Chapter Text
*Narrator’s POV*(30 January 1514, Stirling Castle, Stirling, Scottish Midlands, Central Scotland)
The servants opened the few boxes, which were filled with silver, before departing.
“Is that all of it?” Alexander Home, 3rd Lord Home asked his brother.
“Yes,” his younger brother, Sir William Home, answered, a smirk on his face.
“This doesn’t look like nearly enough to me, brother.” Home narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure it’s all of the bribes?”
William said nothing and continued smirking.
Home sighed deeply as he glanced down at the various documents and letters atop his desk that were from Edinburgh city councillors, burgesses, officials, clergymen, and merchants. Much of it was about routine and regular matters, but a very significant portion were petitions, complaints, and those subtly wishing to make deals. He also received bribes from the wealthy men of the city regularly, almost always rejecting them—he was not a man with such a character. But, accepting bribes could also rebound negatively back onto him.
The 3rd Lord Home was dressed in an entirely black ensemble, made of brocade, with his being threaded with gold. His sleeves were also threaded with gold. And around his waist was a gold belt. His black hat atop his brown hair had a black and yellow feather from a blackbird. He wore a single golden chain and several golden bands, only one with a black diamond rock.
“William—” Home started, but was interrupted.
“Why is it wrong for me to accept the merchant’s bribes?” William exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. In his twenties, he had average proportions, though his build was athletic. His face was unremarkable and he strongly resembled his brother with a square face, thin lips, a very long nose, though his eyes were hazel rather than his brother’s brown. He was attired in all black, his neckline having sable fur, and he wore a gold chain and silver belt. His hat with a simple feather was lined with gold thread. He had on a few simple silver rings. Since Home was unmarried, for now, and had no legitimate sons, William was his heir.
Home rolled his eyes so strongly, they nearly fell out of his head. “It is extremely corrupt to do such a thing and furthermore—”
“My Lord!” His brother interrupted him again. “You cannot lecture me on the vices of this world! You are a pseudo man of principle. And I’m only taking their money, I will not truly follow through on what they wish for me to do.”
“Of course you won’t follow through, because I am the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, not you. But just because you won’t follow through, does not mean it is right. It also does not mean it will not cause us any issues.”
Confused, Sir William asked. “How would it cause us issues?”
Home stared at his brother for a few moments, then smiled, “Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that other than it being immoral, it is also risky. For after some time of you accepting the merchant’s bribes and yet none of these changes they wish to see occur, they will figure your game out and cease giving you bribes. They may even strike back at our family in revenge. And by our family, I mean me,” he briefly glanced down at all of the parchments on his desk, sighing, “There is all of the typical behavior from them, but lately they greatly resent the new taxes and are frustrated by how trade is being badly impacted by the continuing war with England. These taxes are necessary, but I am desperate to conclude a Peace Treaty with the English so at least trade can flow smoothly and they will be calmed…some.”
William slowly nodded in understanding, “And, I suppose, these bribes can be added to a list of complaints they have about you, which could turn them in…a different direction.”
“In Lord Arran’s direction,” Home amended. He was extremely annoyed at Arran as well as the pro-English faction for doing everything from preventing the Peace Treaty with England from being signed. Arran was primarily motivated to continue the war by wishing to keep the Queen as Regent so he could maintain power through her and have Scotland remain in a state of debt so he could continue to supply the Crown with loans, but he was clearly motivated by a tertiary desire to replace Home as Lord Provost, knowing the border raids and other matters that impacted trade would make Home look bad and upset the merchants. With Home being Lord Provost the merchants would blame him for their suffering, not the Douglases and Arran as they should. If the war with England continued much longer he could lose his position as Lord Provost and therefore a great deal of his power.
“I know the man hates you…”
“He does not hate me, he just covets my position,” Home shook his head, looking away, “James—Lord Arran,” he corrected himself, “and I used to be friends, brothers, and allies. Now we are only allies…at least we are allies when it benefits him,” Home was a member of Arran’s pro-Scottish faction, but their faction was wildly free-thinking and many members voted in opposition to one another, “He already stripped away our sister’s honor by divorcing her, but that is not enough for him, he must strip away this role from me too,” his brown eyes flicked to William’s as he put his hands in the desk, leaning forward, “Do not accept any more bribes, brother. And send any gifts you received back to me,” he looked down at the boxes filled with silver, “Have your servants bring the rest of this missing silver to me.”
