Beltane

By Christine Malec

In 1558 a young French woman sets out for Scotland with her servant/companion, to fulfill a bargain made by others: but all is not as it seems. Colin McLean has something her family wants, and they have something he wants. Caught in the schemes of others more powerful than she is, Margarete is forced to look for the sources of her own power.
Taking a catholic wife is no light matter for a Scottish landowner, nor is Colin eager to give up his freedom. However, Margarete’s odd mix of innocence and sensuality intrigues him. Why does an inexperienced girl make him feel as though he’s with an awakened woman?
Margarete knows why, but she also knows how dangerous it could be if anyone ever found out, and not just for herself. She has sworn an oath, and this loyalty is the one reliable bond that will carry her through dramatic changes and traumatic events.
This is a powerful tale of love and sensuality, loyalty and pleasure, religion and outlawry, empowerment and speculation. Songs are sung; stories are told. In the nearly self-sufficient community of the rural castle that is now Margarete’s home, she learns to inhabit her own power. In the intellectual turmoil of the Protestant Reformation, she finds space to test her own beliefs. Confronted with violence and the threat of losing what she values most, she finds resolve, and the strength to do what honour demands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Malec
• Release date: Feb 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9780991897506

Christine Malec

I’ve loved writing ever since I was a kid. Both as a writer and a reader, I’m drawn by the lure of escape, either into the past or the future. I like to speculate about humanity at a distance: what things about us are consistent across time and culture? I've amused myself for years writing: short stories, rhyming verse, and the occasional article. I have been a practising Massage Therapist since 1995,and I do occasional editing and transcribing work, which satisfies my love of bringing order to chaos. I play guitar, and can occasionally be spotted busking here and there around Toronto, mostly singing other people’s songs. I love to cook, do yoga regularly, and enjoy long walks in all weather. I love the variety afforded by the different types of work I do. I feel that each area helps me cultivate skills that become relevant in the others.

Book preview

BELTANE

CHRISTINE MALEC

Copyright © 2013 by Christine Malec

Smashwords Edition

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

France, 1559

As a port city, Bordeaux teemed with the exotic and unfamiliar. The highly sought-after wines of the region came here to be loaded onto ships that would carry them all over Europe. Ships from the West Indies came to trade sugar and slaves. The city lay at the mouth of the Garonne river, and spread generously over its banks.

Margarete had visited sometimes on feast days. Lise had spent time here too. As their procession of carriages and wagons made its way toward the shore through the bustling streets, their eyes locked. It was here that they had met, and it was an event neither would forget.

They had made a slow progress into Bordeaux from the countryside. Margarete looked at the verdant landscape as they passed: the tall and lush trees, bright flowers, the vast vineyards, and wondered numbly if she would ever see them again, and what manner of person she would be if ever she did.

Lise was also taking a last stock as they moved sedately toward Bordeaux and McNab’s ship. She had come to dwell here only three years ago, so had no deep roots to tear up. Nevertheless, her life here had been a wholly unexpected refuge from an often perilous existence. Fate, impulse, and no little guile had brought her into Margarete’s service. Sometimes, it seemed that her life before was a dream dreamt by another. At other times, it seemed the other way around. Life in Margarete’s home had been tranquil, safe, quiet, often contemplative, Soothing, and enriched by love.

With laudable efficiency, McNab managed the loading of Margarete’s many trunks, and the domestic servants who were to accompany her to her new home. Lise had been given to understand that they would also be carrying a considerable amount of the produce of the vineyards in their hold. Apparently, this had already been attended to, for she and Lise boarded the cog in good order, and their departure was quickly undertaken.

McNab was eager to take advantage of the brisk southeast wind. He warned them that their journey would, naturally, depend a great deal on the vicissitudes of the wind, and that unplanned stopovers in French or English ports might be required if the winds were not favourable.

The sun shone as Margarete and Lise stood together on the deck, alternatively watching the coast they were leaving, and the vast blue of the water ahead. Lise saw that Margarete’s hand trembled slightly as it rested on the rail. She put her own atop it, giving a reassuring squeeze.

It is exciting is it not? We will soon know how vulnerable each of us is to the water sickness!

I have been on water craft before, Margarete replied a little breathlessly, And not only on the river, in the sea also, and I was never taken ill.

Lise had heard her say the same thing many times, but knew her mistress spoke to bolster her own courage.

We are neither of us delicate, Lise said practically, willing to keep up frivolous talk to distract Margarete from sadness or anxiety. We shall be healthy as horses. She immediately regretted her simile, thinking of the black mare Nuit, of whom Margarete was, in Lise’s opinion, inordinately fond, and whom Margarete was not likely to see again.

Look! she exclaimed enthusiastically, A Spanish galleon! I wonder what her business is in Bordeaux? Collecting wines no doubt. I like to look at all of the sails, they are like a forest are they not?

The cry of gulls and the flap of sails filled their ears. On the air were carried many and varied scents, wine, tar, sea life, and the smell that came from ships where many unwashed sailors and passengers (willing and unwilling) were gathered. The sounds were exciting, the scents alarming.

Margarete looked, as Lise had bidden, at the many sails, seeing each as a promise of strangeness. She glanced down at the deck beneath their feet and wondered how they looked, seen from afar. She wondered about who might be standing at the deck of another ship looking about, just as she was. She experienced a brief dizzying curiosity about where all of these people were going and why. Were they glad? apprehensive like herself? maybe filled with joy in anticipation of a reunion, or heartbroken at a parting?

Such speculation quickly became overwhelming and made her feel panicky. Seeking distraction, she looked up at their own sails. There were two, the foresail rectangular and the aft triangular. She saw that they were attached to the mast, but also to beams and ropes that held them away from the mast. As she watched the crew manipulate them, she knew a less perilous curiosity about their operation. During the sea voyage, she would ask McNab to explain it to her.

In the way that her mood had done so often of late, her feelings turned again from panic to excitement. Around her, the world seemed to stretch endlessly, full of awesome sights, mysterious processes, forces not yet grasped.

