The Beauty of the Mist Page 2

  “I should have hoped for a better report than that, lad. But perhaps you’re lacking in experience.” Sir Thomas Maule turned in the direction of the ship’s commander. “And you, Sir John? Would you care to wager on the distance?”

  “Nay, I agree with David.” John responded. “We’d be fools to let down our guard completely, assuming them far away. Whoever they were, the chances are that one of them tasted blood and may be hungry for more. And we’d be fools to assume them too close, losing all sense and exhausting our men with extra watches for no purpose. The fog will shield us from them for now. And when the mists lift, and we get some wind in our sails, we’ll have time enough to decide whether we need to fight. In any case, we’re prepared for whatever action is needed.”

  “If this were any other mission, Sir John” –Thomas Maule nodded seriously, patting the long sword at his side— “I wouldn’t mind a little action.”

  “But on the sea, Sir Thomas, battles differ greatly from those on the land,” David cautioned pointedly. “A strong arm and a mighty sword are all for naught when there is no solid ground for your footing.”

  John held back his smile. The voyage from Edinburgh’s seaport at Leith had taken too long for his men’s liking. Most of them, as pleased as they were to look upon the pleasing faces of noblemen’s wives and daughters, had little respect for the shallow shows of courtly behavior by the husbands and fathers. Having a group of land dwelling nobles onboard had already presented a number of problems with the rough and plain speaking sailors of the Great Michael, though nothing had, as yet, gotten out of hand. But John could only guess at the problems of discipline that would accompany their trip back to Scotland. After all, they would have a queen and her entourage to contend with.

  “For us who fought in the muck at Flodden, laddie,” the squat warrior retorted, squaring off with the young navigator, “no deck made of wood will ever be cause for alarm.”

  “Aye, Sir Thomas,” John broke in, trying to head off what he knew could quickly develop into a full-fledged brawl. “As you say, were this any other mission. But for now, you might make yourself comfortable. We could be in for quite a long wait. Thank you, navigator.”

  David Maxwell, perceiving the hint from his master, bowed slightly to the two noblemen and detached himself from them. John watched the navigator as he worked his way forward, the white feather in the young man’s bright blue cap bobbing cheerfully as he stopped and talked with each sailor that he passed.

  “That lad,” Sir Thomas began, “he’s lacking all sense of rank and position, wouldn’t you say?”

  John continued to watch his man.

  “We all have our flaws. But David Maxwell is as sharp as the blade of your dirk, and he fears no man. David’s as loyal to Scotland as any man alive, though he may be, perhaps, just a wee bit proud of his seagoing mates.” He turned and looked at the stocky fighter beside him. “These folk who sail the high seas have as much right to be called warriors and heroes as those that fight on land. But most have not been credited, as such.”

  Sir Thomas rubbed his sausage-like fingers thoughtfully over his chin.

  “And being a man who has spent his whole life in the service of his country,” John continued, “you know, perhaps better than most, the reasons that drive a young man like him.”

  The elder man nodded slightly.

  “He is the best navigator I’ve ever seen.” John turned his gaze back to the scene before him. “He’s been to the New World, and he’s gone around Africa, clear to India. He is a fine young man, Sir Thomas.”

  John Macpherson looked on as the watch changed. From the forecastle, a half-dozen men emerged, saluting their leader before scurrying nimbly up the dripping lines of the rigging to their posts aloft. A few moments later, the sailors who’d been relieved began to work their way down to the deck, disappearing forward into the crew’s quarters.

  With the exception of Sir Thomas, the members of the delegation of nobles who were sailing on the Great Michael had hardly stepped foot on deck at all. This certainly suited John.

  In the few brief instances when he’d joined them below, John had found the conversations consisted of the same idle prattle as he’d found in every court in Europe. The last time the Highlander had been below decks, one of the ranking nobles had tried to engage his opinion on Mary of Hungary and her apparent inability to bear any children by her late husband. A bad sign, the nobleman had whispered gravely to the nodding heads around the table. The future queen, he’d said, shaking his head. Barren, undoubtedly. And what would become of the Stuart line then?

