Apparent Heirs

Huntly Castle, Aberdeenshire, Scotland The cool morning wind gently stirred the thick lying-in tapestries he saw hanging in her windows. He had gone through nine of these waiting spells with his first two wives, and this was the third go at it with Elizabeth. Glancing up with quiet hope, the thick leather reigns of his best hunting horse waited for him in his squire's hands. He wondered if perhaps this time God had heard his prayers for a son from her. She had proved to be a rare find - position, advancement and a beauty who was genuinely happy making him happy. Earl George Gordon of Huntly and Sutherland gazed over the courtyard at the meticulously manicured gardens his position had graciously afforded him at the tender age of ten years. He had inherited his earldom and lands as a young lad and now enjoyed the rents they brought in and the loyal tenants eager to serve their Laird. He was the wealthiest and most powerful landowner in the highlands. His own holdings and fortune esteemed him as all but a crowned monarch in his own right. He remained humble and faithful to God and those who served the crown with him. He commanded the work of the land by devoted tenants who would muster at his signal. A devout Roman Catholic, he had ridden into battle many times with those of like mind to defend the faith. While he was not as literate as his first wife Elizabeth, the middle-aged Laird was still extremely agile and adept with his weapons of war. He took pride in supporting the Church as Lord Chancellor of Scotland. If all his work and sacrifice for such a cause had meant anything to the Almighty for Whom he rode out time and again, He would bless his efforts so that his name and title could be made secure in these most uncertain times. Appointed by King James III to keep peace among the clans, he held a most admirable level of respect. In this life, heirs for titles and gain, high yielding crops along with funds to pay dowries for his abundance of daughters in well-connected families was all he could hope to accomplish. That, and a glorious death in battle for a most noble cause would nicely tie up his legacy. A screeching hawk brought him back out of his pensiveness to his patient, dutiful squire Ian and his inquiry as to his wishes for a hunt or just a ride out. “Dinnae fash, the Countess is well advanced in her pains and the wee bairn is likely to present itself soon. Best not to ride out so far if she is delivered of a young laird. Ye dinnae want to be verra far from the castle when we sound off the canons to announce the joy”, he added hopefully. The lad had been barely breeched himself. He knew from experience that a ride out on the Earl's own meant far less tasks to perform for him. His presence would only be necessary for a hunt or a ride about the lands when rents would be collected or to settle a dispute amongst the clans or the tenants. He could catch a bit of shut eye on the sweet, soft hay in the stall until he would hopefully rise in time to meet the sound of approaching hoof beats. He slept well enough in his cot in the simple little room off the main stable. He was not hard tasked by any means, but when the Laird was such an important person and had so many fine folks attending him and paying visits, it was expected that every effort was to be made to have all aspects of his duties be beyond reproach. Any opportunity for a nap was a gift and Ian was grateful to accept each one. His own parents were gone - his Minnie taken in childbirth and with his Da unable to pay a governess or even a wet nurse for him early on as he was obliged to ride out with Earl Huntly to battle and sadly fell before Ian's fifth name day. The ever-present charity that flowed from the Countess' heart spilled over to him. Her tender heart took compassion on him and she offered her own wet nurse and had persuaded her husband to take in the lad in exchange for labor when he was old enough. In the meantime, he toddled around the nursery with her own children and he had been taught early to read, write and recite the Holy Scriptures. He mounted the well tooled saddle that had been his battle throne, nay his very pulpit when addressing those he rode off to battle with, those he defeated and rode into victory on with Clan Gordon. He decided to ride out alone in thought. The soft, leather reins felt like velvet ties in his seasoned hands. The time he spent trying to bring forth honorable issue to intertwine with all worthy nobility with his first wife was behind him. He and his Countess Elizabeth had wed on 12 May 1476 with much ado despite the dampening rains. Clansmen from far and near appeared in their finest plaids for the wedding. He recalled the vision of her standing in front of the church that day. Every detail of her fine gown paled in comparison to her beauty. The carefully beaded thistles and the embroidered Celtic knots on her sleeves that were so delicately highlighted in the costly golden thread. The family tartan under the cloak honoring her clan was a fitting tribute. His eyes darted from the onlookers admiring his bride into her sapphire blue eyes. She locked her gaze with him and for that one moment, not another soul existed. He watched her chest heave a great breath as if to begin a huge undertaking with the oncoming of the next step. The music began, and she took the first steps down the aisle on her father's arm, making her way to his side. His thoughts drifted back to his bride. She was the daughter of the 1st Earl of Errol and was faithful as well as resourceful in all their undertakings. No matter how many cradles were filled in the nursery there was one hole in his heart that would never be filled. John. The thought of his son's head on that pike still tore his heart asunder. The very memory brought chills down his already tingling spine. He thought that since he had loyally served the church and his king since he was old enough to properly sit a horse to ride out to battle or bend a knee to swear fealty, he would be rewarded with at least one sturdy heir. Every other reputable Scot in his and the neighboring clans enjoyed a full nursery of male heirs. The occasional bonnie lass was suitable for well-matched alliances for political gain, position and land holdings and he gave them their fair weight. But there were times when he was sure that tripping over one more scrap doll or flowers removed from his vast garden for use in hair garlands or decorating a May pole would send him over the edge to make his pleas to The Almighty in person.