Price of a Princess

by Nigel Tranter

Genres: Cultural Heritage; Historical Fiction

Synopsis

After young James the Third's accession to the Scottish throne, the ambitious Boyd family of Kilmarnock seized power in a bloodless coup. Mary Stewart, James' eldest sister, was at first unwilling to marry Thomas Boyd, future Earl of Arran - but she had no choice. Eventually, however, she learned to love him, and when he was sent to the Danish court to negotiate with King Christian, she discovered a unique talent for diplomacy. In exchange for Princess Margaret of Denmark marrying her brother, Princess Mary at length persuaded the Danes to hand over the islands of Orkney and Shetland to Scottish dominion. But when the fortunes of the all-powerful Boyd family took a turn for the worse, Mary was to find herself in an extremely awkward and dangerous position... A riveting tale of romance, treachery and heartbreak, set in 15th century Scotland: the story of Mary Stewart, eldest sister of James III of Scotland and her part in making Orkney and Shetland part of Scotland.

Release date: December 20, 2012

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

The hunt was well past Duntarvie, and now heading almost due southwards towards Niddry Seton, downhill through undulating country of scattered woodland, the stag a notable runner but carrying a splendid head of antlers, well worth this long pursuit, the deerhounds still unable to run it down or corner it. Some of the more experienced horsemen might indeed have been able to use knowledge of the land to head it off, in this western part of Lothian, but could scarcely do so ahead of the King – who was, not unnaturally, less experienced, being of only fourteen years. Nor was His young Grace the best of riders as yet, being a studious and less than vigorous youngster, unlike his late and impetuous father, James the Second of that name. Even his sister had had to rein in on occasion at his side, for Mary Stewart was a more vehement character and, at seventeen, a fine horsewoman.

They had already come more than five round-about miles from Linlithgow, and it looked as though there would be more miles ahead of them before they killed, if ever they did, with the stag showing no signs of flagging.

The Lord Kennedy, at the other side of the young monarch, pointed and panted out, “The burn, Y’Grace. Niddry Burn. Water. That . . . our best hope . . . I judge. Quarry making for . . . water, belike.” A man of later middle years, now inclining to corpulence, he was not having to rein his, his breathlessness very evident.

“A burn? A river. Will we have to cross a river?” James demanded, a little anxiously. “Is it . . . deep?”

“The Niddry is nothing that our mounts cannot take, Jamie,” the princess reassured as they pounded on. “It is the boggy edges that we will have to watch for. Where the deer can cross lightly, but our beasts’ hooves will sink in.”

“Right, Highness,” Kennedy agreed. “A pity that Seton . . . did not come . . . this day. He knows this country best . . .”

They were approaching thicker woodland from a lengthy downwards slope; and already the stag and pursuing hounds were disappearing into the trees. Mary was having to restrain herself and her mount from forging ahead, as were others behind – although she perhaps was the only one there who could have outridden her brother without seeming guilty of lèse-majesté.

Actually it was the girl, the only female present, who perceived the situation first, or at least was first to utter it. “Look – men!” she exclaimed. “There, within the trees. Many men. Mounted.”

Kennedy stared, his sight scarcely as keen as that of the young woman.

“Who are they?” James asked, ever ready to be alarmed.

“They will be the Lord Seton’s people,” his sister suggested. “We are near Niddry Seton here. I have been here before. But for these woods we could see his castle, I think.”

“Should we not halt? There are many. In case . . .”

“The Setons are your good friends, Sire,” Kennedy said. But he did seek to slow down his pace a little, although that was not easy with them all thundering downhill, many of the other huntsmen close behind. Any sudden reining in, and the foremost could be ridden down.

Then Lord Hamilton’s voice sounded from their backs – he was usually to be found as near to the Princess Mary as he could decently get. “It is Boyd! I see the Boyd banner. And Somerville. See – there is the white on blue of Somerville.”

