The Gowrie Conspiracy E-Book

Alanna Knight

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Tam Eildor
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 370

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

July 1660, Falkland Palace, Fife. After rescuing King James the Sixth from a runaway horse, Tam Elidor finds himself in favour. As the King's new object of affection Tam has become the target for jealous courtiers - and their attentions are seriously hampering his investigation into the murder of Margaret Agnew. Why was the Queen's midwife killed - was it a case of mistaken identity, is it related to secrets from James's past and could Tam's good friend Tansy be at risk? Dangerous forces are at work, forces that will lead the King to Gowrie House and to a mystery that remains unsolved today...

Leseprobe

The Gowrie Conspiracy

A Tam Eildor Mystery

ALANNA KNIGHT

For Barbara Wood with my love and admiration

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Author’s Note

About the Author

By Alanna Knight

Copyright

Acknowledgements

In the second of Tam Eildor’s time-quests through history, from the many sources of research I should like to give particular mention to The Making of a King and James VI of Scotland (both by Caroline Bingham); Anne of Denmark by E. Carleton Williams; Gold at Wolf’s Crag by Fred Douglas; The Reign of James the Sixth ed. by John Goodacre and Michael Lynch; James VI and the Gowrie Conspiracy by Andrew Lang; Alexander Ruthven and the Gowrie Mystery by Major and Mrs W. Ruthven-Finlayson; Scotland’s Last Royal Wedding, the marriage of James VI to Anne of Denmark by D. Stevenson and The Wisest Fool by the late Nigel Tranter, a greatly missed friend.

My grateful thanks to the National Trust for Scotland at Falkland Palace and to the Scottish Library of Edinburgh Central Library, George IV Bridge, endlessly patient in providing obscure information. Finally to my husband Alistair for his tireless transporting of loads of reference books and his loyal support and encouragement.

Prologue

From Lord Herries Historical Memoirs of the Reign of Mary Queen of Scots and of King James the Sixth

A contemporary account published by The Abbotsford Club, 1836.

…the kingdom and court was at quiet and the Queen, growing great with child retreated from Holyroodhouse unto the Castle of Edinburgh where, upon the nineteenth day of June she brought forth a son, betwixt nine and ten o’clock in the morning. This which follows is worth observing.

About two o’clock in the afternoon, the King [Darnley] came to visit the Queen and was desirous to see the child.

‘My Lord,’ says the Queen. ‘God has given you and me a son, begotten by none but you!’ At which words the King blushed and kissed the child.

The Queen took the child in her arms and discovering [uncovering] his face said, ‘My Lord, here I protest to God, and as I shall answer to him at the great day of judgement, this is your son, and no other man’s son! And I am desirous that all here, both ladies [*] and others, bear witness; for he is so much your own son, that I fear it will be worse for him hereafter!’

Then she spoke to Sir William Stanley [Darnley’s servant]. ‘This,’ says she, ‘is the son, whom, I hope, shall first unite the two kingdom’s of Scotland and England!’

Sir William answered, ‘Why, madam? Shall he succeed before your majestie and his father?’

‘Because,’ says she, ‘his father has broken with me,’

The King was by and heard all. ‘Sweet Madam,’ says he, ‘is this your promise that you made to forgive and forget all?’

The Queen answered, ‘I have forgiven all, but will never forget! What if Fawdonside’s pistol had shot [referring to the killing of David Riccio in her presence four months earlier and Darnley’s plan to seize the throne] ‘what would have become of the child and me both? Or what estate would you have been in? God only knows, but we may suspect!’

‘Madam,’ answered the King, ‘these things are all past.’

‘Then,’ says the Queen, ‘let them go.’

Among the ladies were those closest to the Queen who had helped to deliver the child. After a long labour, difficult and painful, she lay also like one dead and two of the midwives signed a bond that was to cost many lives…

Chapter One

July, 1600

Those who witnessed the sinister incident involving the King’s runaway horse hinted at a miracle, that the presence of a humble fisherman on the bank had saved His Grace from a watery grave in the Falls of Earn.

Even an undignified drenching would have been disagreeable to a monarch who was not partial to bodily immersion at the best of times and considered that being the Lord’s Anointed was quite enough in the way of ablutions. Warm water did not extend beyond his fingertips if he could avoid it.

When the identity of the fisherman became known however, ‘Magic’ was another word used to describe the incident. A word whispered with extreme caution in the King’s presence, conjuring up as it did melancholy visions of His Grace’s enthusiasm for witch-burnings and for personally attending and occasionally giving a helping hand in matters involving the thumbscrew and the iron boot.

The solitary fisherman was Tam Eildor, happy to escape the somewhat claustrophobic atmosphere of Her Grace the Queen’s Household in Falkland Palace for a pleasant day by the Falls, a favourite leaping place for salmon. The fish were known to be plentiful but it was the joy of isolation with only muted birdsong, the swirling waters and an occasional fox barking that accompanied his meditation, the feel of warm July sunshine through the fine linen shirt.

