Chapter 18
TWO OF LADY JEAN’S MEN guard the entrance to the Dunrobin stables.
‘Take these women in to see our guests,’ Jean instructs, ‘and stay with them. Do not under any circumstances leave them alone with the prisoners.’
The men nod fiercely. Elspet is used to the dead-faced musketeers that make up the Earl of Orkney’s constant entourage, loyal due to fear. These men look quite different – there is a ferocity in their service of Lady Jean, real loyalty. They would protect the countess at all costs.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?’ Jean asks.
‘Quite sure.’ Margaret is steadfast.
‘Colville is a proud man,’ Elspet says, ‘and he’s used to being in control. He won’t want to negotiate with us. The fewer witnesses to this conversation, the better.’
Lady Jean nods and withdraws to the castle.
The men lead Elspet and Margaret into the stable building where the comforting, musty aroma of horses fills her nostrils.
The animals shuffle in their stalls; the gentle snorts of contented beasts.
The final stall is dark but clean with a hay-covered floor, and contains beasts that are anything but contented.
The two soldiers are asleep on the ground, tied up with thick rope.
Colville, though, is awake and staring straight ahead.
He looks at Elspet as they enter. He may be being held captive, tied up on the ground, but he still has the air of a man with the upper hand.
‘What do we have here?’ he sneers. ‘Elspet Balfour, the witch herself. So, you are here. I knew it. A fine gown cannot disguise your disgusting person.’
Elspet has spent the last few days in the company of women who treat her with respect. It’s a shock to be faced with Colville’s venomous disdain. Somehow, in the time since she left Orkneyjar, she’s forgotten quite how poisonous this man is.
Henry Colville first came to Orkneyjar when Elspet was a girl, to minister at Stenness kirk, the squat square building with a thatched roof she’d attended all her life.
The old Parson of Orphir, Thomas Stevenson, had been a kindly man, despite his tendency to give interminable sermons when the new religion came to Orkneyjar.
Under his ministry, Stenness kirk had been a welcoming place of love and real worship.
Elspet remembers the wedding of Symond and Janet Ness, where she and her friends wore their best frocks and flowers in their hair.
The couple were married at the kirk and, after a long declamation on the sanctity of marriage, Thomas led the congregation out to the Odin stone, an ancient monolith with a hole through its middle where they performed the most ancient part of the ceremony.
But when Thomas died, the new parson arrived: this puppet of the Stewart Earls, Henry Colville.
There were no more visits to the Odin stone, no more joy, and no more comfort.
A chill had passed over her then as his spiky figure strode down the aisle of the kirk.
Colville was never friendly, but when he learnt that most of his congregation, from the Laird of Stenness himself to farmers Symond and Janet Ness, were staunchly opposed to Stewart rule, his barely disguised disdain for his parishioners turned to open hostility.
At first he’d kept the less salubrious of the many and varied duties he performed for the Earl hidden from his congregation.
But it wasn’t long before he was open about activities that seemed far from natural for a man of the cloth.
His proclivity for torture was but a glimpse of a far darker nature.
The Earl’s hunger to take whatever he wanted with impunity stretched beyond land grabbing, and it was Henry Colville who procured the objects of his desire for him. Elspet feels nauseous at the memory.
Now this man has been brought low, tied up and powerless before her.
‘You’re in no position to be throwing insults around, parson,’ Margaret says curtly. ‘You will not speak to Mistress Balfour in that manner – not any more and not here.’
Colville gives a bitter laugh. ‘You have no idea who you’ve allied yourself with, Lady Margaret. This woman has given herself to Satan and damned her soul to hell.’
This assertion is coming from a supposed man of God, but one who thinks nothing of imprisoning and torturing members of his congregation. ‘If anyone has given themselves to Satan, it’s you, Henry Colville,’ Margaret says, without flinching.