She turned her hand under Lise’s and clasped the other woman’s tightly in her excitement; their eyes met. Margarete had no words for her feeling, but Lise saw and was glad. She loved Margarete’s vitality, so vividly expressed in eye and carriage. Margarete was her most beautiful to Lise at moments like this, when the younger woman seemed to thrum with life and vigour. Lise felt her own excitement rise. She knew little more of what awaited them than Margarete. Nevertheless, three years was, after all, a long time in one place.

Their first night at sea was not comfortable. From courtesy, they had been given the cabin in the sterncastle. By ship’s standards, Margarete and Lise supposed it must be luxurious; it was usually McNab’s. To them however, used to spacious and airy rooms, it was small, cramped, stuffy and disturbingly unstill. Somehow, they felt the motion of the ship far more inside it than out.

Stimulated and anxious, they each slept restlessly. The creaking and groaning noises of a ship under sail were new to them, and vaguely alarming, no matter what they told themselves.

They clung to one another gratefully in the darkness behind the closed door, wordless, but conscious of their own and each other’s tension.

Dawn found them awake and on deck. McNab approached to find them gazing eastward. He would have bade them a good morning, but he saw their faces, and forbore. Each woman wore an expression of awe. He understood at once. They were seeing, probably for the first time, a sunrise at sea.

There were a few clouds, but the sky was mostly a clear, fragile blue. The dazzling colours were reflected in the water, and made a shifting and rippling panoply of wonder that took the breath away.

Being used to it, McNab was less affected. He stood quietly, taking in not only the beautiful dawn display, but also the reactions of his passengers. He felt a possessive pride, as though he were somehow responsible for the incredible vista. He enjoyed witnessing anyone of sensitivity perceiving this view for the first time.

He saw that Margarete’s lips moved, uttering silent words. She crossed herself with what seemed to McNab great reverence. He was not given to religious expression himself, nor were most of his customary associates. He had seen many displays of devotion in his life of course, but he thought that he had never seen one so genuine.

When at last the two women noticed him there, it was as though they had all three shared an unspoken intimacy. After a moment in which the breeze picked up and began to gently flap the sails, McNab bade them good morning. Lise replied graciously, but Margarete was silent.

Lise kept up light talk with the Captain, knowing from experience that her mistress would be reticent for some time yet. It was always so when Margarete experienced strong emotion, or something new, which moved her. She would be almost mute, sometimes for hours, while her spirit absorbed the new or powerful feeling. She might or might not speak of it afterwards, but to converse with her before this inner process was complete, was to seek discourse with a tree or a wall. Indulgently, Lise guided Margarete toward breakfast.

Margarete found the first few days at sea delightful. The motion of the ship did not trouble her after the first night, and she found the sight of the water stretching out around them oddly comforting. McNab smiled indulgently at this, and kept his own counsel about possible rough weather ahead.

With Lise by her side, Margarete enjoyed the suspended feeling of being between her old home and her new. All of her possessions were contained on this ship, which carried them smoothly atop the water. With a careful mental balance, she could dismiss thoughts of past and future as though each was washed away by the lapping waves.

Gradually, through brief glimpses, Margarete became aware of the presence of someone on the ship for whom she could not account. The man was sufficiently well dressed that she knew him not to be a member of the crew. Likewise, she knew that he was not a member of her household. She could tell, even before she heard him speak, that he was neither French nor Scottish. Only when she heard him converse with McNab, however, did she identify him definitely as Italian, and likely from Milan. Margarete had spent several summers as the guest of her Aunt Clotilde in that city, and had picked up a fair bit of the language.

McNab’s grasp of it was obviously adequate, and he was the only one Margarete ever saw the stranger converse with. When she asked McNab about him, the Captain replied casually that the man was a Milanese locksmith whom the Lord Colin had requested to have engaged in order to do some fine work at Colin’s castle. Margarete wondered what the Lord Colin had to lock up. Was he so wealthy as that?

Out of courtesy for the strange man’s isolation, she spoke pleasantly to him on several occasions. Unhelpfully for her curiosity, elaborate compliments on her beauty, and the suitability of an ocean climate to her complexion were all she received in response.

McNab gradually became less intimidating to Margarete, and she greatly enjoyed sitting on deck during sunny afternoons listening to his traveller’s tales. There was a chess board to hand, and McNab and Lise would play. Margarete disliked the game, but played when asked, and watched dutifully, trying to learn. She had little skill, but Lise continued to aver that a good grasp of chess served one well in other endeavours. McNab smiled at this, but forbore to comment.

Sometimes, she and Lise would sing duets together as they were wont to do at home. Entranced, the crew made little pretence, and would hover as near as their duties permitted, enjoying both the pleasing harmony of their voices, and the unconscious intimacy of their expressions. Sometimes, Lise would read aloud. It was rare to have women aboard, and the aristocratic passengers were the subject of much curiosity and secret scrutiny.

The fly in the ointment of these gentle days was Etienne. As the clerk of her eldest brother Guy, he was along as Guy’s representative. Disliking Etienne though they did, both Margarete and Lise could not help but be relieved to be spared the presence of either Guy or her brother Louis on this voyage. Privately, Lise thought it disgraceful that neither young man could tear himself away from his unwholesome pursuits to accompany their sister. Their disregard for Margarete, though often convenient to both women, rankled with Lise.

Both women found Etienne’s manner irritating, and his person displeasing. He was a fussy, unadventurous man, pale of complexion, small of eye, and overly fond of rules and decorum.

During their first pleasant days at sea as they navigated through the Bay of Biscay, he subjected Margarete to several didactic discourses on the topics of wifely virtue, and a woman’s role in a household. Unfortunately, his advice was all theoretical and highly elevated. That is to say it was replete with axioms, but utterly lacking in such useful topics as managing a larder, or handling an intractable husband.

