The Beauty of the Mist (27 page)

David nodded to his commander.

“I have to accompany this delegation to the Emperor’s Palace. As soon as I can get away without offending our host, I’ll go straight to Hart Haus.”

“Do you have any idea how long our stay will be?”

John looked down at the escort. The leader of the contingent was jerking hard at the reins of his spirited mount in a display of mastery over the animal. The Highlander shook his head and frowned. How long? He didn’t want to admit it loud, but he would have no objection to a prolonged visit. In spite of all the nonsense associated with this Queen of Hungary and the marriage, he was really looking forward to spending time with Maria, and staying here in the city gave him that chance. “I won’t know until we meet with the Emperor and his sister–or at least with the welcoming delegation.”

The attention of the two men was drawn to the scene on the quay, as the leader began shouting at one of his soldiers who had made the mistake of trying to quiet the headstrong steed as the courtier dismounted.

John chuckled at the display. “Well, it looks as if the forces of the Empire have everything under control here!”

“Aye,” David chimed in, grinning. The navigator’s face grew serious. “Sir John, will she going back to Scotland with us?”

“I sure hope, she is.” John answered, watching as the leading noblemen of the delegation made their way down the gangplank and toward the splenetic courtier. “I’d hate to think we made this journey only to go back empty-handed.”

“What?” David asked, shooting him a questioning look before comprehending the misunderstanding. “Nay, sir. I didn’t mean Mary of Hungary. I was talking about Lady Maria. Will
she
be coming back with us?”

John looked at his man steadily. He hadn’t asked her–not officially, anyway. But there were a lot of things between them that were understood without being said.

“She is going back with us,” the Highlander growled. There was no reason why she shouldn’t.

“If you’re looking for a place to hide,” Isabel offered, looking into Maria’s cabin from the doorway, “you’ll need to do a better job of it.”

Maria swept her ebony hair back over her shoulder as she knelt upright and frowned at her aunt.

“Very funny.” She surveyed the small cabin for the thousandth time, then looked again at Isabel. “That large wick lamp in your cabin. Would you be kind enough to bring it in here? Perhaps with a bit more light...”

“What on earth are you looking for, my dear?”

“I am looking for my ring, Isabel.”

“Your ring?” Now it was the elder woman’s turn to frown. “You never wear a ring, Maria!”

“My marriage ring,” Maria responded, going back to her search. “I wear it on a chain about my neck.”

As her fingers carefully searched the spaces where the wood floor planks had separated, Maria crawled along the floor. Isabel shrugged and retrieved the larger wick lamp from her room. The older woman held it over Maria as best she could. The small cabin was considerably brighter with the additional light.

“Thank you, Isabel,” Maria said, adding vaguely, “I wonder what’s beneath us?”

“I thought you stopped wearing that ring when Louis died.”

“Nay, I didn’t.” She had considered it carefully. When word came of the Hungarian army’s crushing defeat–and of her husband’s death–Maria had retreated to the solitude of her tower chamber in the grim, stone castle at Budapest. There, she had thought hard about her future. And about the death of Louis.

Theirs had never been much of a marriage. But, as she held the ring to the fading light, Maria had wondered what the union had brought her. The intricately carved insignia had cleverly combined the crest of the Habsburgs with the crest of Louis’s family. The goldsmith had done exquisite work in creating the new design. Far better, she had thought with a pang of guilt, than she and Louis had done in creating an heir. But with the Ottoman Turks advancing from Mohács, Maria had had little time for either guilt or self-pity. Deciding that the marriage had, at least given her
some
sense of identity, she had strung the ring on a gold chain, and hung it about her neck.

“I didn’t put it away,” she repeated. “I’ve kept it with me.”

A bit earlier, when she was putting together the few things that they had acquired while aboard the
Great Michael
, Maria had noticed, for the first time, her ring’s absence.

Isabel sat on the edge of the bunk, still holding the lamp out. “Are you certain you didn’t lose it before we were picked up by the Scots?”

“Nay, I was wearing it when we arrived.”

“Then tell me, when was the last time that you saw it? And where did you last put it?”