All who might have been apprehensive relaxed at that, as they saw horsemen emerging from the trees under colourful heraldic flags. Lord Boyd of Kilmarnock was a trusted supporter of the crown, and his younger brother, Sir Alexander, more prominent in national affairs, was indeed Keeper of Edinburgh Castle, the second most important citadel of the land. But it was strange to be intercepting the royal hunt thus. They must be bearing some vital news to account for it.

Their fine stag looked like escaping, in these circumstances.

There were about a score of horsemen coming slowly to meet them. Everywhere now the more numerous huntsmen, by unspoken consent, were drawing in their mounts, recognising these ahead as friends.

Lord Kennedy, whose brother, the late renowned bishop who had more or less ruled the realm for both the young King and his father, gave no impression of annoyance at this interruption of their sport. “It seems . . . we must leave . . . this chase meantime, Sire,” he advised. “These . . . would not be here . . . thus . . . without cause.” The Lord Boyd’s son and heir, Thomas, Master of Boyd, was after all contracted to marry Lord Kennedy’s daughter.

The two groups drew together, and not a few hands were raised in greeting, for all knew each other well enough. There was cap-raising towards the monarch and his sister.

“We regret the spoiling of Your Grace’s sport, Sire,” one of the newcomers announced, with a flourished bow from the saddle, not the Lord Boyd but his brother, Sir Alexander, a fine-looking man of early middle age, richly dressed. “But the matter is important.”

“It is no matter,” the youth said. “I think the stag was winning away.” He was no great one for hunting, this James Stewart. And indeed this day’s hunt had been something of a surprise altogether, at least to his sister, proposed suddenly by Kennedy as a relief from the admittedly boring business of the annual Exchequer Audit, which had been going on for three days at the palace of Linlithgow, and at which, by established custom, the monarch had to be present. She had been glad enough to take part in it, for she loved the chase, even though she did not always relish the kill itself. But her brother had not been enthusiastic.

“We were on our way to Linlithgow, Sire, when we heard of this hunt,” the Lord Boyd said. He was a heavier man than his brother, massively built and square-featured. “We understood you to be at the Exchequer Audit there. But perceived the hunt coming down this way.”

It occurred to Mary Stewart to wonder, then. How had these lords, from Edinburgh, heard of this hunt, which had been decided upon only this morning? And had assumed that the King would be with it? She did not voice her questions, however.

“Your Grace’s presence is urgently required at Edinburgh.” That was the Lord Somerville, a younger man, of somewhat haughty bearing.

“Why that?” somebody asked, from the ranks of the hunters behind.

Lord Boyd frowned. Then glancing over at all the interested faces of the listening horsemen, waved. “It is a privy matter. Of some . . . secrecy.”

“Shall we return to Linlithgow, then, and consider the matter?” the Lord Hamilton said. “His Grace agreeing.”

“No, my lord. And Your Grace. There is some urgency in this. Better for His Grace to come with us to Edinburgh now.”

“But . . . the others? The Chancellor, Lord Avondale – he is at Linlithgow. Livingstone, and other lords of the Council. They must be informed.”

“No time for that,” Sir Alexander Boyd said crisply. “A messenger has arrived from Edward of England. From Carlisle. His mission requiring the royal reply and signature.”

“The Chancellor, then, must hear of it. We are but five or six miles from Linlithgow . . .”

“No!” That was definite. “We must go at once.” This was not the normal mode of speech where the monarch was concerned.

Kennedy, strangely, said nothing.

Mary wondered the more. There was much here that she did not understand. She scanned the faces of the newcomers. Of the score or so, most were men-at-arms, a mere escort. As well as the two Boyds and Somerville there were two others whom she knew slightly, Andrew Hepburn, Master of Hailes, and Andrew Ker, heir to Ker of Cessford, both daredevil young men, Borderers. But there was one whom she did not recognise – and she certainly would have done so had she seen him before, for he was the most handsome young man she had ever set eyes upon, well built, tall, bearing himself proudly and seemingly almost amused by the present situation, certainly in no awe of the company he had joined.