King James had also been lured out that morning by the promise of a fine day’s hunting, although he had little hope of the sun’s rays penetrating the thick padding of his waistcoat and breeches, worn not as comfort against perfidious weather but as protection against the assassin’s steel or bullet.

Nor did he share Tam’s affinity with nature and the tranquil beauty of his surroundings. Such feelings of peace and meditation were unknown to him. A keen sportsman, he regarded the countryside as his killing arena, his sole purpose to bring down as many creatures great and small for the sheer pleasure of their destruction. What became of his trophies did not concern him. He noted only with gleeful satisfaction the growing number of carcasses signalling the day’s success.

At the king’s side, his retinue of fifteen courtiers included Ludovick Stewart, Duke of Lennox. Less striking in appearance and more sober in his apparel than the flamboyant young lords on whom the king bestowed fond glances and caresses, Ludovick owed his present elevation to boon companion as he was the son of King James’s first boyhood love, his French cousin Esme Stewart.

The royal party had set out early that morning, their target the deer and wild boar. The huntsmen were not too proud to include any small creatures such as coneys and fowls unfortunate enough to be spotted going about their business in the royal forest.

The gentle river to which the runaway horse carried its royal rider was outwith His Grace’s chosen area. The banks of its meandering course, too open for shy animals, were popular at court for rustic picnics and romantic dalliance. The only dangerous spot was a sudden rocky intrusion ten feet high where the smooth river changed course to become a reckless torrent, a picturesque waterfall popular with fishermen.

This was the spot Tam had chosen to set up his rod. Surprise and righteous indignation followed when peaceful birdsong vanished under a loud report which speedily erupted into shouts and the sound of a galloping horse.

Suddenly a magnificent white stallion bolted towards him from the clearing. With a yelling figure clinging for dear life to its flowing mane it was heading straight for the waterfall.

Tam leaped into immediate action and without a thought for his personal safety he jumped into the path of the wild-eyed terrified animal and its even more wide-eyed terrified rider. They had reached the very brink of the Falls when Tam hurled himself into the fray and, seizing the reins with almost superhuman effort, dragged the beast to a standstill.

As he spoke words of command which the horse seemed to understand, it stood still, sweating and snorting, but respectful of the man who held its head in a firm grip, it pawed the ground as if in apology for its outrageous behaviour.

That matter settled, Tam went to the assistance of the rider who had lost reins and stirrups and whatever nerves he had started out with at the outset of the hunt that morning.

Tam had no difficulty in recognising the familiar brooding hooded eyes, the long melancholy face of the man still holding tightly on to the horse’s mane. Bowing low, he said, ‘I trust Your Grace has suffered no ill.’

And at that moment all indignation, all determination to make someone suffer for his indignity faded away from King James as he found himself staring down into the fine features and luminous dark eyes of his rescuer.

Ludovick Stewart had also reached the scene, reined in alongside to find the king oblivious to anxious questions regarding his safety.

James had fallen in love. Such a condition was not an unusual experience. It happened with alarming regularity over the years to the dismay of whoever occupied the enviable but tenuous position of his current favourite.

Queen Anne had learned to put up with the peculiarity of a husband who vastly preferred young men to bedding with a woman. She had long since resigned herself to the somewhat abrupt lovemaking regarded as the breeding necessity of a royal heir for the Stuart dynasty.

As for Ludovick Stewart, he had been around the royal court long enough to recognise the symptoms. But this was different; the young man was not of noble birth, just a simple barefoot fisherman wearing a scanty white shirt and tight breeches. Perhaps it was only the novelty of his unadorned state which had instant appeal, Vicky hoped as James, suddenly aware of his presence, demanded,

‘What kept ye, Vicky? Where were ye when this beast took off and almost killed your king?’ Ignoring Vicky’s spluttered reply, he raged, ‘D’ye no’ understand, ye glaikit wee mannie, we were almost drowned – dashed to bits on yon bit rocks down there,’ he gulped, jabbing a trembling hand in the direction of the waterfall.

And then, rage abated, he bestowed a beaming smile on Tam. ‘If it hadna’ been for this gallant young gentleman –’ he said softly, and pausing raised pious eyes heavenward, ‘– sent by the Good Lord’s grace to save your king’s life.’

Recognising his monarch’s condition in the glowing eyes and tender expression, it was Vicky’s turn to raise his eyes heavenward at the impertinence and the absurdity of the Duke of Lennox of the blood royal being described as a wee mannie and compared to a common fisherman elevated to the role of gallant gentleman.