“Bring the rest…of the silver…to you?”
He nodded, “Yes.”
William smiled sheepishly, his cheeks warming, though not in shame, “I already spent it.”
“On what?” Home asked, his tone vexed.
“Well…I…well since we are in a time of mourning, I needed more black clothing.”
Even outside of mourning black was a commonly worn color, so Home knew that was a lie. He probably spent it all on prostitutes or maybe renovations for one of his houses. Or both. He waved his wand, “So be it,” then he smirked, his tone becoming playfully mocking “In my marvelous and vast compassion I will supplement the amount you spent. For I know your good judgement is crushed by poverty.”
Like many second sons, William was not wealthy so he did truly appreciate it. He chuckled a bit, tipping his head, “I am grateful, brother.”
Home sat down at the mahogany desk in his office, beginning to go through some of the parchments, handing some to William. His office was a well-decorated room which had Biblical Tapestries hung up. The windows were wide open, allowing for light to stream in. The floorboards, which had recently been shined, had atop it some Venetian rugs.
A few minutes after they began looking through the various papers, the door opened and his mistress, Katherine Sterling, entered. “Alexander and Sir William! Do you wish to hear about something humorous and strange that just happened?” She was laughing.
Katherine did not often disturb him while working, so he was not irritated, in fact he was pleased and his heart immediately began beating fast, “Sweetheart, come in. William and I were looking through all of these documents relating to The Provostship of Edinburgh.”
Home’s mistress frowned slightly, walking further into the room as he invited her to sit on his lap.
Sir William rolled his eyes.
“It grieves me to know that the merchants test you so. These days you are always so anxious,” Katherine rubbed her forehead against his.
“If I weren’t anxious, how would I know if I were even human rather than some simple, lowly organism?”
“I wish there was something I could do…” Katherine’s eyes looked like a child’s when told to stop playing and go back to their lessons.
“My cup was empty, but your mere presence has refilled it.”
Katherine became bright at his words, she truly believed Alexander to be the greatest man to ever live and she felt fortunate even to know him, let alone to be with him. Their love had endured for over ten years and they had three surviving children, two daughters and one son. Their son, John, had been legitimized, though would not inherit Alexander’s titles. Despite the hardships they had faced, their relationship was sweet, strong, and stable and they both had faith it would last forever.
“Ah, that beautiful smile. You are the Guinevere to my Arthur,” he kissed her hand.
Katherine Sterling was a lively and unbelievably prepossessing woman in her mid-thirties, so she was six years older than Home, though she looked youthful. She was of an average height with smooth porcelain skin and a slim, oval face. Her large blue eyes sparkled and were heavy-lidded. Her nose was small and slim and she had plump pink lips. Her well-shaped and slender figure was not showcased due to her dark grey dress; throughout her dress, on her neckline, sleeves, stomacher, and skirts, were pearls and black garnets. She also had on a diamond necklace, a gift from her deceased husband, the 5th Earl of Angus. Her blonde hair was mostly hidden by a French hood which was lined with pearls.
William chimed in, annoyed by their faux-romantic display. “Why have you come, Madame?”
Home’s head quickly swiveled to face his brother, a murderous glare upon his visage, “Be careful with the tone you use when speaking to my Katherine,” he snapped.
Used to such behavior from his brother, William was unbothered. His brother was always highly sensitive when it came to insults, real or imagined, to his mistress. He ran to her defense like a dog. Many, including their sister, Elizabeth, loathed her because she was an adulterer; William did not care at all about the affair itself. He cared more about the relationships it had damaged and how many peers viewed Home as a snake for stealing another man’s life—he cared in so far as much as it impacted politics. However, at the moment, William was just wondering why Katherine was disturbing them whilst they were working.
Home looked back at his mistress, smiling like Jacob must have been during his wedding to Rachel. “What comical and strange thing happened, my love?”
“I came across Master George Angus in the gardens.”
