Friarsgate Inheritance: Until You Part 32

The mist, the smoke and the heat of battle rose from the field below the hill known as Flodden Edge. On the west side of the hill they found the trees had been cut down and a fort constructed. And it was before that fortress that Logan stood, watching in horror as the battle was coming to its dreadful end. He could see the king's banner in the mud, which meant the king was dead, for while he lived that banner would remain flying no matter what. His gaze moved over the field, but he saw no Hepburn flag aloft either. The ground was muddy, and many of the men had fought in their stocking feet because leather boots would have slipped easily on the treacherous ground. The Scots had lost the battle now coming to its close. That was painfully clear to Logan and his companions. The stench of death was everywhere. The laird of Claven's Carn put his horn to his lips and blew it. The distinctive note the horn sounded would tell any of his own people still alive to follow the sound and come to him. He waited and then blew his horn twice more. Finally, three of his clansmen struggled from Flodden Field and up the hill to where he waited.

"Any more?" he asked curtly. The smell of death surrounded them.

They shook their heads.

"My brothers?"

"Slain, my lord, with the Earl of Bothwell," one of the men reported, adding, "The English forces are also to the west, my lord."

"We'll go north and east then," Logan said grimly. "Quickly now, lads, before the English start looking about for living prisoners. Take whatever horses and boots you can find for yourselves." He waited briefly while the trio found mounts and footwear. Then, with a wave of his hand, they cantered off, leaving the battlefield behind. They rode straight for the border. It was imperative they not be caught in England. Their timely exit gave them more chance at survival than those left alive behind them had had. They rode until there was no more light left to see the ground beneath their horses' feet.

That first night, they made camp beneath the overhanging rocks in a narrow ravine. They lit a small fire beneath the rocks where it was unlikely to be seen. The formation where they sheltered was almost a cave. They had eighteen oatcakes among them. Broken in two, one cake could serve as a day's rations. Thirty-six pieces divided among the nine men would last them four days. They would be well into Scotland by then and might beg a meal from a local clansman. They would be welcome into any hall with the news they brought. That night, those with whiskey left in their flasks shared it with their companions. They would refill those flasks with water come the morrow.

Around their little fire that first night the three Hepburn clansmen told their laird the story of the battle. Their spokesman was Claven's Carn's blacksmith. His name was Alan Hepburn, and he stood six feet, six inches in his stocking feet. His brow furrowed as he remembered.

"The king were a brave laddie," he began. "He led us all himself, although the Earl of Hume did give a lot of orders. At one point our own earl said loudly that he saw no crown on Hume's head and he should shut his mouth and let the king command us, for he did it better than any."

The men listening laughed quietly, those who had not been there picturing it, for they knew their earl very well.

"The battle was fierce," Alan Hepburn continued. "The English were led by the Earl of Surrey, I was told. The king did not mean to fight in the field. He meant the English to have to come to us on the height, but their wily old commander sent troops around us to the west. The king feared they might get over the border, and none left to defend the farms but old men, women, and very young laddies. Ah, he were a good man, our Jamie was!" Alan Hepburn said, and he wiped the tears forming in his gray eyes. " 'Twas he who told us to remove our boots, for the ground was slick with mud and we would be in less danger of sliding and falling in our stocking feet."

"What happened?" the laird asked his blacksmith. "We were well matched, and we should have won the day. Something had to have happened. Did any of the earls withdraw their men?"

The blacksmith shook his head. "Nay. Half the men were down the hill, and then the phalanx was broken, my lord. They began to slip and slide. One grouping fell or tumbled into the other. The mud was treacherous, and many could not arise. The English swooped in on them, and it was slaughter. Your brothers, however, were already with our earl in the midst of the field with the young archbishop of St. Andrews, who was fighting with his father, the king. Much of the clergy avoided direct combat, instead firing the canons, for then they could be said not to have been fighting."

"You saw my brothers go down?"

"Colm, Finn, and I were battling nearby. The Earl of Bothwell was surrounded, and your brothers rushed to his defense. They were slaughtered," Alan said. "Hume, the young archbishop, and the king were then slain. The word began to spread that the king had been killed. It took the heart out of the men, my lord, and then we heard your horn. At first we were not certain it was you, but the call came twice again, and so we fought our way from the battlefield to find you," Alan finished.

