Rivals for the Crown (3 page)

But something had happened.

"Lass," Gannon called, as his ship neared the dock. "Ye do see Drason, aye? Send word to bar the door to the wine cellar. He'll drink us out of house and home."

She smiled, but saw Gannon's eyes narrow as he looked at the dragon ship and knew he saw the same tension in Drason's stance, that she did. Drason was wearing leather
armour
and a leather helmet that hid his blond hair. Not the garb of a man simply visiting friends, but what a prudent man might wear in uncertain times. She kept her silence, waiting while the clansmen caught the ropes and secured Gannon's Lady. She wrapped her arms around Gannon when he caught her in his embrace and kissed her for all the clan to see, his
ardour
never failing to please her.

He smiled down at her. "I missed ye, Margaret. How are ye?"

"Wonderful now that ye're here," she said.

She laid her hand along his cheek and kissed him again. He was no longer young, this splendid man of hers. There were lines around his sea blue eyes and
grey
at his temples now, but he still moved quickly and his back was still straight. He was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen, and she was the most fortunate of

women to love this fierce warrior and have him love her in return. She smiled again as Gannon embraced Rory, clapping the boy on his shoulder.

"Tell me it's ye growing and not me shrinking," Gannon said to his son.

"It's me growing, Da," Rory said, and they both laughed.

"All is well here, love," she said. "It's good to have ye home. How is everyone?"

"Well. Everyone's well," Gannon said. "Magnus is learning how to run his own home, and Jocelyn is the same as she always is."

Which meant, Margaret thought, that their daughter-in-law, difficult at best, was as prickly and spoiled as ever. Magnus was a good man, but serious and cautious, and Margaret had hoped he would marry a woman with laughter in her soul, rather than a woman like Jocelyn. Still, she pleased Magnus, and what else could a mother want for her son?

"Yer brother sends his love," Gannon told her. "His pile of rocks is beginning to look like a castle instead of a rubble heap. It'll be a good fortress when it's finished. Davey wants ye to come and see it soon. Everyone there is fine." He looked at Drason's ship and his tone deepened. "We'll see what news he brings. Ye've heard nothing?"

Margaret shook her head. "No. Rory thinks it must be about the queen's journey from Norway. She was to stop in the Orkneys."

Gannon wrapped an arm around her. "That must be it."

"Drason himself," Rory said. "Must be important."

"We've not seen him here for four years," Margaret said quietly. "Since we lost King Alexander."

Gannon met her gaze. "Aye, since we lost the king."

The long
ship slid alongside the wooden dock, and Drason leaned forward over the rail. He yanked off his helmet. His gaze swept across them.

"She's dead," Drason said. "Your queen is dead in Orkney."

Margaret gasped. "Are ye sure? The wee lass is dead?"

"I came as soon as I heard," Drason said. "The word is just getting out. I knew you'd want to hear it at once."

"Oh, the poor child!" Margaret cried.

Gannon reached to clasp Drason's hand. "Aye, ye're right. And I thank ye for bringing word yerself, my friend. Now come inside and tell us all the rest of it."

"What does it mean?" Rory asked. "What will her death mean?"

"There will be a struggle for the crown," Margaret told her son, shaking her head. "And there's no assurance that the winner will be the best leader for our people."

"It means," Gannon said, "that the wolves will be coming out of their lairs. And the leopard in the south will wait to see who wins. God help Scotland now."

There was not much more for Drason Anderson to tell than the stark news of the child queen's death on her journey to claim her throne. She'd been called the Maid of Norway because her father had been King Erik of that land, but her grandfather had been Scotland's King Alexander III, and she had been the queen of Scotland since she was three. The Maid, the daughter of Alexander's daughter, had been the last of his line. And now she, too, was dead, and the succession was left unclear.

Margaret sat with Gannon and Rory near the huge stone fireplace in their Great Hall, listening to Drason. The years since she'd last seen the Norseman from Orkney had changed him. Drason was younger than Gannon, but his blond hair was ribboned with
grey
. He looked weary beyond words, and she felt a wave of affection for their staunch friend. Drason had left his own wife and family to bring the news to them. There were good men in the world—even in Orkney.

"It's said she became ill on the voyage," Drason said. "Some say, of course, that she was poisoned, but I've heard she was sickly. And in truth, there is no reason for the Norse—nor us Orcadians—to have the child die on their watch."

"Nor does it benefit King Edward," Gannon said. "This will change his plans."

"A child should not be a pawn in games of power," Margaret said. "What was her father thinking to let her leave him? She's just a wee lass." She paused. "She was just a wee lass, poor soul."

"Her father was thinking that he'd signed the treaty with Edward of England, pledging her to his son," Gannon said. "And King Erik's a mere lad, only twenty, I think. Edward is a force to be reckoned with. Lesser men have crumbled before him. I'm not surprised that Erik let Edward have his way."

"Foul thing, that," Drason said, "to wed your son to your sister's granddaughter."

"And as foul to have the Pope approve it," Gannon said. "But approve it he did. And now there is no clear heir."

"It'll have to go back generations," Margaret said. "The Balliols will claim the crown is theirs. So will the Bruces. And my Comyn cousins certainly will have opinions." She sighed, thinking of the measures her cousins might take to assure that their position of power was not diluted. "And there are a host of illegitimate royal children who could make claims."

Drason frowned. "Surely they'll have no success? I'm no expert on Scottish politics, but I cannot remember a bastard taking the throne."

"Actually," Gannon said with a laugh, "many a bastard has taken the throne. But no, I canna see one of the earlier kings' bastards getting the crown. What's the talk in Orkney? What are yer people thinking?"

