Chapter One...

Prologue

Falkland Castle, Scotland, 27 March 1402

The man she saw lying awkwardly on the dirt floor was unnaturally thin, little more than skin and bones. Even so, she could sense his pain. She sensed, too, that his parched, dry skin felt too tight for his body. His once silky, fair, shoulder-length hair was straw stiff and dull from grime and lack of nutrients.

He lay curled on one side, as if he had sought to return to his mother’s womb or felt pain in his stomach. One thin arm stretched outward, palm open, to catch cornmeal drifting down on pale beams of light that slipped through narrow spaces between planks of the mill floor high above him. The meal looked like ordinary dust motes dancing in ordinary moonbeams.

Since her view of the scene seemed to emerge from a surrounding black cloud, she was unsure of how she knew about the mill. But she was certain of its presence and certain that the drifting motes were cornmeal, not dust.

Even as that thought passed through her mind, she recognized a stronger perception that could not be hers and must be the man’s own vague awareness of meal in his open palm that he lacked strength to bring to his mouth.

His frustration seemed to add force to his thoughts, making them easier for her to discern. He was as good as telling her that he lacked even strength or will enough to lick his lips, which also bore a coating of meal. It had kept him alive for what he reckoned must be more than a fortnight now. His guards had given him water only twice. But he had known better than to trust those who had imprisoned him, and made each drop last as long as he could.

Almost wryly, he told himself that if he survived this ordeal—if a friend learned of his peril and summoned aid to him before it was too late—right after he hanged his fiendish uncle and the Douglas, he would order the royal dungeons altered. To see sunlight and moonlight only when filtered through corn dust and wood planking was more torturous than never to see light at all.

She knew that it was already too late. He lacked even the strength to acknowledge the pain in his shrunken gut anymore.

As that thought drifted through his mind…or hers…or both together…blackness followed. The last of his pain disappeared, and she felt tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sitting bolt upright to find herself alone and shaking in the familiar darkness of her bedchamber in St. John’s Town of Perth, her tears still streaming, she knew that what she had seen was no nightmare but a truth that she dared speak to no one.

Davy Stewart, the heir to Scotland’s throne, had just died.

The English ambassador disapproved of his mission and had from the instant he’d understood its goal. However, it was no business of his to express his opinions to heads of state, not to his own and certainly not to Scotland’s Duke of Albany, who eyed him now across the large table Albany used as a desk in his audience chamber.

Clad elegantly in black, the sixty-two year old duke stood second in line for Scotland’s throne. He had, in fact, due to one cause or another, ruled Scotland as regent—or Governor, as the Scots called it—for many years, occasionally even when, as now, he lacked any titular right to do so.

Although his still-dark hair contained increasingly more silver, Albany was as politically astute as ever, and as ruthless.

Having long negotiated secretly with him for Henry IV of England, the ambassador knew that the duke possessed a quick, intelligent mind and was coldblooded, unpredictable, and skilled in wielding his authority. His usual tone was chilly, but he could be affable if it served his purpose. Above all, he was a man with a deep understanding of power who did all he could to increase his own.

Reflecting on the fact that the duke had already kept him kicking his heels for a fortnight, the ambassador wondered if his safe-conduct had become an issue.

Warily, he said, “Although our countries enjoy a rare truce, my lord, one does feel safer passing through your Borders with a safe-conduct than without one. However… Pray forgive me, sir. But as his grace, the King, is away…”

When Albany frowned, the ambassador paused again, hoping he’d made his point. After Davy Stewart’s death, many having suspected Albany’s hand in it, the Scottish King and Parliament had refused to name him Governor again.

Albany had waited barely two months before demanding that the King summon his lords again and order them to do so. His grace had submitted, as usual, to Albany’s stronger will and ordered Parliament to meet directly after Easter. But would its ever-unpredictable lords submit as easily to the duke’s demands?

“No one will dare doubt the validity of a safe-conduct bearing my signature,” Albany said flatly. “Now, I’m sure you’ve arranged the details of that matter we discussed before and have everything in train.”