Now both men took stock of Tam Eildor for their different reasons. The man holding the stallion’s head was, whatever Vicky’s reservations and cold appraisal, undoubtedly comely – strange looks indeed, but comely. Too dark for a Lowland Scot, a little over six feet tall and somewhere between mid-and late thirties – the king’s own age. And cause for further caution, since this newcomer was also considerably older than the boys James chose to cuddle and coo over.

What did this portent? The man had an air of breeding, a touch of polished steel in his bearing, the wide shoulders and bare chest visible in the open shirt. A nobleman’s bastard, perhaps.

And Vicky regarded James narrowly, noted that moonstruck expression. It was time to break the spell.

‘Sire?’ That was a question, since James seemed to have no notion of getting down from the saddle which Vicky rightly interpreted as awareness that on ground level his rescuer would tower over his royal person.

The remaining members of the retinue had halted a little distance away, an uneasy group wondering what was going and on blaming each other for the loud report that had caused such a catastrophe. Was the king at this moment considering retribution?

None had courage to approach where Tam awaited the king’s instructions, the wild creature he had first encountered transformed into a contented animal quite happy to have its nose stroked while making several attempts to snort gently down Tam’s bare neck, a familiarity which James regarded with considerable disgust.

Tam looked up at the king and smiled. ‘He seems quiet enough now, sire. Something must have scared him.’

Remembering that explosion of noise, it was the king’s turn to snort angrily, and when Tam added, ‘Highly bred animals are often thus,’ he shouted,

‘Highly bred, did ye say? The loathsome beast almost killed me.’ And, pausing to shriek at Vicky, ‘Get me on to one of yon other beasts back there. As for this brute – we will have him destroyed. Now.’

Tam tried not to look appalled at such a hideous waste. He need not have done so. After all this was only a horse, a dumb animal. And King James was well-known to have as little respect for the human lives of those who earned his displeasure, high born or low. All were the same to executioner’s axe or hangman’s rope.

‘Get ye gone, Vicky,’ said James, slobbering a little. ‘We havena’ all day to stand here gossiping.’ As Vicky continued to stare at him, he added angrily, ‘Get me another beast, ony will do.’

Truth to tell, he was reluctant to descend from his high saddle and find his royal person reaching only – he did a quick assessment – his rescuer’s shoulder. Another thought, a crafty motive. Asudden yearning to become better acquainted without Vicky’s ill-concealed knowing look.

Watching him depart, James smiled down at Tam, demanded, ‘Ye’re no frae hereabouts?’

A difficult question for which Tam had no easy answer that anyone, least of all the king, could be expected to understand, so he ventured a vague, ‘The Borders, sire.’

‘Ye live nearby?’ said James hopefully scanning the landscape for some humble habitation where he might dally a while and they might be private together.

‘I am Tam Eildor, sire. A servant in Her Grace the Queen’s Household.’

‘H’mm.’ All tenderness vanished in a glance of extreme distaste at the mention of his queen. Any mention of her household was not the best possible news for King James. As Tam and everyone else well knew, there was a constant state of war between the two.

One cause which united servants of both households in sympathy was that Queen Anne, by nature fastidious, found her royal husband’s insanitary manners and unclean person displeasing. But of first importance to her was the fact that the baby Prince Henry Frederick, born after four anxious childless years, had been immediately whisked away from his mother’s arms and removed to Stirling Castle to be fostered by its hereditary keepers the Erskine family.

James had tried in vain to placate and reason with his tearful wife. This was no reflection on her excellent qualities as a mother, he explained, but Stirling Castle had long been the Royal nursery for generations of Scotland’s kings. Had not the Countess of Mar been foster-mother to himself when he was taken from his own mother, the unfortunate Queen Mary?

Anne’s indignant snort as a reply would have clearly indicated to a less sensitive husband that this was no recommendation. That the same odious countess who now denied her access to her darling baby son had not made a very creditable job of his royal father. Anne had decided long ago that the Erskines were not very refined. They had brought up James, the future king of Scots, to speak their own barbaric Doric, a coarse dialect which she, a Danish princess, had been forced to learn.

Now again almost six months pregnant, poor Anne’s maternal feelings required that the young prince and her daughters, Elizabeth and Margaret, aged four and two, be close to her. She rightfully objected to the role of a brood mare obliged to provide princes and princesses and then fade once more into the background while James, his duty done, enjoyed a libertine’s role with a series of dashing, disreputable young men. Life was so unfair.

‘So yer wi’ Annie, are ye?’ James demanded. What advantage might be scored over his queen by this fortuitous meeting, he wondered, gazing down on Tam holding the stallion’s head so firmly. And so simply attired, no concession to fashion, unlike any of his court; overblown, outrageously beribboned, strutting like peacocks with their jewels and ostrich-feathered hats, their slashed and padded breeches, their codpieces…

Why, this young mannie was almost indecently naked by comparison. The white shirt carelessly laced showed a great deal, aye, a very great deal, of warm-looking, healthily tanned naked flesh. His glance travelled downwards to the tight – aye, skin-tight – leather breeches. No need for codpieces there.