Alone in their cabin at night, Margarete would entertain Lise with spirited recreations of these lectures, producing highly amusing imitations of Etienne’s precise manner of speaking, and the way his small mouth puckered when he was trying to choose just the right rounded phrase to describe the nature of wifely duty.

Though she did not speak of it, Margarete rose at dawn each morning, to stand quietly at the rail and greet the day. Sometimes Lise joined her there, sometimes not. McNab saw her often, but kept a discrete distance. He liked to watch her though. Her carriage was flawless, her young profile clean edged in the morning light. Sometimes, he would try to position himself to glimpse her face. He experienced the profound intensity of her expression as very moving. It recalled something of his own youth to him, and caused him to develop a quiet affection for her.

Though present at the rail at each dawn, Margarete would often return to the cabin afterwards. In the way common to the young, she preferred long sleep, and, on this rare voyage, free from almost all supervision or regular routine, (such as it had been at home) she indulged her desire to stay abed well into the morning. As he had hoped, this allowed McNab ample opportunity for conversation with her attendant.

Though he found Lise reticent about her own past, she was engagible on many subjects. They spoke of music, of popular entertainers, of different French and Italian cities and their attractions. He found her knowledgeable, though not boastful. He would recall some vivid experience in a notable venue in Paris or Marseilles or Milan, and she would reply with an easy remark that showed her familiarity with it. When he gently probed for more information, she would say only that she had travelled rather widely in her situation before becoming attendant to Margarete. He was intrigued, but stymied.

They spoke of politics and religion. They compared their experiences both of hypocritical and venial clergy, and fiery speeches made by avid Reformers.

Great changes are happening all over Europe, he remarked, And it’s difficult tae see the end o them.

I cannot think the entire Roman church will simply fall or be swept away, she replied confidently.

Nae, but it’ll nae sit doon quietly wi out a fight. They’ve got a great deal o land and property tae protect. They’ll cushion this truth behind rhetoric and dogma, but it’s nae all aboot matters o the spirit, make nae mistake.

Lise admired his plain speech. Which way do you lean in this great debate? she enquired.

I’m a sailor, and we go where the wind goes. I’m a Trader, and we look tae our business interests first, and our souls second.

She raised her eyebrows.

What I mean is that my choice in such matters is governed more by pragmatism than doctrine. Matters o the soul are between myself and God. All else is negotiable. Perhaps in that, I’m in sympathy wi the Reformers, but I haena interest in reforming, only in steering as clear as I may from the kind o strife that loses traders their goods, or mariners their safe ports.

She did not fail to notice the tightening around his mouth. She kept silence, waiting for him to elaborate.

Scotland’s ruled officially by Marie o Guise, the Queen Dowager, a staunch Papist. More and more, the people are turning tae the Reformer’s ways. My main trading base is in Perth, and the Burgesses and Town Council hae declared themselves on the side o the Reformers. They say they wish for nae violence, but I’ve lived long enough tae ken what a rabble’s capable o, and the Queen Regent’s nae one tae sit passive while the country continues tae turn away from Rome. There’s trouble coming, mark my words.

Lise also knew what mobs were capable of. Her alarm must have shown in her face, for he backtracked quickly, recalling that he should not be frightening this woman.

The Lord Colin’s castle is far removed from any danger, he said in swift reassurance. Like me, he has little interest in embroiling himself in this discord. Ye and your Lady will be completely protected from any unrest.

Lise frowned. I will not speak over much of this to Margarete, for she has enough to absorb her thoughts at present. I hope, however, that you and I may always speak frankly to one another. I hope that you will not temper your words or opinion for my ears. I take it as my most important duty to protect my mistress. The best way for me to do this is to know as much as I might about events that might affect us. More, she smiled a little mischievously, I am accustomed to keeping abreast of doings in the wider world. I would like to count you as a friend who will speak honestly to me of them, even though I be a woman.

He was silent a moment, studying her alert and pleasant face with renewed interest. So it shall be then, he said levelly, but his lively eyes smiled. "Perth is one o the few walled cities in Scotland. I think that if, when trouble comes, it may be centred there. I hae heard that the rabid Reformer John Knox is, even now, on his way back to Scotland after many years of exile on the Continent, where he has been steeped in the ideas of the Reformers.

When we reach Perth, I intend to begin the shipment of such goods as I have stored there to warehouses I keep in Dundee and Sterling. Perhaps such caution is unnecessary, but a successful Merchant learns to watch political unrest closely.

And which way will your employer lean in this coming strife?

The Lord Colin and I are alike in our pragmatism. He is nae one to speak o matters o the spirit, but in matters o finance, he’ll likely go the way of least resistance.

There was a long silence. And what of all the nuns and monks? Lise asked unexpectedly.

I beg your pardon?

What will become of all the gentle and inoffensive folk who find shelter in the convents and monasteries? What will be their fate when those institutions are sacked, and their assets divided among the new church, or greedy noblemen? Her expression was suddenly reflective and sad, and he gazed at her in some surprise, not responding immediately.

Seeing his discomfiture, she said a little wearily, I know well that many such institutions are the dens of lechers, hypocrites and ill doers, But I have met many kind and gentle Sisters who, if not deeply religious, are good and caring. There are many who have found refuge in the clerical life. Sometimes, that is the only refuge open to the weak or the vulnerable. What will become of those people?

I dinna ken, he said simply.

Another reflective silence fell. Finally, he said, Perhaps the Reformers really will create a better society in which the weak and vulnerable needna hide themselves behind Abbey walls, but may find charity and safety in the wider world, where they can live wi integrity.

He spoke seriously, but her lips twisted with cynicism. Do you believe that?

Nae, he replied flatly.

Nor I.

Just then, Margarete emerged from the cabin, failing to hide a wide yawn discretely behind her hand. She approached them as her gaze swept the deck and the sea and sky beyond.

I never tire of looking at the varying colours in the water! she exclaimed delightedly. I had no idea it would be so beautiful.

