Hetty. I jumped out of the bed, snatched up my robe, and fled here to you.”
“Snatched up your robe, did ye? What more have ye got on under it?”
“My shift. But, Hetty, who is he?”
“I dinna ken his name, and I’m no to tell anyone about him.”
“Hetty, it’s me. Who would I tell? I haven’t a friend in this whole castle except you, and haven’t had since Aunt Annabella died. What’s more, they say that the Duke of Albany is on his way to Turnberry right now. He may arrive tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, then on Tuesday. His grace warned me that the duke is most impatient to arrange my marriage and has no intention of waiting the year that I must wait, in order to mourn Aunt Annabella’s death properly.”
“My lady, I ken fine that the Duke of Albany comes to Turnberry. See you, that is why that man is in my bed now.”
“He is Albany’s man?”
“Nay, he is not.” Hetty looked upward, as if seeking guidance from above. Then, drawing breath and letting it out, she said, “I’ll tell ye, then, but only so that ye do not go about trying to find out for yourself, as I ken fine ye’ll do if I do not tell ye. But ye must no breathe a word to anyone else of what I say. Swear it now.”
“You know that I will tell no one,” Marsi said. “I keep secrets even better than I ferret them out, Hetty, and well do you know that.”
“I do, aye, or I’d no say aught of this to ye. Our wee laddie’s life may depend on it, though, so see that ye keep your word. See you, his grace did send for that man to take Jamie away from here to greater safety.”
“Away? But when do they go, and where will he take him?”
“Mayhap as soon as tomorrow, for I was to pack for him,” Hetty said. “His grace’s man did not tell me where we will go, nor were I so brazen as to ask him.”
“Aye, sure, his grace must mean for them to leave tomorrow if Albany is on the way. Dearest Annabella feared mightily that Albany would take Jamie in charge if he could but think how to manage it. But must you go with them, Hetty?”
“So his grace’s man did say,” Hetty said with a sigh. “I cannot say that I want to, for I ken fine that ye’ll miss me sorely, my lady. But if Albany does come, he will take ye both, and I’d have naught to say to anything that he might do.”
“Faith, but I did hope that he would just lecture me and say that I must obey him even though I am the King’s ward, not his,” Marsi muttered. “But I warrant you are right, that he will take us both in charge. As set as he is on marrying me to one of his toadies, if he takes Jamie, he’d be unlikely to leave me with his grace.”
“He might, though,” Hetty said. “His grace has stood against him before.”
Marsaili gave an unladylike snort. “Mayhap he has, once or twice. But you ken fine that his grace cannot hold out long against him if Albany gets him alone and says he must not. What can I do, Hetty? Albany terrifies me.”
“Aye, he terrifies most folks who have a grain of sense.”
“Come with us, Marsi,” piped up a third voice. “Wherever we go, it would have to be a happier place than Turnberry will be whilst my uncle bides here.”
Both women turned toward the curtained bed, where the tousled auburn head of seven-year-old James Stewart, Earl of Carrick, peeped between the blue curtains.
“Jamie, were you listening?” Marsi demanded. “Naughty laddie!”
“I couldna sleep,” the dark-eyed lad who stood second in line for the Scottish throne said soberly, sounding, as he always did, much older than his years.
Hetty got up and reached for her yellow robe, which lay across a nearby stool. Putting it on, she said, “I’ll warm ye some milk, sir. It’ll settle ye again.”
“I don’t want milk. Must I command ye tae go with us, Marsi?”
“Oh, Jamie, I wish you could. But your royal ways don’t fool me, laddie. You fear your uncle Albany almost as much as I do.”
“Aye, sure, but he canna find either of us if we are not here,” James pointed out. “When he leaves Turnberry, we can come back and be comfortable again with my royal sire. Do come, Marsi.