Suddenly tongue-tied as became a virgin lad and not a well-experienced king some thirty-four years old, James was aware of a certain quickening and found himself slobbering a little at the erotic picture. He was giving careful consideration as to how best he might carry on this promising acquaintance to his mutual benefit and smite Annie in the process, when Vicky reappeared. James sighed. He had almost forgotten Vicky’s existence. But there he was leading a docile-looking brown mare, far less dashing than the white stallion which had introduced him to the infinite possibility of a rare new experience with a simple fisherman.

It was Ludovick Stewart’s turn to study that simple fisherman again. He had been around James long enough to recognise the symptoms of royal infatuation, the challenge of sexual allurement offered by every new pretty boy’s arrival in court. He did not share his royal master’s taste for sodomy but the scene before him suggested that there was more to this young man than met the eye and that a careful scanning of his background would be enlightening. Especially in the interests of his own highly regarded position. Who was he? What had brought him into the Queen’s Household and how long had he been there? Who were his friends and – more important since a favourite has no friends – who were his enemies?

These were the questions he longed to ask while helping the king transfer from one horse and quickly remount upon another. In the process, however, James could not resist getting a little closer to Tam. He held out a gloved hand and felt quite thrilled when Tam bowed, kissed it as he must.

After all, the grotesquely padded figure before him belonged to the King of Scotland who would within a few years, when the old harridan queen Elizabeth of England obligingly passed away, unite the two crowns of Scotland and England.

In the short time since his unexplained arrival in Falkland Palace, Tam had learned that kingship was the central fact of James’s life. The obedience owed to it and the obligations which it imposed on him, were his deepest concerns. His lack of personal cleanliness, his slobbering, bad manners and vulgarity, his crude speech all hinted at the buffoon and disguised the “wisest fool in Christendom”, scholar and poet who had already written two books on the practice of government and the divine right of kings.

Even the unhappy condition of his mother Queen Mary’s long imprisonment and eventual execution had failed to weaken his resolve to be the future King of both Scotland and England. He had played his cards well when he indicated in a letter to the Earl of Leicester that he would be a fool to prefer his mother’s life to a throne.

His godmother, Queen Elizabeth, not known to be overburdened with sensitivity, was nonetheless appalled by such a response, having expected him to put up a fierce and vigorous battle to save his mother’s life. That he did not raise a finger in protest, this cold lack of filial emotion and affection, branded him forever in her eyes as “that false Scotch urchin”.

There were, however, extenuating circumstances. When Mary died beneath the executioner’s axe at Fotheringay in February 1587, James was twenty years old and, in his defence, she was a stranger, not a mother, to him.

They had met only once since his birth for a few hours in the royal nursery at Stirling Castle before Mary’s exile and imprisonment in England. James was ten months old. Subsequently he heard no good things of the late queen from anyone. In his early years the taunts of his tutor George Buchanan’s description of his mother as a murderess and whore were consistent with sinister and ugly whispers concerning his birth.

Seeing the king settled on the brown mare, Tam bowed and waited to be dismissed.

James leaned down. ‘No’ so fast, ma mannie. Your king must give ye due reward. Aye, due reward,’ he added rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

‘I wish for nothing, sire. Only to serve you.’

It was a lie but James was delighted, he glowed. ‘Aye, aye, ipsa quidium pretium virtis sibi.’

The Latin tag belonged to a civilisation long lost to Tam’s world. His blank stare, however, was not lost on the Duke of Lennox.

So the simple fisherman was not so well-bred after all if he did not recognise virtue as its own reward, a quotation known to every schoolboy.

James held out his hand and, without a glance in his royal cousin’s direction, snapped his fingers in that singularly irritating fashion.

‘You there, Vicky lad, have ye a purse on ye?’

Ludovick was shocked. ‘Not on me, sire. Not at this moment.’

James glared, bit his lower lip and tut-tutted, as if carrying a weighty bag of coins for all occasions was a necessity at the royal hunt, where runaway horses were a daily occurrence with rescuers to be rewarded.

‘Yer sword then, Vicky man.’

James had a phobia about naked steel and did not permit anyone in his court except the Duke of Lennox to carry a sword. For ceremonial purposes only, it was reassuringly blunt.

Vicky stared at him in alarm. ‘Sire?’

James snorted impatiently. ‘Aye, Vicky – yer sword.’ And, pausing to beam at Tam, ‘We are pleased to give our rescuer here a token of our gratitude.’

Vicky stared at him. A knighthood. Was that what James had in mind? But knighthoods cost money. A thousand pounds Scots was the usual price demanded of the grateful and favoured recipient.

