short time since the last laird had tarnished it. Now it was his turn to serve Keir, and Farrell didn’t plan on losing faith just because the odds didn’t look favorable.
He’d face defeat only when he was forced to and not one minute before that.
“A peer is dead.”
James Stuart wanted to crush Lord Bramford’s neck, but settled for gripping the arm of his chair. More than half his council was calling for retribution and he couldn’t truly blame them. If one murder was allowed to go unpunished, it would be their own throats they would be worrying about come next month. There were always rebels who believed noblemen needed to die for some cause.
“I agree that it is a grave matter but that does not help us decide upon a clear course of action.”
“Put the man to trial by the barons.”
James held his emotions behind a mask. The rest of the council pounded on the table in agreement.
“The man? I believe I have two who had reason to do this deed, and the next man who accuses McQuade because he’s a Scot is going to be reminded very solidly that I am done hearing that the country I hail from is beneath yers.”
There was silence at the table, many of the men pulling their hands off the polished surface.
“Make no mistake, I am very interested in discovering the truth of this deed. But there will be no assumptions. No use of torture to gain a confession.”
Lord Bramford leaned forward. “Sire, I suggest a baron’s council be convened to try Lord Hurst by a company of his peers.”
The others nodded. James could see the quest for vengeance burning in their eyes, but his own temper ignited.
“Lord Hurst?” He rose out of his chair and planted his hands on the table with a loud smack. “Dinnae ye mean Lord Hurst and Lord Ronchford? Or does being English mean that the man is guiltless by blood alone?”
“Lord Ronchford did not marry—”
“Because he was beaten off the girl. But my fine-blooded Lord Edmund Knyvett told his sister that she was to wed Ronchford. I am suspicious that there was an agreement between Ronchford and Knyvett that would have led to the man being angry that he didn’t get the bride he wanted. Or possibly paid for, since the girl’s dowry ended up on a gaming table.”
His councilors did not speak, but their eyes were full of brewing discontent. James sat down, forcing his own temper to cool. Balance was the key to maintaining power. Elizabeth Tudor had taken England from a penniless country and built it up into one of the richest kingdoms in the world by maintaining balance.
“They will both be tried. Bramford, I wish a list of noblemen to be presented to me for consideration. We will be fair with an eye for justice, gentlemen. I suggest Lord Warwickshire be placed on that list, since his daughter is married to a Scot.”
“An excellent plan.”
Lord Bramford didn’t care for it but he masked his displeasure well enough. James looked around his Privy Council, his gaze resting on each man for a moment. Most were placated by his plan. For the moment, it would keep the discontent from boiling over.
Yet it would not hold forever. Someone’s head would have to rest on a pike for Knyvett’s murder. That was a shame. The man had been an arrogant fool upon whom fate had taken its vengeance. James didn’t mourn him and he doubted that any of his Privy councilors did, either. No, their insistence for justice was about protecting their own skins. Many of them were not the most likeable men, either. They had abused those around them and taken far more than they had given in return. They craved knowing that the masses had an example made to them to keep them in their place, with them remaining on top.
He just hoped that he didn’t have to do that at Keir McQuade’s expense. He frowned, dark thoughts settling over him. Being king came with a burden. Sometimes it was so heavy, he believed it might crush him. Now was one of those times. He didn’t want to sign Keir McQuade’s execution order, but he very much feared that he might have no other option.
Aye, heavy. Too heavy.
Chapter Thirteen
Catriona McAlister knelt behind the queen during morning service. She couldn’t pray, couldn’t force even a silent one through her mind. Three weeks after Raelin had gone missing, the queen had ordered the morning prayers to be