William snickered, “I’m sure the fresh air blows the good sense out of the Douglases’s minds,” then he paused, “No…my mistake, for they do not possess good sense to be blown away in the first place.”
“No man has ever uttered a truer statement,” Home laughed.
Katherine continued on with her story, “Well, perhaps the phrase ‘came across’ is not proper. Because I suspect he was following me.”
“He was following you?” The hot humor drained from Home’s face as his cold anger showed.
“I suspect he was, but I am not completely sure. But he treated me very warmly, too warmly, to be entirely honest. He complimented me, asked me how I was, made some friendly jests, and he gave me this bracelet.”
She lifted her arm up, showing it to her lover and his brother. It was a silver four-leaf clover bracelet that hung elegantly around her wrist.
“It’s so charming. isn’t it?” Katherine looked festive and untroubled.
“Yes…but…” Home trailed off, breathing hard, worried and slightly puzzled.
“But it is very suspicious since they are not on good terms with any of us,” William opined.
“Yes, but perhaps clan Douglas wishes to make peace,” the infamous mistress said.
“Katherine,” Home started, “While I have had…some…friendly moments with clan Douglas, we are not in the same faction and have many political disagreements. And, of course, well…if someone stole your grandfather’s wife, would you make peace with them?”
Katherine’s facial expression was her answer, in such circumstances she would not be in a peacemaking frame of mind.
“I don’t think the bracelet is cursed. But they clearly are attempting to do something,” speculated William.
“They want Katherine’s dower income. But some bracelet won’t help them accomplish that,” Home said, “I suppose they are trying to send some sort of message, some warning.”
“They are trying to make a threat,” William concluded.
“Yes, a threat…” Home sighed. “Those damn Douglases…”
———
His brown eyes, the lust in them turning them a fiery black, stared into her hazel ones, the ardor in them turning them a chilly white. The young woman’s eyes—like that of the wonderful Earth and she was, truly, mother nature to him—mesmerized him completely. Her voice, calling his name “Archibald” in complete ecstasy, twisted his psyche. But most of all, her body fitted with his perfectly like salt fit with the ocean.
Their union, vigorous enough to make Poseidon proud, was complete as he emptied his seed into her, his tributary flowing into her river.
Archibald Douglas, 6th Earl of Angus sighed deeply as he rolled off of his mistress, pulling the covers around them both.
Stupid smiles were etched onto both of their lips as they caught their breaths, it was the most winsome painting.
Jane threw herself onto Archibald. “Why did you let me go? I want you to hold onto me forever.”
He kissed her forehead, squeezing her tightly, “I will hold onto you, forever. At least, mentally. I simply needed to lessen my stress,” he then frowned, “Lord Home and his elderly concubine exacerbate my already high levels of stress.”
“What happened with those two now?” Jane asked.
His humorless chuckle filled the room, “My brother encountered her in the gardens, they had a short conversation, he gave her a gift and, yet, she disrespected him all throughout their discourse, although everything about the woman is disrespectful. She was also wearing my late grandmother’s necklace without any shame. And then I heard from my spies that she ran to Lord Home…so I assume that she spun some exaggerated, wide web like a spider. An old spider at that.”
“Is Madame Sterling unaware that her hostility towards your family will only cause her to sink deeper?”
“She is clearly aware,” Archibald let Jane go, standing up now and began to garb himself in his clothing, “But she cares not. But it is, perhaps, more shameful for Lord Home. He allows this harlot to rule him, he disrespects my family and our alliance by prances and springs around the court with her,” but then he smiled, “But we shall show him winter. I’ll continue harassing them legally. I’ll surely win in court since King James is no longer here to protect Lord Home,” As Angus tried to fasten one of his diamond garters around his stockings, but he ended up falling down on the ground, “My Lord,” he huffed, “This is so difficult without servants.”
Their clothes were littered around the room, as they had been rather eager to make love. They always had their rendezvous in unused apartments, for if either of them came to the other’s room they would be exposed. They were mostly careful, though not this time since they had foolishly met during the daytime, it was late afternoon now, though Angus did have a groom waiting outside to stop anyone from entering if they tried. The unoccupied quarters were understandably bare, with only red curtains on the windows and a desk in the corner of the room. Jane got up from the similarly bare bed, with just brown wool blankets, and put on her chemise before sitting down again, just admiring Angus.