So Vicky looked at Tam, did a quick calculation and was completely unable to imagine a poor serving man being able to produce, at most, more than a few hard-earned coins.

As for Tam, he had no such ambitions. The situation before him was poignant with future danger and he said quickly, ‘Sire, I am grateful to Your Grace but I desire no such honour.’ (Did he hear a small gasp of relief from the Duke of Lennox?)

Bowing, he continued, ‘Sire, I would be well satisfied if I could be allowed to keep the horse here,’ he said, patting the stallion’s nose. No natural horseman, Tam had no wish to see the beast condemned to death and such a magnificent animal would be a very welcome addition to the Queen’s stables.

James frowned, biting his lip, then he nodded enthusiastically. ‘Aye, weel, laddie. Yer lack o’ perspicacity does ye proud. A wee thing some men could tak a lesson by. Aye, it sits well on ye,’ he added with a note of satisfaction and a sharp glance in the Duke’s direction. ‘Are we no right, Vicky?’

‘Truly, sire,’ said Lennox, his chilly bow managing to cancel his dutiful response.

At that moment, the situation was saved by the intervention of a sudden change in the weather. The hot summer day vanished under the menace of thundery clouds, unleashing what promised to be a deluge.

The king shuddered and sent a baleful glance heavenward. How he hated water, an abomination in any or all of its forms. If only his Divine Right included a clause to abolish rain…

Aware of lesser mortals, in the form of his retinue, regarding the approaching downpour with apprehension on account of fine feathers about to be ruined, James said to Tam,

‘We are pleased to let ye have the beast as ye desire.’ And turning the mare’s head, he glanced back over his shoulder and repeated, ‘So ye’re wi’ Annie, Master Eildor?’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Aye, aye, nae doot then we will become better acquainted by and by.’ Then James, with a final leer, spurred his horse leaving Tam to briefly acknowledge Lennox’s cold glance.

Watching the two speedily join the waiting huntsmen who were trying in vain to avail themselves of the little shelter a thin copse of trees offered, Tam observed that the king had no trouble with the brown mare. His looks belied superb horsemanship; slumped in the saddle in his thickly padded clothes, the king closely resembled a badly packed parcel.

Angered by the rain, increasingly heavy as though in derision of the Lord’s Anointed, James rode fast back to Falkland. Once in the royal stables, the grooms rushed forward while Lennox waited patiently to escort him to the royal apartments.

‘Nay, Vicky. No’ the day. We’re awa’ to see Annie.’

‘Sire?’ This was, again, a question. Unheard of that James should wish to rush straight from the stables to see his Queen. In the middle of the day, without even taking time to remove his wet clothes. Without the due ceremony of announcement, like some hot-blooded lover unable to contain his lust rather than the jaded husband who regarded occasional consummation as a tedious necessity to beget the steady flow of princes and princesses required for a royal dynasty.

This new departure from customary procedure was vaguely threatening and Vicky repeated. ‘That is your wish, sire?’

‘Did ye no hear us the first time, Vicky? Are ye getting a wee bittee deaf,’ was the irritable response.

Vicky bowed in mute apology as James continued, ‘We have the notion for a cupbearer.’

As there was nothing wrong with the latest cupbearer, a pretty fifteen-year-old page who had recently taken the king’s fancy, Vicky bowed mutely and waited, his lack of response taken for assent.

‘Aye, Vicky,’ James crowed. ‘We thocht that mannie –’ he jabbed a finger in the direction of the river and his rescuer, ‘– might be right suitable.’

Vicky said nothing. In truth he could think of no suitable reply, since the fisherman was at least twenty years too old for what was in time-honoured tradition, a page’s appointment.

‘Aye, Vicky,’ James continued with increasing enthusiasm for the idea. ‘A cupbearer. Seeing the mannie wasna all that keen on a knighthood for rescuing us. Traicit et fati litora magnus amor – What d’ye think, eh, Vicky?’

Vicky was speechless, taken aback. James’s tag regarding a great love that can cross even the bounds of fate clearly indicated the direction of his intentions regarding Tam Eildor.

‘Well, then. Let’s hear from ye, Vicky.’

Again Vicky took refuge in something uniting a bow and a nod which James accepted, with a happy sigh, as “yes”.

Vicky, however, was busy mulling over that fortuitous meeting with an apparently well-bred fisherman who knew no Latin. A fellow who was going to need very close investigation and his own thoughts about James’s plans for Tam Eildor were forming themselves in very large capital letters –

‘NOT IF I CAN HELP IT!’

Chapter Two

Queen Anne was enjoying a gossip with her midwife, Margaret Agnew, a gossip that was more in the way of a regular consultation since Agnew would be present at her lying-in, for which event, in three months time, she was already making anxious preparations.

