Page 11 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)
Waiting for Albany to complete whatever he was reading, Ian rubbed at the fire burning at his breastbone. First the damn tribunal, then the damn border chieftains and now Madame Katie was doing her utmost to avoid being with him. Jesu, next they’ll be telling him Henry’s army was setting up tents and laying siege to Edinburgh.
And he didn’t care what Kate said, something in her past still haunted her. And he’d find out what it was if it meant driving them both insane.
“MacKay!”
He looked up to find Albany glaring at him. “Aye?”
“What on earth is wrong with you, man? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
Ian straightened. “My apologies. What is it you want me to do?”
Albany, looking none too pleased, handed him a shaft of papers. “These are the proposals I’m putting forth in less than an hour. Read them over and tell me if you know of any who will have a serious problem them.” He then stormed out the door.
Ian gave himself a good shake and focused on the task at hand.
An hour later, the bile in his stomach was trying to burn its way through to his backbone. Not only was Albany proposing a crippling tax on all imports but he had written “our subjects” instead of “the king’s subjects,” in suspiciously regal fashion. Twice .
More unsettling was the wax seal Albany had placed on the last page of the document. It wasn’t the king’s as it always had been. The new seal read Sigillium Roberti duce Albani gubernatoris Scocie, the seal of Robert, duke of Albany, governor of Scotland.
Highlanders would be angry and likely ignore the edicts, as they tended to do when displeased, but the Donald was going to go through the friggin’ rafters.
Albany had already made an enemy of Donald by refusing to settle the issue of the earldom of Ross. Aye, both the Douglas and the Donald wanted it, but the Donald had the most solid claim through his wife, and well Albany knew it. Add the insult of this verbiage and the seal...
Ian shuddered.
For years, he had held tight to the belief that Albany, an intelligent and able administrator, was a man whose heart and interests lay solely with Scotland. That Albany believed himself simply a throne holder, that he held no personal ambition for the crown, but this …
Albany was courting war.
Ian tossed the document onto Albany’s desk and raked his hands through his hair. Mayhap he was overreacting. Mayhap the man simply wanted an accurate historical...
“Ack!”
~#~
Kate wrung her hands as she paced the upper hallway before Charles Frazer’s room. Given the council’s lengthy session, the man’s affection for mead and his age, she could only pray he’d not be holed up in his garderobe for hours.
Poor Sir Charles. If someone was to take advantage of her Nana the way she was about to take advantage of Fraser, she’d cut their bloody heart out. But there simply was no one else she could question about where James’s possessions might be stored, who would then forget her questions as soon as she posed them.
Finally hearing shuffling footsteps behind the closed door, she blew out a breath and smoothed the front of her pleated gown. Yanking down on the annoying cowl encircling her chin, she knocked.
The door creaked opened and Sir Charles grinned up at her. “My dear, is something wrong? You look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”
“My pardon, Sir, but I need to ask you something.”
He motioned for her to enter. “Please make yerself comfortable.” He wiggled a wooly eyebrow at her. “‘Tisna often I have a lovely lass come into my room.”
The old fox. She couldn’t help but grin. “You need to let the ladies know you are available, my lord. I’ll wager you’ll have more than you can handle in a fortnight.”
He laughed in rusty fashion, then, growing serious, asked, “Lass, is something amiss? Do ye want me to fetch MacKay?”
Oh good graces no! “Thank you, my lord, but no. I just need a moment of your time.”
Fraser shrugged and took the stool opposite her. “As ye wish.”
She looked about the small, monastic room, so different from Ian’s. There were no crossbows, no broadswords, no mountains of books. No massive trunks filled with who knew what sitting beneath the shuttered window. Just a bed, two stools, and a small table with a bundle of candles, a flint box and a candlestick. “You have little of yourself here, my lord.” She blushed. “I mean no disrespect; it’s just so little for so long a stay.”
Fraser looked about as if seeing the room for the first time and sighed. “At my age one travels with the clothes on his back and little else. All those trunks you saw belonged to my son’s family and the men. They’re of an age that they worry about weaponry and finery.”
