The Queen's Almoner

by Tonya Ulynn Brown

  “Who was this messenger? From whence did he come and how came he to be in possession of such treasonous information?”

  “He would not tell me his name. Not even when I pressed him for it in order that I might reward him in the future. He said that he wished only to kiss the hand of his sovereign queen and that would be better than ten thousand indulgences.”

  “So, he is a Catholic that has not converted to Protestantism along with his earl?”

  She nodded her head silently.

  “But where did he get his knowledge?”

  “He is a member of the earl’s guard, from the earl’s own clan. He said Lord Gordon has been recruiting men for months to bear arms in alliance with him, should I come into his territory and pose a threat to him and his clan.”

  “What threat have ye posed? You refused dinner at his home and he feels threatened?”

  “Nay, it is more than that, dearest Thomas. He has borne it very badly since I removed the earldoms of Mar and Moray and gave them to James. He has made that very clear that he was immensely humiliated by that gesture. He is also deeply proud of his roots and feels that I threaten Scotland's safety by my correspondence with Cousin Elizabeth. Lady Gordon made that very plain to me.”

  “You sound as if you sympathize with his hurt feelings.”

  “By the hand of the Almighty, I do not! He is an arrogant man and far too pretentious for my liking. I would like nothing more than to crush his grandiose façade.”

  “So, what are your plans?” I queried. “Have you spoken to Lord James concerning this?”

  “It is James who brought the man to me. But he is much too

  brash. Already he writes edicts to the northern allied clans, requesting all able-bodied men to appear at sunup in Inverness. I fear that a skirmish cannot be avoided. Thomas, what think you of this predicament?”

  “James might actually have the right of it. But Mary, I am not a

  man of war. I really know nothing of maneuvers and tactics. However, Gordon is a powerful chieftain. His clan is violently loyal to him. In terms of enforcing the law and keeping order among his people and some of the smaller clans of the north, he could prove very useful. Yet, were you to find yourself on the wrong side of his hospitality, he will be dangerous. He could set the whole north of Scotland against you. Let us speak to Sir Arrick. He will know what to do. All I can tell you is that I will stand with you and fight to the death for you, if need be.”

  “Aye, Sir Arrick! Why did I not think of him myself? I was

  overtaken in distress, and you were the first person I thought of to seek guidance from. I'm sorry to have bothered you.” She turned toward the door, but I caught her hand and stayed her feet.

  “Mary,” I said softly. “I am glad you thought of me first. Truly.

  I live to protect you. Whether from the charms of flattering lips, or the evil intents of those that wish you harm. My life is yours.” She smiled another nervous smile at me, then lifted my hand to her face and rubbed the back of my hand against her cheek. I turned my hand to cup her warm skin in my palm and rubbed my thumb across her soft lips. I ached to kiss those perfect, pink lips. But the weight of the realization of the situation shook me. I dropped my hand and reminded her of Sir Arrick. She nodded then opened the door to step out. I caught her, and then leaning out the door, I looked both ways down the hall to make sure no one would see her leaving my room.

  “It's clear,” I assured her. “Meet me in the great hall in ten

  minutes. I'll get Sir Arrick.”

  She nodded again then slipped off into the darkness to dress.

  Before finding Sir Arrick, I needed a moment to compose myself and quench the fire that she had once again stirred within me.

  ~16~

  October 1562

  Morning broke cold and bright over the rolling hills of the Highlands. Mary appeared in the great hall of the inn fully prepared for whatever calamity the day might hold. Our eyes met briefly before she broke my gaze. Perhaps she could read my thoughts, for I didn’t hide the fact that I was not happy about her joining us today.

  “I see you’ve traded the muted tones of your brown and gray traveling wools for a piece of lace,” I growled under my breath when I drew near to her. “Do you really think this pale yellow blouse and velvet doublet will keep you warm in these elements?”

  “I don’t want to be encumbered by the frivolous layers of skirts the fairer sex is expected to wear. I want to be able to move about freely and strike quickly, should the need arise.”