The queen had great faith in Agnew and trusted her implicitly; her practical advice and her knowledge of herbs were both helpful and soothing. Their conversation was limited to such matters.

That Agnew’s mother had been one of the midwives present at James’s birth in Edinburgh Castle had come as high recommendation to Anne. Any details of Margaret Agnew’s private life were non-existent.

This was no drawback. One was not required to be on intimate terms with one’s servants. Indeed, out of the royal presence they were obliged to fade into the woodwork and remain there until required.

Anne believed she knew all that was of use to her concerning Agnew. That she lodged close by, near the quarters of Tansy Scott, the Queen’s Broiderer, who was in charge of robes for the new prince or princess whose christening, God willing, would take place in November or early December.

‘Such a distance away,’ the queen said wearily, her heavy body already something of a trial in this hot summer weather; she was a martyr to digestive upsets which only the midwife’s potions could keep at bay.

Agnew’s attention to her royal mistress’s distress was interrupted by sounds from below the window. The clatter of horses’ hooves indicated that the huntsmen had returned and the two women watched them, riding in at the gallop, with the day’s trophies slung across the sumpter-horses.

Even at this distance, the king’s angry countenance was visible under the drenched hat with its drooping feathers.

Anne sighed happily. Her husband’s discomforts both great and small gave her immense pleasure. She was delighted that the weather had rained off the hunt and spared a few wild creatures to live and run until the next occasion.

A soft-hearted woman surrounded by her pet dogs, she had long since decided that she preferred animals with four feet to the men in her husband’s court who had only two, but whose crude and lascivious behaviour was little better than the beasts they hunted.

Anne avoided bear-baiting which she considered a cruel and wicked sport, outraged by James’s temerity to demand the pick of her larger dogs to supplement his own kennels. He explained that they were no longer able to breed fighting dogs fast enough to keep up with the rapid decrease in numbers. It appeared that the bear, even blind in one eye and chained to a post, took a hideous slaughter of up to four or five dogs each afternoon session.

The rain was heavier now. The royal party had hardly splashed across the cobbled courtyard for shelter when a page appeared and announced,

‘His Grace the King.’

Anne was not pleased. She was not prepared for this, still in her nightrobe in the late afternoon. These days she rarely dressed apart from state occasions. Advanced pregnancy made formal robes a very tight squeeze and the tight corslet demanded by court fashion was cruelly uncomfortable and gave her another of those crippling digestive upsets which only Agnew’s herbs made bearable.

Not that James would notice her lack of formality. However, since he was so slovenly in his attire, she disliked missing the opportunity of setting a fine example.

No matter. The sound of approaching footsteps indicated that it was too late now and she handed Agnew some pieces of satin and reels of silk.

‘Take these across to Mistress Scott. Tell her these I have chosen.’

At the sight of the rain and Agnew’s thin dress, she said, ‘Here, take her cloak. She left it yesterday. Go along, wear it. That will keep you dry as you cross the courtyard.’

With her ladies-in-waiting clustered around her like a protective barrier, she firmly resolved that once again all her efforts would be devoted to a single-minded onslaught on her husband’s conscience to restore their son and heir Prince Henry Frederick to his mother’s side.

Weeping prayers did little, now she had only the hope that unrelenting nagging, like constant rain, would wear away even a royal stone.

Agnew’s exit coincided with James’s entrance. As she curtseyed briefly, he paused, looked after her thoughtfully and approaching Anne said abruptly,

‘That lassie – Mistress Scott, is she no’?’

Anne curtseyed awkwardly. ‘Nay, James. She is Margaret Agnew, bides with Mistress Tansy Scott of Ruthven.’

‘Hmmph.’ The king’s frown delighted Anne as another small barb had found its mark. Any mention of Tansy Scott displeased James, since the girl was the granddaughter of Lady Janet Beaton of Buccleuch, whose unnatural powers in his mother’s reign had earned her the title of the Wizard Lady of Branxton.

Early orphaned, Tansy had been adopted into the Ruthven family and as a child was living at Ruthven Castle near Perth when the Lords Enterprisers, led by the Earl of Gowrie, had kidnapped the boy king, sixteen-year-old James. There they held him captive until he would agree to suppress any suspected leanings towards Catholicism and secure the downfall and exile of his influential and adored cousin, Esme Stewart, of whom James later wrote, ‘No winter’s frost nor summer’s heat can end Or stay the course of constant love in me.’

James had been very displeased to recognise Tansy once again as a close friend and adopted sister of Beatrix Ruthven, the Queen’s Lady of the Bedchamber.

‘It wasna’ the Scott woman?’ he demanded suspiciously.

