since disappeared. If only her husband were here safe beside her. The room was warmer now. It was nearly dark. Vespers would begin in less than an hour.
Jeanne shook out her cloak and gown and laid them on the bed. She had chosen black to blend with the darkness in the kirk. Quickly, she unplaited and brushed her hair, allowing it to hang loose for the first time since her marriage. With nimble fingers she unbuttoned the jack, folded it away, and stepped out of the breeks. The dress was overlarge and flowed loosely around her body, concealing the child she carried. Looking into the glass, Jeanne smiled grimly. She had chosen well. With her long black hair, cloak, and gown, she truly looked like a harbinger of death.
She did not take the main hall to the kirk. Linlithgow was over two hundred years old and, like most ancient castles, had its share of hidden tunnels and passageways. Jeanne knew the one leading past the wall to Saint Michael’s Kirk could be reached from the rooms near her own.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped out of the room and looked around. Again, she saw no one. Without a sound, she tiptoed to the door leading to the next room and leaned her ear against the wood. It was unlikely that the room was occupied, but Jeanne took no chances. She heard nothing. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside. Like her own, the room was dark and very cold. It was also unoccupied. Congratulating herself on the smooth flow of events, she walked to a painted frieze on the east wall. It was a depiction of the death of Wallace at Smithfield after the Battle of Falkirk. Normally Jeanne would take a moment to reflect on the silent agony of his face at the moment of death, but today she did not. Today she had no time to waste on past heroes. She pressed the center of Wallace’s targe, and the hidden door cracked open.
Jeanne pushed it gently. It swung open, wide enough for her to step inside. She closed it behind her and waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. No one had traveled through this passageway for some time. In her youth, the occupants of this room made use of it often, and flaming torches lit the way. Now there was only darkness. She had not thought to bring a candle, and time grew short.
Bracing her hands against each wall, examining each new step with an exploring foot, Jeanne made her way through the sloping tunnel. Gradually, her feet moved more quickly. There were no steps and no unusual turns, just straight empty darkness. At last it was finished. The dark was not so absolute now. She had come out into the night, its blackness tempered by starlight and a full, silvery moon. The outline of Saint Michael’s steeple loomed ahead.
Jeanne pulled up her hood to hide her face and hurried across the road into the rear door of the kirk. The royal stall was far to the front, near the altar. She must pass the posturing clergy and those few nobles who remained in Linlithgow to accompany their king. Not one of the worshippers kneeling on the granite floor of the kirk that night noticed the slim, dark figure slip behind the velvet curtains into the sanctuary where the king worshipped alone.
His eyes were closed. In the flickering candlelight, Jamie Stewart appeared much younger and very troubled. Jeanne was moved to pity. This man, this king so suited to rule, had made an irreversible error. He was intelligent enough to realize the enormity of his blunder. If he were a lesser man, if he had held another position, amends could be made, feelings pacified, the hurt assuaged. For James IV of Scotland, the rules were different. Jeanne knew it. She had always known it, but try she must.
Dropping to her knees, she crawled to the high altar and shook her hair over her face, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her. It was a sin to disturb the king at Mass. Resting on the damask altar cloth was a silver bell. She grasped the handle and rocked it gently. The clear, high sound echoed like music throughout the chamber. Slowly, Jeanne stood, staying clear of the wedge of light thrown by the fire. The hood of her cloak hid her face, and her shadow loomed menacingly, larger than life on the stone wall.
Startled, Jamie looked up. Ever the