Page 16

16: THERE WILL BE REPRISALS

BONNIE WAS CARRYING a pile of freshly laundered sheets out of the laundry, and was about to cross the inner close back to the keep, when the screaming started.

Skidding to a halt, heart lurching into her throat, Bonnie glanced around.

“What the devil?” she breathed.

The screams, hysterical and female, echoed off the surrounding stone.

However, after a moment, she realized they were coming from the garden behind the chapel.

Forgetting her chores, Bonnie turned and hurried toward the passageway that led between the castle’s chapel and the keep.

An archway took her through to a small garden.

Bonnie had never set foot in this space before, for servants weren’t usually permitted inside.

But since the screaming had now disintegrated into shrieks and sobs, she forgot all about propriety.

Something was wrong, and she had to help.

But when Bonnie rushed into the secluded garden, framed on one side by a high wall where ivy climbed, and on the other by the keep, a grisly sight greeted her.

A man's body lay spread-eagled on the pavers. His right arm was twisted at an impossible angle, blood slicked his neck, and he appeared to be missing part of his face.

Bonnie came to an abrupt halt, clutching the sheets against her chest, her gaze riveted upon the mangled corpse.

A group of ladies dressed in jewel-colored surcotes, the queen amongst them, had gathered in a terrified knot a few feet away from the body. Many of them were weeping, although Queen Mary kept her composure. Nevertheless, her lovely face was ashen as she stared at the dead man lying nearby.

Swallowing down bile, Bonnie looked up at the open window far above. She then whispered an oath.

Someone had thrown the man from there.

If the women had been standing just a few feet closer to the keep’s wall, he would have dropped onto their heads.

“Who was it?”

“William Douglas.” Hands trembling, Bonnie lifted the cup of wine to her lips, taking a fortifying gulp.

Her admission caused one or two of the servants gathered around her to cross themselves, while others muttered oaths under their breaths.

“The queen recognized him,” Bonnie continued shakily. In truth, she was surprised Mary had managed to, for the poor man’s head had been a mess.

She took another large gulp of wine before a tall figure elbowed her way through the press of servants inside the kitchen.

Lorna ripped the cup from Bonnie’s hands. “Who gave ye that?” she snapped.

“I did,” Ainslie admitted, scowling at the head cook. “Go easy on the lass, Lorna. She’s just had a terrible shock.” Ainslie stepped closer to Bonnie and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Do ye know what happened?”

Bonnie shook her head. “There was shouting coming from the solar window upstairs. Someone threw Douglas out of it.”

“The king did it!” A young male voice, high with excitement, intruded then. The crowd of servants parted to allow the page boy through. “I was there,” he announced, wild-eyed. “I saw it all.”

Everyone’s gazes rested upon the lad, Bonnie forgotten.

“The king and Douglas argued … and then the king drew his dirk and attacked him.”

Gasps reverberated around the smoky kitchens in response.

Before Bonnie had rushed in, the servants had been hard at work preparing the noon meal. However, the leek and turnip pies had been forgotten for the moment.

“He stabbed him again and again,” the lad went on, relishing his tale now. “And then one of the king’s attendants took a poleax to Douglas’s head.”

A collective gasp went up then.

“When the king was sure Douglas was dead, he and his courtiers dragged his body to the window and threw it out,” the page concluded.

More murmured oaths followed. The faces surrounding Bonnie drained of color. Likewise, she was still queasy from what she’d just witnessed.

“Mother Mary,” Lorna muttered, crossing herself. “Why would our king do such a thing?”

Someone in the crowd muttered something about the ‘Black Dinner’ then, and Bonnie swallowed hard. Few in Scotland hadn’t heard about that grisly incident.

“But it happened years ago,” Alba, who was standing next to her sister behind their mother, pointed out. “Surely, this wasn’t revenge for that?”

“I doubt it, lass,” Ainslie spoke up then. “It has more to do with the Douglases threatening James’s authority. Angus has been telling me for a while how relations have been steadily worsening between the king and that clan.” All gazes swiveled to the head laundress then. Of course, as her husband was chamberlain, he had access to such details. “William Douglas has been making powerful allies.”

Bonnie was still feeling queasy when she took the servant's stairwell upstairs to continue her morning’s work.

It was difficult to concentrate on something as mundane as changing beds when a man had been murdered within the walls of the castle.

Murdered by the king .

Entering a chamber, she set about ripping the old sheets off the large canopied bed within before replacing them with clean ones.

The task, which she carried out multiple times each day, was hard work this morning.

She was tired, her limbs heavy, a dull ache throbbing in her lower belly.

She’d awoken at dawn to discover that her monthly courses had arrived a couple of days early.

Relieved, she’d pulled on a pair of woolen leggings under her skirts and used a folded piece of linen to soak up the blood.

Straightening up from smoothing out the bottom sheet on the bed, Bonnie’s hand went to her tender lower belly.

She’d taken a risk the night before but had escaped her womb quickening.

“Foolish lass,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Ye play with fire.”

And she had.

She’d been caught up in the excitement, and all good sense had fled.

Drunk on Iver Mackay’s company, she’d cast caution aside.

Heat flushed over her then as images of what they’d done up on the walls returned to her, how he’d touched her and then taken her.

Even now, her breathing quickened at the toe-curling memory.

