The Queen's Almoner

by Tonya Ulynn Brown

  I should have never encouraged his creativity.

  They held each other’s gaze for some moments before the awkward realization that the poem had finished, and everyone had stopped talking. Mary blushed and fanned herself profusely to stay the heat that had reddened her face.

  The ladies were so overcome with ardor, and the men so drunk that I do believe most of the party missed the lustful exchange.

  “You are quite the poet, Monsieur Chastelard. Do you always speak so boldly and without propriety?” I pinned him with a steely look in hopes of making my point.

  “Well, I…” he began, appearing puzzled.

  Mary glanced around and then shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. “Pierre, do you ride?”

  “I love to ride, Your Grace. I have found no greater pleasure, outside of a woman’s embrace that summon feelings of pure bliss and soulful elation.”

  Mary cleared her throat again. “Yes, I thought you might say that. You should come riding with us tomorrow. My brother has recently given me a beautiful pure white stallion that I have fallen in love with. He is really a draught horse, but he is so gentle and so good that I have not ceased to ride him every day since he was given to me.”

  “I would be honored, Your Grace,” the excitement barely concealed in his voice.

  I raised my eyebrows and tried to get her attention. She glanced across the table, and her gaze landed briefly on me.

  “I am tired,” she stately abruptly, as she rose to her feet and brushed the crumbs from her lap. To the others she may have appeared tired, but I perceived she was only feigning her lack of energy. Her voice said one thing, but her eyes said another. She clearly enjoyed Chastelard’s lustful exclamations.

  The gentlemen stood as she made her exit through the far-right door to her apartments. The musicians began to play after she was gone out, and the rest of the dinner party continued to talk and drink. I excused myself and left through a door on the opposite end of the hall, as not to arouse curiosity. I knew the four Marys would soon follow Mary, and I wanted to speak to her before we lost the privacy.

  I overcame Mary on the stairs to her bedroom.

  “Thomas, please don’t lecture me. I know what you are going to say.”

  “Excuse me?” was my unplanned response.

  “Please don’t lecture me on how I’m leading Pierre on and giving him false hope.”

  I really had not thought much about that. I had seen the exchange, and it definitely took my appetite but lecturing her had not entered my mind.

  “You may put your mind at ease. I did not come here to speak of Chastelard. I was merely curious of your letter from Elizabeth. I have not had a chance to speak to you since you read it.”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas.” Mary rubbed her temples and rested her head against the wall. “I’ve been getting lectures all day long from James about my flirtatious actions when I’m around Pierre.”

  “Your advisors just want you to be ever mindful of public displays, but yes, I can see how continual lectures can be tiresome.”

  “I don’t realize I’m doing it.”

  I tried to keep a neutral countenance, but was she not aware of the heat that she and Chastelard created at dinner?

  “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “I will believe what you say.”

  “There is something about him that brings out the foolishness in me. He causes my heart to race and my reason to blur. He flatters me with his words, but it is his gaze that I cannot resist. I have not had a man declare such feelings to me since Francis died. I am weak when he looks at me. I probably should not have invited him to ride with us tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps,” was my only reply. Listening to Mary gush about a silly infatuation was not what I wanted to hear.

  She glanced at me and then looking away, began again. “He sounds intelligent when he speaks, but his poems reek of love and emotions that I could never feel for him. He is low-born and has nothing. He really is foolish to think he can woo me with his words.” She was talking herself right out of this fixation.

  “So, why don’t you tell him as much?” I asked. “Let him know right away that there is no chance anything could become of the two of you. Set him straight and then send him away.”

  Mary looked thoughtful for a moment. She considered my words and then turned and looked at me.

  “You are very wise, Thomas. For your advice, I am forever in your debt.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and then turned to walk toward her bedchamber.

  “Mary, the letter?” I reminded her. She let out a puff of air and then laughed a short laugh. She was clearly preoccupied with her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry. I am so silly, I fear that you will stuff me like a goose and have me for dinner one of these days. Yes, the letter from Elizabeth. Well, let’s see. She accepts my declarations of friendship and wants to advise me on how to choose a husband that will be suitable for Scotland and England.” She clarified, “I mentioned in my last letter that I was thinking about how I need to choose a husband because my people will expect an heir one day.”

  I nodded, “That is understandable.”

  “Anyway, I inquired again as to the possibility of her naming me her successor, should something happen that she never marries and leaves her people without an heir to take the throne. She keeps insisting that she wants to keep that possibility open and doesn’t want to act on that matter too hastily. Thomas, we all know she isn’t going to marry. She is twenty-eight years old, for heaven’s sake. She is being ridiculous! She knows that I am the legitimate heir of that throne. I’m not storming the castle to depose her; all I ask is that she kindly considers giving to me what is really rightfully mine. I’ll wait until she’s dead. I just want that assurance that the people recognize it’s me who deserves the throne when she is gone.”

  “Why do you think she is hesitant to name you her heir?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with that snake she calls an adviser, William Cecil. He thinks that I will come and convert the whole country to Catholicism. As much as I would love that, I am not about to attempt it. Thomas, you know I am more tolerant than that.”

