Page 39 of Dark Side of the Laird
“And the queen? How is Her Majesty?”
“She has taken to her childbed at Linlithgow Palace. The birth of our country’s prince is expected any day now.”
And I prayed ’twas a prince, for if Mary de Guise birthed another dead prince or a princess, MacDonald would have even more incentive to pounce on the throne. ’Haps the king’s ague was timed with her childbed. Was it possible my brother did not have faith in his wife’s ability? That he could glean that much from thin air and run with it?
“Let us pray for her and the future prince,” I murmured.
The steward nodded, his eyes cast toward the floor and every doubt he had mirrored on his too open face.
“The king, dinna forget I want to see him first thing in the morning.”
The steward nodded and backed from the room. Once he’d retreated, I barred the door, trusting no one in James’ midst not to try and murder me in my sleep. My position and my holdings were much coveted, as was the much guarded secret I possessed. If they knew exactly what it was I held, they’d run from me, for I was strong, powerful and if I were to be king, my enemies would not survive the hour of my claim.
Lucky for them, I had no plans to take the throne for myself. The life of a king was not for me. In that, James and I saw eye to eye. I’d once wondered, questioned, even damned the king and queen for taking my birthright, but since knowing Emma, I was positive deep down that I was where I was supposed to be.
As much as I believed I’d be a better king, I wasn’t. My duty was to guide my brother through his reign.
But damn, what was wrong with him now? Why refuse the healer? Why hide his illness?
Was James truly so concerned over our uncle’s break from Rome and insistence that Scotland do the same? I highly doubted that was the case. James did not waffle. He either saw the merit in a move—whether or not it was right—and went with it. Or he didn’t.
Henry VIII was for certain a lunatic in my eyes, but that did not make me feel the need to jump through the rabbit hole of insanity with him. And that there, was probably the best reason for me not to be king. I saw no need to worry over another monarch’s personal choices and ruination of his country.
Why would James let that pressure get to him? He’d fought hard to keep us in our own, away from England.
I frowned. Indeed all I wanted at this very moment was a chance to be in Emma’s arms. To marry the woman I loved and to live in peace. Knowing I would never get the latter only made me crave knowing she was mine forever even more.
I flicked my gaze around the room and blew out a frustrated breath. The room was rich, opulent, and far more than I needed. The windows were covered in stained glass and even the porcelain pitcher and bowl left for washing were gilded around the rim.
I disrobed, removing the hidden weapons I’d not taken off in the courtyard and sent up a word of thanks to the heavens for not having the surly guard search us to make sure we didn’t carry concealed weapons. With as much tension surrounding this court, the king and myself, I was not about to walk around unarmed.
Didn’t take much before I strapped blades back onto my wrists and thighs. I climbed into bed, arms behind my head. I’d slept armed to the teeth before, tonight would be no different.
Except that I barely slept before streaks of gold seeped through the paned glass.
Morning. A dull ache thudded at the base of my skull and my eyes felt heavy, but there’d been too much on my mind to sleep. I’d gone over in my head at least four hundred times what I would say to the king. He had to answer in my favor, there was no other reaction I’d accept.
It was very possible that if he didn’t agree with me, all hell would break loose.
I climbed from bed and dressed quickly, splashing water on my face and through my hair. The liquid chill helped slightly with my headache, but I feared the pain would not cease until I was home with Emma.
Opening the door to my chamber, I could have been the only one awake, given that all was quiet and the corridor cloaked in darkness. No torches had been lit as yet and there were no windows. I ducked back into my room and grabbed the candelabra from the table, lighting the candles with a flint. A little bit of dark was not going to keep me in my chamber. Nor was the lack of human presence. I needed to have words with the king. Now.
Throughout the night visions of more marauders attempting to lay siege to Gealach haunted me. I pictured their distorted, demon bodies leaping over the walls, and swimming unseen to the water gate.
What if Gregor never made it back in time to warn Ewan? What if Isabella roamed the halls waiting for the right moment to strike? What if she somehow managed to get into the store rooms and drugged all the whisky, wine and ale? The entire castle would fall ill to her will.
I shook my head as I glanced up and down the deserted corridor. That last notion was a bit ridiculous. The woman could not have acquired that much poison. But then again, I had no idea what she used. A question I should have gotten answered before coming here, but it was unlikely that she would have answered in any case.
Stepping further into the hallway, the candles lit several feet around me, and I made my way back toward the stairs, still surprised not to see anyone on the stairs as I descended. On the short walk to the great hall I heard voices, that of a few servants. Upon entry, I noted several of the king’s servants were about, but not as many as I would have thought at dawn.
I stopped one, a woman, grabbing her arm. “Where is everyone?”
She swallowed looking up me, some recognition in her eyes. Good, at least she knew who I was.
“Are ye wanting to break your fast, Laird Grant?” she asked.
“I’d prefer to share it with King James.”