Anne smiled. ‘They are somewhat similar in looks.’ So much was true. Both had striking red-gold hair but Agnes was stouter than Tansy. Now, regarding her husband’s disgruntled expression with some satisfaction, Anne had another barb at hand. ‘Perhaps you would care to meet Agnew, James,’ she said sweetly.

James scowled. ‘Would we now? And what makes ye think that the lassie would be of ony interest to us?’

‘She is my midwife, sire. And what is more, she has a very personal link with your Grace,’ she added with a sly glance at his dour expression.

James’s frown deepened. ‘And what would we be doing wi’ such a craiter?’

Anne laughed lightly. ‘Why, sire, her granddam helped bring you into the world. She was present at your birth.’

The royal frown became a scowl accompanied by some gnawing of his lower lip as James glared out of the window as though at a loss for words.

Anne, immensely pleased, knew she had won a small victory. For some odd reason she had never been able to discover, James hated any mention or reference to his birth.

‘One would imagine he wished it to be considered as an Immaculate Conception,’ she once confided in Tansy Scott in a moment of indiscretion when they had taken a little too much wine at Beatrix’s birthday celebration.

The two ladies had laughed and shrugged off any significance, suggesting that perhaps it was his late lamented mother’s improper behaviour with the Earl of Bothwell afterwards, followed by her exile and imprisonment, that angered the king so.

Beatrix and Tansy had exchanged glances. Court gossip had long since decreed that James’s strange reactions to any mention of his mother were more from guilt than sorrow.

Such were Anne’s thoughts as the unexpected meeting with the woman Agnew had temporarily put out of James’s mind his reason for this visit.

‘You have business to discuss with us, sire?’ she asked, restraining a yawn.

James withdrew his brooding glance from the window. ‘Aye, madam. We have decided to… er, that is, it is our wish to have one of your servants – Tam – Master Tam Eildor, as our cupbearer.’

It was Anne’s turn to be astonished. ‘Surely there is some mistake, sire.’

‘We dinna mak mistakes, Annie,’ the king reminded her firmly.

‘But Master Eildor is – is quite unsuitable –’

‘And by what measure d’ye come to that reasoning, eh?’

‘He is – he is – well, far too old,’ Anne said in bewilderment as James smiled almost tenderly, she thought, at some elusive memory. ‘Where … how did this come about?’ she added, knowing as had Lennox that the honoured role of cupbearer belonged to a noble boy, not a mature man of James’s own age.

Again James smiled. ‘Ah weel, Annie. It was like this. Our horse, that damned stallion your brother Christian was pleased to send us from Denmark, bolted wi’ us. This – Eildor – was fishing at the time. He saved us, by God’s Grace, from a watery grave and being dashed to pieces by yon waterfall at the river.’

He paused expectantly and was surprised to observe that her expression had not changed. Nothing of wifely concern, no cries or tearful expressions of horror at her royal husband’s narrow escape from death. No pious exclamation thanking the Good Lord for his mercy.

James looked away from her in distaste. Never a beauty at the best of times, pregnancy ill-became her. He averted his eyes from the long thin face and pale hair that seemed to shrink into oblivion above the monstrous huge belly and blue-veined breasts hardly concealed by her nightrobe.

‘Weel, weel, no matter.’ Another Latin tag which left Anne bewildered. Speaking only French and her mother tongue, she had had to learn to interpret the Doric dialect of the Scots.

Noting her confusion, James obligingly translated, ‘All’s well that ends well.’

She wished he would go away and not just stand there. ‘We thought you had a cupbearer, James,’ she said weakly

A cough this time. ‘Aye, that is so,’ he said trying not to sound impatient at her temerity in bringing this fact to his royal notice and thus involving him in lengthy explanations. ‘We thocht it a suitable reward for Master Eildor saving our life.’ He paused. ‘And as it seems he is a servant of yours – ‘

Anne knowing Tam Eildor – well, as much as any did – shook her head. ‘Alas, sire, you are misinformed.’

‘He serves in your household,’ James insisted.

‘Only indirectly, in as much as Mistress Scott’s apartments are under our jurisdiction.’

James bristled at the mention of the woman Scott. ‘Surely ye have the right to command – ’

Anne shook her head stubbornly. ‘Nay, sire. Mistress Scott’s servants are her own concern. You must take it up with her.’ And so saying, she gave a great yawn, closed her eyes wearily and patted her large stomach in a clear indication that the interview was over and it was her time to rest.

James glared at her. ‘We will that – aye, indeed we will,’ and, thwarted once more, he stormed out of the room.

Unaware of the great honour that the king wished to confer upon him, Tam gathered together his fishing rod and basket and, in some trepidation, mounted the white stallion the king had graciously bequeathed to him.

As they headed towards the Castle in the heavy rain the horse, much to Tam’s surprise, did not make any resistance to his inexpert horsemanship and behaved in an agreeably docile manner. Almost as if he knew that his rider had saved him from the king’s vengeance and was suitably grateful.