"I am ashamed I was not with you," Logan said.

"Thank G.o.d you were not, my lord, for this day we have lost our good king and the flower of Scottish n.o.bility," Alan told him. "Claven's Carn needs you, especially as your lad is so young."

"The new king is not much older," Logan replied. "G.o.d help Scotland now. What of the Earl of Angus? Was he also killed?"

"Nay, my lord," Alan said excitedly. "The king left old 'Bell-the-Cat' Douglas behind, for the queen begged it. She and Bishop Elpinstone do not get along it is said."

Logan nodded. It had been a wise thing to do.

They had ridden for the next few days, making their way back to Claven's Carn. When their oatcakes had run out they stopped at a farm, begging a night's shelter in the warm, dry barn. Both the men and the horses were grateful.

"Can you feed us?" Logan asked the farmer. "We have eaten the last of our oatcakes last night and have had naught this day. I can give you news of the king."

The farmer nodded. "We've not much, but we'll share," he said.

"When my men are cared for I will come in and tell you everything I know," the laird of Claven's Carn said.

The farmer's wife delegated Alan, who was the largest of the laird's men, to carry a cauldron of rabbit stew into the barn. She followed, her ap.r.o.n filled with several loaves of bread. The men called their thanks to her as she returned to her cottage and then set about tearing chunks of bread off the loaves, and dipping them into the stew to eat. Their knives speared what tender pieces of meat they could find. Inside the farmer's dwelling, the laird of Claven's Carn told of the disaster at Flodden while he ate a bowl of the stew, thinking it was the best he had ever tasted. The farmer placed a small mug of beer before him, and he nodded his thanks.

"So, our Jamie is dead," the farmer said. "G.o.d a.s.soil his good soul." He crossed himself, as did his wife. "The battle was terrible, then. I could not go. My bairns are not old enough to help, and my wife is again with child." He hung his head.

" 'Twas better you remained than became canon fodder," the laird replied. "My wife is also with child and grew frightened when she knew I must go. I sent my brothers, now slain, and twenty men with the king. When I had calmed Jeannie, I followed, only to reach Flodden at the end. I saw no fighting. Three of my clansmen survived the battle. The others were with me. I am ashamed, for I knew the king. The Earl of Bothwell, the Hepburn of Hailes, was my kinsman. I was married in the royal chapel at Stirling."

"What was meant to be has come to pa.s.s," the farmer's wife said softly. "If it was meant that you die at Flodden, you would have. It was not."

"You have the lang eey, mistress?" Logan asked her.

"Sometimes I see things," the farmer's wife said quietly.

He nodded. "The king had the lang eey."

"I know," she answered him. And then she said, "I will feed you and your men again in the morning, my lord of Claven's Carn. And I will give you what oatcakes I can spare. The harvest was good despite the rains, and I can make more for the winter."

Logan thanked the woman and left the cottage, joining his men in the warm barn. Most were already sleeping soundly in the sweet-smelling hay. Dry for the first time in days, he joined them. Two days later they arrived at Claven's Carn, where Logan learned that his wife, Jeannie, had died in childbirth, his second son with her. They had already been buried in the family grave site on the hillside. His sisters-in-law sat gossiping in his hall, oblivious and uninterested in Flodden.

"Do you not wish to know of your husbands?" he asked them.

"Had they survived," Katie, his brother Ian's wife, said, "they would be with you."

"Will you not at least weep for them, then?" he inquired of the pair.

"Would it bring them back?" Colin's wife, Maggie said.

Astounded by their hard hearts, the laird sought out his old nursemaid, who lived in his keep and knew everything that happened within. He found her in her chamber at her loom, weaving and humming as she worked. "What happened, Flora?" he asked her as he sat down on a stool by her side. "How did my wife die and the lad with her?"

Flora turned her face to him, her hazel eyes sorrowful. "The bairn was just a wee bit early according to my calculations, but bairns will come when they will, Logan laddie. The young mistress was frightened with your going. She wept all the time after you left us. She was certain you would be killed and voiced her fears to any and all who would listen. You would die, and she would be left a widow with two children to manage Claven's Carn for your son, John. She would be the prey of wicked men and robbers who would know she was alone and helpless."

