CHAPTER 2 #3
“You’re too late,” his mother said before he had taken two steps.
He turned back to face her. “Too late for what?”
“To speak with Huntly,” his mother said.
“He’s left the castle?” Damn it. “Where’s he gone?”
“To his grave,” she said. “The Earl of Huntly is dead.”
Finn could almost hear the faeries laughing in their faery hills at his bad luck. Hell, what could he do now? As a skilled warrior, he could always go to Ireland or France and fight for the highest bidder, but he’d hate to leave Scotland.
“Why don’t ye come home to Garty?” his father asked. “Just until ye figure things out.”
Jesu, he hoped he had not sunk that low. He would rather live by his sword in a strange land or spend the rest of his days in one of his relatives’ dungeons than live at his parents’ home.
“I appreciate the offer, Father,” he said, “but—”
“For God’s sake, Finlay is a grown man,” his mother interrupted, planting a hand on her hip. “He neither needs nor deserves our charity.”
At that moment, like an angel from heaven, Janet Kennedy, the former mistress of King James IV of Scotland, appeared at Finn’s side to rescue him from his family. Janet was a woman not even Finn’s mother would dare challenge.
“I have need of Finlay,” was the only explanation she gave them before taking his arm and leading him away.
“God bless ye,” Finn said as they crossed the hall.
“How did ye manage to know that woman for twenty-seven years and not murder her?” Janet asked.
“Drinking helps.” He picked up a flagon of wine and two cups as they passed a table. “Where are ye taking me?”
“Upstairs,” Janet said. “You and I need to have a talk.”
“Only a talk?” Finn smiled and cocked an eyebrow. Though he was in no mood for flirtation after hearing the news of Huntly’s death, Janet expected it as her due.
“Aye, just a talk,” she said with a laugh.
Janet Kennedy was an extraordinary woman, still vivacious and beautiful at five and forty.
In her youth, the strong-willed lass with flaming red hair had attracted powerful men, including the king.
She was married three times, though the king had her first marriage annulled when he made her his mistress, and her third husband divorced her.
Having outlived them all, she now reveled in her independence.
When Finn was twenty and full of himself, Janet had taken him to her bed and taught him lessons that every woman he bedded since should thank her for. Years had passed since their affair, but they remained good friends.
She led him up the enclosed circular stairs to a richly furnished bedchamber.
As the mother of two royal bastards, she was an important guest and given one of the best chambers.
She was also related to the Gordon chieftains, which probably made her and Finn third or fourth cousins, once or twice removed.
Janet took one of the chairs before the hearth, and Finn sprawled in the other and put his feet up.
“Damn Huntly for dying on me,” he said. “Ach, he probably wouldn’t have taken me back into his guard anyway.”
When Janet refused the cup of wine he poured for her, he drank it himself.
“Becoming a drunkard like your father,” she said, “will not solve your problem.”
“It serves him well enough,” he said, giving her a smile.
“Unlike your father, ye have no lands,” she said. “Consequently, you must make yourself valuable to someone who can give them to you.”
“I tried that and was nearly killed on Orkney for my efforts,” he said, raising his cup to her. “I suppose I could offer my sword to Huntly’s son. Ach, no, he’s dead too. The next Earl of Huntly is the sniveling grandson, isn’t he?”
An image of the fat-cheeked lad stuffing his face with sugared plums and shouting at the servants came into Finn’s mind’s eye.
“Sniveling Huntly is eleven years old and presently is in the queen’s care, so he won’t be adding you to his guard.” Janet leaned forward to rest her hand on Finn’s arm. “Besides, you can do better. You underestimate yourself and aim too low.”
“I’m a second son of a second son, with no lands of my own,” he said. “I have no prospects except to live by my sword.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Janet leaned back with a knowing smile. “A widow with a title and lands is easily within your reach.”
“If this is what ye brought me up here to discuss,” Finn said, “I’ll need something stronger than wine.”
“You’re everything a land-rich, highborn widow could want in a husband.” Janet ticked off the points with her fingers as she continued. “You’re close blood relations with three earls, and you’re a renowned warrior who could protect her lands.”
“Janet, please,” he groaned.
“Add to those qualities soulful blue eyes, a devilish smile, and a muscular physique, and I believe ye can do quite well for yourself.” With a coy smile, she added, “Not as well as I did, of course. But you could gain what you want through a well-planned marriage.”
“The only problem with your plan,” Finn said, “is that I don’t want a wife.”
He especially did not want a wife of high status. His mother never let any of them forget she had married beneath her. His brother’s wife was an ambitious schemer cut from the same cloth, except that she wrapped it in an appealing facade.
“Please tell me you’re not still pining for that horrid Curstag,” Janet said. “She was cruel to toy with ye, but it was inevitable she’d choose your brother. After all, he’s your father’s heir and you own nothing but your horse, your sword, and the clothes on your back.”
“That was a long time ago.” He’d been na?ve to believe she would have him, despite his lack of prospects. He would never make that mistake again.
“Women must marry to acquire the home and position they expect in life,” Janet said, “which is why we must find ye a widow who already has the wealth and lands ye both need.”
“And have her lord it over me the rest of my life?” he said. “Nay, a night under the blankets and a few laughs is all I want from a lass.”
“Not all women are like your mother and Curstag,” Janet said. “Or me, for that matter.”
“You’re not like them,” Finn objected.
“Oh, but I am,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m just far more charming and clever in how I go about getting what I want.”
Finn laughed. One of the things he admired about Janet was that she was utterly honest, a decidedly rare quality in highborn women. She was, however, not easily deterred once she set her mind to something.
“Now to find the right woman of property…” Janet tapped her chin. “She shouldn’t be too old, nor too young. And definitely not the small-minded sort who would complain about other women.”
No matter what Janet believed about him, he’d feel bound by his vows. That was one more reason never to marry.
“I appreciate your concern for me, but marrying for land ’tis not worth the misery,” he told her. “I’d rather the Orkney men had drowned me or hung my head off the mast of their boat or—”
“All right.” Janet laughed and held up her hands. “Let me speak with my son. He may be able to suggest another way.”
Her son was the Earl of Moray, a royal bastard of King James IV of Scotland.
Moray was an exceedingly clever young man of twenty-four.
Those who liked him called him politically astute; those who didn’t called him conniving.
Either way, Moray was a good man to have on your side.
And a dangerous one to have against you.
Janet meant well, but her son was an important player at the highest level of royal politics. His interests were driven by forces far greater than Finn’s fate, and Moray never gave a favor that did not advance his own interests.
Surely Finn had nothing to offer that Moray would want.