Maria sat back on her heels and looked up into her aunt’s face. “I removed it from around my neck the first day we arrived. And I thought that I placed it...nay, I’m certain that I placed it on the shelf. Here.” Her hands moved up and touched the empty surface of the wooden ledge. “But I haven’t thought to look for it since.”

Isabel looked casually about her in the cabin. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be around any longer.”

Maria pushed herself to her feet as she gave one last look around the room.

“You don’t suspect anyone of taking it?” Isabel asked.

Maria shook her head. “There is not much value to that ring. It is gold, but there are no gems set...”

“Not much value?” Isabel choked. “A gold ring given by a king to his queen! I don’t think you have any idea of what constitutes wealth, my dear–particularly to people who don’t have it!”

“Excuse me. I stand corrected.” Maria took hold of Isabel’s free hand. “Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that my ring could not bring a thief anywhere near the worldly wealth that one of your rings might bring.”

Isabel looked dumbly at the exquisite array of jewels on her own fingers. Finally, she nodded, mumbling, “What you say is true, my dear.”

“And you’re missing none of your rings?” Maria pressed.

“That is also true. I have not lost a single item.” Isabel nodded again. “And I must admit, I was quite careless about them when my shoulder was hurting the worst. And even since I’ve been feeling better, I have left them unattended over and over again.”

“Correct,” Maria said, casting one last look on the floor. “We have had no thieves stealing about our cabin, Isabel. The ring must have slipped right through these planks. And I think it’s gone.”

Maria stood and helped Isabel to her feet. Together, they moved into the larger cabin, taking the lamps with them. As the older woman plopped herself into a chair by the table, the younger crossed to the partially open window. She could see the flaring torches on the quay they were tied to, and things being carried from ships docked further down the harbor. Even in the darkness, the port was a bustling place.

“Would you like a bit of wine, Maria,” Isabel asked, pouring herself a goblet. “It is far too fine to waste, I’d say.”

“Would any of Charles’s advisors come aboard?” Maria asked, shaking her head at her aunt’s offer. “Do you think Charles himself may come?”

Isabel stood and moved behind her niece, peering out over her shoulder. “In this instance, I believe we benefit from your brother’s imperial arrogance, my dear. My guess is that he’d love to come aboard a ship as magnificent as this, but he will need to be begged before he’ll do so. But I’m sure, come morning, the Palace will send ministers...perhaps even Count Diego de Guevara, himself...to begin seeing to your comfort for the journey.”

Maria turned her face and looked at her aunt’s amused expression. “But I’m not there.”

“True, child. But the Palace will not be admitting that there’s any problem... yet!”

“Hmm...” Maria looked back out at the dark hulks of ships stretching out into the night. “Charles does, indeed, love large and powerful ships. I believe the
Great Michael
is larger than any of his new galleons. He’s sure to come.”

Isabel tossed her head back and strutted around the cabin, putting on the airs of a pompous monarch. Maria turned and stared at her, wide eyed.

“The world shall come to me and kneel before my throne.” The emperor’s aunt placed a hand on the back of a chair and struck a royal pose. “I am the worthiest of all kings, Holy Roman Emperor by the hand of a pope I installed myself. And you...you in that, ahem, passably good looking ship...you are all nothing more than lowly Scots. And my future subjects, at that...though you don’t know it yet.”

Maria smiled and pushed the window shut. “We may already be guilty of treason for defying his wishes, but I don’t think it will do to give away state secrets.”

“Charles’s ways are no secret to anyone, child. But to answer your question, we’ll be long gone before he condescends to pay a visit to the
Great Michael
. He’ll certainly not come with night falling.”

Maria stared at her aunt for a moment and then crossed the cabin to the peg where her cloak hung.

“We are not ready to go, yet.” Isabel said. “We have to wait until that lovely young navigator comes to escort us.”

“I know...I know.” Maria answered, unable to shake the thought of how far away they would be when night found them again. She wrapped the cloak around her with a shiver. “But suddenly, Isabel, I’m feeling a bit cold.”

The erupting fireworks out on the Groenplaats drew Maria once again to the window.

