Falling to her knees, Marjorie began to pray. For deliverance from this trial. To be reunited with her husband and mistress. To never set eyes on the queen again.
A thousand years later, the chamber door swung open and two stern-faced, silver-haired men in black robes appeared. One was tall and rounded, the other nearer to her own height and slender. Both had long silver-flecked beards, and the shorter man carried parchment, quill, and inkpot.
Somehow, she rose to her feet and curtsied. “Good afternoon, sirs.”
“Lady Marjorie,” said the taller man curtly. “I am Master Boyd; this is Master Douglas. We are legal clerks from Stirling, come to hear evidence on this grave matter and provide advice for judgment. We have spoken with Sir Lachlan; now we shall speak with you. Sit down, and we shall begin.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, sinking onto a hard wooden chair. “My husband…he is well?”
“So,” said Master Boyd, ignoring her question, “tell us in your own words the events leading to this day. Master Douglas shall act as scribe.”
Marjorie swallowed hard. “I lived in a convent most of my life. Then I was summoned to Stirling Castle, where my guardian, His Grace the King, declared I would live with Lady Janet Fraser, protected by Sir Lachlan Ross, until he decided on a husband for me. We traveled here by wagon—”
“A journey during which Sir Lachlan murdered four men, including Lord Kerr,” said Master Douglas, his lip curling.
“No,” she protested shakily. “He killed four men who fired arrows at the wagon and attempted to kidnap Lady Janet and myself. The king forgave the act.”
“I see. Then what?”
“I was…we were…very content here. Guests came for supper one evening—”
“The Sinclairs and the Campbells,” said Master Boyd, nodding. “Yes, we visited them on our way here. Sir Lachlan assaulted Angus Campbell, did he not?”
Marjorie’s temper flared at the sneering tone. “Only because Angus accosted me in the garden!”
“It is Master Campbell’s testimony that you welcomed his embrace, but when Sir Lachlan approached, you pretended not to so you might conceal your whorish nature.”
Oh, how she wished she’d stabbed that rodent with her eating knife rather than deliver a mere foot stomp.
“Sir—”
“It was Master Campbell’s concern you were being led astray that led him to send word to our good queen, who in her kindness and charity arranged a splendid match for you with an English baron. But you defied Her Grace,” said Master Boyd, his black robe whipping about, his voice rising to a roar. “You, a lady born, thought to wed a bastard without permission and spat on the crown of Scotland, much like your traitor father!”
“No!”
Master Douglas shook his head. “Now is not the time for hysterics, Lady Marjorie. Only the truth.”
“I speak the truth,” she replied, gripping the folds of her gown so she might not stand and slap both men for the way they kept twisting her words. “And I have never, nor would ever, spit on the crown of Scotland. I love this land. I love my king.”
Master Boyd glared at her. “Pretty words, lady. But I see only two possible truths. Either you were an innocent maiden, lured into a false marriage for coin by a sinful man forsaken by God…or you are a Jezebel who lured him to sin, deceived Lady Janet, and sought to defy our Queen Margaret for her own wicked ends. Which is it?”
Marjorie gritted her teeth to suppress a shriek of rage. Here it was, then. The offer. Betray Lachlan to these vile lawyers and be free or accept their destruction of her character. They were clearly the queen’s men, emboldened by Angus Campbell’s lies, and were angry they even had to speak to her for the show of a fair trial.
“Neither, sir,” she replied unsteadily. “I wed a good, strong man for love. My marriage is not false. It is legal and proper, a promise signed and witnessed, if irregular in the eyes of the clergy. I am a wedded and, ah, bedded wife.”
Master Douglas shuffled his pile of parchment before holding one page up. “This promise, signed and witnessed, given to me by Sir Lachlan?”
At the familiar document, the one signed by her and Lachlan, the St. Andrews lawyer Master Shaw, and his young clerk, Marjorie nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir.”
“It looks fraudulent to me.”
She froze. “Beg pardon?”
Master Boyd peered over the other man’s shoulder and nodded. “Certainly fraudulent. Worthless to this case, I believe.”
“Then there is only one thing to be done,” said Master Douglas, smiling as he rose to his feet and walked toward the fireplace.
“Do not!” screamed Marjorie, but the man tossed the copy of her marriage lines into the roaring fire as though it were an old rag. She stood, her chair clattering to the floor, and ran to him, only to be halted by Master Boyd’s cruel grip around her upper arm.
“No,” she whispered, dropping to her knees, as in moments the precious parchment was no more.
“As I said,” mused Master Boyd, “there are only two possible truths for you. Innocent maiden lured into sin for her coin or lying, deceiving Jezebel with hatred in her heart for the king and queen. Choose wisely, dear lady. We shall see you soon in your trial. Good morrow.”
Alone once more, Marjorie clasped her arms around herself, yet no tears fell in the fury and sick fear threatening to drown her. If the second copy Lachlan had given to Janet remained hidden, they had evidence still. If it had been found and burned, they had nothing but their word.
And she would be forced to publicly choose: betray Lachlan or accept filthy, near-treasonous lies about herself.
Indeed, no choice at all.
…
“More wine, lady?”
Janet took the full goblet from her servant with a grateful smile and nod. At least having something to occupy her hands,