  “I thought we agreed that you would stay behind today. The risk of a kidnapping is more than enough reason for you to stay put.”

  “Nay, you and James decided I would stay behind. I told you that I am going with you. I came this far to meet my subjects, and I am not about to hide away in this smelly inn while you men have all the adventure. Besides, I am the commander, and I will lead my men—my army, into whatever fight we find ourselves facing. These men have valiant hearts, but it is no secret that they flourish when provided a muse to guide them.”

  “Aye, and a beautiful muse at that,” David Rizzio interjected,

  joining us in conversation.

  “You are not helping matters,” I snapped. Then turning back to Mary I said, “I suppose you think that thin piece of metal is going to protect you?”

  Mary looked down at the fitted armor that she wore over her doublet. “’Twill be safe enough. Besides, Rizzio will protect me if you find that you are unable to do so.” She laced her arm through his, and they turned to leave the inn. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight smirk on her face as she departed. Everyone knew Rizzio couldn’t wield a sword. The thought of him protecting the queen was laughable. She made those comments to vex me, and it had worked.

  Whatever reservations I may have been feeling the night before were dispelled when we walked out of the inn. Across the countryside of Inverness, as far as the eye could see, were men who had taken up sword and shield and answered the call for retainers to come and stand up for their beloved queen and fight for her, if necessary. No doubt, many had come with nothing more than a wish to behold her beautiful face; others, perhaps with a false notion of winning her heart and possibly her hand in marriage. Some had come on horseback, others on foot; nobleman and commoner alike, all camped side by side, awaiting orders, and a glimpse of the terrestrial angel they call their queen.

  Mary traded her riding palfrey for an iron gray destrier. The stallion struck a beautiful contrast against Mary's dress and she looked exquisite atop the steed. The light from the dawning sunrise, cast a soft glow and set off Mary's silhouette against the stubborn shadows that refused to retreat. Mary patted the Gray and talked sweetly to it as she warmed the creature to her. The horse had been a gift from James Douglas, Earl of Morton, who had been one of the first to arrive in the early morning hours.

  Morton now stood beside the steed, adjusting the saddle and making sure Mary’s feet were securely in the stirrups. He was a weaselly-looking man with eyes set too close together and a pinched nosed. His face was covered in a red thatch of beard that hid the entire lower portion of his face. Red bushy eyebrows bloomed above his beady eyes and covered the part of his face that the beard did not. He was a Protestant who had sided with the Lords of the Congregation, yet he had held no particular issue against Mary. That he should stand against Gordon was no surprise, but there had to be more at stake than pure politics. He wanted something, and the expensive piece of horseflesh that he had given to Mary was evidence of that.

  I stood stroking Ramses as he shuffled anxiously beside me. I wasn't sure what was causing him such angst. He had ridden smoothly and in harmony with the other horses in our progress for two months, yet today he appeared to be in distress. I ran my hand along his powerful neck and noticed the tightness of his muscles. I rubbed gently, trying to ease the tension that I could feel just below the surface of his glimmering black hair. I spoke softly to him, assuring him that all would be w
ell, and we’d be returning home soon. Leading him away from the crowd, I walked him around to release his extra energy. Rubbing, wooing, walking; that was our routine for the next half hour while we awaited word to storm the castle gates of Inverness.

  During this dance I was joined by Rizzio. He had been commissioned to record the events and the outcome of the skirmish. Rizzio paced, chewing on his thumbnail and looking about him nervously. He opened his shoulder bag and removed the parchment that he had stuffed inside. He unrolled the parchment, rerolled it, slid it into the bag, then removed it and started the process all over again.

  “What the devil are you doing?” I finally inquired. I watched as he removed the parchment for the third time and unrolled it.

  “I…I can’t seem to fit everything I need into my bag,” he stammered.