“Yes, my lord,” the ambassador said. “As I said when last we met, we require only the name of the—”

“I received that information yestereve,” Albany interjected curtly, reminding him that the duke also had a passion for secrecy. “Recall that you must not act as intermediary.”

“Indeed, my lord. I shall employ the courier who acted for his…um…for us before. One assumes that the promises we made about the cargo…”

“I care only about matters on which your master and I have agreed and not a whit about promises to his minions or about the cargo,” Albany said. “So, unless you have more we must discuss, our business is done. Collect your safe-conduct from my steward as you leave.”

Nineteen-year-old Lady Alyson MacGillivray grasped the urgent fingers clutching her arm and tried to pry them loose, saying, “Prithee, calm yourself, Ciara. If this ship sinks, clinging to me will avail you naught.”

“Mayhap it will not, m’lady,” her middle-aged attire woman said, still gripping her hard enough to leave bruises. “But if this horrid ship drops off another o’ these giant waves as it did afore, mayhap neither o’ us will fly into yon wall again.”

Alyson did not reply at once, having noted that, although the huge vessel still rocked on the heaving waters of the firth, the noises it made had changed. The wind still howled. However, the awful creaks and screeches that had made Ciara fear aloud—and Alyson silently—that the ship would shake itself apart had eased.

The cabin door opened without warning, and Niall Clyne, Alyson’s husband of two and a half months, filled the opening. He was a handsome, fair-haired, blue-eyed man of mild temperament, whom she’d known for most of her life. He ducked as he entered, to avoid banging his head against the low lintel.

“Put out that lantern, Allie,” he said. “We must show no light aboard now.”

“—is shuttered,” she continued. “Little light would show through it in any event. Surely, on such a dark night—”

“Just put it out,” he said. “It isn’t safe to keep a flame here in such weather.”

Ciara protested, “Sir, please, it be scarifying enough in this place with light! Forbye, in such weather, we ought never tae ha’ left Leith Harbor! Men did say—”

“An overturned lantern would quickly start a fire,” Niall interjected. “And, with no way to escape, a fire at sea would be even more terrifying than one on land.”

“Hush, Ciara,” Alyson said, watching Niall. Although the order he’d given was sensible, she was as sure as she could be that he was relaying it from someone else. Without moving to put out the lantern, and glad that Ciara had released her arm when the door opened, she said to Niall, “We have stopped, have we not?”

“Aye, or nearly, for we’ve dropped two of our anchors,” he said. “But you must put out that light, lass. Even the storm lights on deck are dark now.”

“Do you know?” she asked. “Or is your friend Sir Mungo keeping secrets from you as well as from us?”

With audible strain in his voice, Niall said, “You must call him ‘Sir Kentigern,’ Alyson. His friends call him Mungo, because that’s what friends often do call a man named Kentigern. But he is not Sir Mungo to anyone.”

“I keep forgetting,” she said calmly. “Sir Kentigern is such a lot to say. But you do not answer my question. Do you know why we have stopped?”

“I do not,” he said. “I ken only that they’ve sent a coble ashore with six oarsmen to row it. Now, will you put out that light, or must I?”

“Good night, my lady.” Evidently, he trusted her, because he left then and shut the door.

Ciara waited only until he had done so to say with panic in her voice, “Ye’ll no put that light out, m’lady, I prithee! ’Twould be dark as a tomb in here!”

“Nay, I do not,” Ciara said. “For all that he may be the master’s friend, I dinna like him.”

“Nor do I,” Alyson said, careful not to reveal the understatement of those three words in her tone. “Lie down on yon shelf bed now and try to sleep when I put out the light. I shan’t need you to undress me.”

“I ken fine that I shouldna sleep in your bed,” Ciara said. “But I’ll take it and thank ye, because get in that hammock and let this storm-tossed ship fling me about with every motion, I will not!”

They had left Edinburgh’s Leith Harbor at dusk, Sir Kentigern “Mungo” Lyle having insisted they could wait no longer. Mungo was secretary to the Earl of Orkney, whom Niall also served. It was on business of Orkney’s that the men were sailing to France, and since they could be away for months, Niall had agreed to take Alyson with him. Mungo had not concealed his disapproval when they’d met him at the harbor. But Niall’s insistence that he could not send Alyson all the way home to Perth, alone, had been enough. Whether it would satisfy Orkney when he learned that she was with them remained to be seen.