  But John had shrugged them off without responding. His duties certainly did not include fortune-telling.

  Leaning out over the side of the vessel, John eyed the sturdy timbers of the hull and considered the knight for a moment. He knew Sir Thomas was keeping an eye on him. And that was perfectly acceptable to him. In fact, remembering Caroline’s style of love play, he had wondered at times if she had already started her games, had begun to make Sir Thomas wild with jealousy. Knowing her so well, John was prepared to respond should the time come, but he was still not sure if her unfortunate husband even knew the game was on.

  The Highlander’s face grew grim. He knew the going could get rough, perhaps even bloody, depending on Sir Thomas. Indeed, if he could get through this voyage without having to deal with Caroline Maule, he would count the trip as miraculous.

  “Tell me, if you would, Sir John, your opinion.” Sir Thomas ran his heavy hands thoughtfully over the wet railing. “How is it that the Holy Roman Emperor Charles, the most powerful monarch this side of Suleiman the Magnificent, agrees to let us convey his sister to her new husband?”

  “Tradition, I assume,” John responded after a pause, glad to see that the man beside him had found an agreeable topic to converse upon. “And the nature of the bargain. If we lose her, there’ll be war to settle the affair—along with a certain demand for the return of the first dowry payment that the Lord Chancellor’s presently keeping in Stirling Castle.”

  The elder man hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words for what was on his mind. “It can all be a...a nasty business. Can it not?” he asked at last under his breath. “Marriage, I mean.”

  “Many believe that to be the case, Sir Thomas.”

  “It doesn’t need to be, you know.” The man continued to stare down at his hands and the dark wood beneath them. “As one who is going through it a second time, I tend to see it differently.”

  John nodded noncommittally.

  “I am inclined to believe that not only royal marriages, but that most betrothals—even among the lowliest—are often ruined by the financial motives that so often bring two families, and hence, a man and a woman, together.” Sir Thomas turned and eyed the warrior. “What’s your opinion on the topic, Sir John?”

  The Highlander knew what he was asking, and he did not mind to speak the truth.

  “I have not found this to be the case in my own personal experience, Sir Thomas. But I believe you are correct in what you say. However, I do believe there are exceptions. And once a union is formed, perhaps love can create the truly lasting bond.”

  “Ah. But what do you think the elements are that foster that difference in a marriage. That give some people such an edge, such a chance for lasting happiness?”

  John stared out at the wisps of fog that continued to rise and settle around the ship. Though it halted the progress of his mission, there was real beauty in the mist. If only he knew the answer to the man’s question. His face clouded over.

  “You are speaking to the wrong man, Sir Thomas.”

  There was silence. Even though her name had not been mentioned yet, this was the closest the two had ever come to discussing Caroline.

  “You are the last of your brothers to wed.” Sir Thomas was determined.

  John turned and looked at him. “That’s true.”

  “If you truly believe what you’ve just said, then what is it that’s
held you back? Marriage, by all accounts, suits the Macphersons well. They seem to be among those exceptions you speak of. They seem to be among the happy few.” The elder warrior’s eyes were piercing. “So why not you?”

  The Highlander paused. He wanted to give a quick answer and put the man’s mind at ease. But he couldn’t. How could he speak of the happiness that he saw in his own brothers’ marriages without sounding envious of their great joy?

  He could have asked Caroline to be his wife. Many thought he would. Their intermittent affair had lasted nearly seven years. But still, when it had come to the end, when she’d demanded an answer, taking her as wife was a choice he couldn’t make. He’d let her go.

