“Sir Patrick?” Sandy motioned to the door. “Are you ready to change? I readied your new doublet for the feast.”
Maggie was helping Anabella with her hair when Patrick entered the bedroom. Anabella wore a gown of dusty-rose satin trimmed with minever, with snug sleeves that covered her hands to her knuckles. Maggie was attaching a silver snood winking with amethysts over the intricate coils of her hair. She was as lovely as he had ever seen her but had a sad twist to her mouth. “I miss him.” Leaving their son at home when she joined Patrick at court had been hard.
“I ken you do.” He kissed her cheek. “But you will be the bonniest woman in the great hall tonight.”
She gave him a skeptical smile. “No one will notice me watching the Queen.” She chuckled a little. “And the fireworks.”
“My lady,” Maggie said with a pout, “I wish I could see the fireworks. They must be amazing.”
Patrick twitched a shudder. “I just hope they dinnae set anyone on fire. I hear that happens. Forbye, there will be musicians and tumblers and even a dancing bear in the bailey yards and tables with food and ale for all.” He turned to inspect his new scarlet doublet, tailored to be very tight and barely long enough to be decent with puffed sleeves slashed to show the silvery lining. The large silver chaperon hat would make it extremely stylish. He groaned. “I am going to look like a Burgundian coxcomb.”
Anabella patted his arm. “You will look most braw, my love.”
He had a cup of wine as he dressed, then offered his wife his arm and escorted her from King David’s Tower to join the stream of nobles flowing toward the great hall. Some were already inside, but most were milling in the yard enjoying the cool breeze after the heat of the day. Patrick ushered Anabella around the bailey to perform the expected courtesies.
She will do well helping the new Queen to learn her way around us, he thought, as Anabella congratulated George Crichton on his marriage to Janet Borthwick of that Ilk, told Countess Margaret Douglas how much she admired the stylish cut of her gown, and questioned Lord Wolfaert von Borselen on his opinion of castle building in Scotland.
“What an exquisite couple you make,” Lady Isabella de Lalaing said when she strolled up to them in a satin gown as low cut in the bodice as any he had ever seen. Patrick had only briefly met Jacques de Lalaing’s sister to bow over her hand at their introduction at the quayside. On her, the Burgundian’s knight’s thin nose and eyes so dark they seemed black made an elegant combination. “Those amethysts look lovely against your hair, my lady.”
Anabella thanked her and wondered how long she would remain in Scotland.
“I am pleased to say that I will be staying with Queen Mary for some time while she becomes accustomed to your ways.” She patted Anabella’s arm. “I am sure we shall become exceptional friends.”
“You are too kind,” Anabella said. “The Queen is practically a child. I’ll do my best to make her feel at home here.”
“Oh, she is more mature than you might think, though I find her amiable enough. And you, Sir Patrick, will you be off fighting the evil English?”
He laughed. “Only fighting to see that my men-at-arms have polished their armor. That’s the main job of the Master of the King’s Guard.”
“I would have thought you might find one of those battles over the English border more to your taste.” She gave him an appraising look. “Though I do not recall that you were one of those in the tournament my brother won last winter.”
“I leave the tournaments to others and stick to keeping the King safe.” He was beginning to think Lady Isabella’s tongue was as sharp as her brother’s lance. “Please pardon us, Lady Isabella, but I believe we need to take our places in the hall.”
“I as well.” She cocked her head. “And I am anxious to see this amazing feast that is rumored to be planned.” She turned to look about the crowded yard. “Now where did my brother go? Jacques, where are you?”
Although outside the night would not be dark for hours yet in midsummer, the great hall was alight with lamps glowing in every sconce. The guests clustered near the doors as pages in the royal livery escorted them to their proper place. Harpists, lutists, fiddlers, trumpeters, and drummers crowded the upper gallery.
Anabella tightened her hold on his arm as they made their way up the broad central aisle. He wondered if she felt as nervous as he did. Never had he attended such elaborate feasts with so many foreign guests. Lady Isabella and Sir Jacques de Lalaing followed them, looking confident and self-possessed. Once the hundreds of guests were in their places, the heralds called out to be upstanding for the King and Queen.
James and Mary strolled into the hall. Pages walked before them scattering the petals of white roses. They both still wore their wedding finery with their purple cloaks, each with a slender golden crown circling their brow, looking very much the royal couple. Still unbound for the last time in public, Mary’s hair flowed down the back of her cloak like waves of gold.
Patrick held his breath as four of his guards escorted them to the seats of honor in the center of the dais beneath the King’s lion rampant banner, but they did it perfectly as he had trained them. When the royal couple had taken their place, Bishop Kennedy rose to lead a prayer.
He and Anabella had a place at the far left of the dais, an honor since most of the guests were at the long tables below. Beside them were Simon Glendenning and his wife, Elizabeth Lindsay. Nearer the King were the Earl of Douglas, Countess Margaret Douglas, the Earl of Angus and his wife, the Black Knight of Lorne and his wide-eyed son, as well as Patrick’s lord father and lady mother, and a dozen others.
At one side of the dais, not part of the main table, was a place for the clergy with Bishop Kennedy at the head of it. Bishop Turnbull, Bishop Spens, and a dozen other powerful clergy filled the benches. A servant was pouring wine into a tremendous cup for them to pass around in fellowship.
The music faded and the trumpeters blew a tremendous blast. On that signal, the doors opened, and four servants in the royal livery stood in the entrance with an enormous gilded boar’s head on a huge platter. They paraded all around the great hall so everyone could have a good look at the beast’s head, but as they did so, servants dressed in green with hats formed out of leaves set up a small trestle table a short distance below the dais. When the boar’s head made its way back to the central aisle, it was placed on the table. The green men arranged a series of stiff paper tubes around it and backed away as one of their number lit a fuse.
The tubes all went off with a tremendous crack. Geysers of sparks flew into the air.
Anabella clapped her hands over her ears and ducked. Several men dove under the table. Ladies were shrieking. The Queen had grabbed the King’s arm, and he was wildly applauding.
“Well done!” James shouted. “Very well done.”
The green men, who apparently wore the leaf hats to prevent sparks from setting their hair on fire, lifted the still smoking platter and backed out of the room as the King continued to call out his praises. In the gallery, the musicians began to play. Next, an enormous subtlety was carried in and placed on the same table, a ship a yard long with hull, forecastle, and masts formed of sugar and ropes made of silver thread.
A herald called out, “Sir William Sinclair, Earl of Orkney.” Orkney marched in with four of his knights in full armor followed by fifty servants in the royal livery carrying platters of food.
The earl bowed to the King and Queen and announced, “Your Graces, I bring you the feast.”
There was a peacock dressed in its feathers, several entire salmons stewed in wine, whole roasted haunches of venison, and dozens of roasted capons stuffed with figs and saffron. A server knelt between Anabella and Patrick and filled their cups as another filled their plates. At the cleric’s table, the bishops were passing their cup from one to another each taking a deep drink.
The King stood and lifted in both hands a carved wooden quaich banded with silver. “To the Queen!”
Everyone jumped to their feet. “To the Queen!” “Queen Mary! Queen Mary!”
Patrick emptied his cup, drinking to her. It was refilled by the server the instant he was seated. He never touched food in the morning as his father always said that it is greedy to eat early in the day, and he had been too busy to eat at midday. His stomach was grumbling. Anabella poked him with her elbow, and he gave her an embarrassed grin. He quickly cleared his plate of the capon and salmon and then his plate was filled with mouth-watering roast venison.
No sooner were those dishes cleared away than more courses were carried in and wine flowed as freely as seawater.