Shoving it aside, Bonnie grabbed a sheet and cast it across the wide bed.

“Just be grateful ye aren’t with bairn,” she muttered.

Aye, she was thankful, and yet her mood all morning—before Douglas’s murder—had been oddly flat.

Life would go on now as it always had.

She had returned to the shadows, and there she’d stay.

For the rest of her life.

Stepping away from the bed, Bonnie’s hand lifted, pushing aside the neckline of her kirtle.

Her fingers traced the tender spot on her shoulder where Iver had bitten her.

It was the only thing she had left of him—and soon that too would fade.

But more than the physical closeness they’d shared, she’d miss the emotional connection between them.

She’d never had a conversation like the one she’d had with Iver.

She wanted to etch every word upon her mind.

Bonnie’s throat tightened.

Curse it, when her courses came, she was always far too emotional, and after this morning’s shock, her nerves were jangled.

It wouldn’t do to dwell on Iver Mackay at present, not when the memories were so fresh.

Instead, she had to focus on catching up on her work.

Unfortunately though, fate was conspiring against her today, for on her next trip down to the laundry, Ainslie bustled over to her, gently took Bonnie by the arm, and steered her to a quiet corner.

Smoky the cat followed them, abandoning her sleeping kittens to greet her favorite visitor.

The mouser wound her way sinuously around Bonnie’s ankles while Ainslie glanced around, making sure no one was looking their way.

Her blue eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at Bonnie.

“Well?”

Bonnie’s pulse quickened.

“Well, what?”

“Och, lass, don’t keep me in suspense. I know, what with everything that’s happened this morning, ye are distracted … but curiosity is eating me up. How was the ball?”

Bonnie forced a bright, answering smile.

Ainslie had been so kind to her, so generous, that she had to give her the news she was so eager to hear.

“It was magical,” she murmured.

“Like stepping into a dream.”

Ainslie’s smile slid into a delighted grin.

“Did ye dance with any handsome lairds then?”

Bonnie nodded, keeping her own smile plastered upon her face.

“I had a few show interest in me,” she lied, “and I danced until my feet felt ready to fall off.”

Ainslie’s expression sobered, and she stepped closer still before glancing over her shoulder.

The laundry was crowded this morning, yet the slap of wet clothing and the rhythmic thud of wooden bats beating soiled washing drowned out their conversation.

Nonetheless, Ainslie was being careful.

“Did ye do as I advised, lass?” she whispered.

“Aye … I introduced myself as Adair Farquharson of Braemar Castle, and no one questioned my identity.”

Ainslie nodded, relief flaring in her eyes.

“And ye didn’t linger too long either?”

Bonnie shook her head, even as her chest constricted.

She hated lying to Ainslie, and she wanted to unburden herself to her, but as kind-hearted as her friend was, Bonnie wasn’t sure how Ainslie would react to hearing the truth.

“I have yer gown upstairs … and the mask too,” she murmured then.

“Shall I bring them down to yer chambers after the noon meal?”

“What has the king done?” Iver paced the chamber, his long legs eating up the ground.

“He’ll throw us into civil war!”

“Calm down, Iver.” Campbell’s powerful voice rumbled across the room.

“None of us should speak rashly at present.”

Swiveling on his heel, Iver pinned Campbell with a hard stare.

“That’s rich, coming from ye, Colin,” he growled.

“Just yestereve, ye were muttering about the Douglas ‘traitor’.”

The Lord of Glenorchy shrugged, unmoved by Iver’s accusation.

“Aye … a sentiment the king clearly shares.”

Lennox, who was leaning against the window frame, arms folded across his chest, gave a soft snort.

“There’s no doubting that.”

Iver muttered a curse, even as his gaze remained upon Campbell.

“Do ye think James planned to slay Douglas today?”

Campbell shook his head.

“He always carries that ceremonial dirk at his side … and ye know the lad’s got a fiery temper on him.”

Iver shook his head and walked to the glowing hearth, shifting his attention to the dancing flames.

“After the rage we witnessed earlier, I’d say that’s an understatement.”

“Aye, none of us will dare contradict him in the future … not after this,” Lennox pointed out.

Iver grimaced. Lennox wasn’t wrong.

Following the slaughter in the solar, James and his attendants had thrown Douglas’s mutilated body out of the window before the sound of women wailing could be heard.

When the clan-chiefs and chieftains gathered had all eventually dispersed, they’d left the king, blood-splattered and panting as he emerged from his murderous rage, surrounded by his loyal courtiers.

Iver and Lennox had followed Campbell to his chamber, where they could respond to the incident in private.

Even though Iver was outraged by the king’s behavior, he had the wits to understand that Stirling Castle was a barrel of Greek fire right now.

One spark could incinerate them all.

“I think we need some wine,” Campbell announced, rising to his feet.

He then crossed to a sideboard and poured three generous cups before handing them to his guests.

Iver lifted the cup to his lips and took a large gulp.

It was rich grape wine, and it warmed the chill in his belly.

Campbell stood next to him, his own hands wrapped around his cup, his brow furrowed.

“I know I voiced some strong opinions about Douglas last night,” he said after a pause.

“And I still stand by them … however, I never expected the king to do this.”

“Iver’s right though,” Lennox spoke up once more from where he still leaned against the window frame.

“Clan Douglas won’t stand for this. There will be reprisals.”