McNab smiled at her. We are fortunate tae hae enjoyed such fine weather thus far. His expression lightened. Your attendant has just been telling me that you are, in fact, not fond of chess at all. You have merely been being polite to play me so often.

Margarete blushed and glanced reprovingly at Lise. It is not that I dislike it, she temporized, Only that I find it very challenging, and fear to bore my opponents by taking so long to consider my moves.

Lise smiled, enjoying Margarete’s innate good manners, which could find a courteous rejoinder in any situation.

That afternoon, the sky clouded over and the sea became choppy. By evening, the wind had risen and the seas roughened further. Huddled in their cabin, Margarete began again to feel apprehensive. The next morning dawned grey. The ship was even more wave tossed, and Margarete did not leave their cabin to perform her customary devotions at the eastern rail.

McNab knocked on the cabin door, and Lise opened it to see his pleasant, slightly lined face looking mildly concerned.

This weather might nae develop intae anything much, but it’s getting rougher, and I’d suggest that ye and your mistress stay in the cabin, lest ye be injured by slipping on the wet and tilting deck.

Thank you, Lise replied calmly, We will do so.

They tried to pass the time first with needlework, then with reading as the movement of the ship made such work too difficult. Finally, Margarete flung down her book and stood up restlessly, making an unsteady progress around the small space. Lise saw the strain in her expression and the tension in her body.

I do not like this rough weather, Margarete said through gritted teeth. A little movement was pleasant, and I enjoy a storm well enough on land, but the ship suddenly seems so fragile! Her voice rose slightly with the beginning of panic.

Do you feel ill?

No, not in the way of mal de mare. She put a hand to her stomach. I am not ill, but… A particularly large heave of the water set the deck to tilting, and Margarete stumbled. Lise caught her and held her, feeling the shaking of her body.

Come, Lise said bracingly, "Perhaps fresh air will hearten you. She pulled Margarete toward the door and opened it, thinking that perhaps the confined space of the cabin was adding to Margarete’s anxiety.

A powerful wind had risen, and a light rain was being blown over the deck. Grey clouds scudded across the sky, and the sea did look rather menacing even to Lise. The sails flapped madly as the crew trimmed them.

Far from calming Margarete, this vista increased her fear. She gasped, and a pitiful moan escaped her as she clung to Lise, who attempted to draw her back into the shelter of the cabin.

Lise knew that Margarete was possessed of courage, but her youth, and the rapid changes that were taking place in her life had left her vulnerable. Lise could see that Margarete was close to losing her composure completely. Lise guided the younger woman carefully to a sitting position on the floor, from which there was nowhere to fall. She collected what cushions and blankets were available, and tried to make them as comfortable as possible. Margarete’s eyes were enormous in her pale face, and her hands clutched spasmodically at Lise. Just as Lise was about to sit down with her and take her into a protective embrace, there was a sharp rap on the door.

Lise cursed softly. Margarete, she said in a harsh tone meant to penetrate the other woman’s panic. Turn from the door so that your face cannot be seen. Hold this cushion tightly and make no sound.

Lise made a clumsy way to the cabin door, bracing herself on stationary objects to keep her footing. McNab stood there, holding onto the door casing, his hair and clothing damp from the rain, his expression serious, but not excessively troubled.

It looks like we’re in for some rough weather, he said, rather unnecessarily Lise thought. I wished tae come see that ye and your mistress are secure. I dinna think it’ll get much worse than this, but ye’ll be best tae stay here till the worst is past. I’ll hae food brought tae ye. Does your mistress fare well?

When he would have peered past her into the small cabin, Lise shifted her position slightly to shield Margarete from his gaze.

Oh yes, Lise said blithely. we both think it a great adventure. We thank you for guarding our well-being so carefully. We both trust you to guide us safely through any weather.

Such decorous glibness came easily to Lise after three years in the home of Margarete’s family. As Lise closed the door gratefully on his retreating back, she hoped that he had not been able to see the future wife of his employer huddled and quaking with fear.

She returned to Margarete, and gathered the shivering girl in her arms. Do not fear so, she said consolingly. McNab says it will be no worse than this, and he did not look concerned. It’s all right.

Margarete continued to quiver with fear, and Lise found, to her mild alarm, that Margarete was weeping with some hysteria. Poor thing, Lise thought, so much had happened to her in the past months. As she held and soothed Margarete, Lise was profoundly glad that this temporary collapse should happen in private.

The night was long, and sleep difficult. Eventually, they both fell into a fitful doze, from which they woke with the coming of the first light to find that the rough weather had passed. Margarete rose and, moving with great caution, left the cabin. Lise was awake, but gave no indication, sensing from her mistress’s demeanour that Margarete wished to be alone.

Clouds still hung above them, but the wind had dropped, and the sea was calm. To the east, a clear blue showed between the clouds and the horizon. Margarete stood at the rail and gazed out over the water to the distant darkness of land, and the increasing brightness of the sun, not yet visible except for its light. In the still morning, she felt ashamed of her descent into panic and fear.

Automatically, she took her mother’s rosary between her hands and began to pass the beads through her fingers while her mind recited the prayers. As the rote words followed each other through her consciousness, her eyes were fixed on the eastern horizon. Though the rhythm of the words was not broken, their procession slowed in her mind as the sky began to be suffused with colour and brightness. It seemed to her that the vividness of colour and the consuming light entered her. A hollow place inside her was gradually filled with brilliance. She felt as though the brightness was somehow communicating with her. She lost awareness of her physical surroundings, and was filled with reverence.

Lise emerged from the cabin some time later, but not until she saw Margarete stir, and replace the rosary in a fold of her robe did she approach. She stood beside Margarete and admired the morning sky.

I am sorry to have…, to have so lost my composure last night. I know I will soon be a married woman, and must learn to discipline myself more fully.

Do not trouble yourself over it. Everyone is frightened sometimes, even married women.

Margarete smiled as McNab approached, looking remarkably dapper for a man who had spent the last eighteen hours guiding a cog through rough weather. To their not very secret amusement, Lise and Margarete learned that Etienne had spent virtually the entire spate of rough weather vomiting alternately into a bucket or over the rail.