Alyson had met the earl, who was a few years her senior, several times. As the wealthiest nobleman in Scotland, and one of most powerful, Orkney knew his worth. But he was not nearly as puffed up in his own esteem as Mungo was in his.

But Mungo had doubtless meant only to please the earl by hastening their departure. Storms had delayed and battered their ship, the Maryenknyght, on her voyage from France with her cargo of French wines. Then men had to load the return cargo, and the ship’s captain took two more days to make hasty repairs.

“I am going up to see what’s happening,” Alyson told Ciara. “Prithee, do not argue or fling yourself into a fret, because you won’t dissuade me. We are where we are, but I want to know where that is and what they’re doing on deck.”

“We can judge our danger better if we have information, Ciara. So just be patient and try to sleep. I’ll hold this lantern until you are safe on that bed but no longer, lest Mungo come down and dare to look in on us.”

If he did come down, he would likely run into her on her way up. But Alyson doubted that Ciara would think of that. Ciara was concerned with her own safety, which was reasonable but irrelevant when one could do naught to ensure it.

Ciara eyed her mistress measuringly. Although she had served Alyson only since her wedding, she evidently knew her well enough to see that further debate was useless, because she quickly unlaced and doffed her kirtle. Then, lying on the narrow bed in her flannel shift, she pulled the quilt over her, gritted her teeth, shut her eyes, and nodded for Alyson to put out the light.

Alyson donned her fur-lined, hooded cloak and snugly fitting gloves, then blew out the lantern and found its hook on the wall. Hanging the lantern carefully, she felt for the door latch and raised it, hoping she would not be so unfortunate as to meet anyone before seeing what there was to see.

The cabin door opened onto a narrow, damp passageway ending at a ladder that stretched to the deck. The ship’s hold lay below, no longer containing wine casks but roped piles of untanned hides and bales of sheared wool going to France. That cargo was noisome enough already to fill the passageway with pungent odors.

Wrinkling her nose but relieved to see faint light coming through the open hatchway, Alyson raised her skirts with her left hand, touched one wall with her right for balance, and moved toward the ladder.

Its rungs were flat on top and the ladder just seven feet or so to the hatchway, but ascending it in skirts was awkward. A wooden rail aided her when she climbed high enough to reach it, and she emerged in an area between the shipmaster’s forecastle cabin and a second, smaller one.

The wind was thunderous. But the hatchway, recessed between the two cabins, sheltered Alyson from the worst of it. The hatch cover was up, strapped against the cabin on her left as she faced the stern.

She wondered if it had been so all along or if Niall had opened the hatch and left it so. Surely, it should stay shut to keep the angry sea from spilling into the passageway, the two tiny lower cabins, and the vast hold below.

Above her, black clouds scudded across the night sky. Gaps between them briefly revealed twinkling stars overhead and a crescent moon rising above the open sea to her right amidst flying clouds. Those clouds seemed to whip above, across, and below the moon in a wild, erratic dance.

Since Edinburgh was behind her, she knew she must be facing east. The ship’s prow therefore pointed southward, so they were at the mouth of the Firth of Forth.

Looking aft but still to her right, she saw moonlight playing on glossy black mountains of ocean. To her left, she discerned the firth’s south coast where dots of light twinkled in the distance—perhaps the lights of North Berwick.

When she stepped forward to look due south past the master’s cabin, she had to hold her hood against the whipping wind. But the view astonished her.

At no great distance beyond the ship’s rail, sporadic moonlight revealed a precipitous rock formation looming above tumultuous waves that broke around it in frothy, silver-laced skirts wherever the moonlight touched them.

Surely, she thought, no boat could land there. But why stop if not to send one ashore or wait for one coming to them? Stepping back into the deep shadows of the alcove between the two cabins, she continued to watch.

Not long afterward, through the darkness, she saw a boat, a coble, plunging toward them through the waves. In a patch of moonlight, she saw that it was full of people. At least two were small enough to be children.

