A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland by J. R. Tomlin Page A
Authors: J. R. Tomlin
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the dark liquid. "I'd been my father's page. When he deemed
it too dangerous for me to remain with him and Wallace, he sent me to my uncle,
the Stewart. Then the English wanted me for a hostage. Sending me to France to
keep me out of their hands was why--" He paused. The story of his father's
death was a grim one. He wasn't eager to remind them of it. Still his time in
Paris hadn't been so bad. "--was why he was sent to the London Tower, but
I had a bit of a wild life in Paris. I learned a skill or two that most pages
aren't taught. Things like how to trap your dinner."
Isabella took a small bite of the grouse
and chewed it thoughtfully. "So how did you end up in Bishop Lamberton's
household?"
"When I returned from France, he took
me in. He had lost track of where I was hidden. I think my father feared anyone
knowing."
"I'd never heard that, Jamie." The
king leaned forward on his elbows to give James a considering look.
"There was much that happened those
years, your Grace. The adventures of one lost page were hardly of moment."
Christina, the king's grieving sister who
hadn't spoken all evening, tilted her head and smiled at him. "Lord of
Douglas. Nephew and godson of the Stewart. Hardly just a lost page, Sir James."
He took a gulp of his wine to give himself
time to think of an answer, besides that as long as the English held
Douglasdale, he was no true lord. It seemed for the moment she wasn't thinking
of the horror of her husband's death. He had no desire to remind her. "Most
had more important things to think of," he said with a smile. "It was
beyond kind for my lord bishop to go to so much trouble for me."
The large fire in the middle of the camp
had burned down to a pile of glowing embers and the camp was dark and quiet. Sir
Niall Campbell rose from his place to send out men to relieve the sentries. The
king stretched and stood to help his wife from her place. Everyone was quickly
on their feet so as not to be sitting whilst the king stood.
"Your Grace," Isabella said, "I'm
too restless to retire yet. My mind seems to be a muddle of thoughts that will
not be still, and I’m sure I won’t sleep. If you permit, I'll walk for a whilst
or else I'll be poor company, I fear."
"Not alone," the king said.
"For a certainty not," the queen
replied, and James was sure he heard a smile in her voice. "I believe Sir
James was good enough to escort her earlier. Mayhap he would do so again."
"It would be my honor." He looked
from Isabella to the queen. What in the name of St. Bride had she told the
queen? One never knew with a woman, such foreign creatures.
Isabella put her hand on his arm.
"Jamie," the king said. "Be
careful."
Isabella cocked her head. "I swear I
mean him no harm, your Grace." He could hear the laughter in her voice.
"I never thought so." The king
gave James a firm nod.
"Sire," James dropped a hand on
his hilt. The sword was loose in its scabbard. "We'll stay within a shout
of the camp."
He closed his hand over hers on his arm and
led her to circle the heathery hill where the king liked to keep watch. In
the stand of towering pines, needles and blown leaves littered the ground, a
soft carpet under his feet.
"Why are you to take care?" she
asked with a tinkle of laughter. "Surely, I'm not so dangerous a
companion."
"Are you not, my lady?" He ran a
finger over her hand. "I wouldn’t swear so, but that wasn’t the king’s
thought. The battle at Methven--we were ambushed in the dark. It worries him. He
seldom sleeps at night."
"Oh. I hadn't been told what happened
exactly, except that so many died. And that you saved the king."
He squeezed her fingers. "It's nothing
any of us want to tell about." He stopped and disengaged his hand to run
his fingers along her chin, tilting it up. "I'd rather kiss you, but if I
did, would you run away again?"
"No." Her voice was soft, her
lips softer when he brushed them with his. He grasped her arms to pull her
close as his kiss deepened. "James--" She turned
it too dangerous for me to remain with him and Wallace, he sent me to my uncle,
the Stewart. Then the English wanted me for a hostage. Sending me to France to
keep me out of their hands was why--" He paused. The story of his father's
death was a grim one. He wasn't eager to remind them of it. Still his time in
Paris hadn't been so bad. "--was why he was sent to the London Tower, but
I had a bit of a wild life in Paris. I learned a skill or two that most pages
aren't taught. Things like how to trap your dinner."
Isabella took a small bite of the grouse
and chewed it thoughtfully. "So how did you end up in Bishop Lamberton's
household?"
"When I returned from France, he took
me in. He had lost track of where I was hidden. I think my father feared anyone
knowing."
"I'd never heard that, Jamie." The
king leaned forward on his elbows to give James a considering look.
"There was much that happened those
years, your Grace. The adventures of one lost page were hardly of moment."
Christina, the king's grieving sister who
hadn't spoken all evening, tilted her head and smiled at him. "Lord of
Douglas. Nephew and godson of the Stewart. Hardly just a lost page, Sir James."
He took a gulp of his wine to give himself
time to think of an answer, besides that as long as the English held
Douglasdale, he was no true lord. It seemed for the moment she wasn't thinking
of the horror of her husband's death. He had no desire to remind her. "Most
had more important things to think of," he said with a smile. "It was
beyond kind for my lord bishop to go to so much trouble for me."
The large fire in the middle of the camp
had burned down to a pile of glowing embers and the camp was dark and quiet. Sir
Niall Campbell rose from his place to send out men to relieve the sentries. The
king stretched and stood to help his wife from her place. Everyone was quickly
on their feet so as not to be sitting whilst the king stood.
"Your Grace," Isabella said, "I'm
too restless to retire yet. My mind seems to be a muddle of thoughts that will
not be still, and I’m sure I won’t sleep. If you permit, I'll walk for a whilst
or else I'll be poor company, I fear."
"Not alone," the king said.
"For a certainty not," the queen
replied, and James was sure he heard a smile in her voice. "I believe Sir
James was good enough to escort her earlier. Mayhap he would do so again."
"It would be my honor." He looked
from Isabella to the queen. What in the name of St. Bride had she told the
queen? One never knew with a woman, such foreign creatures.
Isabella put her hand on his arm.
"Jamie," the king said. "Be
careful."
Isabella cocked her head. "I swear I
mean him no harm, your Grace." He could hear the laughter in her voice.
"I never thought so." The king
gave James a firm nod.
"Sire," James dropped a hand on
his hilt. The sword was loose in its scabbard. "We'll stay within a shout
of the camp."
He closed his hand over hers on his arm and
led her to circle the heathery hill where the king liked to keep watch. In
the stand of towering pines, needles and blown leaves littered the ground, a
soft carpet under his feet.
"Why are you to take care?" she
asked with a tinkle of laughter. "Surely, I'm not so dangerous a
companion."
"Are you not, my lady?" He ran a
finger over her hand. "I wouldn’t swear so, but that wasn’t the king’s
thought. The battle at Methven--we were ambushed in the dark. It worries him. He
seldom sleeps at night."
"Oh. I hadn't been told what happened
exactly, except that so many died. And that you saved the king."
He squeezed her fingers. "It's nothing
any of us want to tell about." He stopped and disengaged his hand to run
his fingers along her chin, tilting it up. "I'd rather kiss you, but if I
did, would you run away again?"
"No." Her voice was soft, her
lips softer when he brushed them with his. He grasped her arms to pull her
close as his kiss deepened. "James--" She turned
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