Oh, said Margarete softly, in a tone of gentle concern, transparent to both Lise and McNab, I do hope he did not despoil any of his garments. I know how he values his fastidious appearance. The three of them smothered their laughter, finding it politic to keep their scorn strictly among themselves.

McNab told them that, while the going had been stormy, the wind had been from the right quarter to speed them on their way. They were further along on their voyage than he had forecast. As they fared northwest approaching Brittany, McNab steered a course far away from land on each side, owing to the strong tides which might have pushed them too far in. This meant that, for the first time, they were completely out of sight of land.

The first morning Margarete observed this from her position at the rail facing east, she was troubled, and felt panic creeping back into her spirit. She took longer than usual at her prayers that morning, and when McNab approached to proffer morning greetings, she still felt uneasy.

Seeing the tension on her face, he guessed its source at once. Does it trouble ye tae be oot a sight o land My Lady?

She blinked. Yes, it does, she replied cautiously. I have grown used to the water, even to enjoy it, and its colours are exquisite. To be fully out of sight of land is disturbing however.

McNab smiled kindly. I hae come tae like it. O course, I consult the astrolabe and charts regularly, and ken our position well, but when ye look aboot and see only water stretching in all directions, I think how we could be anywhere yet nowhere! He gestured broadly to the wide expanse of water stretching to the far horizon. This could be the waters adjacent tae the New World, or the warm waters o the South Pacific, or some unexplored sea that we’ll chart for the first time!

His enthusiasm was infectious, and she liked the idea of being anywhere or nowhere. It evoked the sense she had had soon after their departure of being between the past and the future. She smiled at him.

Thank you, I will try to think of it that way. She tried, and was sometimes able to feel their seeming remoteness as a unique gift. At other times, especially when falling asleep at night, she experienced the featureless vastness of water as faintly threatening.

They passed safely by Brittany, but they paid for the boost the strong wind had given them by having to wait at Dover several days for the right wind. All were glad to sail again. As they once more moved out of sight of land between England and the Low Countries, where the risk posed by sand banks was especially great, Margarete was so grateful to be under sail instead of floating motionless in a foreign port, that she barely minded the emptiness of the horizon.

They then headed northward. Gradually, McNab brought them into sight of land, which was the English coast. Etienne and the Milanese Fiore paid little heed to their progress, but Margarete and Lise spent much time on deck asking McNab to identify the landmarks they passed. Both women shared a curious nature, and Margarete enjoyed the sound of the foreign names, even if they did not belong to the country where she would soon be resident.

They peered at what McNab called the County of Kent, looking very low and green, as they passed. There then came a long stretch of open water, which he told them was the estuary of the River Thames. He told them that it led up to the city of London, but at this distance, only an expanse of grey sea was apparent. After this was a prominent jut of land that McNab identified as East Anglia. Tacking slightly westward, they followed the English coast, passing the Tyne estuary, and, according to McNab, many towns and regions that they could not see. Margarete liked to repeat their names to herself, enjoying their unfamiliar sounds: Durham; New Castle; Yorkshire.

Each day Margarete became more nervously aware that the end of their sea voyage was near. The sky was clear when they passed the Forth estuary. McNab told them that the great walled city of Edinburgh lay on its southern bank, but that they would not be able to see it until they were well passed. It lies in a recess o the river bank, and it’s nae till we’ve well passed it that ye’ll see it behind us. O course all ye’ll really see is its smoke. Being a walled city, folk are packed right close inside, and the smoke from their coal fires is visible far off.

At last, they tended even more westward, rounded the town of St. Andrew’s, and began their slow progress up the River Tay, passing Dundee on its northern bank. Strange though their sea voyage had been, Margarete could not help dreading their arrival in Perth, which would signal the beginning of the last leg of their journey.

To her surprise, however, their arrival in Perth proved most congenial. McNab had a very comfortable dwelling there where he hosted them lavishly. He said he had several matters to attend to before accompanying them on the overland journey to Colin’s castle. He was gone from the house for long periods at a time, and Lise and Margarete enjoyed their relative privacy, and the fact that the floors were motionless and dry. They also were pleased to learn that, though spacious, McNab’s house was insufficient to support more than one noble guest, so Etienne was accommodated in Perth’s finest inn.

The two women attended services at St. John’s, admiring the tall spire, but privately disparaging the crudity of the architecture compared to the cathedrals and abbeys in Bordeaux. In company with one of McNab’s household employees, they toured the market places with interest, inspecting with great curiosity the woollens woven in intricate patterns of colour, the linens, and the fine leather work and raw wool that would be exported. They were both delighted by a linen underskirt dyed in a rich and vivid sea green. Lise was particularly taken with the colour, and Margarete purchased it for her with some of the small amount of silver she had been given on her departure from Bordeaux. When Margarete admired the bright red roofs so common on the more prosperous buildings, McNab’s man told them that the tiles came from Holland and Denmark, and were used as ballast in trade ships. They heard often the news that John Knox was, at that very moment, on his way back to his native Scotland. As McNab had explained to Lise, Perth was strongly on the side of the reformers, and Knox’s return was greeted with great anticipation.

McNab returned early in the evening of a day near the end of April to find Lise reading by lamplight in his drawing room. She greeted him politely, but was obviously somewhat distracted. Curious, he approached to see what held her attention. She turned the pages so that he could see the title, The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women.

He sighed. One o Knox’s more passionate tracts, he said judiciously.

Lise arched her eyebrows. Indeed. Is this man married?

Aye.

I pity his wife.

McNab snorted with laughter. He greatly enjoyed Lise’s wit. I’ll wager it’s his whores who truly deserve pity.

Lise let out a full-throated laugh of surprised amusement. She seldom heard such coarse jests from men anymore, and even less seldom were they so incisive.

