Page 1 of Much Ado About a Scot

Prologue

July 31st, 1593

It all came down to whoever drew the short straw. That man would be the one to accept King James VI’s secret mission to finally rid himself of the threat his own cousin brought against the throne of Scotland. Reid Douglas, Quinn Douglas, Alexander Ross, Cameron Sinclair, Rhys Elliot, Lachlan Douglas, and Malcolm Hamilton—the warriors who comprised his Magnificent Seven—stepped forward and drew their lot from the king’s own hand. As they compared their straws, James pressed his mouth into a thin line. He cared not who would go to seek out his nemesis, just that the deed would finally be done.

“God’s teeth,” Alexander Ross grumbled as he looked upon his stubby piece of straw. His voice echoed in the empty great hall in Edinburgh Castle.

“Seems that you, Alexander, are the man for this important mission.”

“Aye,” Alexander said, his tone resigned.

The king settled himself once again at the long wooden table on the dais where he took his meals while his men, his personal protectors, gathered in the seats around him. “One of my spies reports that a Mr. H is hiding just outside the town of Haddington at Dunbar Manor owned by David Graham.”

Reid Douglas scowled at the king. “That is the name Bothwell assigned himself when he forced my wife, Lucy, to make an attempt upon your life.”

“Why Mr. H?” Malcolm asked.

“Hepburn was his mother’s maiden name,” Cameron stated. “Perhaps is it in honor of her?”

Heat flooded James’s cheeks. “My cousin is devious but not very clever if he’s still using that name amongst his supporters.” James glanced around the table at his Magnificent Seven. His gaze settled upon the man chosen for this latest task: Alexander Ross.

The men gathered before him had saved his life countless times. They would succeed in stopping his cousin Francis Stewart the Earl of Bothwell’s newest scheme as well. Then Bothwell would finally stand trial for his crimes against the crown. His dastardly cousin had tried kidnapping him, consorting with witches, assassination attempts, and, if the latest reports were to be believed, was gathering an army of supporters to challenge him directly for a claim on the crown of Scotland.

His men would see that never happened, wouldn’t they? James reached for the goblet of wine before him and drank deeply. Only when he felt more composed did he turn his attention back to his men. “I confronted the Earl of Montrose about his relation cooperating with an enemy of the crown two days past, but he seemed truly confused by my accusation. I need you, Alexander, to head to East Lothian and do whatever it takes to see Bothwell is finally apprehended after years of pursuit.”

Reid Douglas inclined his head. “The rest of us will be waiting at Redhouse Castle only a few miles away with a hundred men ready to assist you if and when the need arises.”

The king nodded, gratified by his men’s efficiency. “I want you to leave as soon as possible, Alexander. My cousin is gathering more supporters and growing more powerful every moment. Put an end to his tyranny for the sake of us all.”

Chapter One

August 2nd, 1593

Two horses and their riders came to a stop in the shadows of the afternoon sunshine just outside the marketplace. The harnesses jingled as the men dismounted, the sound blending with the movement and voices from the bustling village of Haddington.

“Keep the horses out of sight,” Alexander Godric Ross whispered to his partner on this mission for the king. He gazed from where he and Rhys Elliot tried to conceal themselves at the village beyond. The center of town, where everyone would soon gather, was at the junction of Market and High Streets. Just beyond the marketplace was the tolbooth, with its gaol, courthouse, and council chamber.

Alexander squinted up at the sky. The sun was nearly at its zenith. “We must act quickly or we will have to wait until tomorrow,” he said to his brother-in-arms. For the past year, they had been waiting for an opportunity like this to present itself, and now it had thanks to one of the king’s spies. “You know what you need to do?”

Rhys nodded. “Are you sure you want to be placed in the pillory?” he asked in a hushed tone as he tied the horses to a bush, leaving them enough room to graze. “An hour in such a contraption can seem endless, and not everyone escapes such a punishment unscathed. What if they throw rocks at you? What if someone decides to nail your ear to the wood?”

Alexander removed his doublet, folded it and placed it in the saddlebag before he reached down and scooped up a handful of the peaty dirt. “It’s a chance I must take—besides you’ll be nearby. Make certain the villagers don’t do such things.” He smudged his cheeks with the red dirt before grinding a few stains on the front of his muslin shirt. He released the tail of his kilt from over his shoulder so that it brushed the ground. He needed to appear drunk and disheveled without actually imbibing. A clear head would be vital to his success.

Rhys watched him with a frown. “You know everyone comes out at noon just to taunt those who find themselves forced to endure such public humiliation. How am I to stop them from doing something they do every day?”

“You’ll think of a way.” Alexander ignored Rhys, hunching lower into the shadows, surveying the marketplace. He had picked Haddington for this charade for one reason only: Isobel Seaton. He’d heard rumors the young widow desperately needed help bringing in the harvest before it started to decay in the fields. Alexander was prepared to infiltrate her household any way he could in order to get what he wanted—access to her land. Her farmland and estate would provide the perfect cover and allow him to spy on her neighbor—a man who was suspected of harboring the king’s most dangerous nemesis.

Yet a connection to Isobel did not come without a price. It seemed any man unfortunate enough to wed her did not live long. She’d already buried two husbands, who had been in the prime of their lives, in the last three years. One rumor suggested Isobel was a witch. Another implied she’d poisoned both men. And still another claimed she was cursed.

Alexander pressed his lips into a thin line. ’Twas fortunate he didn’t believe in such nonsense. Isobel was simply a woman who’d had some bad luck. Would he bring her more? The idea sliced through his brain like a lance. Nay, he pushed the thought away. He was doing what he had to do to make certain nothing happened to the king.

“Having second thoughts?” Rhys asked as he came to stand beside Alexander. “I’m sure we can find another way to gather the information we need. You could always just show up at Isobel Seaton’s farm and beg her for work.”

Alexander shrugged dismissively as he uncorked his flask and splashed whisky on his neck and down his shirt. For good measure, he took a swig before replacing the cork, returning the flask to his sporran. “We’ve already been over this a dozen times. There is no other way to proceed without raising suspicion. Isobel might not be suspicious if I do that, but others would be. David Graham’s land borders Isobel’s. I need to make this whole arrangement seem as if it occurred by chance, no matter the risk. Working for her will provide me the cover I need to expose Bothwell’s treasonous efforts to take the throne.”

“All right then.” Rhys wrinkled his nose. “At least you smell the part of a drunk. Let’s pray this works.”

“It’ll work. It has to. And no matter what they do to me, promise me you won’t respond unless they are threatening my life.”