She was reverting to a consideration as to how this party could have known of today’s hunt, when she realised that the good-looking stranger was eyeing her with frankest interest, all but assessingly. She was used to admiration, of course, not only as a princess but as a very lovely young woman, tall also, slender and lissome but amply rounded, dark-haired and fine-featured, her grey eyes large and expressive. Those eyes met the young man’s, and they locked for a moment or two before she turned back to her brother.

James was indeed addressing her. “Must I go with them, Mary?” he asked. Ever since their mother, Queen Mary of Guelders, had died three years before, the young King had looked to his elder sister for guidance, help and comfort, a somewhat bewildered youngster requiring much support and fondness, no very adequate monarch for a nation as turbulent as Scotland, and following a headstrong father. It was to be feared that he would never be a forceful monarch.

“Wait!” she said, and turned to Lord Kennedy who, since the good bishop’s death a year before, had more or less assumed the duties of the monarch’s principal adviser. “Such haste? Could the English messenger not have been brought here, to His Grace? Rather than the King having to go to him?”

Kennedy looked uncomfortable. “I know not, Highness. Perhaps he was wearied with long riding.” That sounded feeble indeed.

Alexander Boyd reined his horse closer, to speak low-voiced. “This is important, Sire and Highness. The messenger must return to Carlisle, whenever he is sufficiently rested. King Edward is urgent. He leaves for the south. Prithee, come!” And he actually reached out for the reins of the boy’s mount.

“No!” Mary declared. “Jamie, I say that we should rather return to Linlithgow. First. Here is something strange.” She turned, tossing her long hair back from her brow, a habit of hers. “You, my Lord Kennedy – say you not so?”

That man hesitated, glancing left and right.

From behind, Hamilton spoke. “I agree with Her Highness. Back to Linlithgow.”

Alexander Boyd acted rather than argued. He grabbed James’s reins and tugged. “Come, Sire!”

Mary, kneeing her beast’s flanks, cried, “No! No, I say. Stop him!” It was Kennedy whom she so urged.

That lord, the King’s cousin and her own, at one remove, made an indeterminate gesture, part shake of the head, part shrug. Then he seemed to decide, and urged his mount over nearer to the King’s again, which was being pulled round. His hand went out.

Swiftly Sir Alexander twisted in his saddle and lashed out with his fist, striking the older man on the shoulder, and all but unseating him with the vehemence of the blow. At the same time he spurred his horse into vigorous motion, back towards the woodland, and perforce dragged the boy’s beast with him.

Immediately all was changed as to tempo, urgency, atmosphere. There arose exclamations and shouting, much clamour and jerking of horses’ reins and heads, much concern; but also a deal of uncertainty. For all the men there knew each other, had their links and friendships – and the reverse to be sure. For her part, Mary Stewart spurred after her brother without delay. Lord Kennedy, breathing stertorously, biting his lip, remained where he was.

James, reins wrenched from his not very firm hands, was clinging to his saddle-bow for support, and looking back over his shoulder. “Mary!” he cried, “Mary – do not leave me!”

“I will not!” she shouted after him, and heeled her mount the harder.

There was a notable confusion of riders on that grassy slope, decision and indecision equally evident. Amidst the cries and beat of hooves, Mary heard the thudding crash of a horse falling behind her, and glancing back saw the two Andrews, Hepburn and Ker, reining back from the sprawling, kicking mount of the Lord Hamilton, who himself was now asprawl on the grass, clearly having been ridden down by the pair as he came after her and James. She almost drew up, to go to his assistance, then perceived that her brother’s need was the greater, and pounded on.

Another horseman was coming fast from behind and drawing level. She saw that it was Fleming, another important lord.

“Better back, Highness,” this one jerked. “No ploy . . . for a woman!”

She ignored him.

Then she realised that a second rider was close at her other side, the handsome young man whom she had noted earlier. And he was laughing, the only one there to be showing amusement. He reached over to pat her arm, their mounts almost touching.