One would think that a good tactician would take allies where ever he might, Lise reflected. This Knox seems determined to scorn Elizabeth of England, even though she be a Protestant ruler of a powerful nation, merely because of her sex. If I understand the tenants of the new religion properly, it teaches that all approach God as equals, none superior in virtue before him either because of rank, or the intervention of Earthly clerics. If this be so, wouldn’t a female Protestant ruler be just as worthy of respect and obedience as a male?

McNab poured wine for them and sat down facing her. "Reason would say so, but the affairs o men are seldom governed by reason alone. One thing I hae noticed, especially in travelling on the Continent where these changes are much further along, is that, nae matter what doctrine teaches, decisions are based mainly on the prejudices o folk, nae on principles.

As a trader, I deal wi merchants and crafts folk from many guilds. I hae seen many a widow or daughter or sister just as capable and knowledgeable as any man, sometimes more. My own wife was a great help in my affairs. She was a partner in my work, and I miss her sorely yet, though it’s been two years since her passing.

His gaze clouded briefly, but he shrugged sadly and continued. And yet, men like Knox preach nonsense like that. He gestured to the tract Lise still held. Martin Luther himself taught respect and elevation for women, but that part o his teaching is largely ignored because folk dinna wish tae hae their basic prejudices challenged. Oh, they’ll gladly dispense wi clerical interventions and greedy bishops, they’ll sack churches and despoil icons, but ask them tae truly examine something as basic as the place o women in society and… Well, despoiling icons is aboot as far as most men care tae go.

We have heard much lively talk in the markets here, Lise said. What do you think will happen?

McNab did not answer for a long time. He studied her carefully, and she looked back levelly, with no entreaty in her face. Either he would speak truth to her or he would not.

Finally he spoke, his voice low and serious. Dinna distress your mistress, but I think trouble will come here. Perth, as ye ken, is filled wi the reforming spirit. When Knox arrives, it is here he’s likely tae come. He advocates a peaceful transition, but I hae doots. Nor am I the only one. Perth is walled as ye ken, so if the Regent, Marie o Guise, chooses tae object tae Knox or his preaching, he and his followers will be properly placed tae defend themselves. I hae been spending these days arranging for my goods to be removed to warehouses in Dundee, and attempting tae persuade certain skilled tradesmen that the best course is tae allow me tae arrange likewise for their removal. Perhaps I’m too cautious…

Or perhaps you’re skilled at judging which way the wind will blow.

McNab smiled at her nautical metaphor. Perhaps so. Regardless, I plan for our departure in a few days. I dinna wish tae tarry over long.

Lise frowned. And how do matters stand in the countryside?

All o Perthshire supports the reformers. Ye must understand, the Scots church is one o the most corrupt in all Europe. Many parishes dinna even hae a priest tae marry or bury folk. Many o those as do hae a priest, must make due wi one who’s barely literate, and, if he can recite the mass in Latin, certainly canna interpret it for his congregation. Folk are taxed tae support the clerics, but many receive little spiritual guidance in return. Such tumult as occurs in cities rarely boils so in the countryside however. I tell ye true when I say ye haena cause for worry, at least for your bodily safety. If ye or your mistress are devout, and hae strong ties o allegiance tae Rome, well, that’ll be for your mistress tae negotiate wi her husband.

Lise blinked, still not yet accustomed to the idea of Margarete as a wife, and not at ease with it.

McNab saw, but only partly understood. The Lord Colin is a fine man, he said reassuringly. I hae spoken little o him tae your Lady, and she hasna asked me, but I’ll tell ye that he’ll be a fine husband. He’s got his wild ways o course, but he kens well how tae make himself adored by the lasses, and that is usually a good quality in a husband. His eyes sparkled with mischief, a look Lise could not help but return.

Still, she raised enquiring eyebrows. Again, McNab understood her unasked question. He is very much a man in the prime o life, but he’ll ken how tae act in order tae preserve the dignity and honour due tae his wife.

McNab could have no idea of the many facets of Lise’s unease. She and Margarete were well used to acting circumspectly, and since leaving home, they had been careful to refrain from any conduct that would be deemed unseemly, even when alone. It had been difficult, but both felt the constraint of strange surroundings, and the scrutiny of strange people.

And how fares your mistress this evening? McNab enquired politely.

Very well. She enjoys a great deal of sleep, surely you noted this aboard ship. She is sleeping in her chamber, but I will wake her for the evening meal soon.

A few days after this conversation, they did indeed set out, at last, on the final leg of their journey. Both women noticed that their party had been augmented greatly both by goods and people. Much of the wine they had carried from Bordeaux had been sold in Perth. Some, however, remained with them to augment Colin’s private store. In addition, they seemed to be carrying a great deal of material whose nature and purpose was not clear to Margarete or Lise.

When they enquired, McNab said airily that Colin’s castle grounds contained many skilled folk who produced almost all goods locally. This meant that some raw materials must be brought up from the coast at regular intervals. When Margarete asked about the several local men who had joined them, McNab, in an equally casual tone, explained that they were guildsmen coming to instruct Colin’s workmen on the latest advances in their craft. His manner was so practiced in confidence and suavity, that Margarete, naive and inexperienced, was completely satisfied with his explanation. Lise, remembering her private conversations with McNab, and taking a good look at the tense faces of the new additions, was not.

She guessed that these were the trades folk whom McNab had been eager to coax away from the potential danger of a turbulent town. What she did not know was why. Nor could she see why these men should be accompanying them through Perthshire to Colin’s castle, rather than accompanying McNab’s trade goods to his alternate bases in Dundee and Sterling. She sensed an undercurrent that she could not understand. It was somehow connected to the Milanese locksmith, but she could make no sense of it.

As they left the walls of the city behind, and the spire of St. John’s Kirk grew smaller in the distance, Margarete felt her spirits lift. Ships and cities were new and, though exciting, were unfamiliar, and mildly to intensely frightening. Now, however, they were embarking on a journey through countryside which, if foreign, was at least countryside. She looked all around her continuously, drinking in the sights of pasture land, farmer’s fields, and the small copses of young trees that dotted the landscape. The feel of a horse beneath her was very welcome, and she reached often to stroke the well curried mane of the chestnut mare.