"Jesu!" he swore softly. "I did not realize she was that frightened."

"You had to go, Logan laddie," Flora said. "The la.s.s was convent bred and afraid of her own shadow, though she hid it well from you. She did not wish to shame you. The wee bairn came feet first, but in his struggle to escape his mother's womb, he became entangled in the cord and strangled. I could not turn him, though I might have been able to if either of your sisters-in-law had helped me. I needed them to aid me, but they would not. They said you would blame them if anything happened, and they could not afford your ill will for they had their own bairns to consider. The women servants were all in their own cottages, as their men were gone. I had no one. The lad was stillborn, and I am sorry. He was a big bairn for all he came early. As for your poor wife, she bled to death. There was nothing I could do, Logan laddie. You know I would have saved her if I could. I am so sorry," Flora concluded.

He nodded slowly. "Who buried her?"

"Several of the old men dug the grave. I bathed her and sewed her into her shroud," Flora told him. There were tears in her eyes as she spoke.

"And Maggie and Katie?" he asked.

"They are bad wenches, both of them," Flora said in a hard voice. "They would not even accompany your wife to her last resting place. It was raining that day, and they said they did not want to get wet, but all those others left here did follow the bier. Your lady was well liked for all she came from the north," Flora finished.

Logan stood up. Then, bending slightly, he kissed the old lady's soft cheek. "Thank you, Flora," was all he said, and he departed her little chamber. In the hall again, he went to where his sisters-in-law sat together. "Get up! Pack your belongings. You will leave here with your children first thing in the morning," he told them. "I do not want to ever see either of you again."

"You have been talking to the old woman," Maggie said. "She hates us."

"When I sent you to your own cottages you told me Jeannie hated you," he said scathingly. "My brothers are dead in the defense of our land, yet you shed not a single tear. You wantonly let my young wife perish for you would not help Flora, who might have at least saved Jeannie if she could not save my son."

"It was Maggie's idea!" Katie cried to him. "She said we would have our own back on Jeannie for sending us to those poky cottages, Logan. I wanted to help."

"I think you lie," he returned. "If you had wanted to help her, you would have helped no matter what Maggie said to you. Now, hear me, both of you. The cottages in which you reside are yours. I shall see you and your bairns fed and clothed. I will train the three lads you have between you in the use of arms. I will dower your two la.s.sies one day, and I shall make matches for them. But I do not ever want to see your faces in my hall again. What I do, I do for my brothers' sakes. They were good brothers, and their children will not suffer because their mothers are hard-hearted trulls. You will not be permitted to remarry, for if you do I will send you from Claven's Carn without a moment's hesitation."

Katie began to weep, but Maggie said boldly, "I cannot believe you mean to do this to us, Logan. We were good wives to Colin and Ian."

"Which is why I do not take your bairns from you and put you out upon the high road," he told her in a hard voice. "Now, get out of my sight, both of you!"

"You never loved her!" Maggie said. "And she knew it, Logan."

"Nay, I did not love her," he admitted freely. "But I liked her well, and I respected her position as my wife and the chatelaine of this household. Aye, she knew I did not love her, but I might have, given time."

Maggie laughed bitterly. "How could you love anyone when it is Rosamund Bolton who has always filled your heart, Logan?" Then, turning, the sniveling Katie behind her, Maggie departed the hall.

He poured himself a large goblet of wine, draining the goblet where he stood. Then, turning, he went outside and up the hill to where his wife and son lay buried. He stared down at the fresh earth mound, just beginning to green over. "Jeannie," he said, "I am sorry, but I thank you for wee Johnnie. And whatever happens, he will know you were his mam and that you loved him. He will know you were a good wife to me and that I respected you. But still, I am sorry that I didn't love you." He remained where he was for many minutes, while the sun set and the stars began to come out above him. Finally he swung about and returned to his hall, where the servants, so well trained by his wife, had his supper waiting. And after he had eaten, he went to the nursery where his son and heir lay sleeping, his thumb in his mouth. Poor bairn, Logan thought, without a mother. And the little king without a father. What was going to happen to Scotland with an infant king whose powerful uncle, namely Henry Tudor, was now just beginning to flex his muscles?

