king's leg as he stood nearby. He died almost instantly, and once again Scotland was faced with a child king. James II had been six years old when his father had been murdered. James III was eight.
Queen Marie took no time to mourn. Instead she hastened to fetch her eldest son, James. Bringing him before the commanders of Scotland's armies she asked them to make her husband's death not a defeat, but a victory for Scotland's new king, James III. Encouraged by her bravery, Scotland's army responded to the queen's words and the sight of their young boy king standing proudly before them. Within a few days Roxburgh fell, and the new king was crowned at nearby Kelso Abbey on the tenth day of the month.
The queen mother quickly took charge of the situation. The bishop of St. Andrew's, Bishop Kennedy, was out of the country when the king was killed. This allowed Queen Marie to put her own people into place, much to the bishop's annoyance when he returned. Still, the bishop's powerful family was amenable to compromise. So was the queen. Although she had given sanctuary to her kinswoman, Margaret, and her mad husband, King Henry of England, she quickly saw the way the winds were blowing to the south. While she would do nothing to harm the English fugitives, she would do nothing to help those who would pursue them either. Still she made a long-term peace with the new English king, Edward IV, who was being tempted into supporting a war against Scotland in order to partition it. The south would be held by the exiled Earl of Douglas, and the north by the MacDonald Lord of the Isles, both of whom would rule as vassals of England's king. Queen Marie's signature and that of her son's on a document put a stop to that treasonous plan.
The Douglas family had been a thorn in her husband's side since his youth. The fifth earl of Douglas had been governor of the realm when James II was a child, but he had proved a poor one. His weakness had allowed two lesser lords, Sir William Crichton, keeper of Edinburgh Castle, and Sir Alexander Livingstone, keeper of Stirling Castle, to seize the king. When Lord Douglas died, Crichton and Livingstone took the opportunity to murder his sons in the presence of the ten-year-old James II. It was believed the young Douglases' uncle, known as James the Gross, who now inherited the title, was involved.
James II learned a lesson that terrible night when he begged for the life of the two Douglases. And ten years later, encouraged by his queen, he finally asserted his authority, executing several of the Livingstone family and destroying their power. The Douglas family now headed by James the Gross's eldest son, William, however, was a more difficult problem. The Douglas earl had immense holdings in the borders. But when James II discovered him involved in treasonous dealings with England, and that he had formed a traitorous alliance with the Lord of the Isles, he called the Earl of Stirling and ordered him to repudiate his alliances and reaffirm his allegiance to Scotland's king.
William Douglas refused, and after two days of negotiation James II lost his temper and stabbed the earl in his throat. The men with the king joined the fray. Considering that the Douglas earl had insisted on a safe conduct before coming to Stirling to see the king, the murder was a breach of the medieval code of honor. James II moved quickly, however, to shore up his defenses in the matter. Moving his pregnant queen to the bishop's palace at St. Andrew's, he quickly gained the support of his earls by a means of various reassurances and rewards for their loyalty. And considering that William Douglas's brother, the new earl, arrived at Stirling with a large force of armed men, crying for vengeance, and then burned the town in their defiance of James II, who had already departed Stirling, the king's actions were suddenly considered reasonable. The Douglases had obviously grown way too powerful in too short a time.
James II went to war against the Douglases. Fascinated by the new science of gunnery, he systematically battered down the walls of the Douglas strongholds with his great canon, Mons Meg, which he had acquired from his wife's uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, and which had been brought from Edinburgh Castle. Defeated at the battle of Arkinholm, James, the ninth Douglas earl, escaped to England. Of his two remaining brothers, one died at Arkinholm and the other was captured and executed.
In England at that time the War of the Roses had broken out, and James Douglas allied his fallen fortunes with the Yorkist faction. The king of Scotland, however, chose to support the Lancaster side of the quarrel. And then James II proved himself a worthy successor to his father, reestablishing the rule of law in Scotland. His patronage of his nobility extended to creating several new earldoms, namely Rothes, Morton, Erroll, Marischal, and Argyll. Then, having stabilized his domestic affairs, the king devoted himself to foreign diplomacy, including arranging the marriage of his eldest son, James, with Margaret of Denmark.
