But if she returned to Warwickshire and allowed Mary to pretend that her babe was hers, her child would enjoy all the benefits of legitimacy. Brodick would keep the dowry land.
She wiped the tears from her eyes. It would be done. Yet not until right before the babe was due, because Brodick would come for her. Bonnie had seen it. So she would have to deceive him for the sake of their child. It was the greatest gift she might give her son.
That thought lulled her into sleep. Brodick’s face was there in her dreams.
The Scottish court
Arriving at court was not an easy thing. Brodick spent five days just finding a place to lay his head. With the king in town, most of the better homes were rented and he didn’t keep a town house. His father had avoided court as well. Riding hellbent toward the royal castle hadn’t gotten him any closer to seeing his king. His clothing had to follow, making it longer still until he was at last ready to present himself at court.
At least the royal hounds were off his back. They left him the moment he began setting up house. The city was teeming with people. The different clan tartans denoted other titled men. Some clansmen still clung to their plain wool kilts without plaid striping. Not all clans had adopted the newer kilts.
It was a full fortnight before he was ready to appear at court. Showing up any earlier would have been a waste of time. The first thing he needed to do was send a formal message to the King’s chamberlain advising the man that he’d arrived as summoned.
James Stewart had been raised by courtiers. His mother had long ago lost her head in an English castle. It was an ironic twist of fate that left him the heir to Elizabeth Tudor’s throne, since she had signed his mother’s execution order.
But that didn’t seem to matter much now. Brodick walked into the main receiving hall to find it bursting with ambassadors from all over the world. They were dressed in fine clothing, attendants trailing them. Foreign languages bounced around the hall—Portuguese, French, Italian and even Spanish. His temper strained against his control as he viewed the number of men waiting to see the king. This was the outer hall. They weren’t even in the main court yet. James might keep him waiting for a month if he was of a mind to do so.
“It seems we Scots have gained a wee bit o’ favor since I was last here.” Druce looked around, his face pensive. “Now that’s a change.”
“It explains why Jamie is so concerned with raiding these days.”
“Aye, it does.”
Brodick watched the blending of new fashion with Celtic tradition. Kilts were still worn by at least half the men but now there were velvet slops and Venetian pants as well. Many of the ambassadors wore lavishly decorated short capes that shone with gold and jewels. He and his men were wearing doublets with sleeves, the green wool a mark of the McJames clan for a century. But he didn’t think even being in the presence of his monarch meant he should have sewn gold baubles onto his clothing. Such frivolity was for women and fops who eyed young men for trysts.
“But I must admit that I’m a bit surprised at the fashion on display.”
His brooch was gold and set with twin rubies for the lion’s eyes. It had been his father’s and someday it would be worn by his son. On his right hand was a signet ring with the seal of the Earl of McJames. It did not leave his hand unless he handed it to a man willing to defend it with his life. That was a promise his father had extracted on his death bed.
Druce scoffed at him. “I’ll remain a happy man in my kilt.”
“Agreed.”
They all froze as McQuade came into view. The man stood with his retainers, frowning at the great number of men waiting to see the king. The royal guards kept the door barred while everyone awaited the call of the chamberlain announcing their name. Without that, they stood waiting.
“Thieving mongrel McQuade.”
“Easy, Cullen. We’re here to defend the fact that we nae started the fighting.”
This time.
Brodick had to give the man his due; there had been a few nights that he strayed onto McQuade land. But he didnae fire the homes of the farmers.
Druce slapped Cullen on the back. “What’s the matter, lad? Don’t ye like the look of yer future father-in-law?”
“Did I miss something important?” Brodick watched his brother bristle but he clamped his mouth shut for a change.
The chamberlain stamped his white staff against the floor three times. The brass plate on the bottom of it echoed through the hall. Everyone fell silent.
“Oyee, oyee, oyee. His Majesty will receive the Earls of McQuade and McJames.”
A sound of frustration rippled through the men who did not hear their names. Several waved scrolls under the nose of the chamberlain, trying to get the man to notice their pleas. He stood straight, staring forward.