Mary Beaton then threw a handful of flower petals onto Randolph’s head, distracting him from any further conversation.
The queen arose from her seat near Rizzio and came and sat down next to me. As if reading my mind, she spoke softly.
“Bothwell needs to stay out of the way for the time being. James, is quite angry with him for his interference and thievery last year of a goodly sum of money confiscated from England and intended for the Lords of the Congregation.”
“But Bothwell did that in your mother’s name.”
“Yes, all while lining his own pockets.” She pulled a daisy up from the root and began plucking the petals off one by one.
“You fault him for that?” I asked, barely believing the sound of his defense in my voice.
“Not entirely. But he does do things in a rather brandish way, don't you think?”
“Aye. And what of Arran’s accusation that Bothwell tried to convince him to kidnap and force a marriage upon you?”
“Pffft.” She waved her hand as if to dismiss the ridiculous accusation. “Arran changed his story so many times that by the end he had Bothwell scheming to take me for himself. There was no evidence. But still, Bothwell had other damning allegations against him.”
“So, what do you intend to do with him?” I watched as the petals fluttered lightly in the wind then fell abruptly to the earth to find a final resting place.
“Let him sit, for the time being. Humble him a bit, maybe. He takes matters into his own hands entirely too much. I don't want him ruining things for me, nor making decisions for me that affect my livelihood. He's too deleterious.” She tossed the remaining portion of the flower into the wind then plucked another to start the process all over again.
“And how are things proceeding with your fair cousin? Have ye any news of late?” I shooed away a fat bumble bee that chose to hover just a little too close to Mary’s feet. The question caused a slight flush of excitement to brighten Mary’s cheeks.
“I have had a letter from my dear sister just this week. We are negotiating the possibility of a meeting betwixt us.”
“And what is the likelihood of such a meeting taking place?”
A shadow darkened her otherwise fair brow and a look of consternation overtook her. She threw the daisy down that she had been dismembering. “Elizabeth’s closest advisor, William Cecil, does not fancy me, so I've been told. My sources have revealed that for every persuasive word I pen to my dearest cousin, Cecil is right there waiting to blot it out with his unfounded accusations against me.”
The breeze picked up a strand of Mary’s hair and laid it gently over her face. She quickly moved a long, slender hand to brush it aside. Usually, her hair was twisted and tied in knots and curls and carefully tucked away under her attifet. But on days such as today, when the formalities of court could be laid aside, Mary often preferred to loosen her hair and wear it in a simple sweep, away from her face and cascading down her back. I observed how much younger she looked when she wore her hair down, and today as the warm sun highlighted the bronze and copper flecks in her hair, she took my breath away.
I was still meditating on how her auburn hair hugged the soft curve of her neck, when suddenly I was startled back to reality by Mary’s giggling.
“Thomas, you haven't heard a word I’ve said!” She spoke sharply but her upper lip pressed firmly into her bottom lip, forcing the sides of her mouth to curl into a sly smile.
“You better come sit in the shade, your face is flushed,” admonished Mary Fleming who had just arrived back from herb-gathering and had heard Mary scolding me.
“Not to mention you’ll catch a biting midge or two with your mouth gaping open like that,” Maitland teased.
I forced my mouth shut, not realizing I had been staring, as they all laughed heartily at my expense. Mary placed the palm of her hand on my face as if she were to wipe my tears. She brushed her thumb gently back and forth across my cheek as she laughed.
“No need to be embarrassed. I'm not your schoolmaster. You’re not obliged to listen to me ramble.”
I hung my head in mock shame but couldn't hide my own amusement. I smiled, but on the inside the warmth of her hand sent a wave of fire that spread from my cheek and surged throughout my body reaching into every cavity and making every extremity raw with the ache for her. Mary leaned into me and whispered, “Will you walk with me?” I nodded and gulped hard, trying to swallow the heart I felt lodged in my throat. I was afraid to speak for fear that my words might resound with the force I still felt racing through me.
I stood and held out my hand to her. She brushed off the petals that had fallen onto her skirt then placed her small hand in mine. I wrapped my arm around hers and placed her hand securely in the cleft of my arm. She leaned closer to me as she gained her balance and I could smell the clean scent of her hair and the rose water she must have splashed on her skin this morning. We walked for some time in silence, speaking only when some new insect flitted by, or a different type of flower pushed its head through the surface of the soil. Occasionally, we would hear the pitter-kerplop of a toad hopping in and out of the stream. For a full half-hour it remained thus between us; Mary seeming as though she had something on her heart to say, and I waiting for her to say it. Finally, she stopped at the edge of the stream and looked out across the soft, verdant hills that stretched as far as one could see. A gentle reminder that you could walk ten thousand paces and still be nowhere.
When she finally opened her mouth to speak, her voice was so weak I had to strain to hear her words. “My dear cousin wishes to choose my husband for me.”
I didn't answer immediately but waited to see where her thoughts were taking her. She ran her hands up and down her arms as if the thought gave her a chill. She stared at the expanse, lost in her own thoughts.
