1599
I had just finished writing my monthly letter to Aunt Marie in France and was wondering when I might hear back from her. I’d made it a rule that, unless it was during one of my confinements or one of the children was ill, I wrote every four to six weeks if possible. I only received replies about twice a year, but I knew how much she appreciated my letters. I’d just replaced the quill in the ink when I was told the guests had arrived. My sister Catherine was coming to visit with her husband and some of his grown-up children, leaving their own two little ones at home since they were still infants. The youngest of the Master of Rothes’ children with his previous wife Margaret was of course Grizel Leslie, whom I’d not seen since her baptism. That day they arrived at Fyvie was one that is forever etched in my memory.
On Alexander’s insistence, I had organised a lavish reception, even though it was only my sister and her family, considerable though that was. But for some reason he wanted it all to be very grand. Because I knew him well by this stage, I presumed he had some scheme up his sleeve, as usual. Since he was about to become Lord President of the Court of Session, he would soon be away in Edinburgh even more, but he had been at Fyvie for quite a while recently. He enjoyed telling me how, having been the youngest ever lawyer in Scotland called to the bar, he was now regarded as one of the most influential and brilliant legal minds in the land. I always praised and encouraged him, which was of course what my wifely duties required.
I began to wonder about this grand reception for my sister and 65 her family: was this so that he could arrange a betrothal between one of our daughters and one of Catherine’s stepsons? Though considering the eldest of my girls was only thirteen, I hoped this was not the case. Also, I was still feeling rather weak as it was still only six months since my precious little Margaret had been born. I was exhausted with childbirth, and the threat of death seemed somehow to haunt the castle; after her sister’s death two years before, I felt the weight of mourning and sadness every day for my dear little girl, taken too soon. All this seemed to pass my husband by.
We received the guests in the Great Hall, and as I greeted everyone, I could not help but notice Alexander peer over everyone’s heads as if he was looking for someone. Soon he came over to where Catherine and I stood talking. In his flamboyant manner, he gave her a salutary bow.
“Dear sister-in-law, it’s so good to see all your family here. But I cannot see the Master’s youngest daughter, Grizel?”
“Oh, she is certainly here somewhere. Let me find her for you.”
Catherine sped away while my husband stood by my side and leant in close. He sniffed the air. “I do wish you would not wear so much of that rosewater. It does not become you at all, Lilias.”
I sighed, thinking yet again, what could I do that was right for my husband? All I could produce was daughters; and he was irked by my perfume that smelled of roses.
Catherine’s husband, the Master of Rothes, came over to us and we made small talk until our guest leant in towards my husband.
“Is it too early to begin discussions about a possible betrothal between one of my sons and one of your daughters?”
I could not help myself. “Oh, I think it a little early, Master. Anne, our eldest, is still only thirteen and…”
“I shall be the arbiter of age and maturity, my dear,” Alexander said, pinching my elbow hard. He continued the pressure and the pain increased. I lowered my head and was trying not to cry when 66 I heard footsteps approach. It was Catherine, leading in a young girl with the most striking blue eyes I have ever seen. She had on a dress in exactly the same colour, azure, and her thick dark hair bounced in curls off her uncovered shoulders. Alexander released his tight grip on me and moved to the side.
“This is my stepdaughter, Grizel Leslie,” Catherine said, gesturing with her hand. And the young girl, only fourteen but with the confidence of someone ten years older, bowed so low, we could not help but gape at her well-developed bosom and beautiful long white neck as she rose slowly up.
“How wonderful to meet you, Grizel. You were only a baby when I last saw you,” I said, trying to refrain from rubbing my elbow.
“And now, behold how you have blossomed,” said Alexander, smiling.
“I believe you already met everyone here at the Rothes hunt a couple of months ago?” Catherine asked. I could not determine from my sister’s voice if she took to the girl or not.
“Oh, I don’t think I was there,” I said.
“No, you were busy with the children,” Alexander snapped. “As usual.”
I turned to say something in reply but I stopped at once when I glanced at my husband. He was gazing at the young girl before him in a way that could never have been described as avuncular, even though he was well over three decades older than her. As Grizel stood there, beaming and chatting like a mature lady, his eyes blazed with fire. And it was then I realised what this day was all about: he did not want to arrange a betrothal between one of her brothers and our daughters; he wanted this young girl for himself.