Jane Stewart of Traquair, she was about seventeen, eight years younger than Angus, was a fairly pretty young woman. She was of average height, with a moderate skintone, and large eyes that were green and brown in equal measure. Her oval face also had naturally red cheeks, her cheekbones were charming and prominent, and her lips were plump and tempting, her only flaw being a longer, somewhat hooked nose. Her chemise, did not give her the proper glory in showcasing her slender and soft body with subtle curves and large breasts. Her hair was a wavy and deep brown, it was so long that she could and was currently sitting on it.
Angus finally got one of his garters on, and he grabbed the other one so he could put it on as well. His gaze met his mistress’s, a smile forming. “What?”
She was thinking that she was watching a god getting dressed, but she said something much different, “Archibald, perhaps you should wear more simple attire when we have our meetings.”
“My fairy, I could never be simple,” he winked at her as she giggled, “Although my love for you is…simply amazing,” Angus then winced, shaking his head as he laughed and so did Jane, “My God, that was a very poor romantic remark. I apologize.”
“You never need to apologize to me,” Jane smiled sweetly.
Angus smiled back, but as he thought about Home again, his smile died, “The dower will be mine and Lord Home and…Lady Katherine,” he struggled to utter his step-grandmother’s name, “Will be humbled and served justice…at least some. I doubt they will ever truly cast away their arrogance.”
There was silence for several moments as Angus inwardly seethed. Jane attempted to joke to calm him, “Well…you’re quite arrogant as well.”
“No, I’m not,” he smiled slightly, “I think of myself highly, but only because I am, truly, a high gentleman,” he added, “If Jesus believes he is the greatest man to walk the Earth is it arrogance? Of course not, because it is the truth. Lord Home…and Katherine Sterling arrogantly believe their actions have no consequences and their soi-disant love is more important than righteousness and propriety. They are both shameless, reprehensible, fornicating, adulterous creatures who deserve to be cursed by God.”
Jane, nervously inquired. “Does that mean we are reprehensible as well?” His words had struck her like a whip, though he had, presumably, accidentally hit her.
Archibald furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”
“We are intimate with one another despite not being married. We are fornicating. So are we not similarly reprehensible?”
“We are not reprehensible. Even though we are not married to each other, neither of us are married to someone else either—my wife died before we began our relationship,” his wife had died in January of the previous year, “though as I am a male it wouldn’t matter if she were alive as I can do as I wish. But, more importantly, you’re not married. You’re not an adulteress. Not only are you not a married woman, Jane, but you’re not married to one of the most respectable peers and having an affair with a gentleman that is so…so much inferior than him,” Angus briefly closed his eyes, “Katherine Sterling is an old, entitled whore. You are a fresh-faced, fascinating fairy.”
Jane smiled, soothed a great deal by his answer. However, her smile did not reach her eyes.
Easily able to ascertain his mistress’s true feelings Archibald came to her, caressing her cheeks, “Jane, when I say that you are a fairy, I truly mean it. When I am with you, all of my troubles fly away. You know me and always support me. You are the perfect woman: gentle, kind, zestful, and beautiful. My love for you is a constant, just like Jesus’s love for humanity.”
She nodded, deeply charmed at how he spouted lovely poetry without even trying, and they kissed one another, a beam of loving light encircling them and giving them a hug. No, Jesus personally gave them a hug.
They could not see one another as often as they would have liked because Jane was a noblewoman and they had to keep their relationship, which had been going on for just under a year, a secret, so as to not shame her. They had to slither around. But, it was actually quite exciting for them both, particularly Angus. It was like an adventure every time they had one of their clandestine meetings.
Knowing that they would be unable to meet again for what seemed like centuries, but was really days, Angus deepened their kiss, their tongues doing a secret, wine-induced dance.
Finally Angus pulled back from their kiss, staring at her intensely. “I love you Jane, but do you love me?”
“Of course I—” He cut her off. She had surely answered too fast to believe what she was saying.