“I'm not so naïve as to actually think I could marry for love. I know my duties. I was raised to never forget my duties. I married Francis out of duty. With all the affection I felt for him, I still cannot say it was for love. It was for duty. And now that I have no mother, no uncle, no king telling me my duty I actually had hoped that I could at least have a say in how I carry out my duties.” She paused again as if to gather her thoughts. At last she turned to me and I saw the unshed tears in her eyes. “I am not free to love where I choose but I…” She swallowed hard before continuing, “…but I refuse to give up the reins of my free will completely.” She grabbed my hand and held it to her lips then gently kissed my fingers. The amber flashed in her green-brown eyes and tore at my heart as I searched her soul for understanding. “Say something.” Her eyes implored me for a response.
“Free will is important,” I said quietly.
“Then you believe I should marry for love? No matter the man’s station?”
My heart beat loudly in my chest because for just a moment I envisioned the two of us, standing before a cleric, exchanging vows. I quickly shoved the thought aside, knowing that a union between us was impossible.
“Thomas? What say ye?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I rationally knew that she was not referring to our relationship in this conversation, but I could not find any words that would not give my heart away.
A single tear slipped down her cheek and wet the lips that burned my skin. “I'm sorry,” were her only plaintive words as she pressed her lips harder against my hand.
Without thinking, I pulled her into me with my other hand and kissed the top of her head. I shushed and spoke softly to her as I stroked her hair, pushing it behind her ears and away from her face. I didn't consider myself a stupid man, but I really had no idea what she was trying to tell me. Her words were so vague and their meaning so cryptic, that I could only guess at what she meant. I knew she had many suitors and had received many marriage proposals just in the short time she had been widowed. Some were so ridiculous, such as Chastelard’s, but some were truly genuine, including the king of Denmark and the Holy Roman Emperor. All had been refused.
But she spoke as if she had someone in mind. Perhaps she was trying to tell me there was someone. I couldn't imagine who that could be for I sat at dinner with her every night and was as much a part of her life as anyone else. Surely I would have noticed an amorous glance or a lover’s sigh between her and another suitor had he existed.
Once my emotions were in check, I decided to encroach upon her thoughts carefully. “Mary, has Elizabeth suggested someone?” I didn't think this was the case, but I thought I’d follow this line of questioning first.
“No. Not yet. But she has made it known that she cannot give her blessing to any proposal unless the suitor meets her approval. She has also made it clear that she cannot even consider naming me as a possible heir to her throne unless I have married someone to her liking.”
“That’s rather superfluous, don't you think?”
“I do. I’m trying to convince myself that is a small price to pay for my reward. But I too, have standards, and certain stipulations before committing myself to someone else's wishes.”
“Then there is something else that is bothering you?”
She looked up at me with an expression of hurt and apprehension.
“Not something, but rather, someone. I care for someone very deeply. And I cannot be sure what he feels for me, but ‘tis no matter. For nothing could ever become of the tender feelings I harbor for him.”
She pulled away from me completely and drew herself to the very edge of the stream. Peering down into the translucent water she spoke a verse as if she spoke to the fish just below the bubbling surface, rather than I who stood right behind her.
“If it is not love, what then is it that I feel? But if it is love, by God, what kind of thing is it? If it is good, whence comes this bitter mortal effect? If it is evil, why is each torment so sweet?”**
“Is that Petrarch that you quote?” I whispered. She nodded her head but did not speak again.
When she finally turned herself toward me, I offered my arm once more and guided her back to where our small party was sitting. I care for someone very deeply. Her words pounded in my head. I knew I had no right—no reason to even hope that she spoke of me, but to think of her feeling that way about any other man was more than my sanity could take. Fortunately for me, it would be many more weeks before we would talk about husbands again. It was a good thing, too. For right now all I wanted to do was put my fist through something.
~13~
September-October 1562
“It’s time, Thomas.”
I looked up from grooming Achaius to see Mary walking into the stables, adorned in a beautiful dark blue riding habit.
“Time for what, Your Grace?” I continued to brush my steed, but my eyes were pinned to the queen.
“Time for us to take that journey to the Highlands that I had planned on taking last spring. So many things have prevented us this year, and I don’t want to put it off any longer.”
“Are you feeling well enough?” She had been bedridden with several bouts of stomach ailments for the last several weeks that had kept her close to home and contained in her apartments. Between her sickness and Isobel’s headaches, I had sought the wise counsel of several physickers.
“Yes, I am well enough. I have not felt much like entertaining lately, but that has not been on account of sickness. Bothwell’s escape from prison just a few short months after he was sentenced really added to my ire.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t worth the extra expense of adding another one hundred pounds to his bounty?” I asked.
“Nay, I wanted to save my money for this trip. And since the meeting I had planned with my dear cousin, Queen Elizabeth, is evidently not meant to be, I shall use that money as well to travel to the Highlands. I really want to see what support can be enticed from the fairly wild clans that inhabit the north.”
I wasn’t about to add the ordeal with Chastelard to her long list of regrets, but I did wonder how many more disappointments she could take. Instead, I asked, “I assume you would like for me to see to the distribution of alms to the needy throughout the region?”