Their course took them through well cultivated and fertile land. Accustomed to the relatively flat landscape of the Bordeaux region, Margarete often felt breathless at the high hills that rose on the left, and the higher hills that rose on their right. These hills were largely grazed by sheep, and showed woodland only in the distance. In the uncultivated spaces, she saw vivid blue flowers, which she thought might be hyacinths, but that McNab called bluebells. She thought they made a delightful counterpoint to the grey of the cloudy sky.

McNab had said that their journey would take two days. On the evening of the first long day of travel, they stopped at a town McNab identified for them as Dunkeld. He separated Margarete, Lise, Etienne and their baggage from the rest of the pack animals and personnel, and accompanied them to an abbey that abutted the town’s cathedral. As he took a light meal with them, he told them that they would be remaining some days there while he and the rest of the party proceeded to Colin’s castle.

The rivers and waterways are full and fast flowing at this time o year, he explained. I hae been entrusted wi your safety, and that is my top priority. I will scout the best course for ye, see the bulk o the pack animals tae Lord Colin’s castle, then return for ye in four or five days. I hae arranged all wi the Prioress, and ye’ll be well tended here. The country grows rougher from this point, and the Lord Colin has made it clear that haste is far less important than your safe arrival.

Though outwardly gracious, neither woman was content with this arrangement. Lise had come to perceive that McNab was a canny and resourceful man, quite capable of guile when it served his purpose, and she inwardly questioned his courtly speech. Margarete’s spirit had been lightened by their ride through rural Perthshire, and she had counted on the momentum of this lightness to carry her through her arrival at her new home. Now, left to kick her heels in this strange, remote town, her anxiety began to grip her once more. She slept very fretfully that night in the chilly stone chamber she shared with Lise, and was not soothed by the matins that woke the abbey to the new day.

She stood by the window of their chamber, folding and unfolding a square of linen between nervous fingers in the early morning light. Her young body was taught with anxiety beneath her rich gown. Abruptly, she spun around to face Lise who sat calmly stitching at an intricate piece of embroidery.

I must know more of him, she snapped, her brown eyes flashing with impatience. Within the week, I’m to become his bride. My uncle greatly wished me to make this marriage. My father and Guy and Louis all impressed on me how important my husband’s good opinion will be in our family’s fortunes. If I cannot soften his heart enough to open his purse, my family may be reduced to penury! Her voice rose in agitation. How am I to wind him about my finger like yarn, if I know not the fibre from which he is made?

Lise gave a half smile as she replied tranquilly, All men are of much the same fibre when the lamp is extinguished. You are young and shapely, a virgin of good birth. Such a woman has little difficulty in satisfying a man in the bedchamber.

I must do more than simply satisfy him! Margarete exclaimed. She began to pace around the guest accommodation that had been provided by the abbey.

Such things are generally kept from me, but I know that my father’s gambling debts are beyond reason and, before very long, within weeks perhaps, my bridegroom will be entreated to rescue my family’s name. If the Lord Colin is to be persuaded out of so much gold, without even time for a son, I must do more than my simple wifely duty. You say that men are of the same fibre when it comes to desires of the bed, and yet, her pale cheeks flushed slightly, I’ve listened to women’s talk, and not only among serving women. I’ve heard you speak many times of how highly men value pleasures of the bed. Why you yourself were once…

Indeed, though few remember it. Lise’s countenance was unperturbed, and her stitching went on, even as before.

Well, Margarete continued somewhat more diffidently, I have heard that men… men may differ in what they demand from a woman. Can you not tell me, or can we not learn? I have been set the task of giving myself to this man, and influencing him to part with a great deal of wealth on my behalf, most likely sooner rather than later. When men set off for battle, they have been trained in combat. They have scouts to tell them what lies ahead of them. Must I, as a woman, walk defenceless and ignorant into my fate?

Lise continued her stitching, but Margarete could tell by the set of her lips that she had at last caught the older woman’s attention. Lise could see some sense in her mistress’s words, but remained silent, waiting to see what cunning Margarete might bring to bear on her own situation. Lise reflected that such exercise would serve her mistress well, and couldn’t be begun too soon.

Margarete stopped at the window again, her back to it, hands gripping the ledge. Lise admired the lively curves of Margarete’s body set against the grey of the sky. Instead of the thread beneath her fingers, Lise felt that symmetry under her hands in memory. It had been a long voyage.

Of a certainty, Margarete continued excitedly, This Lord Colin is no monk! If he is to be married soon, surely even now he roisters and disports himself with women of easy virtue. Could we not bribe one such to tell me what I need to know?

Lise threw down her embroidery and laughed aloud. Ah My Lady, you have the mind of a Medicis, and the sophistication of a cloistered convent Sister. You cannot simply begin making enquiries of such women regarding the bed habits of the Lord McLean! Such women too often have loose tongues and little discretion.

She rose and came to where Margarete stood. Reaching out, Lise closed the heavy draperies across the window, blocking out the grey sky, and intruding eyes.

My poor little flower, she said lovingly, taking the younger woman into her arms. You are truly distressed, and perhaps you are right to be. For all you are young and inexperienced, much responsibility has been placed on you.

Lise caressed the soft fair hair, so treasured by women of Margarete’s class. Every night she, as Margarete’s favoured attendant, brushed out that feathery cloud and braided it for sleep. Now, she ran her fingers tenderly through it and spoke soft words. Margarete pressed herself against the other woman. She turned her face up to smile fondly at Lise.

They had not embraced so since before their departure from Bordeaux. Quarters on the ship had been unfamiliar, small and, though enclosed, insufficiently private. McNab’s house had afforded more safety, but still they had felt the presence of his servants in a strange place. Though a house of religious refuge, this drafty foreign room had a feeling of familiarity, and a distinct sense of privacy. As honoured and noble guests, they would not be intruded upon. More than this, the stress of long deprivation caused them to turn eagerly to one another in the kind of embrace they had been too cautious to share since leaving France.

