. Dominic, wearing the cream-colored tunic, scapular, and black-hooded cape of a Dominican friar. Drawing a breath, he looked at her and said, “Would you dislike it if I had?”
Every fiber of her body stilled at that question, but she would not disappoint him again. “How could I dislike Lady Rosalie when she has always been so kind to me and to everyone else who meets her?”
“She is kind, and she is merry,” Ormiston said. “I’ll admit that she attracted me the first time I met her. Moreover, I doubt that she will do aught to alter our life at Ormiston Mains. And you will soon become fast friends with her.”
Realizing that he was contemplating marriage for himself, Fiona wondered if she dared ask him the question that leaped next to her mind.
“What is it, lassie?”
“I have heard that it is difficult for any woman to take the reins of a new household if she must also get along with an unmarried daughter experienced at running it. Is that why you want me to marry?”
“I have already said that you can reject his grace’s suggestion,” Ormiston reminded her. “I meant that.”
“Have you also discussed this with Sir Àdham? I doubt that he would be content to live at Ormiston Mains.”
“You would live with him at his home, Fiona, but we would visit you. And, naturally, the two of you would be welcome to pay long visits to us.”
“I’d have to live in the Highlands?” Her voice ended on a squeak.
“Aye, sure. A woman lives with her husband. And Àdham is a Highlander.”
A barbarian, her inner self whispered, sending a quiver up her spine. “I . . . I don’t know. The Highlands seem dreadfully frightful and wild, sir. They speak another language there, too, the Gaelic. I ken naught of it.”
“You would learn quickly, I think. Moreover, Àdham speaks Scots, as do a number of his kinsmen, I believe.”
“Faith, I need time to think,” she said desperately. “When must I decide?”
“We did talk to Àdham. Also, his grace has invited us—the three of us—to sit at the high table this evening with him and the Queen.”
“Father! How can I possibly think if you need an answer by suppertime?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Moreover, if we sit with the King and Queen at the high table, every member of the court will assume that our wedding date is settled.”
“Doucely, lass. You may have all the time you require. I will tell his grace that you want to give our suggestion more thought before making your decision, and that you would liefer not accept such an honor with Sir Àdham before then.”
“But why do you think I should marry him?”
“He is a man of good character and a skillful, courageous warrior. Moreover, his grace has many enemies, so anything we can do to help him make more friends where he has few will aid him and thereby make our country stronger. Also, just as you perceive Highlanders as barbarians, so do Highlanders perceive Borderers. Border reivers oft steal cattle from Highlanders north and west of Loch Lomond, and you know as well as I do how vicious they can be. You can aid Sir Àdham and his grace just by being yourself and letting Àdham’s people come to know you.”
Since she could hardly say that she did not care a whit about what was good for Scotland, only about what might be good or bad for her, she held her tongue.
“You must also talk with Sir Àdham, I think,” Ormiston said. “The two of you should discuss all of the concerns you have about this notion.”
“Has he agreed to it then?”
“He has not refused.” His lips twitched into a near smile. “In troth, I think he expects you to reject him outright. But I hope you will not do that. I want you to give careful thought to his grace’s request before you decide what is best for you.”
Which, Fiona’s inner voice muttered, means he expects you to oblige the King and himself and, thereby, also resolve any issue that might stand betwixt him and Lady Rosalie. Because, whatever he might say, her ladyship will surely have qualms about sharing Ormiston Mains with a well-loved good-daughter.
“How do you suggest that I approach Sir Àdham to suggest such a talk?” she asked, forcing calm into her voice, determined not to reveal how horrified she felt about having to discuss their so-likely marriage with Sir Àdham.
“If we are not to dine on the dais this evening, I shall invite Àdham to take supper with me at the house, and to walk with you in the Gilten Herbar afterward,” he said lightly. “I ken fine that you will enjoy watching the moonrise, at least.”
Clearly, he had not given thought to how late the moon was likely to rise that night. You see, her inner voice muttered irritably, they have decided this matter.