Drason smiled ruefully. "That they wish she'd died elsewhere. Some are thinking this will bring Erik of Norway's wrath on Orkney, although Erik's men were with her. Others are afraid that the Scots will blame us and take revenge, or that Edward of England will. And although no one's saying it straight out, some are wondering if she was as ill as she was made out to be."

Gannon's brows furrowed. "Murder?"

"Unlikely, but not impossible," Drason said. "Show me a country where men cannot be bought or frightened into betraying someone who trusted them. There are evil men in every land. As we know."

Gannon nodded. "There is a kingdom at stake. That will bring out the greedy ones, and Scotland, like everywhere, has its share."

"What will Nell do?" Margaret asked, turning to Drason. "Nell and her oldest, Meg, were to serve the queen. They're at Stirling, waiting for her arrival."

"Well," Gannon said to Margaret, "now Nell willna be going to London with the queen. Despite the reason for it, that should please ye, lass."

"Aye," Margaret said, comforted by the thought. The Maid was to have stopped in Stirling and Edinburgh to greet many of Scotland's nobles, then travel to London, to live at Edward's court and await her marriage to Edward's son. Nell was to have accompanied her, with her daughters. "I wonder if Nell will stay at Stirling while the king is chosen. What if she hasna heard yet? We must get word to her."

"I'll go," Rory said eagerly, drawing her gaze. "I'll go to Stirling and tell her."

Her son's face was alight with the possibility of the journey, and Margaret felt a stab of fear. She would lose him. She'd always known they could not keep Rory at Loch Gannon forever, that its peaceful life was not enough to hold him. They'd taken him on their travels to Ireland and throughout Scotland and he had accompanied Gannon to the Continent and to London. But Rory was ready now for more. Or thought he was.

Gannon looked at his son thoughtfully. "They'll be hearing before we can get ye or anyone there, but it might be a good idea to send ye. I'd like to know what is being said at court"

"I could leave in the morning," Rory said.

"Ye'd need others to go with ye."

"Not many," Rory said, naming a few young men.

Margaret listened to them discussing the journey. Rory's manner betrayed his growing excitement, and she hid her own dismay. Why could Rory not have ventured into a peaceful Scotland, as his brother had? Why now was he hearing the call to join the world, when once again Scotland was about to plunge into turmoil? Or was she being ridiculous? She leaned close to her husband.

"Gannon, I fear this," she whispered. "Am I wrong, love, to worry so?"

Gannon kissed the top of her head. But he did not answer.

OCTOBER 1290 LONDON

"There will be men," Isabel de Burke's mother said, bending to examine the hem of Isabel's skirts. "They will test you, you know. They are the hunters."

"Yes, Mother," Isabel said.

She had heard this lecture many times before. The men whom her mother called "the hunters," preyed upon young girls foolish enough to exchange their virginity for a few baubles. Invisible in her demure clothing, she'd watched these men lean over a shoulder, caress a cheek, kiss a neck. And never notice her watching. But those days were over. Now she would be one of those pursued.

"Most of the men are married," her mother said, adjusting the fall of the silk gown Isabel wore. "But even those who are not do not have
honourable
intentions. Some of the girls are foolish enough to think what they're being offered is true affection. They do not see it for the game of hunter and prey that it is." She straightened and looked into Isabel's eyes. "Those girls do not realize that they are nothing more than a prize, a name for these men to brandish before their friends and then be forgotten. Many a young girl has mistaken lust for love and bartered away her only value. You will not be one of them."

"No, Mother."

She knew the answer her mother wanted to hear. And truly, she had listened and learned, knew the price of such foolishness. She was taking the place of a girl from a good family who had suddenly left the royal household after weeks of vomiting at strange times, obviously with child. Isabel would not be so foolish.

"Remember this day," her mother said. "Nothing will ever be the same. You have been invited to serve Eleanor of Castile, by God's mercy the Queen of England and Ireland and Aquitaine. Over all the others, she chose you, an English girl, instead of one from her own land. It is a high honor. And an unexpected one, given who we are."

And while the
honour
could not be declined, neither could it be explained. Her mother was convinced it was because of their ties to the throne, but that had been generations ago, and the family had been all but ignored in the years since. Isabel's great-grandmother had been seduced by a king who had never acknowledged the child —her grandmother—and who had been disowned by her family, left to fend for herself. Happily, the king had given her great- grandmother a house of her own in the City of London, where she had raised her daughter alone, and done it well.

It had helped, of course, that Isabel's great-grandmother had been a beauty and had passed those traits down. Isabel was fortunate to have inherited her mother's clear skin and green eyes and thick brown hair. She had her mother's long fingers and, her mother told her, her father's height. Her mother's expression softened, and she turned Isabel to face their luxury, the long mirror from the Continent that had been a gift from her grandfather.

"Look at yourself."

Isabel looked at her image, wavy in the glass, and saw a young girl who put on a brave face. She was ready for this new part of her life, but she was terrified of it as well. She was not afraid of the work, although she knew she would be asked to do the least pleasant tasks, those things that the queen's older and far more powerful ladies would not deign to do. What terrified her was that, after all these years of being unseen, she would suddenly be highly visible, a topic of discussion, of speculation. There would be many who would question why she, of all those at court or in the nobility, had been chosen by the queen.

"I wish your father were here to see this," her mother said fiercely.

"And I as well. He would have been so pleased."

Her mother raised an eyebrow. Her mother did not mourn the loss of her father as she did. Mother rarely spoke of him, and never with fondness. Isabel had only dim memories of a man lifting her into his arms, his laughter merry, his embrace comforting. She missed him, even after all these years.

"You must never trust any of them," Mother said. "Listen, learn, laugh. Flirt. But never, never trust."