  She stopped talking and looked at me with so much exasperation that I couldn’t help but reach out to her. I touched her elbow and she quickly moved to me and laid her head on my shoulder. I knew this was a sensitive subject with Mary.

  “I am making William Maitland my Secretary of State. He has such a knack for diplomacy and can be quite persuasive. My mother often spoke of his capabilities so I have faith in him. I’m hoping his counsel will convince the English court that no one has a better claim than I.”

  My heart ached for her. She carried so much disappointment in her voice. “Maitland is a close acquaintance. I can attest to his character. This is a wise decision.”

  She dropped her hand that had been resting on my chest and pulled away. “Please come riding with us tomorrow, Thomas. You are my rearguard and defense against my Mephistopheles. You’re my angel and protector.”

  I nodded silently to her and then let her go to her rooms. I wondered if maybe I should have a talk with Chastelard, to waylay his intentions and help him see his foolishness. I could talk about that with Mary tomorrow.

  ***

  The opportunity to talk with Mary about reasoning with Chastelard never came. By the time I had finished morning prayers and came to breakfast, she was already in the stables preparing for the ride. I had lost my appetite the night before and a good night’s rest did nothing to restore it to me. I grabbed an apple and left the hall in search of the others.

  I hadn’t realized that this ride was going to be such a grand affair. By the time I got to the stables Mary was there, along with the four Marys, Lord James, and Rizzio. Even Maitland was there.

  His gaze landed on mine, and he nodded in greeting. He stood close to Mary Fleming, speaking in soft tones of something I could not make out. Many said that Maitland favored Ma
ry Fleming, although he was at least fifteen years older than she. Of all the Marys, she was the most charming.

  Maitland sauntered over to me as I retrieved my saddle. “My, doesn’t Lady Fleming look lovely today,” I teased.

  “Do you think I haven’t noticed? That ink-black hair curled against alabaster skin. Delightful,” he sighed.

  “And don’t forget those violet-colored eyes.”

  He straightened and speared me with heated eyes. “That will be quite enough of that,” he growled.

  I laughed at his expense. “What exactly are you waiting for, Maitland? You’re not getting any younger.”

  “And therein lies the problem, my friend. I’m too old for her.”

  I began to dress Achaius and considered Maitland’s dilemma. “Nonsense. You’re a smart and ambitious man, even if you were educated at the University of St. Andrews.”

  “Ha! Says the clergyman who attended the University of Glasgow.”

  “No matter, let’s just agree that we are both smart enough to make the right choices. And Mary Fleming, my good man, is a right choice for you. She’s beautiful. And her felicitous manner would be an asset to any decent nobleman. My advice is to quit making excuses and make a move instead. Before someone else notices how charming she is.”

  “Like you?” he scoffed, and I gave him my most dangerous smile.

  As I finished preparing the horse, I discovered one person who was strikingly absent: Chastelard. A servant was sent to inquire as to his whereabouts. He arrived minutes later.

  “My apologies,” he said breathlessly to anyone who listened.

  My eyes widened at his lack of decorum as he hurriedly tucked his shirt into his breeches. He appeared flustered, and contrary to his poised and well-kept appearance last night at dinner, his hair looked disheveled, and his breeches had a stain. I personally wondered whose bed he had just left.

  Mary noticed him but did not seem to mind his tardiness or appearance. She let a smile spread across her face and said, “Monsieur Chastelard, here is the stallion I was telling you about. Isn’t he grand?”

  Chastelard met her where she was standing and reached out a hand to smooth Pureté’s coat.

  “He is a marvelous creature. It is no wonder you prefer him to any other steed.” He let his hand run along Pureté’s side until it overtook Mary’s.

  “I can feel his muscles tightening under your hand. Even this massive beast knows that he is in the presence of a celestial being. It’s as though his body is reacting to your touch. ‘Tis no wonder. To be touched by such a one as thee!”

  Once again, he ceased speaking and let his gaze penetrate Mary’s soul. She moved her hand away quickly yet held his gaze in her own.

  “Would you like to ride him?”

  “Your Grace, you are too kind. I could not deprive you of this beast and strain the golden cord that connects your heart to his. Surely, I can ride the one that brought me here.”

  “I’ve already got my mare saddled. You shall ride Pureté. It is settled.”

  Mary always had a way of putting in the last word and getting her way. She’s been good at that queenly task since she was a little girl.

  As we mounted our rides, Mary’s eyes caught mine. I lifted an eyebrow to her as if to ask, Well, what would you have me do? She lowered her head and looked away, and I knew that she had no intentions of sending Chastelard away, or even setting him straight. This was a lesson she was going to have to learn on her own. I could only hope her reputation would not be marred from it.

  And I questioned whether or not I wanted to be around to watch it happen.

  ~10~

  February 1562

  I stepped outside of the Abbey Chapel and allowed myself a moment to enjoy the crisp morning air. I had been fervently praying for direction, still holding onto the letter I had written, requesting my return to my previous post. Rarely did I struggle with indecisiveness, yet with Mary, I wasn’t sure about a lot of things.