James V was crowned at Stirling on the twenty-first of October in the year 1513 by James Beaton, the Archbishop of Glasgow. He was seventeen months old and surrounded by what remained of the Scottish n.o.bility, who wept loudly as the great crown of office was held over his little red head. It was a cheerless coronation. The country's main concern was England. A peace must be made, and Henry Tudor could not have anything to do with his nephew's upbringing, although he should surely desire it and would attempt to influence his sister.

The English queen had been hurrying northward with her own army when Surrey had defeated and killed James IV at Flodden. She was again with child, but in imitation of her late mother, Isabella of Spain, she had been quite prepared to go into battle. She sent Henry the good news of Scotland's defeat, even going so far as to enclose the bloodstained plaid tunic that James Stewart had been wearing when he was killed. With the influence of both England and Spain, James had been excommunicated by Pope Julius. His body was therefore denied a Christian burial and disappeared. Gone to h.e.l.l, the English said. Not so, the Scots defended their beloved deceased monarch. James IV, like King Arthur, had disappeared, but he would return-Rex Quondam, Rexque Futurus-the Once and Future King-when Scotland needed him the most. It was small comfort.

Henry Tudor returned in October from his French adventures. Katherine made certain he was greeted like the hero he believed himself to be. Henry was no longer the second son of that upstart Tudor family that had usurped a throne. He was Great Harry. The English king was flushed with his own victories even though they were now overshadowed by the victory at Flodden.

"It is your victory as well, my lord," his queen told him, and the Earl of Surrey, the actual victor, nodded in agreement. "Scotland is crushed." She carefully omitted the fact that while James IV was now dead, Scotland still had a king-her husband's nephew, James V. But Henry's pride in his military accomplishments was short-lived, for in December of that year his wife was delivered of a stillborn son.

"An eye for an eye," Margaret, Queen of Scotland, said grimly upon hearing the news. She was not of a mind to be charitable now. Full with her second child, she was also filled with sorrow at James' death and angry to have been left with all the responsibility of Scotland, its infant king, and the child soon to be born. Her husband's will had named her tutrix, or guardian of the young king. Margaret Tudor was in effect the ruler of Scotland. Her regency was approved by the king's council. But as the sister of England's king, she would not be trusted entirely by the Scottish n.o.bility. It mattered not that as James Stewart's wife and queen her loyalties had always been to Scotland. She was a woman. She was English. Scotland's n.o.bles looked to France to John Stuart, the Duke of Albany. The duke was James III's nephew and the king's nearest legitimate male kinsman. In an age of political intrigue, dishonesty, and backbiting, John Stuart was known as an honest man. His ethics were above reproach.

The queen's council consisted of Archbishop Beaton as her chancellor and the Earls of Angus, Huntley, and Home, who were appointed to aid the queen, but it was noted that the queen would be served by a rota of n.o.bles who would function on her council, in turn, advising her in the daily affairs of her government. It was agreed that the queen would make no decision without first consulting six gentlemen, three of whom would be temporal and three who would belong to the clergy. Margaret was not quite the featherhead her husband had believed. That was a role she had played because that was the kind of woman James desired in his queen. She was, her council quickly discovered, hardheaded and shrewd when she put her mind to a problem.

Stirling Castle was chosen as the king's chief residence. Lord Borthwick would be the castle's commander with the t.i.tle of captain. The arms that had been sent to James IV by King Louis were now brought to Stirling, which made it impregnable. The queen held the treasury, making her even more powerful. She sent out a call for parliament to meet come spring. The government secure, peace would be the next item on the agenda.

England suggested the peace first, and Queen Katherine sent one of her favorite priests to Queen Margaret to comfort her. But in the borders, Lord Dacre, on the king's instructions, was still raiding the Scots, burning and looting. Scotland was now a land of widows and motherless children. Proclamations were issued in the new king's name, forbidding their abuse or the abuse of their children. Still, rape, robbery, and other violence was being done to those widows and their offspring, and there were not enough men left to keep the peace, so many suffered though the queen and her council did their best to prevent it.