“I see.” Only too well. No one had bothered to be sure he’d brought extra clothing should it rain or grow colder still.
Before she lost courage or her conscience got the better of her, she asked, “My lord, did you know King James?”
The old man smiled. “Aye, lass, that I did. Looks like his da, redheaded and all. A bit of a Devil’s buckie he was, wild but clever, too. I remember the time he had come with his da to Muchalis Castle, fell over the banister he did-—ye know the one, ‘tis by the dais--and broke a tooth; a milk tooth it was, so ‘twasna a bother but still bled like a bugger.” He chuckled, his watery gaze not on her but on some distant place only he could see. “Two days later, the scamp nearly drowned falling into the burn. Scared us all out of a year’s growth. Sad to say the next--and last--I saw the lad was at his mother’s funeral. The poor laddie looked so forlorn, draggin’ that floppy cloth pony of his about by one leg, tears streaming down his wee round cheeks. Near broke my heart, it did.”
A cherished cloth pony. Perfect. “Does he have it still, do you suppose? The floppy pony?” She knew for a fact that he’d not had it on arriving in the Tower.
“Heard tell he finally put it away when his da, auld King Robert, bought him a real pony.”
Hating her duplicity, Kate pushed harder. “I do not suppose his infant toys were put on the ship when he sailed for France.”
Sir Fraser shrugged. “They were in a rush. I don’t imagine they shipped more than what he was interested in at the time. Mayhap his chess set, his kites, that sort of thing.”
Meaning the rest had been stored away or...
“I hope Albany hasn’t destroyed what remained. James might want his keepsakes when he returns.”
Fraser grinned. “‘Tisna our way, lass. All that was his, that was left behind, is in storage somewhere around here, awaiting his return. Dinna fear on that account.”
Bless ye, Charles Fraser. She had only to find the right store room. A maid, a gillie, mayhap even a guard was about to become her new best friend.
She rose. “You’ve been dear. Thank you. Will you join me at board?” Given all his help, she could keep him company as he dined, tend to his needs.
Blushing, Fraser came to his feet. “Ah, ‘tis sweet of ye to ask, but I need to rest for a bit before the Council reconvenes. Too damn much shoutin’ and arguin’ for these old bones.”
“As you wish.” At the door she kissed his brow. “Sweet dreams, dear friend.”
Looking a bit bemused, he waved and closed the door after her.
Kate stared at Fraser’s door. How difficult it must be being old and alone after years of a good marriage. Particularly if one suspected one’s grip on matters is not what it once was. How frightening that must be.
As she turned away she sighed. At least Fraser had had someone who had loved him, could hold dear to those memories. She would spend her declining years with a cat on her lap, recalling what might have been whilst listening to a parrot squawk.
Footsteps on the stair caught her attention.
Please do not let it be Ian. I feel maudlin enough as it is.
Her heart tripped seeing Alistair Campbell round the corner and come to a huffing stop, just feet from her. Her gaze flew to his sheathed dirk.
He noticed and, grinning, stepped toward her. “Why if it isn’t,” he huffed for breath, “Robbie’s whore.”
Why you miserable—-
Kate’s right hand lashed out and caught Campbell across his cheek.
As he gaped and took a step backward, she gasped. Never having struck anyone in such fashion before, Kate’s hands flew to her mouth.
Oh, my word, what have I done?
Did she have a death wish? It was one thing to verbally challenge the man who had proved capable of sticking a blade in her breastbone, but totally another to strike him.
Campbell, in turn, turned florid and suddenly barreled toward her, his girth taking up most of the hall’s width as he came. Instinctively, Kate scrambled backward, her hands out before her. “Do not come near me!”
She hit a wall, and he came to within an arm’s length of her. Teeth bared, spittle oozing from the corners of his fleshy lips, he growled, “Henceforth, mistress...beware of every drop ye drink and every bite ye take.”