  “Are you nervous, man? You’re about as hot as Ramses here.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. We’d never been chummy, and I could see him calculating whether I was truly concerned or mocking him. He shoved the parchment back into his bag.

  “Aren’t you?” He finally replied in his heavy Italian accent. “You are a man of the cloth. You do not fight… do you?”

  “I’ve wielded a sword or two in my lifetime. I don’t make a habit of it, but yes, I can fight.”

  “I’ve never been in a…situation like this,” he confessed. “I’m worried about Her Majesty.” He straightened his back then leveled a defiant look at me.

  I nodded my head as if I believed him. “She will be safe. There are thousands of men who have answered the call to come and protect their queen. They will not allow any harm to befall her.”

  “But what of the plans to kidnap her? What…how will they know who can be trusted?”

  “We will stay close to her. Those that she knows and trusts. We will be the only ones allowed near her. Are you with us?” I clapped my hand against his back as I led Ramses back to the camp.

  Arrick had given orders for Lord James and Maitland to stay with Mary and a quarter of the retainers until the bridge across the River Ness could be secured. Arrick would lead half of the retainers west toward the river. The final batch of retainers were to stand toward Aberdeen and block any progression from Gordon or his forces from the east. James, Maitland, and the Earl of Morton surrounded Mary as the soldiers found their places and were given their orders.

  “I want Thomas and Rizzio close to me,” Mary called out to James as everyone was falling into their assigned places. A look of consternation clouded his face.

  “Your Grace,” he began reprovingly, but Mary cut him off.

  “James, you see a clergyman, but I know Thomas to be an excellent swordsman. Furthermore, Rizzio is not trained in war tactics, yet he serves me unselfishly and has agreed to come with me on this skirmish despite his inability to protect himself. These are two of my closest friends, and I wish to have them near me. I will feel even safer having Thomas with me, and I will feel more settled knowing that my dear friend, Rizzio, is protected.”

  I stole a glance at Rizzio to see his reaction to Mary’s request. He appeared somewhat relieved, although his face still reflected hesitation and apprehension. Embarrassment at the wounded male ego, however, was not one of the emotions I read on his face.

  Mary’s circle of protectors widened to allow Rizzio and myself entrance. By this time Ramses had cooled a bit, but I could still sense his edginess as we headed west.

  ***

  Arrick and his men had seen to the securing of the bridge at River Ness. However, when we reached the castle gate a great surprise awaited us.

  The clans Munro and Fraser had heard of the trouble the queen had the day before and promptly took matters into their own hands. They reached Inverness Castle ahead of us, besieged the castle, and captured the guards. The first was a young man of about ten and seven, upon whom facial whiskers had barely begun to grow. The second was the guard with whom Mary had exchanged a heated conversation the day before. Upon further questioning it was ascertained that the two men were sons of the earl. Apparently, Gordon had not anticipated Mary’s reaction to his refusing her entry into the gates. The men had little in the way of weaponry and were quite surprised at the force by which their post was apprehended.

  The two men were presented to Mary by the chief of the Munro clan, Robert Mor Munro. He was a beast of a man that stood a head above his average clansman. His hair was shorn to his scalp with the exception of a thick patch of tar-black hair that splayed from the center of his forehead down the middle of his head and lay in a thick braid down his back. Black tattoos engulfed his muscular jaw line and wrapped themselves around the sides of his head toward the back of his neck. The same tribal tattoo pattern could be seen wrapped around his large upper arms, and again down the sides of both thighs, his belted plaid hiding the rest of the tattoo from the view of others.

  He pushed the men forward to Mary. The younger man stood with his head down in submission but the elder, named Alexander, stood aloof, head taut and eyes defiant.

  “Alexander, you have defied me and brought judgment upon your own head. Your loyalty to your father has cost you dearly. What do you know of the Earl’s plans against me?” Alexander didn’t blink but stood rigid and silent, staring straight ahead. When he didn’t respond to Mary, Munro stepped up behind him and struck him behind the knees with the broadside of his sword, causing Alexander’s knees to buckle and slamming them into the cold, hard ground. “Kneel before your queen,” Munro growled. Alexander shifted his knees on the solid earth, wincing in silence.