“I salute you, lady!” he exclaimed. “Spirit! Fear nothing. All will be well.”

“James!” she panted. “The King.”

“He will be well enough, also. Here’s to your spirit! I like it.”

Mary, just then, could do without compliments, and rode the harder.

The Lord Fleming dropped back – but not the girl’s good-looking admirer.

They were almost up with Sir Alexander and the young monarch now, and she called out reassuringly to her brother. Boyd looked round, frowning.

“All is well, uncle,” the young man shouted. “Hamilton took a fall! Others . . . less eager! Save this princess. All in order.”

Which was a strange way of describing the situation.

Level with James, Mary cried, “Fear nothing, Jamie. They will not harm you, the King.”

Tense, anxious, the boy shook his head.

As they entered the woodland she looked back, expecting pursuit. But there was none. The hunt-followers were clustered round Kennedy, Fleming and Hamilton and other lords. All seemed to be more or less stationary, Hamilton mounting his horse again. Indecision triumphed, apparently. Or connivance!

The Boyds and Somerville were by no means glancing back apprehensively.

Presently, deeper within the trees, Lord Boyd’s party pulled up, to consider the position – and it was at Mary Stewart rather than at the abducted young sovereign-lord that they stared, obviously put out and at something of a loss by her presence.

“Highness,” Lord Boyd said, “I regret that you have been . . . troubled. By this. That was not intended. This way is best for His Grace. But you . . . ! This is no concern for a woman.” He changed that. “For a young lady such as Your Highness.”

“What is this concern, my lord?” That came out strongly, if a little breathlessly, with another toss back of her dark hair.

“It is for . . . for the realm’s weal, Highness. And His Grace’s own. That, I do promise you. And you, Sire. It, it had to be this way. Lest there be . . . difficulties.” Boyd was clearly having his own difficulties, with this delivery.

The Lord Somerville was less troubled. “Better that you get back to Linlithgow, lady,” he said curtly.

“I stay with His Grace,” Mary told them simply.

“But, Highness . . . !” Boyd wagged his head. “Best indeed that you return . . .”

“No!” That was James Stewart, in agitation.

“This is man’s work, Highness. In the kingdom’s cause. For betterment therein,” Sir Alexander Boyd put in. “His Grace will be very well with us.”

“Perhaps, sir. Although I doubt it, by this present! But His Grace has suffered much, the deaths of his royal father, and his mother, none so long past. He must not suffer the loss of his sister also! If he goes with you, I go also.”

There was muttering and growling amongst her hearers, but another voice spoke up, that of the next youngest person present after the monarch and Mary, the so handsome stranger.

“This lady is brave as she is fair, uncle. And could aid us all, with the King. A useful friend!” And he flourished a bow at the girl. “Let her bide, I say.”

Alexander Boyd shrugged, and nodded towards his brother. “Come, then. We have wasted sufficient time.” He still retained the reins of the King’s horse.

Lord Boyd looked doubtfully at Somerville; but it was clear that his younger brother was the strong character and the real leader here. He gestured onwards.

In the woodland track there was room only for riders to go two abreast; so Mary, unspeaking, drew in immediately behind Sir Alexander and her brother. She found her personable admirer at her side.

“I am Tom Boyd,” he said. “And find Your Highness to my taste!”

“And I find nothing of this to my taste, sir!” she told him, and looked firmly away.

He laughed. “My taste in women seldom errs, I think! You will come round to it!”

She did not have to answer that, for along the track before them appeared three of the hunt-servants and two of the deerhounds, evidently coming back to discover what had happened to the hunt. At sight of this party with the young King these drew up and pulled aside, in astonishment and uncertainty.

The Boyds and their friends ignored them entirely, as they trotted on.

The track led them, presently, down to softer ground and then to a shallow ford of sorts over the Niddry Burn, up beyond which was the major road between Edinburgh, Linlithgow and Stirling.

