Prologue

Perthshire, Scotland, December 1401

T he dying Queen's chamber at Scone Abbey was quiet but for a murmur of conversation between her grace and her husband, the

King of Scots.

The couple had been conversing in low tones for some time. Nearby, Walter Traill, Bishop of St. Andrews and thus Primate of

Scotland, knelt on a prayer cushion. His lips moved in silent prayer for her grace's soul, soon to take flight.

The only other person there was the youngest of the Queen's ladies. Wearing a demure gray damask gown with a white caul and

veil to conceal her hair, she sat on a cushioned seat in the window embrasure. Occasionally, she touched the narrow gold ring

on the middle finger of her left hand.

The door to the chamber opened to the sound of muttered expostulation from the arcade outside. A terse but otherwise unintelligible

remark followed.

Silence fell when a tall, thin, dark-haired man entered the chamber alone.

Bishop Traill crossed himself and got to his feet. With a measuring look at the Queen, he said, "My lord duke, 'tis good of you to pay your respects. Recall, though, that her

grace's doctors desire her to remain peaceful."

The Duke of Albany, at sixty-one, was the King's younger brother. He also stood third in line for the throne after his grace's

sons—twenty-three-year-old Davy Stewart, Duke of Rothesay, and seven-year-old James Stewart, Earl of Carrick.

Silver buttons and lacing leavened Albany's customary black clothing. Silver also streaked his once glossy black hair. His

dark eyes glinted with intelligence and with the calculating look that was habitual for him.

Queen Annabella visibly recoiled when he approached her deathbed.

"Sister," he said, "I trust that you feel better today. I come only to see if I might do aught to ease your way."

Annabella shut her eyes, then opened them and said, "Thank you, sir. But I…"

When the pause lengthened and her eyes closed again, the King said, "She has asked that we pray for her. Otherwise, we can

do nowt. She must rest now."

The firmness in his voice doubtless startled the others in the chamber, for it was unusual. By nature, Robert III of Scotland

was gentle and scholarly.

Unimpressed, Albany said, "I mean only to assure her that she need have no concern about her sons. I'll look after them and

see that no harm befalls…"

Here, he paused, because the Queen's agitation was plain to all.

The young woman in the window embrasure behind the duke stood abruptly. Her lips pressed tightly together, and she hesitated, watching him.

Annabella tried to raise her head, but the King gently laid a hand on her brow, saying, "Nay, my love." A wave of his free

hand warned his brother off.

Paying no heed, Albany gazed down at the Queen.

The young woman took a step nearer but stopped when the bishop moved to Albany's side. "You do no good here, my son," Traill

said. "Her grace did ask that only her close kin attend her. We must pray that Rothesay arrives before she departs."

"I, too, am close kin, Father. I will stay."

"You will go, because your presence upsets her grace when she should stay calm. I have administered the last rites. So for

you to disturb her further," he added on a sterner note, "would be an ungodly—in troth, a censurable act, my son."

Albany seemed about to refuse again, but the bishop's pale blue gaze caught and held the duke's darker one.

Despite the sternness in Traill's voice, his demeanor remained serene.

Apparently, Albany saw something else, for with a nod, he turned away.

As he did, he encountered the steady, accusatory gaze of the Queen's lady.

An approving spectator of his banishment, she stared calmly at him without flinching, although the look he gave her ought

to have chilled her soul.

Despite his departure, Annabella remained agitated, fiercely clutching her husband's arm. When he bent his head near, she

muttered anxiously into his ear.

The King nodded and murmured back to her. The bishop returned to his prayer cushion and his prayers. And the Queen's lady returned to her silent vigil.

Half an hour after Albany left, Davy Stewart, Duke of Rothesay and heir to the Scottish throne, entered the room. He was just

in time to bid his mother farewell.