“No!” Archibald exclaimed, half-desperate, his heart beating boldly. “Do you love me? Me! My mind and my soul! Not anything else. Not any brilliant physical characteristics in which I possess. Not any of my wealth which is higher than the sky. But me,” his eyes were like that of a child.
Tears were in Jane’s eyes, “I do love you, Archibald. I would love you if you were a demon in hell. And I don’t only just love you, I consider you to be my soulmate.”
Archibald’s mouth being agape, all he could do was say, “Bless you, Jane. I do not deserve even your pinky finger.”
Jane responded by embracing him, an embrace which he returned, comforted by her velvety touch and rosy scent.
“Would you prefer for me to lose three inches of my cock or for me to be stabbed three times?” As he asked her this, they were still consensually held hostage in one another’s arms.
The young mistress immediately pulled back, gasping. “What?”
Archibald supplied this answer, “I had a dream similar to this scenario.”
Jane covered her mouth shaking her head as she laughed uncontrollably. She loved Archibald’s humor and everything else about him. Archibald joined her in laughing as well. As Jane caught her breath she said. “If either option happened you would easily move forward as you are so strong and masculine!” She winked at him, her answer thick with multiple meanings.
Archibald smiled charmingly at her, pleased with her answer. But his smile lessened as he thought of the strange scene earlier regarding Arran’s former mistress—the woman that was dragged through the halls and made all kinds of claims and then clan Hamilton whisked her away. Was Arran really trying to kill him? It sounded wild. Though the man wasn’t fond of him he did not hate him so badly nor would it be politically useful to kill him since they were politically tied together. Since even if it was a weak coalition they had, it was still a coalition. Arran had little motive. “Perhaps one of these events will happen to me. Lord Arran’s former mistress did make that wild claim, and the pro-French, especially Lord Huntly, hate me more than the devil,” Archibald stood up, “But it matters not at this present moment, for we must both finish dressing ourselves and depart,” he resumed putting his clothing back on.
Jane nodded, standing up to begin putting on her garments as well.
Angus smirked at Jane, “What an electrifying escapade, my fairy.”
(Dunbar Castle, Dunbar, Scottish Lowlands, Southeastern Scotland)
John Gordon, Lord Gordon smiled softly as he twisted and played with the obsidian ring on his pinky finger. Being a gift from his wife, Margaret; naturally, it reminded him of her. He prayed for their unborn child everyday.
“Your Lordship still has that?” Sieur Antoine d’Arcy’s question broke Gordon out of his reveries.
Gordon furrowed his brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“That silly obsidian ring. I would have thrown that cheap thing down on the ground in boredom by now,” Arcy waved him off.
Gordon chuckled, trying not to show how irritated he was. Though his wife had gifted it to him, it was originally Arcy’s. Margaret had won it in a bet against Arcy, “Watering a garden with jewels…you Frenchman surely do love your illegitimate science.”
Arcy took the jibe in his stride, “And you Scots surely do love your illegitimate comedy.”
“We don’t,” Gordon’s voice was empty, but then he chuckled, “Although I’m sure your wife’s life is a comedy being married to you.”
‘Or maybe a tragedy since I do not care to be apart of her life…’ Arcy thought to himself, just smiling.
Archbishop James Beaton of Glasgow and John Stewart, 3rd Earl of Lennox watched the exchange. Both mentally collecting information.
Lennox thought about the significance of Gordon making a comment about Arcy’s wife. It meant he truly did not like the man. He usually did not behave in such a way.
At this moment, like many moments, Beaton was grateful he didn’t have a wife to be attacked through. As a youth he had resented his father placing him in the church, but one of the many benefits—the chief being his power—was that he did not have to concern himself with an intimate family. Family was a major vulnerability and would weigh him down.
“You resemble Lord Huntly not only in appearance, but in behavior as well,” Arcy commented offhandedly.
‘I’m his son. Who else am I meant to resemble?’ Though Gordon’s snarky mind immediately came up with such a comment, part of him also felt offended. Surely they had their similarities, but his father was acrimonious, yet numb, and he was also old in his manner of thinking. He was not like that. He refused to respond.
Arcy continued. “How is Lord Huntly, whilst we are speaking of him?”
