That reason had everything to do with her mother. Not only had John Maxwell inherited Traquair and the title upon her father’s death, he had also inherited his wife. It was all so despicably convenient. Jeanne tightened her lips. She would never again fall for the easy charm that came so readily at his command.
Smoothing her thick, knee-length hair, she stood and walked back into the main hall of Edinburgh Castle, biting her lips to restore their color. She must find George immediately. Perhaps he could persuade Jamie Stewart to agree to a wedding date. The sooner she was married and away from the temptation of John Maxwell’s soul-destroying smile, the better. Faith, the man could coax the kelpies from their watery resting places.
***
“’Tis said the people go hungry and Parliament grumbles while Henry spends the royal treasury on outrageous schemes. What say you, John? Is that a fair assessment of the English mind?” James Stewart, king of Scotland, fixed his heavy-lidded eyes on the tall young man beside him. He wanted an answer and he wanted it now.
John hesitated. His face assumed the pleasant, implacable mask of the courtier while his mind sifted through and discarded a dozen different replies. There were spies at Jamie’s court. Any answer he gave would be whispered into Henry’s ear in less than a fortnight. He decided on the truth, although a diplomatic version of it. “Never think that the English will not support their king, Your Grace. Henry is a favorite with the nobles and yeomen alike. He rides, reads, and rules with equal aplomb in all areas.”
The king’s night-dark eyes appraised him carefully. John met his searching gaze without challenge or fear. Finally, Jamie nodded. “Well spoken, lad. Well spoken, indeed. You shall make a full report to me tomorrow.” He looked down at his queen. “You are very quiet tonight, Margaret. Do you agree that your brother is deserving of such flattering words?”
Margaret Tudor lowered her eyes and flushed painfully. There was nothing of the charming and confident Henry in the shrinking figure of his older sister. John’s heart softened with pity, and when he spoke, it was far more gently than he had replied to his king.
“There is no shame in finding virtue in a beloved brother, m’lady,” he assured her. “I’m sure were Henry here, he would speak as highly of you,”
Margaret straightened and flashed him a look of gratitude. “You are most kind, sir,” she said graciously. “But my lord forgets that I have been queen of Scotland for many years. My brother was little more than a child when I left England. I have no opinion as to what kind of man he has become.”
John’s expression remained as courteous as ever, but in truth, the queen’s answer surprised him. It was every bit as diplomatic and carefully worded as his own. Sweet Jesu! The woman knew something of deception. What kind of life was it to be always mindful of one’s tongue? Five years of watching his back at the English court was enough. John asked nothing more than to settle his affairs, marry Jeanne, and spend the rest of his years living quietly at Traquair, watching his children grow.
A young man whispered into the king’s ear. John recognized him at once and studied him curiously. The passing years had changed George Gordon immensely. The earl of Strathbogie was a tall, lean young man with the feline grace of a cat. His thick, tawny hair and golden eyes reminded John of Mary Gordon. He had seen much of George’s younger sister at Whitehall.
Jamie frowned and spoke aloud. “You are too impatient, George. Give me time. A Stewart marriage cannot be taken lightly.”
“I am a Gordon of Strathbogie, Your Grace,” the young man reminded him.
“Your mother was a Stewart, rest her soul,” pronounced the king. “She would wish this matter to be given the consideration it deserves.”
“Jeanne Maxwell is suitable in every way,” insisted Gordon.
Jamie’s obsidian-bright eyes glittered dangerously, “I’m well aware of that, Cousin. Mistress Maxwell’s suitability is not the cause for my delay. Have your manners gone begging, m’lord?” He nodded at John. “Here is the Lady Jeanne’s kinsman after five years in London.”
Gordon acknowledged John Maxwell with a brief bow and immediately turned his attention back to the king. “If it is not a question of her name, what is it, Your Grace?”
Jamie grinned. “There is another suitor for her hand. I’ve not yet decided which alliance would serve me best.”
George Gordon’s eyes narrowed,