The Gilded Crown Read online

  ‘Dinna worry yourself, brother. There is room a plenty for you and your small party,’ Beatrix reassured them.

  ‘So you are to stay awhile then?’ Walter enquired.

  ‘I have business that will see me visit much of Edinburgh,’ replied Simon. ‘So I would like to make Craigmillar my main residence.’

  ‘Of course. Perhaps I can assist you? I have the ear of the King, which should fare you well.’ Walter winked at Catherine before directing Simon towards a large double-door, recessed into the wall.

  Beatrix grabbed Catherine’s arm and held her back. ‘I have long awaited the opportunity o’ meeting wit’ you.’

  ‘And I, you.’ Catherine smiled but her friendly gesture was not reciprocated.

  ‘Where is your child?

  ‘We left Gabriel in Cambridge.’

  ‘I am disappointed.’ Beatrix released her hold but continued to stare at Catherine. ‘Perhaps I might have the pleasure soon?’

  Taken aback by Beatrix’s intimidating manner Catherine decided to withhold the details of her son’s travel arrangements. ‘Yes, soon, I believe.’

  The two ladies entered the hall. The fire was well alight and the large wooden table set with several jugs of wine and ale.

  ‘Might I escort Lady Wexford to your room so as she can refresh herself?’ suggested Walter, offering his arm to Catherine.

  ‘No.’ Simon’s reply was curt. He instead took a seat on the bench and pulled his wife down beside him, his hand firmly around hers.

  ‘Wine, then?’ Walter offered, leaning over Catherine to reach the jug.

  Catherine lifted her goblet in anticipation but discovered, to her own embarrassment, Walter’s gaze locked on her cleavage as he tried to leer down her dress. She turned to her husband, but he had bent to loosen the ties on his boots.

  Beatrix stepped in front of Walter and narrowed her eyes in warning.

  ‘Is David at court?’ enquired Simon as he reappeared.

  ‘No, he is in Aberdeen.’ Walter sat opposite. ‘However, he is due to return within the week. Do you wish to be presented?’

  ‘I do,’ said Simon.

  ‘Aye, well, I will approach him. First you must tell the nature of your business,’ he demanded as he gulped down his ale.

  ‘My business is not your business, Walter,’ Simon warned.

  ‘I disagree. My brother will ask me what you want of him and I will need to provide the answer,’ he gloated arrogantly.

  ‘Half-brother,’ Simon clarified.

  ‘More wine?’ Beatrix interjected as Simon glared at Walter. When neither man answered she refilled her goblet to the brim and slurped loudly.

  ‘There are other matters that need to be discussed,’ Walter continued. ‘I hear you arrived in Cambridge with a boy?’

  ‘News travels fast,’ exclaimed Simon.

  ‘I have a right to know who he is.’

  ‘I beg to differ, Walter. You have no right whatsoever.’

  ‘I am the laird of this house!’

  ‘Are you? I think not.’ Simon appeared smug and Catherine squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. This was not the happy family gathering she had imagined. ‘I believe Lord Preston is allowing you to reside in this house because you have given him permission to wed your daughter, a child who has yet to see ten summers. However, the groom has enjoyed four times as many,’ Simon raged. ‘And as for your rights, Walter, you have none. It was your eldest son, Robert, whom I intended to make my heir. But circumstances have changed.’

  ‘You remarried.’ Beatrix’s face was awash with dislike as she stared at Catherine.

  ‘I did, and,’ Simon paused, ‘I have a son.’

  Catherine inhaled sharply, surprised by Simon’s open acknowledgement of Gabby.

  ‘So he is yours?’ Walter peered over his goblet, his speech slurred.

  ‘He is my ward.’

  ‘But not of your blood, so cannot inherit,’ Beatrix ranted.

  ‘I am fortunate, sister,’ Simon began. ‘Lady Wexford is young and, God willing, will bear me many children. My estate is large but I am a generous man.’ He reached across the table and gently grasped Beatrix’s fingers. ‘I will sign over the land and buildings at Doune and the property in Fife to you in perpetuity. You shall not be without.’

  Beatrix snatched back her hand. ‘Thank you, dear brother. Your generous spirit is to be commended,’ she quipped sarcastically. ‘I assume your wife has influenced this decision?’