In 1460 war broke out again as James II thought to strike a blow for his ally, King Henry VI, laying siege to Roxburgh Castle, which was currently held by a Yorkist governor. Roxburgh had always been hotly contested between England and Scotland, but it had been in English hands since the reign of David II of Scotland, over a hundred years previously. And while the Scots regained Roxburgh that summer, they lost a capable king and once again found themselves ruled by a regency in the name of James III.
Although the Highlands were fraught with disorder, Scotland remained basically at peace, thanks to Queen Marie and Bishop Kennedy. Even the borders were quiet but for a small raid now and again.
At Dunglais, Malcolm Scott continued to pursue Alix. And Alix was finding it more difficult to resist him. Her experience with the Wattesons had left her wary of men. She had felt nothing for her husband, for she had not really known him. She had liked her father-in-law's company as a friend until he had attempted to debauch her, and then she had felt revulsion.
She was not naive enough to believe all marriages were like her parents'. Alix knew better from her childhood at court. But did that elusive something called love really exist? Could she find it? Or was what she was suddenly feeling for Malcolm Scott the more common and forbidden emotion that was known as lust? Why did her first sight of him at the beginning of a day make her heart race? Why did the touch of his lips on hers, or his hand in hers, render her weak with longing. Longing for what?
Since the early spring the laird had found himself courting Alix. He fully intended to seduce her into his bed, but for some reason he could not explain, he did not want to rush her. When the moment came, he wanted her to desire it as deeply as he did. They rode out daily, with little Fiona accompanying them on her pony. In high summer they took bread and cheese with them, picnicking on the heathered hillsides. One afternoon as the child lay sleeping on a blanket, her companions found themselves lying together nearby.
Alix was only slightly startled when Malcolm Scott loomed over her. She smiled up at him. 'The sky is so blue today,' she said. 'I do not think I have ever seen so blue a sky even in England.'
'I want you,' he said softly, and he bent to brush her lips with his.
'I know,' she responded as softly. 'I have no experience with a lover, but I would be a total fool not to realize, to sense, how you feel, my lord.'
'Then why…' he began.
'I am afraid,' Alix answered him simply.
'Of what?' he asked, surprised.
'I did not like coupling with my husband. What if I do not like it with you? Worse, what if you find me displeasing? Do we-can we-go back to the way things were, my lord?' Alix wanted to know. 'I think not. And then I must leave Dunglais and my sweet Fiona. I do not know if I am brave enough to take this chance you are asking me to take, my lord.' She reached up and touched his face with delicate fingers. 'And yet…'
'I cannot imagine you would not please me, and I swear I will please you,' the laird said. Then he bent, kissing her deeply, the tip of his tongue stroking her lips, encouraging them to part, and when they did his tongue plunged into her mouth, found hers and caressed it ardently.
In the few weeks during which they had been exchanging chaste kisses he had never invaded her person as he was now doing. Yet it was exciting, and Alix arched against him, her own tongue stroking his and heat suffusing her body. She reached up to wind her fingers into his thick black hair, kneading his scalp with a need that surprised her greatly. She protested softly as he raised his head from her, but he put a single finger over her lips to silence her.
'Hush, lambkin,' he told her. 'Let me have my way now, and I promise you that you will not regret it.'
'Fiona,' Alix said.
'I will do nothing that will awaken my daughter,' he promised. Smiling into her hazel-green eyes, he slowly undid the little horn buttons on the doeskin jerkin he and Fiona had given Alix on her birthday in April. Then he unlaced her shirt while she watched him nervously. Pushing the fabric aside, he gazed down for the first time upon her naked breasts. 'God's foot,' he murmured. 'You are perfect, lambkin. Absolutely perfect!'
Alix blushed, suddenly shy, for no man had ever before looked upon her breasts, and his compliment surprised her.
