Against a background of political intrigue and Tudor
violence, love was not easy to find or sustain. The Queen Dowager of Scotland
repudiates it and for Matho and Meg the struggle is made more difficult by an
outbreak of war between England and Scotland. Disaster looms for them all.....
EXCERPT
Sir Thomas Wharton, spare
and lean still in his early fifties, sat behind a heavy oak table with a
three-armed candle holder at his elbow. The pool of light illuminated the
litter of papers and parchment that stood witness to King Henry Tudor’s
constant demands, but left the rest of the room in shadow.
“Glad to see you looking
well, Spirston.” The candle flames sent Wharton’s shadow streaking up the
limewashed walls as he reached for a jug of ale at the table’s edge. “Harry
said you had a wound rapidly going rotten when he found you at Aydon.”
“Mon Dieu!” The
voice, thick with outrage, came from the shadowy corner where the tiny lattice
window overlooked the town.
Matho squinted into the
gloom. The voice had a familiar and unwelcome ring to it. Candlelight caught
blue velvet and pale hair as the third person in the chamber strode forward.
Every muscle in Matho’s body tightened, for he recognised the man who had been
the cause of his recent misfortune in Scotland. Jarred by the unexpectedness of
the meeting, he said flatly, “Lord Lennox.”
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