  ‘You cannot conclude anything, for you know nothing of Catherine or her benevolent nature.’

  ‘That’s right,’ sniped Walter. ‘Who is this woman, an orphan of no consequence, who maneuvered one of England’s richest lords into her marriage bed? And why marry in secret, in France, without royal decree?’

  ‘The information you have gleaned is incorrect.’ Simon lifted the mug to his lips and sipped slowly as he considered his next words. ‘Catherine is not an orphan.’

  Catherine slid closer to her husband’s side and entwined her arm with his.

  Beatrix slammed her goblet onto the table and thrust her finger towards Catherine. ‘Who is she then, Simon? Who is this temptress to beguile you so?

  ‘My wife!’ bellowed Simon. ‘And I suggest you show some respect.’

  ‘Lord Wexford, please excuse your sister. She was overcome with shock when we so recently learned of your happy news.’ Walter took hold of Beatrix’s outstretched arm, wrestling it back to her side. ‘You must understand, her … delicate condition,’ he stumbled. ‘It can befuddle her mind.’

  Simon eyebrows shot up. ‘You are with child?’

  ‘I am,’ Beatrix replied as she refilled her goblet. ‘Our circumstances remain precarious for what future can we offer our children in these tumultuous times?’

  ‘We are not at war, Beatrix,’ scoffed Simon.

  ‘Precisely! So how can Walter distinguish himself, if not on the battlefield?’

  ‘Quiet, Beatrix, our guests are not interested in our—’

  ‘How can we continue to remain loyal with so few coins in our coffer?’

  ‘Beatrix,’ shouted Walter, rising to his feet. ‘Enough, woman!’

  ‘I … I … am sorry.’ Beatrix sat motionless and stared at her brother before bursting into tears. ‘I … I …am behaving badly,’ she sobbed.

  Catherine gaped open-mouthed at her sister-by-marriage. Never had she seen such a display. Walter called for the maids and with his assistance they encouraged the drunken Beatrix to her feet.

  ‘We are to retire. Please forgive your sister, she has been distraught of late.’

  ‘Can I assist you?’ Simon inquired.

  ‘Not in the way you imagine,’ Walter rebuked as he followed his unsteady wife from the room.

  Simon directed Catherine out of the hall and along a connecting corridor where a steward awaited them. The elderly Scotsman pushed open a heavy door which led into a large, private room with its own fireplace, desk and a canopied bed. Several rich tapestries hung from the walls, one depicting knights collecting weapons from a battlefield, the bodies of their enemies strewn across the foreground. ‘We will be needing supper,’ Simon explained to the manservant as he fell back onto the pillows and began pulling off his boots.

  ‘Aye, M’lord. I’ll send a maid from the kitchen.’

  ‘Thank God that’s over,’ Simon uttered, as he lay across the mattress.

  Catherine kicked off her slippers and curled up beside him. ‘You knew your sister would view our marriage with disdain?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said without moving.

  ‘Why did you not share that with me?’

  When Simon failed to answer Catherine rose up on her elbows to stare at him. ‘She hates me!’

  ‘No, just the thought of losing the money.’

  ‘Are they so very poor? Catherine asked.

  ‘Not in your eyes,’ said Simon. ‘But, in the eyes of their contemporaries, yes, I imagine they are seen as being quite without means.’
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  ‘Can you not help them?’

  ‘Yes, I could, but not if they are to waste my charity on gambling and other distasteful pastimes.’

  Catherine screwed up her nose.

  ‘Walter has a liking for, well, disreputable women.’

  Catherine’s cheeks coloured. She had not imagined Walter’s lewd behaviour after all.

  ‘Simon—’

  ‘Tonight was not the occasion to vilify Walter. However, I will be speaking with him.’ Simon brushed his lips against hers and was soon kissing her so soundly that he failed to hear the knock at the door.

  ‘Supper, M’lord,’ announced the kitchen maid.

  Catherine buried her face in the pillow, mortified to be caught prone on the bed with her husband.

  ‘I am sure she has seen worse, my love,’ crowed Simon as he rose and took the tray from the maid. ‘Might I suggest we enjoy our feast whilst exploring the comfort of this bed?’

  ‘Simon!’ Catherine giggled as she watched him secure the door and then commence to strip his clothes.