Colville looks directly at Elspet. ‘I will show no mercy when I get you back to Orkney, witch. I’ve acquired a new contraption recently, commissioned to my exact specifications. You will be the perfect subject to test—’
‘Enough,’ Margaret interrupts. ‘We don’t have time for this. We have come to negotiate.’
‘Negotiate? What do you mean?’
‘You find yourself in a most unfortunate state, do you not? Indeed, it would be easy enough to arrange your death . . .’
‘You wouldn’t dare. I am here as an emissary of the King’s cousin.’ The parson’s eyes flash and he strains on the ropes that bind him, struggling to free himself.
One of Lady Jean’s men steps forward. ‘Leave those ropes be or I’ll knock you out,’ he states. The parson stops moving.
‘You can see how much weight your position carries here.’ Margaret glances at Colville’s injured shoulder. ‘But it’s not necessary to be so adversarial. I believe our interests are aligned.’
‘My instructions are to take the witch back to Orkney where she will be tried for her crimes,’ Colville spits. ‘How can our interests be aligned?’
Margaret takes a deep breath. ‘Following the death of my husband, the Earl of Orkney showed an interest in me . . . a most flattering interest.’
Colville’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. ‘You made it clear his interest was not welcome.’
‘Oh, come. A lady must be cautious in matters of the heart. I have had time to reflect.’
Colville’s eyes narrow. ‘Have you indeed?’
‘An alliance with the Earl of Orkney would be a great honour for me. I wish you to return to the islands carrying a message. Tell the Earl I would be delighted to consider his proposal.’
‘You’re not serious—’
‘Of course I am serious. But in the meantime, while the Earl and I take some time to agree the terms of our alliance, I insist that Mistress Balfour is left alone here in Scotland.’
‘I cannot . . .’ Colville stammers. ‘The Earl would never . . .’
‘He spoke to me in some detail of his plans for a new palace in Kirkwall,’ Margaret continues.
‘A building of unrivalled splendour. He was contemplating the construction of two large towers on its frontage. I believe I should like three sizeable towers. The palace must be of suitable magnificence for one of the most powerful couples in Scotland.’
The parson listens in shocked silence. Elspet is impressed: this is exactly the way to convince the parson that the Earl of Orkney will wish to fall in with her plans.
‘You may tell the Earl that cost will be no obstacle,’ Margaret adds, saving the best for last. ‘When we combine my purse with his, he may indulge in every grand scheme his heart desires.’
The parson is silent as he takes this in. Then he looks from Margaret to Elspet. ‘But I must take the witch . . .’
‘You will not take her,’ Margaret speaks with such force that Elspet steps back, ‘and you will not call her that. If you use that word again, I will write directly to the Earl and tell him you are responsible for my withdrawing any consideration of his proposal. And for my withdrawing my purse.’
Colville looks away. Elspet struggles to stifle the pleasure it brings her to see the Parson of Orphir ruffled.
‘Mistress Balfour and I share important business here in Scotland,’ Margaret says. ‘Business which requires her to move in secret. Any understanding between myself and the Earl is secure as long as she is left alone and her true identity kept hidden.’
Still, the parson doesn’t speak but Margaret nods as if it is already agreed.
‘I will write to the Earl. A letter for you to carry back to your homeland. And as a sign of good faith, I shall sign over some of the land I inherited from my late husband to him. There is a good – and very valuable – stretch at Woodhouslie that would suit him well.’
The parson is beaten. Elspet knows he can’t risk losing the Earl of Orkney the things he values above all else – money and land. He nods slowly. ‘I will take your letter.’
‘I’m glad we’ve come to a civilised agreement,’ Margaret says, ‘but believe me when I say, if the King comes to hear of Mistress Balfour’s presence, then I will not marry the Earl and he will see no more of my fortune.’
Elspet closes her eyes for a moment with a sigh of deep relief. But when she opens them again, the parson is staring directly at her. Margaret may have bought her a temporary reprieve from this man’s persecution – but this is the cruel look of a man determined to see her in shackles.