But many of the young men now come into their lords.h.i.+ps were eager to continue a war against England. Eager for revenge, they saw no use in a peace with their ancient enemy. They wanted a strong military leader to confront Lord Dacre. They appealed to King Louis to send them the Duke of Albany. But the French king could not be cajoled into any actions that would threaten Margaret's regency. He corresponded with the young widowed queen, a.s.suring her that he would not send the Duke of Albany to her until she requested it. He would not make peace with England without her permission, for France was ever Scotland's oldest and most faithful ally. He asked if he might send to her Le Chevalier Blanc, one Monsieur La Bastie, his most trusted diplomat, to help her. And, too, the Scottish s.h.i.+ps that James IV had lent him were still in France. Would she like him to return them along with the king's cousin the Earl of Arran and Lord Fleming?

The full Scottish council met in Perth in November. It was agreed that the queen's regency of the young king would not be interfered with in any manner. The auld alliance with France was confirmed once more, and the Duke of Albany was requested of King Louis for the defense of Scotland. Bell-the-Cat Douglas, the Earl of Angus who favored an English alliance, was absent. Grieving the loss of his two sons, he had gone home to die.

In England, King Henry was furious and worried by turns. As the young king's uncle, he saw himself as the boy's natural guardian. He wrote to his sister telling her she must stop Albany from coming. He feared the strong duke might supplant Margaret by virtue of his s.e.x and possibly spirit the little king to where he might be eliminated. Then he wrote to Louis asking him to delay Albany's departure for Scotland until England had made its peace with its northern neighbor. Margaret did not like her loyalties being torn or compromised by any. Her sole duty, she said, was to her bairns.

Both Friarsgate and Claven's Carn, by virtue of their locations, had been spared any border raids. Adam Leslie wrote to say the Leslies of Glenkirk had ignored the summons to war and had undoubtedly been overlooked in the resulting confusion that followed King James' death at Flodden. Patrick's health remained strong, but his memory of the past two years had not returned. Rosamund read the letter stone-faced. She had buried her grief deep in her heart now, allowing it to surface only in the darkest of night when she was alone in her bed. There had been no word from Claven's Carn regarding Jeannie's new child. Rosamund a.s.sumed that Logan had put his foot down firmly when his wife asked if his neighbor might be the child's G.o.dmother. She was not disappointed. It would have been a very awkward situation, but then, sweet Jeannie did not know the relations.h.i.+p that her husband had attempted to forge between himself and the lady of Friarsgate.

The harvest had long been gathered in, and the St. Martin's goose eaten. December was upon them. A messenger arrived from Margaret Tudor early in the month, even as it had two years previously. This was not an invitation, however. Meg wrote to tell her old friend of the great battle at Flodden in September at which her husband had been slain. Little Jamie was now Scotland's king, she was enceinte with her late lord's child to be born in the spring, and she was regent of Scotland according to her husband's last will and testament.

"I am weary with all I must do," she wrote, "but those lords not slain at Flodden with my husband have been most sympathetic and helpful to me. We will survive. My brother, Henry, the cause of my unhappiness, is of course bl.u.s.tering and blowing that he should be the guardian of my bairns. I should never allow such a thing, but if I even considered it, the ghosts of all the Stewart kings before my son would rise up to haunt me, and rightly so."

"Aye, I imagine Hal would enjoy having Scotland in his custody," Tom said when he learned the news. Then he chuckled. "He cannot get his own son so he would have James Stewart's lad to father."

Rosamund could not help but laugh herself. "Living in the north has caused you to become careless in your speech, cousin," she said. "You should not dare say such a thing in London."

"You never did answer the king's summons, did you?" he said.

"Edmund answered it for me," she replied. "Besides Henry Tudor has more important things to consider than a widow in c.u.mbria whom he once knew. He is a player now upon the world's stage, Tom. Whatever he imagines I was doing with the Earl of Glenkirk has now been overlooked because of the great and terrible victory at Flodden."

"What news from Claven's Carn? Did the sweet Jeannie deliver her lord a second son, or a daughter?" Tom asked her.

Rosamund shook her head. "I have no idea. I have heard naught, but then, given the times, I am not in the least surprised. Besides, I can hardly believe that Logan Hepburn would have wanted me for that child's G.o.dmother. Do you?"