Relieved by the sight of the Queen’s stables, Tam saw the stallion settled and handed over the somewhat meagre results of his morning’s catch to the royal kitchens.

Changed into dry clothes he was soon comfortably seated in Tansy Scott’s lodging overlooking the Queen’s apartment, regaling her with the tale of the king and the runaway horse.

Tansy sat in the windowseat, surrounded by a great spill of silks and satins. Laying aside her embroidery frame, she laughed. ‘Her Grace will be delighted. Another score settled.’

Tam nodded. ‘I suspect that the mares will be overjoyed at the presence of such a handsome newcomer too.’

Tansy smiled. ‘And talking of handsome newcomers, we must find you some wedding clothes.’ At his surprised expression, she said, ‘I have just had a message that we are to go to Gowrie House. There is a wedding – one of my husband’s kin – in Perth next week. This will be an opportunity for you to get acquainted with my adopted family – my mother and brothers – John the eldest is the present Earl, then Alexander, Master of Gowrie. You still have to meet Beatrix, she has been given leave to visit Dirleton Castle in East Lothian –’

And Tam, listening to her, found it difficult, as she did also, to think that he had been part of her life for such a brief period.

*****

It had been a hot afternoon in late July when Tansy had found a strange young man seated in one of the secluded arbours in the Queen’s garden. He was fast asleep.

At her approach, he opened his eyes and smiled as if this was no first meeting but a continuation of an encounter begun long ago.

Even as he rose to his feet and bowed over her hand, murmuring apologies, she smiled and said,

‘You are welcome, Tam Eildor.’

A bewildered glance, another bow. ‘You have the advantage over me, madam.’

Her smile was triumphant. ‘But I have been expecting you, Master Eildor.’ And, indicating the place beside him, ‘May I?’

Once seated, she introduced herself and said, ‘Lady Janet Beaton was my granddam. She told me to look out for you.’

Tam frowned. Janet Beaton. The name was familiar. A distant echo of some other time…

‘How did you know my name?’

Tansy laughed. ‘That was easy. I recognised you instantly from her description. She told me all about you just before she died.’

‘So?’ he asked cautiously.

‘She said that one day you would come back and that I was to be ready to look after you.’

‘What else did she tell you?’

Tansy looked around sharply as if fearing they might be overheard. ‘You met her, you must have known she was a witch. I have always believed in her magic powers.’

At that she stood up and smiling down at him, she held out her hand. ‘Now that you are here, you must be hungry,’ and pausing, she gave him a candid glance and added softly, ‘I suspect that you have come a long way, that this is end of a long journey.’

Following her across the garden, Tam asked the date. The question did not surprise her. ‘It is the year 1600, the end of July and you are in the grounds of Falkland Palace in Fife.’

As she led him up the turnpike stair into her lodging, Tam was relieved that he had found someone well prepared for his unexpected arrival. Especially a young woman as attractive as Tansy Scott. Tall and slender, with red-gold hair and sparkling blue eyes. As he tried in vain to recall her grandmother, a Janet Beaton whom he had obviously encountered some years ago, Tansy asked,

‘Can you tell me anything – about yourself, where you came from?’

Tam shook his head. How could he begin to tell her that the rules for time-travellers were inviolate. Access to memories relating to earlier quests or any memory of the present that he had temporarily abandoned was forbidden to him.

‘My granddam hinted that you were from the future, oh – hundreds of years hence,’ Tansy said helpfully, ‘when machines and men flew in the air like birds and carriages moved without horses. When men, by the turn of a switch, could see what was happening in other lands and planets. See and talk to people across time and space through a tiny box held in the palm of their hand –’

She paused as if waiting for confirmation and, when there was none, she added triumphantly, ‘Even your name – Tam Eildor – by rearranging the letters Janet Beaton worked out that it spelt “a time lord”.’

Tam could not tell her a great deal more than that. How to explain that he did indeed come from a future where men had not only conquered space travel but also time itself?

There were no longer any unsolved mysteries except those of ancient history, but once on a mission a time-detective was bound by the laws and methods available in the Earth-time of his chosen period. In effect Tam had only his own wits and resources with no more facilities than were available to the persons and criminals he was investigating. Nor could any action of his change the course of recorded history.

Since Tam was similarly cut off from the present he had just left, he was unable to provide Tansy with any useful information. His only certainty was that he was on the threshold of some momentous event that had baffled historians. An event about which he was in total ignorance – as much as those living in Falkland Palace at the end of July 1600. He must wait and see, be vigilant, and patient.

Before the episode of the runaway horse and his first meeting with King James, Tam had a chance to familiarise himself with his surroundings and get to know Tansy Scott and, through her, become acquainted with Queen Anne and the trying conditions of her royal marriage.