Not far away, unbeknownst to anyone aboard the Maryenknyght, a smaller ship more nearly akin to a Highland galley than to the merchantman rode the heaving seas. Sir Jacob Maxwell, the Sea Wolf’s captain, kept his gaze fixed on the much larger ship. When its sail had come down as it passed North Berwick, he’d suspected the ship was the one he sought. When it dropped anchors off the massive, nearly unapproachable formation known as the Bass Rock, he was sure of it.

The wind blew from the northeast quarter. The merchantman had anchored well away from the rock and with its prow facing southeastward. Thus its leeward length sheltered its steerboard side when it lowered a boat.

Although born in Nithsdale, near the Borders, Jake had spent two-thirds of his life on ships. Much of it he’d spent in the Isles, so he believed he was nearly as much a Highlander as his helmsman was. Moreover, most of his men spoke only Gaelic, so most conversation aboard was in that language.

“She is the Maryenknyght out of Danzig,” Jake said. “She was flying a French flag when she entered Leith Harbor, and I’d wager she flew that flag when she departed. However, it could be some other flag now.”

He did not add that the Maryenknyght belonged to young Henry Sinclair, second Earl of Orkney. Nor did he mention that Henry had ordered the ship to Edinburgh for this particular, hopefully secret, purpose.

Orkney owned more ships than anyone else in Scotland. But he had not wanted to use one that others would easily recognize as his. Thus had the Maryenknyght made what Jake knew was her first voyage to Scotland.

For a fortnight, he’d kept a man posted at Leith to watch for the ship, harboring his Sea Wolf at a smaller, less frequented site on the firth’s north coast. However, he had learned the Maryenknyght’s name and intended time of departure only that afternoon. Glancing at his helmsman, he knew that Coll was bursting with curiosity, although his expression revealed none.

Jake realized he was holding his breath as he watched the first of the coble’s occupants, clearly its steersman, prepare to climb a rope ladder to the ship’s deck.

One of the six oarsmen caught the ladder’s end while his two comrades on that side did their best to keep the coble from banging against the ship. Meanwhile, fierce winds and incoming waves tried to push ship and coble back to Edinburgh.

“By my soul,” Coll muttered when the steersman had reached the deck and a second, much smaller passenger gripped the ladder. “That be a bairn, Cap’n Jake! What madness goes on here?”

Jake did not answer. His attention riveted to the lad, he felt his pulse hammering in his neck, as if his heart had leaped into his throat.

“Sakes, look at him,” Coll breathed. “He’s going up that ladder as deftly as ye might yourself, sir.”

“I suspect that after being lowered in a basket to a plunging boat from halfway up the sheerest face of Bass Rock, as I heard they would be, climbing a rope ladder must seem easy,” Jake said.

“On a night like this?” Coll exclaimed. “Who the devil would be crazy enough to order such a thing?”

Aware of Coll’s stunned silence, Jake watched the second lad climb the ladder as lithely as the first. Returning his gaze to the coble to see a tall, slender man grab the ladder next, he felt his jaw tighten again.

Having counted the men in the boat, he knew that this one had to be Henry of Orkney. Jake had known him almost from Henry’s birth and liked him. He did not want the wicked weather to plunge the earl into the ice-cold sea, where he might drown before others could reach him.

Jake hesitated. But he had known Coll for over a decade and trusted him. Moreover, they’d be following the Maryenknyght to her destination. And accidents happened, even to men who had lived their lives aboard ships. If aught happened to him, Coll should understand the exact nature of their mission.

Knowing that the wind would blow his words away before they reached ears other than Coll’s, and that the men were heeding their oars, Jake leaned nearer and said, “Wardlaw said nowt to me in St. Andrews about any second lad, Coll. But one of those two lads will inherit the Scottish Crown.”

“It was, aye. But whilst Davy’s death was still new, James was safe at St. Andrews Castle under Bishop Wardlaw’s guardianship. Forbye, after Parliament proclaimed Davy’s death an accident instead of the murder we all know it was, his grace began to fear for Jamie’s life, too.”

“That explains why the lad has been missing these two months and more,” Coll said. “But how could they have survived so long atop that rock?”