Gordon somewhat cracked, his eyes already dark eyes beginning to resemble an abyss, “His Lordship is much improved,” he looked away, his jaw clenching. Despite some of the troubles he had communicating with his father, he did not deserve to suffer because of the English, “but it does seem he will have health problems for the rest of his life.”
Arcy truly was disquieted to hear that, “The Lord is testing him, but I know a steel-willed man like him will pass the test.”
Gordon nodded, though he didn’t fully process what he said.
Arcy was dressed similarly as he had been before, only more casually. Everyone else was as well, except for Beaton who was dressed in his typical clerical robes and hat.
Most of the day had passed by and it was now the evening. Arcy and his household and his men disembarked from the ship and had arrived at Dunbar Castle, which was only a few miles away from the shipyard. He had greeted Beaton, who had not been able to come to the ship. Arcy had settled in well and had the opportunity to rest. Now, in his temporary apartments, he had dinner with Gordon, Beaton, and Lennox. In the next day or two they would set off for Stirling.
There were all sorts of delicious foods placed on the table in his apartments, which were spacious but had only basic biblical tapestries and moderate decorations. There was fish, beans, cabbage, rice, spices like saffron, as well as wine.
“Your Grace, are you content with the Venetian mirror?” Arcy asked his friend as he eagerly consumed the fish, Scottish seafood was divinely delicious. He had given Beaton the gift just as he had to Gordon and Lennox. Though, a wave of annoyance hit him at his remembrance of Gordon rejecting the gift.
“I am. It is so large and finely crafted, I can see myself most clearly,” Beaton enthused.
“And what do you see when you look at yourself?” Arcy asked.
“I see a diligent and blessed creature. Cursed pride is behind it, but it is easily overcome by the other virtues—patience, temperance, humility,” Beaton closed his eyes, “The virtues made the vice of pride drop her mirror, which she constantly gazed into, sinfully obsessed with her beauty and self-esteem, mistakenly believing that was powerful compared to wisdom and strength,” when he re-opened his eyes his companions were staring at him, but he only offered a modest smile.
“Let us toast!” Arcy exclaimed randomly, raising his goblet filled with win. “We shall toast to pride breaking her mirror.”
The others followed him, they clanked their goblets together, “May pride break her mirror,” they said.
“Sieur d’Arcy,” Gordon started, sipping his wine. “I only utter this hypothetically, but if The Queen’s time as Regent came to an end today, how quickly would Count John of Auvergne be able to come here and secure The Regency?”
Arcy looked paler than usual, it would not be able to happen instantly or anything close to it, “It would not take long, though he would need a stable support network here in Scotland before he came.”
‘So you mean our party would need to unite and take control first before he were to come?’ Gordon translated Arcy’s embroidered response.
“But it is not relevant,” Arcy quickly said, “Currently Queen Margaret, May God Bless her, has the most support.”
Beaton chimed in, “Yes, but the wind blows her favor away, day by day…like the petals of a dandelion. Of course there are the political matters of St. Andrews, the War and Treaty with England, our late King’s body. But also, there is her.…” Beaton paused, looking for a more respectful word than the one that came to his mind at first. “There is also her bearing, which is royal…like a savage and arrogant Turkish royal, that is.”
Lennox chuckled slightly, diving into the conversation, “Since you have been gone she concluded her eradication of all family members of the French Party from being companions to King James. She favors the English Party in all ways, she did before when you were here but she becomes more and more extreme every moment. Perhaps one day she will take the final step and sell Scotland into slavery to England as she clearly wishes.”
“Lord Arran, along with his Scottish Party, are becoming more and more displeased with her. When they cut ties with her,” Gordon snapped his fingers, “The Count of Auvergne can take action. We have power, and we will support him. Be assured of that.”
Arcy nodded. “So in time it is certain that she will make a fatal mistake…”
“Indeed, and I don’t think it will be too far into the future. The Queen is not a forward-thinking woman and makes decisions based on her mood of the moment, like all members of her sex,” this was said by Beaton.
“This is very good. But know that France cannot act until The Queen is entirely weakened. We cannot be too aggressive,” Arcy conveyed this important fact to them, “Also…the ships Scotland loaned to France will be returned if and when Count John becomes Regent.”
