The Heather Moon by Susan King Page A

courtyard.
    "Ah, the queen of Scotland herself, fussing for her supper," a man remarked. William heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Perris Maxwell, now looking less the reiver and more the well-dressed gentleman in a black velvet doublet, short breeches, and black hose on his muscular legs. Perris grinned and extended his hand to William, who smiled, glad of the chance to speak openly with his friend, without Malise Hamilton's dampening presence.
    "Greetings, Perris." William clasped his hand, and then nodded toward the west block of the palace. "Queen Mary Stewart herself, is it? She sounds strong and lusty."
    "Aye, as you will see. And well you should know the sound of a bairn. Your own wee daughter is a bonny bairn."
    "And she was wailing a lusty fit when I left Rookhope Tower early this morn. I was glad to have a reason to be away."
    "Hah, she melts her father's heart like butter in the sun. Must be that toothless smile."
    "Aye." William tapped Perris's arm. "What's this? Velvet? And slashed sleeves? You look like a Spaniard."
    Perris grimaced. "Lady Margaret Beaton convinced me to order this from her father's tailor. Mourning black, for the king. I confess she fitted me out in things too fancified for my taste. I complained that Will Scott always wore plain gear at court, no matter the fashion, and the ladies loved it well." Perris scratched at his beard. "Lady Margaret insisted 'twas Will Scott, not the gear, the ladies loved so well. That quiet charm you have is apparently sweeter honey to bees than this silly gear."
    William smiled, then grew solemn. "Perris, you know that I return here only to please Madame, and for the sake of Her Grace, the wee queen. I wouldna come back to Linlithgow otherwise. And I have no wish to see Malise just now."
    "I know. He is not here. Some will be displeased to see you at court, Will, and others might show you pity. There is still much talk of the bonny laird o' Rookhope, and his misdeeds and tragedies."
    "I am certain that my visit to Madame the Queen Dowager will provide new fodder for wagging tongues," William drawled.
    "Madame herself summoned you here, so 'twill stifle some of those tongues. She doesna hold the scandal against you, Will, though I know you believe she might."
    "I know it distressed her greatly, and I am sorry for that. But I willna apologize for what was a private matter between Jeanie Hamilton and myself. I ask no one's forgiveness."
    Perris nodded. Among his friends, William thought, Perris was one of the few who had not borne him an ill prejudice based on rumor. "But I think you can be certain of her friendship, after all. Madame still regards you as one of the few she can truly trust. You earned her friendship when she arrived in Scotland knowing no Scots, and the king scant French. You showed much patience in teaching her our language. I vow she values your hand at playing cards, and that bonny face as well."
    "I will always honor Madame. I hope she knows that," William said quietly. They passed an elaborate stone fountain at the center of the courtyard, and both men paused beside it. "But I wonder why Madame sent for me. Her letter only mentioned an urgent matter," he said. "She doesna need me, a Border laird, to comment on issues. She has advisors and judges, priests, and lawyers—like you."
    "I dinna know what 'tis, in truth," Perris said. He grasped William's hand. "And I must go attend to a matter for Madame. Not legal work this time, but important, nonetheless. I am to find a local miller to grind oats into the finest powder. Her Grace the queen spits up her porridge."
    "Go to, then," William said, chuckling. Perris grinned and hastened toward the south gate.
    William turned back to look up at the carved stone fountain, and recalled a day five years ago when its spouts and basins had overflowed with red wine and rose petals, a display ordered by King James in honor of his new French bride, Marie of Guise. The stone spouts were empty now, the