  With God’s help, I found myself able to control my fleshly longings, reminding myself that Mary and I were childhood friends and close confidantes, nothing more. Yet, I still kept the letter, waiting for the moment to have that conversation with her before I sent the letter on to the archbishop.

  My morning devotions helped, but no clear answer had descended upon me, so I decided to tarry a little longer until I had clear direction. Adjusting my collar, I spotted Isobel outside the kitchen doors several paces to my left. She motioned at me, and I turned to see if she might be addressing someone else. When I realized she was motioning me to follow her into the kitchen, I hesitated.

  I had not seen much of her in the two months since we had returned from Falkland Palace, and I feared that she would attempt to rekindle the emotion that had been displayed the night before I left for Fife. More than that, I knew that my actions on that night were inexcusable and I owed her an apology.

  Still, she had yet to stop waving at me, so I ventured over to her. “Is everything all right, Isobel? Are you well?”

  “We must talk. Follow me.”

  My feet followed despite my heart’s warning.

  The kitchen was warm and comfortable, and the smell of baked bread mingled in the air with the tart aroma of mulled wine. Molyneux, the red-faced and rotund French cook, scurried around the kitchen, barking orders, and making corrections to the menu for the evening’s supper. Geese, pheasant, and grouse hung from the rafter beams, awaiting an available kitchen maid to pluck their feathers and prepare them for smoking. Rising rows of bread dough, ready to go into the ovens, sat atop the wooden counter tops. The heart of the kitchen, the fireplace, burned day and night without ceasing, always bubbling a pot of parritch or a savory stew.

  It was into this atmosphere that Isobel had coaxed me. Whether for fear of being seen or fear of being heard, this was the perfect place to hold a conversation, and no one would be any more the wiser.

  “Isobel, before you say anything, can we discuss what happened the last time…the last time we met? I suddenly felt as if I had swallowed sand.

  She stared at me blankly, then said, “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “But surely you must realize that I should not have taken advantage of you. For that I am truly sorry.”

  “Nothing happened that I didn’t want to happen. If I hadn’t wanted it, I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  That did not make me feel any better. “But I…”

  “Thomas, that is not why I wanted to speak to ye,” she said, waving away my apology. “I thought it only right to tell ye the rumor presently flitting about the servants’ quarters.”

  “Are the servants talking about us?” I felt my face grow hot at the thought that my indiscretion had been found out.

  She chuckled. “No silly. No one knows. This has nothing to do with us.”

  “Then you know that I care not for the tales of idle tongue-waggers.”

  “Aye! But when it pertains to your precious queen me thinks that ye shall take great interest.”

  “How so?”

  “Idle tongues indeed do wag, but oh what arachnid tales they weave.” She licked her lips. “The queen has an admirer.”

  “The queen has many admirers. This is not news.”

  “Aye, but this admirer sweetens his words with honey and makes bold declarations without discretion. Many say the queen has fallen into his entrapments.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, not by dishonorable indiscretions, but by flirtatious words and glances. Her gesture of offering him her favorite steed when he first arrived has offended the nobles, most of all her brother, Lord James. On occasion, he will send her a verse or two of poetry and she in turn adds a stanza or so of her own contrivance to send back to him. I believe he has convinced himself that the queen actually loves him.” She stopped talking and stared at me, waiting for a response.

  “You speak of Chastelard, then?”

  “Aye. He has twice now been caught trying to sneak up
to the queen’s royal apartments in the dead of night. No one believes the queen was privy to it, but they do believe her actions have encouraged it.”

  “I see.” I paused to consider the news, then asked, “And has no one advised the queen of the attempted midnight visitations?”

  “I know not.”

  “All right. Try to waylay any rumors you may hear of this rogue and please let me know should you hear anything else.”

  She nodded her head then curtsied to me slightly before turning to go.

  “Isobel?” She stopped and turned back to look at me. “How are you feeling? Are your headaches less frequent?”

  She shook her head at me and replied, “Don’t concern yourself with me Thomas, I’m a nobody.”

  “That’s not true. Not to me.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, then she turned from me again and slipped away.

  ***

  I stayed in my apartments for the rest of the day, not really wishing to see anyone or feel obliged to talk to them. Seeing Isobel bothered me, for reasons more than the news she shared. Had I contributed to her feelings of insignificance? I needed to right this situation, but the solution evaded me. Matters of the heart were never my strong suit, especially in regard to women.

  Refusing supper for penance and reflection served me well, but at about half past the midnight hour my stomach would no longer be ignored. I set off for the kitchen to grab a bite of something to eat. I told myself it had nothing to do with a potential run-in with Isobel.

  I made it to the landing of the second floor when I heard a commotion. It came from the wing where Mary’s apartments were located. “Mary,” I said aloud, as I ran toward the noise.

  Rizzio and several of Mary’s ladies-in-waiting stood in the hallway in their shifts. “What happened?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.