They had some ten miles to go to Edinburgh, and it was not long before they could actually see their destination away eastwards ahead of them, for its great fortress-castle, atop its lofty rock, stood out as a landmark from afar. Mary’s self-appointed escort pointed to it.

“You will know yonder citadel, lady?” he asked. “I find it less than comfortable.”

The girl did not answer.

He went on, cheerfully. “We must seek to make it more suitable lodging for a princess. And, to be sure, for our liege-lord!” There was something like mockery in that last.

She did rise to that. “Lodging, sir? I thought that we went but to sign papers and speak with an English courier?”

He laughed. “That was as useful a pretext as any. A little longer stay will be called for, I think!”

“What do you mean?”

“Why – only that the realm’s business may take some of its sovereign’s time. And if Your Highness prefers to bide with him – for which praises be, I say! – then you may require some comforts in Edinburgh Castle, lady. And some comforting, perhaps!”

She stared at him, as they trotted along. “Do I take you aright, sir? Is this then some shameful . . . device? Some unlawful and treasonable seizure and constraint of the King? For the advantage of . . . these!”

Still he seemed to find amusement in even that dire challenge. “Not how my father and uncle would name it, I swear! Say, rather, for the advantage of all the kingdom and the King’s folk. Even for His young Grace’s self. Better keeping than he has been in, from those old men, the Kennedys.”

“You mean that you and yours are going to hold James? To rule the realm, or seek to, through him, as your prisoner!”

“Never prisoner, no. Guardians, perhaps. His advisers, counsellors. Needful guardians. Since Bishop Kennedy died, the rule of this land has been but slack, has it not? Or so my father and uncle declare. Allowing much of ill to arise. So now there is to be . . . improvement. Should we not rejoice?”

Her lovely features set, Mary Stewart digested that as best she could.

He reached over to pat her sleeve. “If you do not like it. Highness, it is perhaps not too late for you to turn back. Go back to Linlithgow. I will escort you most of the way, if need be.” But that also was announced with a laugh which held mockery.

She tossed back her hair. “I stay with the King,” she said.

“And I am glad of that! Heigho – I have found Edinburgh dull indeed after my Kilmarnock and Ayr. You will improve it, I have no doubt!”

She shook her head wordlessly, seeking to order the tumult of her thoughts. Responsible as her nature, training and circumstances had made her, for a girl of seventeen this situation was upsetting to say the least. And the young man’s familiarity of tone and manner were insufferable. Yet, presently, she turned to him.

“You say that it is your father and uncle who lead in this . . . felony and folly! And you come from Kilmarnock? A Boyd?”

“I told you – Tom Boyd. I am Thomas, Master of Boyd, yes. At your service, to be sure.”

“I see. So – you are deep in this plot also?”

“Not so. A mere onlooker, Highness, unconcerned with affairs of state. I prefer affairs of the heart!” He waved a flourish. “I came from Dean Castle, our house in the west, only a week past. And now, this! So unexpected a satisfaction!”

“Unexpected, sir? I think not. Much about this day’s doings I deem strange indeed. Planned in advance, well planned. I have noted much. No sudden whim of you and yours. This hunt, see you. It was only decided upon this morning – or so it seemed. To enliven the dull work of the Exchequer, for James. Yet your father said that he knew of it. And some of the lords in the hunt itself have acted very strangely. The Lord Kennedy himself. And Fleming. Hamilton alone sought to prevent this, this outrage. I think that the others knew that it was planned. Or some of them.”

He glanced at her more carefully, at this, assessingly. “Perhaps these recognised it as for the best?” he suggested. “After all, they know my father and uncle. He, my uncle, is married to Janet Kennedy. And I, would you credit it, am supposed to be be marrying Kennedy’s youngest daughter one day! Plain of face and person as she is!”

“Whom do I condole with, sir? You – or her! But . . . could my Lord Kennedy so betray his trust? His brother, the bishop, would turn in his grave, I think! To yield up the King so – he, his protector and supporter, since the bishop died . . .”