“Our patience is vaster than the deserts of Africa,” Gordon responded sarcastically. He couldn’t help but be vexed by the French holding their ships over their heads like a sword.
“Concerning the Archdiocese of St. Andrews…” Arcy changed the topic.
“This is not a subject right and proper to discuss at this very moment,” Beaton quickly said. Arcy and the French and the Pope were supporting Andrew Forman. Beaton would not let their input influence his decision despite being passionately pro-French, “You can be certain that the best choice will be made,” Beaton remained nebulous. He would do what was best for himself…and Scotland too.
‘But will it be the best choice for France?’ Arcy thought to himself.
“At least the treaty is sure to be signed soon. The majority of the Council along with The Queen support it. The English Party and Lord Arran do everything possible to prevent it, but they will not succeed,” Gordon told Arcy.
“I’m aware that Lord Arran does not support it because he wishes to further increase the crown’s debts so he may give out loans and to frustrate the merchants so he can be Edinburgh’s next Provost. But why would The Queen go against her supporters in this way? Why does she support signing a peace treaty when it would greatly weaken her position and cut the strings she has attached to Scotland?” Arcy was truly confused about this.
Beaton and Gordon began laughing, while Lennox only smiled.
“Is The Queen’s…mind…stable?” Arcy asked.
“No, it could never be,” Lennox said, “The only thing the Queen cares for more than her own power is England’s power. English supporters within Scotland do not want this treaty so they can use it as leverage to maintain power. But for the country of England, it does benefit them. England has finished with their border raids and won’t do more, for they are costly, trade can be resumed, and they can have further influence in Scotland without being labelled as our active enemies. And Her Highness, the Queen, is not an English-friendly Scottishwoman, she is a Scottish-friendly Englishwoman. England is her priority. England is the sun in her sky. The wine in her cup.”
“The outrageously expensive shoes upon her feet,” Gordon added.
Beaton’s mouth was stuffed with food, so he barely got a sentence out, “The skin upon her bones.”
They all laughed, “That was a bit off-topic, Your Grace,” Arcy said.
“I cannot focus due to this delectable food,” said Beaton.
“And drink,” Arcy added, “It tastes better than women,” he finished his wine with that comment that made everyone chuckle. Arcy raised his cup and one of the two servants, who had been standing off to the side, came forward to refill his cup. Just as the servant was about to pour the wine in, he suddenly tripped and fell, dropping the pitcher which spilled onto Arcy and Gordon, the red stained the floor as well. The servant had fallen onto Arcy, who immediately shoved him off. “How incompetent! How disrespectful!”
Gordon stood up, grimacing and raised his arms as the wine dripped from him. “Lord…” he grumbled.
“What on Earth!” Beaton exclaimed.
A second servant stepped forward and offered his assistance. “How can I help Your Lordships?”
“Go for supplies to clean up!” Lennox yelled.
The second servant bowed and rushed out for the cleaning supplies.
“I’m sorry, My Lord!” The first servant stood up, picking up the pitcher, bowing.
“This low degree of service is not acceptable!” Arcy yelled with all the strength he could gather from his lungs. “You are shameful. Your service is over. You will be thrown out onto the streets in the morning. Be gone now!”
The servant gaped. “My Lord, please! I need this work!”
Arcy’s eyes widened. “How dare you protest?” He then slapped him. When he did, the servant stumbled over and something fell out of his pocket.
Highly perceptive, Arcy noticed the object that had fallen out of his pocket. It was a vial.
For several moments Arcy was dumbstruck and frozen, he glanced at Beaton, then Lennox, then Gordon before looking back at the vial and then the servant.
“What is this?” Arcy asked. He bent down and picked up the vial, holding it up in the air as he was absolutely certain it was a vial. And filled with some liquid substance. “What is this!”
Gordon gasped. “Is it poison?” He looked at the servant. “Were you trying to kill us?”
“Thankfully, it looks to be unopened. He didn’t get to use it yet,” Arcy said dryly. His harsh gaze was trained on the servant.
“No! My Lords! It is a potion of good fortune,” the servant claimed.
“What kind of ludicrous lie is that? We are not fools!” Lennox barked. “And how dare you try to take the life of noblemen!”
