The Queen's Almoner
Page 16
“And how came you to know such details. Who stood by and reported all of this to you?”
“I saw it with my own eyes. You never left my sight.”
I studied her face for a long moment and would have questioned more but then Mary spoke again.
“How are you feeling? How is your vision? Has Davies’ tincture had any affect?”
Having not thought about my sight since Mary kissed me, I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. I tried to focus on an object across the room with no success. “I can detect no difference.”
“Perhaps it will take time.” She brushed a gentle hand across my arm in a reassuring manner then moved to fluff my pillow, thus indicating to me that our conversation was finished.
“Get some rest. I know you have more questions about the battle at Corrichie, but I have taxed you enough for the time being. Rest your eyes and build your strength.” Once again she leaned toward me but this time she pressed her lips to my forehead. “I shall be right here beside you, should you have need of anything.”
I closed my eyes, but I did not sleep. The heat of Mary’s kiss still burned on my lips. Honey, sweet and pure, never tasted as good as her lips on mine. Curse that blasted rock upon which I struck my head! One of a million such similar rocks scattered about the hills and mountains of the Highlands, yet it had stolen my strength and incapacitated me, rendering me helpless and incapable of returning the affection that I now knew she possessed for me.
And I wanted to return the affection. Now more than ever. The thought scared me even more than my wounds did.
Any other man would be thanking the Almighty for putting them in a position, which would warrant the care and compassion of the queen. Yet, I knew that the mutual love that we held for each other would come to naught. She was a queen. She must marry a high-born man and produce an heir for the throne.
I could never be that man. My pedigree nor my position would ever make me a worthy contender. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, feeling the heartache over any other pain.
The pain from knowing what needed to be done overshadowed my physical injuries. My heart broke because I had to put a stop to this madness. Being with Mary could never happen.
I had to withdraw from her court and put distance between us.
~20~
December 1562-March 1563
I did not regain the full strength of my vision for several months. But worse than the lack of clear sight was the weakness of my legs. I spent the Christmas season confined to my apartments where only occasionally was I able to summon enough strength to attempt to stand and move myself around the scant furniture in my room. The pieces were minimal, and only did I allow those that were absolutely necessary for a man of my station to perform his duties.
My station. The word was like clay on my tongue and left a rotting hole in my stomach whenever I allowed myself to think about it, which was far more often than I should have. It was the chasm between Mary and me; the great gulf that separated us and ensured that we would never be, could never be, more than childhood friends to each other. Mary visited me every day, and it was she who encouraged me to remove myself from bed and try to regain my strength.
But I could not bear the sight of her. Sometimes she would come to me after some noble statesman had dined at Holyroodhouse. Dressed in a rich velvet gown of crimson and gold, and studded with garnets, the elaborate gown would astonish. The color always complimented her striking golden-emerald eyes, and the lacy ruffle that often enshrouded her long, ivory neck, displayed her lovely face as though it were a beautiful, blooming flower. Her rich, amber hair would be pinned perfectly in place beneath her attifet. On Christmas Eve, she brought dinner to me still dressed in the garments she had worn and danced in all evening. I could scarcely take my eyes off her. She donned a sapphire gown made of finest silk and embroidered with tiny silver flowers, each accented with a small diamond in the middle. The neck and cuffs were trimmed in silver fox fur and when she moved she sparkled. I could not help but think of a shooting star moving effortlessly across the blackened December sky. Even on the rare, quiet mid-winter evening, when there were no dinners or dances to occupy her time, she would come to me, dressed in a modest damask. With the farthingale removed, the plain silk accentuated her soft, feminine curves and was enough to drive me mad with want of her. She wore her hair in a simple braid, or worse, on occasion completely loose, her soft amber curls framing her porcelain skin.
It was on one such occasion that Mary came to sup with me. She and the four Marys had been riding earlier in the day, for the fair March day had been commonly windy yet unseasonably warm. She wore a plain, dark gray dress with a creamy lace apron on top of it. Her face was flushed from the riding and her hair hung heavily down her back with only the sides pulled back away from her temples; a sprig of yellow Scottish broom tucked into the loose knot on the back of her head. She smelled of hay, and spring, and that scent that was so singularly hers. Heaven was the first thought that came to my mind. This must be what heaven smells like, if heaven had a scent.