  She was not Fiona, nor was she Elizabeth. Those women whom John’s brothers had been fortunate enough to wed were rare creatures, and the Highlander knew it. Caroline was not like them, and what had existed between the two of them was far different from what he had seen in his family. They shared their moments of physical passion, sure enough, but real love had never been within their grasp. And passion with Caroline was not a particularly suitable subject of discussion, at the moment.

  “My answer,” John said at last, “is that I have not felt...inclined to marry. Not yet.”

  “Then no second thoughts?” Sir Thomas asked quietly.

  John met his direct gaze. Surprisingly, there was no hostility in the man’s honest face. John knew it was his right to ask.

  “None. None at all.”

  The loud squawk of a seabird somewhere overhead brought the elder woman back to the present.

  Isabel leaned forward, hiding a wince and looking concernedly at her niece. My God, she thought, what had she done? The torn and bloodied cloak that was draped over the young woman was in better shape than the creature within. Isabel looked at a bruise on Maria’s forehead, and the new one on her chin. She saw the pale skin and bloodless lips. Maria’s eyes had lost their shine and had taken on a vacant look. She could hardly believe this was the same princess and queen, the same woman renowned for such flawless beauty. Isabel inwardly cursed herself for seeking out the child, for suggesting that if she was so unhappy, then she should go against her brother’s will in the matter of this senseless marriage. Isabel cursed herself for putting her niece into the position of dying on this floating nightmare.

  Charles, where are you? she called out silently. For once in your life, react with some decisiveness to your aunt’s foolishness. Come after us, my boy. Come after your sister. Come, Charles.

  When she broke the silence, her tone was decidedly softer.

  “Oh, Maria. I do wish I could be of some help. Surely, one of the other longboats from our galleon will be catching up to us soon.”

  Maria’s eyes shot up at once at Isabel’s change of tone.

  “I’d like to think so, too. But we’ve been rowing in this fog for hours now.” She looked around her. “We don’t have any idea where we are or where we’re going.”

  “Don’t be silly, child.” Isabel chided. “You’ve been keeping us on a course as straight as an arrow shot. A very good job indeed, considering it is your first time at this sort of thing. We should land in Denmark anytime now.”

  Maria smiled weakly in the direction of her aunt. “Or England in about a month!”

  “Now, child.” Isabel scolded half-heartedly while trying to peer through the dense mist.

  Maria watched her aunt’s expression. At last she showed signs of awareness, her complaints silenced. For the first time since disaster had found them, it seemed that Isabel was seeing the real danger. In the pandemonium on the burning ship, the men lowering the longboats amidst shouts and panic, there had been no time to think. They had spotted the French warship less than a day out of Antwerp, and then the chase had been on. Their mistake had been flying the Spanish flag. The flag of the Silver Fleet. That had given the French motive enough to attack. Every pirate and privateer in the German Sea knew of the treasure troves of silver and gold that the Spaniards were bringing back by the shipload from the New World.

  At the first exchange of cannon fire, the captain had turned their small ship in an effort to flee to the north, hoping the open seas and the high winds would give them the edge. But he had been wrong. The French ship had been faster. From that point on, everything in Maria’s mind tumbled together in a whirlwind of action. Shots, swords, screaming men. Blood. She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder and wiped away the tears that were stinging her eyes and spilling over.

  “I am sorry, Maria.”

  The younger woman stopped her rowing and looked at her aunt.

  “I am sorry for this. For bringing you with me.” Isabel slumped backward and looked skyward. “At my age, you would think I should have more wisdom, more insight into the demons running loose in the world.”

  “But you do, Isabel. I value your wisdom.”

  She turned her gaze back to her niece and smiled gently. “I should not have tried to interfere in your future. I should have left you to the comforts of the life that you have always been accustomed to.”

  Maria leaned over the oars and tried to get closer to the older woman. This was not the aunt she had always known talking. This was fear of what lay ahead. Thoughts of the end. “Don’t say these things to me, Isabel. You and I both know what you did was right.”