“Who gave it to you? Who ordered you to poison us?” Beaton questioned him.
“I do not know, the man was covering his face…” The servant answered in a quiet voice.
“Liar!” Beaton shouted. “Who gave it to you!”
“I truly do not know!” The servant yelled.
“Sieur d’Arcy, we should have him arrested,” Lennox suggested, “when we arrive back in Edinburgh he can be tortured into telling the truth.”
“Please do not!” The servant looked truly afraid. “I do not know who it was! And I swear on my life it is a potion of good fortune!”
“Damn your lies!” Beaton huffed out.
“If it is a good fortune potion, then drink it yourself,” Arcy held the vial forward, smiling.
The servant stared wide-eyed at the vial, terrified and unmoving for several seconds.
“Sieur d’Arcy, he should be kept alive so as to be tortured,” Lennox desperately advised.
Before anyone could say another word the servant took it, his hands shaking, and opened it up and drank it—all of it.
“What!” Gordon exclaimed. But it was already too late and he was shocked.
‘Are my eyes deceiving me? Did he truly drink it?’ Arcy thought to himself. He was only attempting to scare or trick the servant, who seemed idiotic, into telling the truth. He did not really wish for him to drink it. How could he have predicted that the man would?
If it were poison it would not begin working immediately. It would take at least ten minutes, but perhaps several hours.
They would wait.
———
The attendants lifted up the incompetent and villainous servant’s body and took it out of the room. It had, in fact, been poison and it had taken him about two hours to die.
Arcy, Beaton, Gordon, and Lennox were all silent and looking at the servant’s dead body as it was taken out of the room. They then looked at one another. Beaton and Lennox were sitting calmly, Gordon was standing and stony, and Arcy was pacing and under pressure due to his mistake.
Lennox was the first to speak. “I didn’t know poisons could take so long to have an effect. For a short time I thought he could have been telling the truth…”
“Since it was, indeed, poison—why did he take it?” Arcy speculated, continuing to pace the room.
“I have no words of wisdom to offer on that,” Beaton said in a low voice, confused as to why the man would kill himself. Maybe he didn’t know and was deceived? But were there such slow-witted men? But…he was a commoner.
Gordon walked towards the door, his face was blank and he was as hard as a marble statue, he was deeply angry and felt dishonored, “It is no matter. It is obvious that clan Douglas is responsible for this assassination attempt. Specifically, Lord Angus. They have the proper motivation as well as great resources to arrange something like this.”
Arcy agreed, “Yes. We should hurry back to Stirling so this matter can be dealt with. The Queen and clan Douglas must explain this disaster.”
Beaton then stood up, taking a deep breath, “This is a horrible thing that has happened today, but we have no true evidence because the servant is dead. Everyone in Dunbar Castle should be questioned and their rooms should be searched too. This could be some massive conspiracy. And while it is clear the English Party was responsible for this, we do not know who exactly was involved. It may not be clan Douglases, it could be Lord Maxwell, Lord Glamis, or Lord Glencairn. Even if it clan Douglas them we cannot accuse them empty hands. Lowering themselves to hell is not an impossibility for individuals of their characters.”
“Why do you speak as if this is some closed matter, Your Grace!” Lennox exclaimed. “We could have been killed. And we don’t even know who the target was. There could be future attempts—”
“And that is why we must wait and investigate,” Beaton emphasized, so,what surprised Lennox wasn’t being rational like normal.
“This is your doing,” hissed Gordon, pointing at Arcy, walking towards him. The man was causing so much trouble and it had been only one day since he had returned to Scotland.
“I was attempting to frighten him into revealing the truth!” Arcy yelled. “How could I suppose he was a malevolent weakling who wished to die?”
“It was not your place to suppose anything! This is Scotland and—” Gordon was interrupted by Beaton.
“Gentlemen, it is not appropriate to disrespectfully argue like this.”
“Then should we disrespectfully argue?” Gordon questioned sardonically.
Beaton gave him a look, “What has occurred cannot be altered. We must focus on the future and look into this.”
Gordon snapped, “So be it. My only wish is to get back to court and resolve this matter. We ought to depart very early in the morning,” he then exited, stomping out, a dark cloud following him.