  “Why did you not tell me that you were Gordon’s son?”

  When he still didn’t respond, Mary attempted a different approach. Turning to the younger brother she spoke again.

  “What is your name, sir?”

  The younger man looked up startled, then quickly knelt before Mary.

  “My name is Adam Gordon, seventh son of Lord George Gordon, Earl of Huntly, Your Grace.” His humility sounded genuine and touched a gentle chord within Mary. Her tone softened and she continued her inquiry.

  “What do you know of your father’s orders to bar my entrance into the gates?”

  He kept his head down and spoke quietly. “Your Grace, I just arrived this morning from Glasgow. I was informed that my father does not wish to permit you entrance into the castle. I am not a son that would tend to deny the wishes of my father. However, I am not so foolish to think that I could deny the demands of my queen either. I’m afraid I would have to go against my father’s wishes.”

  “You milksop! Where is your sense of familial honor?” spat the elder.

  “And where is your sense of duty to queen and country?” Adam asked.

  “Father always did think you were soft. Ever since you cried when he forced you to kill that stag when you were seven.”

  The younger man lunged at his brother, but Munro grabbed him before he could knock him over. A slight smile turned up the corner of Mary’s mouth then she turned to Alexander again. “It appears that your younger brother has more honor than you. Where is your father presently?”

  Alexander narrowed his eyes and glared at Mary. “And why would I tell you that?”

  Mary smiled sweetly. “You, dear sir, have already committed high treason. You have an opportunity to redeem yourself by aiding your queen and telling her what your father is planning. Is he hiding in Aberdeen?”

  “You can rest assured that whatever my father’s plans, they are in the best interest of our clan. We will never allow ourselves to be subjected to that English Cow.”

  At this Mary raised her hand in decision. “Munro, take this man and hang him from the battlements. His crime is treason...and being overly-opinionated for my taste,” she added as an afterthought.

  Alexander sneered again. “Aye, take me if ye will, but there are 2,000 clansmen and friends of clan Gordon that will stand behind us and fight to the death if we must. You flirt with the English and go to bed with the English queen’s bedfellows.”r />
  “Alexander, shut up!” Adam tried to warn.

  “You make deals with the Protestants and blaspheme the holy mass with your…”

  “Alexander Gordon, you have said enough,” Munro interrupted. He grabbed both men and swung them about to fulfill Mary’s orders, but Mary intervened.

  “Not the younger. He has committed no crime. Bring him with us. He might prove to be useful to me.” Munro handed Adam off to another clansman as he pushed Alexander forward. Grabbing a large thick rope from his horse in one swift jerk, he continued pushing the man forward toward the castle gate. Reaching the top of the wall in mere seconds, Munro had the rope tied around the guard’s neck in even less. Wasting no time, he pushed him toward the edge of the wall.

  “Your Merciful Grace…,” the younger brother began his quivering plea. But Mary held up her hand to him in indication that she did not wish to hear his request. The younger brother buried his head in his chest and began to cry out, “No, no, no!” in excruciating anguish. “For the sake of my mother!”

  Mary lifted her hand in the air and held it momentarily. In another instant she dropped her hand and Alexander was pushed over the edge. Adam turned away and retched as his brother’s face twitched and his legs jerked spastically. In another moment his body was still. Mary reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Handing it to Munro’s man she commanded he wipe Adam’s mouth, for his hands were tired and he was unable to care for himself.

  Mary appeared to be unshaken, but I could hear the emotion in her voice. She wished to show a strong side to her subjects, but I could tell she was deeply bothered by what she had to do.

  “Leave him,” she commanded, then turned and strode toward her horse. Patting his rump three times, she mounted him swiftly then turned toward the east. “Find Adam a mount. He will accompany us to Strathbogie.”