“There are more sorts of betrayal than one, lady. Before ever Bishop Kennedy died, his brother had a band with my uncle. And Fleming. And the Earl of Crawford. Each to support the other in all matters and interests – all save, to be sure, such as might be against the interests of the crown. And this present, I am assured, is in His Grace’s best interests! Much so. Where, then, is the betrayal?”

“Words, sir! Words do not alter deeds. I have heard of these bands, between lords. And mislike the sound of them. Fleming also, you say? He, too, held back, there. But Kennedy – his is the greater betrayal. He is keeper of the King’s royal castle of Stirling. James’s home. And mine. Brought us to Linlithgow, for this audit. Arranged this hunt – and then hands over his charge to Sir Alexander Boyd . . .”

“Who is also keeper of the other royal castle, of Edinburgh! A fair exchange! What is so ill in that?”

“Do not play with me, sir! But – tell me this, pray. You who know so much. Why did Sir Alexander strike Lord Kennedy back yonder? When he reached out to James.”

The master shrugged, but grinned too. “You should ask him that yourself, Highness. Myself, I was surprised. But I jalouse that it was a kindly blow, well meant! A precautionary gesture, shall we say? Lest aught went wrong. Hamilton was questioning. So – none could accuse Kennedy of . . . perfidy. But ask Sir Alexander.”

“I do not think that I would place more faith in his answers than I do in yours, Master of Boyd!”

“For one so fair, you are hard, hard, Highness. But we shall convince you of our goodwill, never fear. I, in especial!”

Her head-tossing was eloquent.

The road being broader here, as they neared the city, Mary took the opportunity to spur forward level with her brother, at the other side from Sir Alexander. The boy turned to her anxiously.

“Is it . . . is it well, Mary? Why this? I do not understand. Lord Kennedy? Lord Hamilton? Where are they? They have not come . . .”

“I have explained to His Grace, Highness, that we act only for his weal, and that of his realm. As I have heard my nephew telling yourself. Heed us.”

She eyed him, above her brother’s troubled head, heedfully indeed. For this man deserved heed, in more regards than one. He was able, strong, dangerous, yet attractive, if scarcely as brilliantly handsome as his nephew. Moreover, not so long ago he had been her mother’s lover – or one of them. When King James the Second had died, at the bursting of that cannon at the siege of Roxburgh, aged only twenty-nine, he had left a very beautiful young widow of the same age, Mary of Guelders, of strong character and talents and equally strong desires, with no lack of personable would-be partners. Her elder daughter had not failed to be aware of it, and to recognise the problems and dangers involved, in royal circumstances. This had, perhaps, helped to make Mary Stewart the more mature for her age.

“I cannot think, sir, that you go about your well-doing in the most leal and kindly fashion for His Grace!”

“It was necessary.” That was brief and discouraging of further discussion. They rode on in silence – save for the Master of Boyd, who continued to discourse in lively and amiable style.

In due course they reached the West Port of the walled city, and passing through, trotted down the narrow streets to the Grassmarket, under the towering crags of the castle rock. Then up the steep climb of the West Bow into the Lawnmarket, with its tall gabled tenements and the booths of its traders and craftsmen, to the tourney-ground which led up to the lofty citadel itself, walls, towers and gatehouse frowning across the deep water-filled ditch and over the town and farflung prospects of land, hills and sea. It was extraordinary how alike it was to the castle of Stirling, the royal family’s principal seat and home.

There was little homely however, once across the drawbridge and within the ramparts, about this fortress, grimmer than Stirling’s and scarcely welcoming. James and his sister had been here before, of course, but had never lodged in it, the Abbey of Holyroodhouse, a mile to the east, providing preferred accommodation for royal visits.

“We do not go to the abbey?” Mary asked, as they clattered up the cobblestone ascent to the upper courtyard.

“His Grace will be safer here,” Sir Alexander said.

“Safer? In his own realm of Scotland? His Grace has been safe enough, until this day!”

“The abbey would not be . . . suit. . .