The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) Read Free Page A

immune, after a time, to austere Scottish strictures.   And a formal crowning would do much to dilute such humiliations.
    Charles knelt to affirm his oath to the Covenants.   His voice was devout enough and his promise to establish Presbyterianism in his other dominions was made without a hint of either reluctance or cynicism.   Francis smiled, silently applauding … and immediately found himself encompassed by the obliquely considering stare of the fellow who’d ridden in on the previous evening with a bundle of heavily-sealed letters.   Francis responded with one sardonically raised brow before restoring his attention to the ceremony.   Not everyone, he reflected, thought this particular game worth the candle.
    Charles ascended the waiting throne.   Lord Lyon, the King of Arms, announced that he was the rightful and undoubted heir of the Crown and those present responded with a resounding cry of God save King Charles the Second! – upon which His Majesty was escorted back to the chair he’d occupied during the interminable sermon for the reading of the Coronation Oath.   Francis watched Charles kneel to affirm this before being invested with kingly robes and the articles of state; he set his jaw and suppressed a desire to fidget when the minister prayed that the Lord would purge the Crown from the sins and transgressions of them that did reign before ; and he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding when the Marquis of Argyll finally placed the crown on Charles’s head.
    The tradition of anointing the sovereign had been dispensed with as superstitious ritual but, at long last, Charles was declared King of Great Britain, France and Ireland; and, amidst more pious exhortations from the Moderator, he was led to the throne so that the nobles could touch the crown and swear fidelity.
    ‘Argyll the kingmaker,’ murmured the courier.   ‘And even more Friday-faced than usual.   The debacle at Dunbar, do you think?   Or perhaps it’s merely that squint of his.’
    Francis turned his head and encountered a gleaming stare.
    ‘Both, I imagine.’
    ‘But one more than the other,’ came the bland reply. ‘Contrary to present appearances, his power isn’t quite what it was.   One even hears rumours of the return of Hamilton.’
    Wondering where someone who’d only just arrived might have picked up that particular rumour, Francis said gently, ‘Does one?   I wouldn’t know.   But it would certainly account for Argyll’s expression … even allowing for the squint.’
    The other man said nothing.   The Scots finished swearing fealty and King Charles the Second rose to solemnly beseech the ministers that if at any time they saw him breaking his Covenant, they would instantly tell him of it.   Then, with becoming dignity and a flourish of trumpets, the royal procession passed back down the aisle … and, in due course, Francis found himself outside with the rest.
    His companion from the cathedral was nowhere to be seen and, instead, his arm was taken by the Duke of Buckingham, who drawled, ‘The throne’s gain is clearly the theatre’s loss.   Such clarity of diction despite having his tongue firmly in his cheek!   I’m impressed.’
    ‘And indiscreet,’ sighed Francis.   ‘Shall we go?   It’s extremely cold and the banquet awaits.’
    ‘It’s bound to be dreary.   There will be speeches, God help us all … and insufficient wine to drown them out.   But I’m amazed the coronation committee thought fit to invite you – if indeed they did?   Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure why they asked me .’
    It wasn’t true, of course.   Twenty-two years old, blessed with startling good looks and frequently too clever for his own good, George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, was not used to being ignored.  
    Smiling faintly, Francis said, ‘For your entertainment value, George.   Why else?’
    ‘Do you think so?   I thought it had rather more to do with my having