“Believe it,” Jake said. “Sithee, Coll, when his grace recognized the threat to Jamie, he decided to send him to our ally, the King of France, for safety.”

“Aye, well, ye need not tell me who his grace fears might harm the lad,” Coll said with a grunt. “Only one man can be sure to benefit from such, and that be his murderous uncle, the Duke of Albany. But if aught happened to the laddie, would not the country rise in fury against Albany afore he could seize the throne?”

“Likely they would have had Jamie died last year soon after Davy,” Jake agreed. “But he did not. Recall, too, that folks expected Parliament to declare Albany responsible for Davy’s death. Instead, the early winter prevented many of the Highland lords from reaching Perth, allowing Albany’s allies in Parliament to declare Davy’s death an accident. They could not, however, vote to make Albany Governor again, because the King was too distraught to agree.”

Coll nodded. “But Parliament will meet again afore Easter, and Albany has had time to persuade his grace. What be our place in this business, sir?”

“We are merely to report back to Wardlaw when Jamie gets safely to France,” Jake said. “And perhaps to do what we can to aid that ship if aught goes amiss.”

After watching men rush to help the first child aboard and wrap him in blankets, Alyson went back down to her tiny cabin. Since the country had been speculating for months on the fate of their eight-year-old prince, she immediately suspected who one of the two children might be.

The business that Mungo and her husband, and doubtless the Earl of Orkney himself, had in France was likewise more understandable. Was Henry not head of the wealthy and powerful Sinclair family, which had long supported kings of Scots even when many Sinclairs had disagreed with them?

Indeed, from the outset, she had wondered why, when they were on Henry’s business, they were sailing on a storm-battered merchantman. Henry owned dozens if not hundreds of finer ships. She also knew that if she was right and James Stewart was their primary passenger, she dared not linger to see who else was with him.

When they raised anchor and headed south with the wind behind them, it was less thunderous, and she slept well on Ciara’s swaying hammock until morning.

Alyson wasted no time after waking before going on deck, where with overcast skies and rain threatening, one of the first things she saw was Henry’s tall figure emerging from the master’s cabin. He showed neither surprise nor delight at seeing her but greeted her cordially.

“In troth, ’tis a dismal day,” he said with a wry smile. “Forbye, I must tell you how sorry I was to miss your wedding to Niall.”

“And are even sorrier to see me here now,” she said. “’Tis true, is it not?”

With a rueful look, he said, “It is, aye, though in courtesy I should not say it.”

“With respect, sir, you may always speak the truth to me. I admire candor. What others call tact or cosseting often results in misunderstanding of one sort or another. Do you not agree?”

His blue eyes twinkled. “I might, but others would disagree, madam. Most people, in my experience, don’t appreciate honesty as they should.”

She smiled but said, “That was young Jamie Stewart I saw come aboard from the coble last night, was it not?”

“I did, aye,” she said. “In troth, Niall ought not to have let me come.”

“Niall didn’t know,” Orkney said. “Very few people do. I sent my secretary to Danzig to arrange quietly for this ship simply because it had not sailed in Scottish waters before and was unlikely to be known as one of mine.”

“I see. Am I right to deduce that we are taking James to France? Or have you another destination in mind?”

He glanced around before replying in a lower tone than before, “We do sail to France, Lady Alyson. But this ship’s captain and crew are Prussian. So, although we’ll address both boys by their given names, we’ll say little about them to others.”

“Doubtless that is an excellent notion, sir. However, I trust that you won’t keep two such lively lads cooped up below, in that wee cabin opposite mine.”

“They slept on pallets in the master’s cabin last night, with me, and are still asleep,” he said. “Likely, I’ll turn Mungo and your husband out of the cabin next to mine and order them into that smaller cabin below. I did not do so last night for fear of waking you and your woman.”

“I see,” she said. “But if you want no undue attention drawn to the boys…”

Henry frowned, saying, “I thought that as Jamie has been living rough these past months, I could at least give him the more comfortable cabin. But I should not. Still, one dislikes…” He paused thoughtfully.

“In troth, I have been trying to imagine how Ciara and I might earn our place on this ship, sir. Since you are unhappy to have us...”

