The King's Mistress by Sandy Blair Page A

ago? Had he, his life would have been ever so different.
    Reluctantly, he ended the kiss and whispered, “Your sister and her bairn will be safe. We have Alexander’s granddaughter, the infant Margaret, Princess of Norway.”
    She sniffled as she traced his lips with a shaking finger. “Aye, but the infant is betrothed to England’s Prince Edward. Our people would rather Greer’s bastard than let Scotland fall into English hands—some will kill her to get him—and well we both ken it.”
    Aye, civil unrest could be but a heartbeat away, but then her sister’s babe wasn’t the only possible bastard. Alexander had been of an age where there could well be fully grown adult males crawling out of the woodpile anxious to lay claim. He heaved a sigh, reluctant to let his arms fall from her, but did and straightened. “We need go.”
     
     
    Finding the castle gate open but the portcullis down, Britt cursed, then yelled up to the sentry, “’Tis MacKinnon! Raise the gate and be quick about it!”
    “Oh, aye, my lord.”
    Immediately, shouted orders were issued, gears ground, and the huge spikes began to rise. Britt kicked his mount forward, and Genny, on her gray, stiffened at his side as they entered the bailey and were surrounded by dozens of heavily armed men. He could only imagine her distress as the gate ground down, trapping her within Edinburgh’s massive walls.
    He quickly dismounted and reached for her waist. “’Twill be all right. Just hie to the queen’s apartment and stay there until I come to you.”
    He waited until Genny made it safely into the keep before turning his attention to his squire, whose hands already gripped Britt’s mount’s reins. “How go you, Ian?”
    “They brought in the king this morning.” Tears filled the lad’s eyes. “He’s dead, sire.”
    Britt, still not able to believe it himself, patted Ian’s bony shoulder as he scoured the bailey for his second in command. “We’ve weathered worse, lad, and will do so again. Now, can you tell me where I might find Tall Angus?”
    Ian pointed toward the armory. “Yon.”
    Above him, a guard shouted to those manning the gate, “Ross coming!”
    A moment later, Lyle rode in, he and his mount looking worse for wear. He dismounted, asked his squire a question, then, scowling, strode toward Britt. “Glad you’re back.”
    “What the hell happened?” Britt’s hands itched to throttle someone.
    “I have no notion beyond what I told you earlier. He received the queen’s missive, then rode hell-bent for Kinghorn. When his guards reached the queen and learned His Majesty never arrived, they rode back, and that’s when one of the guards spotted His Majesty’s mount floating in the surf. The rest you know.”
    Thundering hooves drew their attention to the gate once again. Spying the Campbell and Douglas chiefs riding in with their entourage, Britt blew through his teeth. “Bad news travels fast.”
    “I had no choice but to send word out immediately. The rest of the Privy Council should arrive fast enough.”
    God help them all. “And the queen?”
    Lyle motioned for Britt to follow him into the keep. “She’s been notified.”
    “How did she take the news?”
    “She fainted dead away, according to the messenger. God only knows when she’ll be well enough to travel.”
    They took the keep’s winding stairs two at a time. Entering the great hall and finding it unearthly quiet, Britt whispered, “Where is His Majesty now?”
    “In the royal solar. The women are tending to the body.”
    The body.
    Britt shuddered as he looked around the hall, finding men whispering together in corners while couples held each other, many weeping.
    This cannot be happening!
    Ross tapped his arm to get his attention. “The Privy Council will go into session as soon as the rest of the representatives arrive. To ensure none take it into their heads to take control, I need be here, so I need ask that you go over the route His Majesty took. If