  “But it wasn’t. Can’t you see?” she cried. “This is the final proof of it. Do you know how many times I have sailed between Antwerp and Spain in my life? Hundreds of times. And only once—twenty years ago—did any ship I was on ever come under attack. But this time—”

  “You’ve had good luck in the past. That’s all. My luck is different.” Maria tried to gather all her strength. “My dearest Isabel. We might die here at sea, or we might become fish bait, as you so delicately put it, but know the truth! I would welcome such a death rather than accept once again...so meekly...the life Charles has negotiated for me.”

  “Choosing death over a life as the queen of Scotland!” Isabel rolled her eyes. “You are being too dramatic, child.”

  “I am not.” She said matter-of-factly. “This flight...this trip...sailing with you for mother’s castle in Castile. This has been the only thing I have done in my twenty-three years of living that has been of my own free will. It’s not Scotland that is the problem. Do you know how painful it is to have your life planned from the age of three? I have been told whom to befriend and whom not to befriend, what to do and what not to do, where to go and where not to go. Whom to marry to and whom not to marry. And all that...twice!”

  Isabel could not help the smile that broke across her lips.

  “I know, my dear. I know. But all this ordering about you’ve been subjected to—even twice—has never been able to so much as dampen your spirits. Never!”

  “But it has.” Maria couldn’t stop the tears that were rolling down her face. “This time, this second marriage, this desire of Charles to have a Habsburg on every throne in Christendom. This Scottish business...it was my undoing, the stone that crushed me. I cannot go through with it.”

  Isabel just watched. She’d known it. As agreeable and submissive as Maria had always been, who could be surprised that she might not relish the idea of marrying a second time? And once again to an adolescent, sixteen year old king. The idea was unthinkable. To everyone except Charles, that is. He could not see the match as dismal, but Isabel could. And that’s why she’d come for Maria.

  “If, God willing, we survive this,” Isabel said. “You know that your brother will come after you, don’t you? If we are lucky enough to reach Castile, he’ll lay siege to your mother’s castle, if need be.”

  Maria nodded. “Of course. He’ll expect me to honor his agreement. To go through with this dreadful marriage.”

  “What will you do then, child?” Isabel asked. “We must decide on our plan.”

  As she continued to pull on the oars, Maria watched the blood trickling from her hand and dripping blackly onto the gray wool of her dress. She c
ould not and would not go to Scotland. She would refuse to marry James V. She would disobey her clever, manipulative brother.

  “I will become insane. They will see that I have become what my mother was before me. They call her Juana the Mad. Before I’m through, they’ll give me the same title. It will be quite believable. Like mother, like daughter. I will rant and rave and howl at the moon. I’ll out-Herod Herod in my madness. I’ll tear at my dresses, weave bones in my hair, and run naked in the rain.”

  There was silence. Maria looked up and saw the wide-eyed expression of her aunt. Isabel was trying to speak, but no words left her mouth. Only a strange croaking sound. Maria watched her mouth open and close again.

  “What, aunt?”

  “Run!” Isabel’s voice was a raw whisper. “Run like mad.”

  Maria’s head snapped around only to see a huge ship looming just yards away, rising up out of the fog like some ghostly apparition. She had never seen a ship this large. But by the time her weary brain could register the reason for her aunt’s fear, it was too late. The small float crashed forcefully against the ship’s black hull.

  Maria had forgotten to stop rowing.

  She was no sailor.

  Chapter 3

  Like a snake striking out at his prey, the sailor’s line shot out toward the pitching longboat.

  The small craft bobbed helplessly at the ship’s side. Aboard the Great Michael, a crowd of seamen lined the rail and hung from the rigging, straining for a clear look through the thick, concealing mists, ready for action. The occupants of the longboat made no move to board the larger ship, and the Scottish sailors waited impatiently, casting quick, questioning glances at their master for their next move.

  “Where in hell did that boat come from?” John Macpherson exploded, pushing through the rugged throng.