From her window of the elegant upper floor bedchamber that she’d been shown to, the young queen peered out at the carnival like atmosphere on the crowded green. No doubt the good clergy in the darkened cathedral across the way were cringing in horror at such festivities in the middle of Lent. No, she realized with a laugh, there is the Cardinal himself, surrounded by his entourage, clearly enjoying the noise and the multicolored bursts.

Pieter, the Macpherson’s rotund little steward, had told her that the merchants in Antwerp had arranged for this display as a welcome for King Jamie’s delegation. In the short time that Maria had been in the city before her thwarted escape, she had seen a number of these fireworks displays from the Palace windows. She squinted her eyes to see through the smoke resulting from the last blasts, looking toward the spot near his statue, where the Emperor liked to watch the fiery exhibitions. The breeze quickly dispersed the cloud, and Maria could just make out the royal party. She couldn’t see John, though, and a pang of disappointment struck her.

“Don’t be a fool, Maria,” she muttered quietly to herself, continue to scan the crowd. Picking up the brush she had laid aside, she drew it through her still damp hair. One thing about the citizens of Antwerp, she thought, they are happy for any excuse to celebrate. And certainly, the fanfare this time must have been favored by the Emperor. He was, most assuredly, quite delighted for this diversion of his guests while he continued to search for the object of their mission.

Absently, Maria began to weave her hair into a thick, black braid as she watched a young man climb a ladder to the top of the tall wooden post that held the next round of fireworks. After a moment during which Maria watched him exchange laughing remarks with the crowd below, he finished his preparations and scurried to the ground. Taking a long handled torch, the young man ignited the fireworks and retreated with the scattering throng that encircled the post. This series of explosions were deafening, and the windows of Maria’s room rattled violently. When the blasts ceased, Maria smiled as she espied the young man bowing to his appreciative audience before running off to the next pillar of explosives.

The trip from the harborside into the city to the Groenplaats and the Macpherson’s townhouse had been, to Maria’s delight, quick and uneventful. She had never any cause to enter any of the huge, stone houses that lined the open square, and Hart Haus, the Macpherson home, was an exquisite surprise. As Maria had stepped into the foyer beyond the massive oak door, the sight of the huge marble statue of a deer, his antlers spreading a good three yards, had immediately conveyed to Maria that the owners of Hart Haus were extraordinary people.

Though modest in size compared with the palaces and the castles she had lived in, Hart Haus was easily the most comfortable and most sumptuously furnished home she had ever seen. Even the Emperor’s private chambers were austere in comparison. Besides, though Maria had never been impressed with the showy grandeur of a Palace, there was a warmth that suffused this home, and that warmth had nothing to do with its rich furnishings. There was a sense of harmony, a happiness that seemed to fill Hart Haus, and Maria felt it the moment she entered its walls.

When they’d arrived, David had spoken briefly to the steward and then taken his leave, ushering Maria’s aunt through the growing crowds of townspeople. Pieter, the portly steward, proved to be a kindly man with a slight hunch to his back and a sparkle of wit in his eye. Scattering the onlooking servants before him with jovial commands, he led her from the entryway into a large hall, no doubt where members of the household gathered for meals as well as most other activities. At the end of the room, a crackling fire warmed the air and lit up the white-washed walls.

As Pieter escorted her to the wide stairs leading up from the Great Room, Maria gazed at the rich, vibrantly colored paintings that adorned the high walls. Ambrose Macpherson has more paintings than the Medicis, she thought, ascending the steps. She would have loved to take the time to stop and study them.

They were everywhere, she realized, looking at the works that graced the walls of her bedchamber. In the stairways, the corridors. All through the house. Magnificent paintings. Only as she sat soaking–courtesy of Pieter–in an ornately carved wood tub, luxuriating in the warm, jasmine scented water, did Maria realize that these paintings that so impressed her were all Elizabeth Macpherson’s work. The importance of what Isabel had relayed to her, about Elizabeth being an accomplished painter, had not truly sunk in until she had entered Hart Haus.

Now, dressed and feeling quite human again, Maria stood and watched as the last of the fireworks were exploded. The aroma of warm bread and fish wafted into the room, and the young woman was suddenly conscious of a rumbling response in her belly. A serving girl knocked softly at a side door, and led Maria into an adjoining sitting room, where a table had been laid with platters of food, fresh fruit, and wine.