His relief was visible. “I’ll accept that offer,” he said. “After more than three months on that rock, my ability to devise new entertainments has abandoned me.”

Satisfied that she had eased his concerns, Alyson went to tell Ciara that their voyage would no longer be as tedious as it had so quickly begun to seem. What Niall or Mungo might say to it all, she did not trouble herself to consider.

When a seaman brought food to her cabin so she and Ciara could break their fast, he told them that Orkney had also ordered food for the boys and had ordered their belongings moved to the cabin across the way. Alyson assumed that the earl would soon shoo the boys out of his cabin and summon his secretaries to see to what business they could as they sailed.

When the seaman returned to collect the remains of their meal, he affirmed that assumption. “Them two lads be on deck now, m’lady,” he added. “It be still blowing a gale, but they dinna seem tae mind.”

Alyson gave the boys time to acquaint themselves with the ship before she donned her cloak and went up to find them at the railing, peering down at the sea.

Addressing James, whose current title was Earl of Carrick, she said, “I am Alyson MacGillivray, my lord Carrick. Orkney has suggested that, if you do not object, we might devise ways of entertaining ourselves together whilst we sail. My husband, Niall Clyne, serves as one of Orkney’s secretaries. My woman, Ciara, is with me, and our cabin is across from the one that you and your friend will occupy.”

“We decided that people should call me James whilst we are all on this ship,” he replied, looking her up and down as if he were assessing her but without any sign of impertinence. Then, he added matter-of-factly, “Orkney said ye were beautiful, my lady. I believe he understated that fact considerably.”

His seriousness invested his words with charm that surpassed that of most adult males she had met and drew a smile from her as she thanked him.

He was a sturdy-looking lad with a mop of dark-auburn curls, doubtless inherited from his Drummond mother, since most Stewarts were fair and blue-eyed. His were dark brown, with long, thick eyelashes. He would be nine at the end of July, but he had spoken with solemn dignity far beyond his years. When she smiled at his compliment, he smiled back rather wistfully.

Then, as if recalling his duty, he gestured toward his companion and said, “This be my friend, Will Fletcher. He isna used tae the Fletcher bit yet, though. We began calling him so on Bass Rock, ’cause they had three other Wills there. Sithee, Will’s da was a fletcher, so calling him Will Fletcher seemed a good notion.”

“It sounds wise to me,” Alyson said, smiling at Will, who bobbed a bow in return. He looked a year or two older than Jamie, had darker, curlier hair, and a demeanor nearly as solemn. “Your father made arrows, did he, Will?”

“A cousin of mine is a highly skilled archer, so I know about fletchers. How did you come to be friends with James?”

“Me mam were dead, and when me da fell out o’ an apple tree, he died, too. I didna like the tanner we worked for in Doune, so I joined up wi’ Jamie instead. D’ye ken how long we’ll be aboard this ship, m’lady?”

“That likely depends on the weather,” she replied. “The winds have been unpredictable, so we cannot count on their goodwill. Would you two like to go below with me and see your cabin and mine?” When they nodded, she said, “Did you bring aught with you to occupy yourselves?”

“I have a chessboard and pieces tae play chess or dames,” Jamie said. “Orkney and I taught Will tae play, too. So if you know how…”

Alyson grimaced. “I know the moves, but I fear that either of you will beat me easily. Still, it will be good for me to learn more.”

“Aye, well, I can teach ye, m’lady,” Jamie said. “Mayhap Orkney will, too, or your husband, Master Clyne.”

Alyson nodded as she passed them to go down the ladder. In truth, she had barely spoken with Niall since they’d arrived at Leith Harbor to meet Mungo. And now that Orkney was aboard, she doubted she would see much of Niall at all. Orkney’s business would keep him and Mungo busy, as it usually did.

Unstable weather continued as they traveled south. By Tuesday, their fifth day at sea, the wind had picked up again, and Jake thought the merchantman’s captain was letting it push the ship dangerously near the English north coast.

Although England, France, and Scotland were enjoying a rare truce, he had no faith in truces. Moreover, he had heard men say that pirates prowled that coast.