Perhaps I begin to see a way. Give me but an hour or two to think on it, and I will tell you. With decision, she distracted Margarete from any response she might have made.

CHAPTER TWO

Scotland, 1558

By the time Charles Severgny at long last reached his destination, he was heartily regretting his charitable impulse. It seemed to him, after weeks of travel, that he was bound for the ends of the Earth. He felt each one of his sixty years with disconcerting clarity. It had been so since reaching the shores of Scotland. It had taken him little time to conclude that the country’s climate did not agree with him. Rain fell with distressing frequency. When rain was not falling or mist not obscuring his vision, the sky was grey and impenetrable. Blue sky had become a rare commodity to be cherished in a way he had seldom paused to do in Bordeaux, or even Paris.

He reminded himself that Margarete was young and adventurous. He must not disturb himself with thoughts of how strange this country would seem to her. He must hold to his determination to find a good match for his niece, one worthy of her. Largely, this meant one at a considerable distance from the influence of her ineffectual father, and the two wastrels who were her older brothers.

Charles had grieved deeply at the death of his younger sister Claire seven years ago in childbed. Knowing the unhappiness of her marriage to a dissolute man too fond of dicing and drink, had made his grief more, not less, poignant. Charles had found only disappointment in his two oldest nephews. Armand? Well, it was difficult to be sure at only eight years of age, but there might be the redemption of his sister’s memory.

Margarete now, she was a young woman to bring joy and pride to any uncle. She had her mother’s looks. Charles was always put in mind of his dead sister when he looked at Margarete’s face, but his young niece possessed a vividness of eye and an animation of countenance, which poor Claire had not shown even in childhood.

Motherless since age eight, Margarete had grown up with less supervision than many girls. Her father and brothers were indifferent to her education. It was mostly Charles’s intermittent intervention that had secured appropriate governesses and tutors for her, but finances were high on the list of deficiencies in that disordered household, and from the distance of Paris, Charles had been unable to assure more than haphazard training for his niece.

As she approached marriageable age, Charles had begun to worry that the neglect of the older males in her immediate family would turn to acquisitiveness. He had begun to fear that Margarete would be bartered into an expedient marriage which would profit her kin but take no regard for her.

This was why he had chosen to endure an uncongenial climate and the manifold discomforts of travel, though not only this. It was also true that he was curious to visit the home of his friend and protégé Colin McLean. Colin had invited him on many occasions, extolling the virtues of his comparatively modest castle. He had expounded on the beauty of its surrounding landscape, the richness of its hunting.

Charles and Colin had met in Paris some ten years earlier. Colin had been part of the Scottish force garrisoned there as guard to the young heir to the Scottish throne, Mary Stuart. As the pledged wife to the Dauphin and future King of France, the child Mary had been sent to be raised at the French court. Along with her had gone a company of Scots men-at-arms. It was a coveted opportunity for young Scots of military age, and Colin had been eager for the chance to broaden his education and experience by a period of service in what Charles believed to be the greatest city on Earth.

Charles, as a court functionary, had little occasion to mingle with soldiers, but he liked to get around. He often spent his evenings in taverns where men from many areas of endeavour mingled. He liked to hear stories from sailors, farmers in from the countryside, merchants, tradesmen and beggars alike.

He and Colin had spent many an evening trading tales and opinions over both the cheapest ale and the finest wines brought into the city from Bordeaux. Charles had taken an immediate liking to Colin for his energy and vigour, his forthright way of stating his views, the flavour of worldliness which, Charles felt, distinguished him among his countrymen (whom Charles often found provincial).

As a man of wide experience, and well acquainted with Paris, Charles had taken the young Colin under his wing. Together, they had sampled many a tavern and brothel, attended lectures at the Sorbonne on topics ranging from astronomy to the New World, and had taken in the range of entertainments and diversions offered by the most cosmopolitan city in Europe.

Though separated by thirty years and broad differences in culture and training, they, nevertheless, found in one another a kindred spirit. They disagreed on subjects ranging from politics to art, but they shared a curiosity about the world, as well as an indefinable, essential element that drew them together. In the five years that Colin spent in Paris, he made no better friend than the aging courtier, and leaving Charles’s company had been the most difficult part of Colin’s decision to return to his Perthshire home.

Colin had repeated his invitation to Charles many times during their correspondence. Charles had always felt a vague impulsion to accept, a curiosity to see a foreign country, the desire to be once more in the company of his young friend, but the rigours of the journey had kept him in his comfortable Paris home. Charles liked his comfort a great deal, but his last visit to his kin in Bordeaux had resolved him on this journey.

Whenever his heart flagged at the choppy sea, the damp weather, the austere architecture, the discomforts of riding horseback, or the shocking food, he evoked again the image of Margarete’s wide brown eyes. In shape and colour, they were like her mother’s, but unlike her mothers’, often illuminated by mischief or curiosity. Margarete lacked the decorum of court bred girls, but her guileless vitality appealed to Charles far more. He found that he could not sit back while her careless father or feckless older brothers traded her to the highest bidder, indifferent to her happiness.

So here Charles found himself, dirty, damp, sore, hungry and doubting his own judgment. He rode in a procession of pack animals, in company with Colin’s trade manager, to a remote castle at the junction of two rivers that secretly frightened Charles even to look at.

They rode for the better part of two days through country which, at first, had seemed tame enough. Charles had met McNab in Perth. The trading manager had pushed forward his semi-annual trip to Colin’s lands in order to escort Charles on the overland part of his journey. McNab undertook this trip twice yearly in order to bring fine wine and other goods to Colin, along with the wages from the sale of Colin's produce, and news of the world. McNab would return to Perth laden with leather goods and woollens to be sold to traders from the Hanseatic ports.

The first part of this overland journey had taken them through intensely cultivated