"Perhaps I shall take a few of my men and ride over the border," Tom said. "I am curious, and whatever you may say, cousin, so are you."

"Go, then," she told him. "The weather will hold for another few days. But beware of getting caught at Claven's Carn for the winter, Tom. I do not believe that you would like it at all. Jeannie has certainly done her best, but it is still an uncivilized place."

He laughed. "I remember you once said you should never get to wear your fine gowns if you inhabited such a place."

"And it is still so," Rosamund noted dryly.

The next morning being dry and mild for December, Lord Cambridge departed his cousin's house with the half-dozen men-at-arms he now traveled with when he left Otterly. They reached Claven's Carn in late afternoon, riding through its gate easily as they were recognized by the clansmen guarding the little castle's entry. Tom dismounted, and upon entering the house, went directly to its hall. It was empty but for a servant girl rocking the cradle by the fire. Lord Cambridge walked over and looked into it, surprised to find not a new infant, but the laird's fourteen-month-old heir.

"Where is your mistress?" he asked the servant.

The girl's eyes grew large with her fright. Nervously, she arose from her place. "The mistress be dead, good sir."

"And the bairn she carried?" he inquired, surprised and not just a little saddened by the news.

"With its mam, sir," the girl said.

"Go and fetch your master, la.s.s. Your charge is sleeping and does not need you."

The girl ran off, leaving Tom to ponder the knowledge he had just obtained. So little Jeannie had died and her child with her. It was a tragedy, yet Logan still had one son to follow him. Widowed, would he now seek out Rosamund again? And would she have him in her grief over Patrick? The winter to come might be dull, he thought, but certainly not the spring and summer to follow. A small smile touched his lips. Already this little journey had provided him with enough information to give him several months' amus.e.m.e.nt teasing his cousin.

"Tom!" Logan entered his hall. "What brings you to Claven's Carn? We are supposed to be enemies again, England and Scotland." But he smiled.

"I rarely pay heed to the politics of kings and queens, dear boy," Tom answered. "And particularly when the church is involved. I have only just learned from your son's little nursemaid of your great tragedy. What happened?"

A shadow pa.s.sed over Logan's handsome face. "You have, if I remember, a fondness for my whiskey. Sit down, Tom Bolton, and I will tell you what happened to my poor little wife." He poured them two pewter dram cups of an amber liquid from a carafe on the sideboard. Bringing them to his guest, he offered him one, and they sat before the fire, the cradle holding Johnnie Hepburn between them. "I got the call to arms. She did not want me to go. I had to send my brothers and most of my men on ahead while I calmed her. When I caught up with them the battle was almost over. Its outcome obvious, and the king dead. When I reached Claven's Carn again I learned she had died in childbed with the bairn, another son. She was already buried, of course, poor la.s.s. 'Twas just as well. I later learned her father and brothers had all perished in the battle. Her mother has entered the convent where Jeannie was educated to live out her life in prayer and mourning. I sent to her regarding her daughter."

Tom nodded sympathetically. " 'Twas a great tragedy for Scotland, but, then, the history between our countries has never been peaceful for long."

A long silence ensued, and then Logan said, "How is Rosamund?"

Lord Cambridge's face was impa.s.sive as he answered, but he thought immediately, Ah, he still wants her. "She yet mourns her own tragedy, Logan."

"Did the Leslies go to Flodden?" he wondered.

"I do not know, but I do know that Adam would not let his father answer the call. I suspect he never even told him of the summons. And he wisely remained put at Glenkirk himself. He may have sent a troop, but I know not. He wrote to Rosamund that it was not likely they were missed. He is right, I think. The first earl, like you, was but the laird of his people before he became James IV's amba.s.sador years ago."

"Did you like him?" Logan asked.

"Aye, I did. He was a good man, and he loved Rosamund deeply. The misfortune that befell him last spring was indeed tragic. Yet he knows it not, as his memories of the last two years have vanished for good, it would appear."

"Is her heart broken?" Logan queried Lord Cambridge.

"Aye, it is. But hearts can be mended, or so I am told," was the reply.

"I have been given another chance with her," Logan said softly.