  The bright morning sun pierced the arrow-slit, shooting a ray of light across the room that landed directly between Catherine’s eyes. She rolled away seeking the shadow cast by her husband’s girth, but his side of the bed was empty. Her fingers skimmed the imprint he had left upon the mattress and she sighed as the last traces of his body heat warmed her palm. Catherine tucked the sheet up under her armpit and stretched out her legs. The sense of freedom obtained from lying naked beneath crisp linen bordered on sinful but she pushed the thought aside. She regretted Simon’s absence as they were rarely granted privacy and even now, settled in their own quarters, Simon had risen early and left her to sleep on.

  Catherine sat upon the side of the bed and dragged her fingers through her knotted hair. It had not been a pleasant journey from Cambridge to Edinburgh. The weather had been foul and though her mare was sturdy, the beast had stumbled on numerous occasions. She ran her hand protectively over her abdomen. A fall from a horse could certainly cause great harm to her unborn child.

  Catherine retrieved her chemise from the floor and thrust it over her head. She tiptoed to the embrasure and peered out the arrow slit to the courtyard where they had arrived the day before. Try as she might she was unable to shift the unsettling feeling in her heart. Beatrix was not the welcoming sister for whom she had hoped. A cool breeze crept through the opening and Catherine shivered. She snatched up her cloak and wrapped herself within its warmth. Scotland was certainly colder than France. The memory rekindled the longing Catherine so often battled. She missed Cécile and she missed Gillet. There had also been the companionship of Armand and Gillet’s companion-in-arms, Gabriel, Guiraud and Mouse. Roderick, her anchor, had been dispatched to Dumbarton. She glanced to the empty corner of the room, which should have contained a small cot. The space brought a sudden rush of melancholy upon her but, she had agreed with her husband. It was much better for their son to follow them at a sedate pace, within the comfort of a covered conveyance, snuggled beneath the warmth of his woollen blankets. A hurried journey to Edinburgh, only a day after arriving in Cambridge, was unfair on a child so young, though she longed to hold him in her arms.

  Catherine brushed away a tear as a maid bustled into the room.

  ‘Would M’Lady like a bath?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Catherine smiled. A thorough scrub and clean clothes would certainly lift her spirits.

  It was not long before several girls scampered into the room carrying between them a large wooden bathing tub, buckets of steaming water and a basket of freshly baked bread.

  ‘Lady Odistoun sends her compliments.’ One young woman curtsied, setting the tray on a small chest against the wall.

  ‘Please return my thanks and gratitude.’

  Catherine sat back upon the bed and nibbled at the flat, round pastry, watching as a progression of servants filled the tub. When the last maid departed Catherine removed her clothes and gingerly stepped into the bath, relishing the indulgence. She closed her eyes and cast her mind back to the moment when she had taken Cécile into her arms and held her sister for the first time. Catherine rarely allowed herself to experience the memory for though it brought great joy, it was accompanied with the searing pain of separation. She had missed so much – Cécile’s wedding and the birth of her nephew, events of which she had longed to be a part. Catherine’s dream of living with her sister seemed to be growing ever more unlikely.

  ‘What will M’Lady be wearing today?’

  The maid’s voice shocked Catherine back to the present and she sat up abruptly, covering the top of her exposed breasts with both hands. ‘I … I … can manage,’ she spluttered.

  ‘Tish, tosh!’ An older woman clutching a small, three-legged stool, waggled her finger at Catherine. ‘You can’t be washing your own hair, now can ya?’ she declared as she lowered herself beside the tub.

  ‘I can manage!’ Catherine argued.

  ‘Aye lass, and I can scratch the top of me head wit’ me toes.’ The woman plunged a large jug into the water. ‘But I ain’t gonna prove it to ya now,’ she continued as she tipped the contents over Catherine’s face.

  Catherine spluttered and wiped her eyes, ready to argue further, but she was stunned into silence by the number of maids filing into the room. She sank beneath the water and watched as they began to unpack the travelling chest, make the bed and clean both her shoes and Simon’s spare boots, rekindled the fire and restocked the wood box.

  ‘Ya could be growing cabbages in here, ya could,’ the older woman chortled as she lathered the back of Catherine’s neck. ‘Been on the road for some time now, haven’t ya?’