“Aye, but I also want you to record the monetary and agricultural donations that will be received and partition them amongst the accounts that I have determined,” she explained. She paused, then added, “Thank you for the herbal remedies you sent to me, by the way. My physicker and I were pleasantly surprised at how the steeped fennel seed calmed my stomach.”
“That is excellent news. I have sought the counsel of many who dabble in medicine these last several months. I’m glad I could be of assistance.”
“Why would you be seeking medicinal cures? Are you ill?”
“No, it is for Isobel. She suffers from headaches, and I’ve been wanting to find a remedy.”
“Isobel,” she said quietly. “Is that the girl you were with that night…?”
“You know that it is,” I said, then gently smiled. “Since I was not royalty, I grew up in both worlds. I was friend of the young queen, but I was also friend of the servants.”
She watched me for an instant, then shook her head and smiled. “Yes, of course. You have such a friendly disposition, I would expect no less.”
I watched her pat Pureté then mount the stallion with the ease of a summer breeze. “You don’t mean to leave this instant, do you?”
“No, silly, but it is already July and if we are to make a trip of this magnitude this year, we must make haste. I would like to leave for Inverness within the fortnight.” I nodded my head to her and would have resumed my task, when I heard her ask, “Are you coming?”
Confused I looked up at her. Sitting atop Pureté, she looked glorious. “I beg your pardon?” I stammered.
“First we ride!” she shouted as she took off out of the courtyard, spurring Pureté on by digging her heels into his flanks. I hurriedly mounted Achaius and easily caught up with her and her mount. Pureté may be beautiful, but he was built for labor, not for speed. There was no way he would outrun my Achaius.
***
On the morning of our departure, I donned my robe and with much trepidation, painstakingly buttoning each hole. The robe was hot for such a long journey, but I tried to wear it as much as possible when I was performing the duties of the church, even while traveling. I carefully rolled two changes of clothing into my bedroll. I placed my sword in its scabbard that would be attached to Achaius’ saddle and tucked my dirk into the belt of my robe for quick access, should I need it. I did not make a habit of using weaponry, but Mary’s father, King James, was insistent that I learn to defend myself and a lady’s honor, if necessary. Even after his death when I had been six years old, my mother honored the king’s wish and arranged to continue my training with a clansman by the name of Donald McEleney. He was an expert swordsman and locals bragged that Donald had never been brought low by another man’s sword until the day his life was taken by one.
That had been eight years ago, but I could still hear his calm words of instruction as we sparred in the castle courtyard. “Ne’er turn yer back on yer opponent, laddie.” Those were the words with which he started every lesson. The words had stuck with me, and it was the first thought that came to my mind every time I pick up my sword.
A page boy named Kenneth met me at the stairway and offered to help carry my things. As we approached the stable, I sensed something awry. I could see Hammond in Achaius’ stall, but he was not alone. The voices of three other men drifted through smell of hay and manure and mingled with the sound of Achaius’ snorting as he drew air laboriously into his nose and blew it out again. He was restless and every few seconds I could hear him bang against the side of his stall in a vain attempt to let the intruders know they were not welcome. I handed Kenneth my leather satchel and ran to meet them.
“Och, Master Thomas.” Hammond greeted me with a tone that hinted he was expecting me. “I just sent Marcus to fetch ye and here ye be.”
“What’s the matter, Hammond? What’s ailing Achaius?”
“Barley
surfeit. Likely from the east field.”
“Are you sure?” I questioned, even though I knew Hammond was a horse expert and knew everything there was to know about horses. I reached a cautious hand out to calm Achaius, and I could feel his muscles relaxing under my touch. I knelt to get a better look and spotted the infected hoof. The barley disease was very painful for horses. It could also be dangerous, but it was treatable.
“Looks like you might have caught it in time. I’ve seen worse cases.”
“Aye. But he’ll be needing a strict diet and regimented exercise until this clears up. Master Thomas, I’m sorry but I--”
“I know what you’re going to say, Hammond. Achaius cannot make such an arduous journey with this painful ailment. But I know he will be in the best of care under your treatment.” I squeezed Hammond’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “Just make him feel better, Hammond.” The humble man nodded his head but did not speak. There was nothing in this world that he cared about more than the health of the horses in his care.
I caressed the velvety tip of Achaius’ nose and spoke soothingly to him. His heavy breathing lightened a bit and his large, black eyes implored me to help him. I picked up the brush that hung from the stable door and began to brush Achaius softly. Brushing always has a calming effect on him, and this time was no exception.
“You do have a way with the beast, Master Thomas.” Kenneth stood in the doorway, still holding all my things and watching as Achaius settled into a slow steady breathing. “I have heard that two other men were thrown from him and maimed before you claimed him.”
“We understand each other,” I said, as I returned the brush to its proper place on the doorframe.
He nodded his head knowingly and shifted my belongings from one arm to the other. “Forgive me sir, but where should I place these items now that the horse is not departing?”
I reclaimed my items from Kenneth then turned and looked at Hammond. This progress was going to be long and laborious and I needed a dependable horse that could suffer the journey. Hammond confirmed what I had feared. All the dependable horses had already been geared up or hitched to wagons for the journey.
The Queen's Almoner Page 10