  ‘Yes,’ Catherine murmured.

  ‘I’m English Mary. They call me that ’cause I’m English, ya see. Married a Scot, I did. Poor buggar! Didn’t know what hit ’im,’ she rambled. ‘As you can see I like me pottage and he, well, he was just a wee twig of a thing. Nearly crushed ’im, I did! But he enjoyed his bath.’

  Catherine squeezed her lids closed as Mary scratched at her scalp, strong fingertips dislodging the weeks of grime accumulated on her travel from France and England.

  ‘You’ve got beautiful hair, but it’s all dry and knotted. I’ll fix it for ya,’ Mary prattled on. ‘I’ll rub some rosehip oil into the ends and comb it through.’

  Jug after jug of water ran down over Catherine’s shoulders and she began to relax, allowing the heaviness in her heart to be washed away.

  ‘Sit forward and I’ll wrap up your hair,’ Mary instructed.

  Catherine opened her eyes. They were alone, the maids having departed. The fire burned brightly, warming the room. Her cream chemise and green surcotte had been laid out across the bed and a traditional arisaidh – a long, tartan shawl – had been draped over the chair by the door.

  Mary knotted a thick cloth around Catherine’s head and then opened a large, woven blanket which she held aloft. ‘Go sit by the fire whilst I tidy this mess.’

  Catherine discreetly stepped out of the tub and, with the rug wrapped snugly about her, shuffled over to the stool Mary had placed near the hearth. Her skin tingled delightfully and she felt warm for the first time since arriving in Edinburgh.

  ‘Lady Odistoun freed me from the nursery so that I may assist you.’

  ‘Thank you, but I am not sure how much assistance I will require.’ Catherine released the binding around her head and shook out her damp curls. ‘Perhaps your time would be better spent with the Odistoun children. Surely you will miss them?’

  The maid took up the bone-handled comb and began to ease out a large knot. ‘I can assure you, M’Lady, that will never ’appen!’

  ‘You do not like the duties of nursery maid?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘It depends on the child.’ The servant eased the clean chemise over Catherine’s head and assisted with the gown and arisaidh. ‘Some children have far too much devil in ’em, but what can you expect when their father acts like Satan!’

  Simon op
ened the door just as Mary was leaving. He grinned at her sodden appearance, acknowledging her with a nod as she passed. ‘Lady Wexford, you look absolutely radiant,’ he exclaimed as the door closed. ‘Who would have thought my grubby travelling companion could be so transformed by a mad, English woman.’

  From her seat in front of the fire, Catherine blushed. ‘Simon! You are most uncomplimentary.’

  ‘Yes, you are right.’ He took her hands in his and kissed them both. ‘Sometimes I cannot believe how fortunate I am. Will you forgive me?’

  ‘What is there to forgive?’ she jested. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I wanted to inspect Walter’s stables. Our large retinue will be arriving in the next few weeks and I must ensure that the Odistoun’s can accommodate our needs.’

  Catherine poured her husband a goblet of spiced mead from the jug sitting on the table beside her.

  ‘Walter has a fine yard and there is plenty of room for another twenty or more horses and sufficient space in the hall for Roderick, Girda, Gabriel and several servants. My guard can bunk down in the unfinished tower and—’

  ‘But if Lord and Lady Odistoun are financially constrained—’

  ‘They will greatly benefit from the substantial allowance I intend to offer them in compensation.’

  Catherine smiled.

  ‘That pleases you?’

  ‘Yes, very much. I would not like to think of us as being a further burden.’ Catherine tentatively rested her hand on Simon’s knee. ‘Why do you wish to speak with King David?’

  Simon picked at the remaining bannock on the platter. ‘Do you remember the courier in Cambridge?’

  ‘The boy? Yes. He brought word that Walter was going to hand over part of your estate to the King.’

  ‘Doune Castle.’

  ‘Doune! But isn’t that the property you just gave to Beatrix?’

  ‘The very same,’ Simon replied.

  ‘How can Walter give away something that isn’t his and why would he do so when he desperately needs the income for himself?’

  ‘I am not sure he has signed Doune over to the Crown but we must assume he has agreed, in some form, to help with the Scottish monarch’s outstanding ransom.’