The servants carried the trays of food into my room, and Mary allowed them to arrange our food. She then sent them away, asking only Tess to stay in case we were in need of something.
“Mary, your eyes are shining. Did you enjoy your ride?”
“Ahh, Thomas, it was most enjoyable. I am tired of snow and am ready to feel the warmth of the sun upon my face.”
“A face that is shining with the exhilaration of a good spring ride. Made even lovelier with the yellow broom in your hair.” Mary blushed and quickly reached to remove the flowers from her hair.
“Yes, well, that is just a symbol of my folly,” she mumbled.
“Folly?” I questioned. “What do you mean?”
“’Tis nothing.” She waved her hand as if to shoo the subject away. I caught her meaning immediately. I knew the flowers must have been given her by a gentleman. I didn’t know what discomforted me more: the thought of another man paying her attention, or the fact that she wouldn’t share her excitement with me. I swallowed hard and tried to shove the unpleasant thoughts from my mind.
Mary moved toward me, placing a tray of food on my lap. She leaned over me, plumped my pillow, and tucked the yellow broom into the lacing of my tunic. Smiling weakly, she kissed my forehead and patted my hand. She had taken to kissing my forehead in the weeks during my convalescing, and never again touched my lips with hers. But I had suffered her nearness for months. A tightness seized my chest as the scent of her accosted me. I grabbed her wrist to prevent her from moving away from me, and she froze. The liquid gold of her eyes melted into tears that hung heavy upon her lashes. She shook her head at me slightly.
“Thomas, please,” she choked out the words, as her breath caught. I swallowed the bile that had arisen in my own throat and willed my voice to be steady before I even attempted to speak.
“Mary,” I began uncertainly, my voice barely above a whisper. “You are killing me. Your nearness is a torture to me. The memory of your lips on mine haunts me, and I must ask that you not attend to me any longer.”
A small cry escaped from her lips as she pulled from my grasp. “But Thomas—“
“Please,” I interrupted her. “Please do not visit me again until…until I am well.”
Her eyes searched mine, and her lips parted in an attempt to speak, but a choke gripped her voice.
“It is for the best,” I finished my plea.
The shock on her face turned to one of hurt. Picking up the hem of her skirts, she turned and ran out of my room. Her departure ripped what remained of my heart from my chest. A rage like I had never before experienced overcame me, pulling a gut-wrenching sound from within me.
Without thought, I overturned the tray of food that she had sat in my lap, sending lamb and potatoes flying across the room. A look of shock crossed Tess’s face and quickly turned to terror when I shouted, “Leave me!” She fled as quickly as Mary, leaving me in guilt and despondency.
Grabbing my staff, and pulling myself into a full stance, I wobbled to my feet then stood motionless as I worked the nerve up to make the first move. Slow, methodical steps was my plan, but after the third step, I found myself lying flat on my face. I had not lifted my foot high enough, causing my soft leather shoe to catch on a wooden floor plank. I scooted over to the bed once more and using the bed and my staff for leverage, pulled myself up again.
My regimen went on like this for some time until finally night had completely overtaken the room. I lit a candle at last and proceeded to clean up the food I had scattered about the floor. This task took me a very long time, and when I had finished, I was spent. I received no visitors for the remainder of the evening, and I was fairly certain Tess would not return after her mistreatment. I removed my tunic and breeches and crawled back into bed. Snuffing out the candle I lay back upon my pillow, propping my head up with my arms. My strength may have been gone, but my mind was racing.
I knew the words spoken today were necessary, but somehow I felt like a festering boil. “Mary,” I half whispered, half choked her name. I felt the hot, salty tears building up beneath my lids, and I blinked hard to force them out. Once again my thoughts turned to the opening Archbishop Porterfield had told me about at St. Andrews. I still possessed the letter that I had written to inquire about the position. Once I regained my strength, I knew this was the course of action that I must take.
The next morning, I was awakened by the soft humming of a maid as she pulled at the dressings of my bed. Knowing I wore no clothing under the blankets, I was brought to complete wakefulness as my situation became painfully clear. I sat up quickly, pulling at the blanket in my best attempt to salvage my honor. Her laugh rang out crystal clear and made her known to me even before I saw her face.
“You always were a man of the utmost reputation, Thomas Broune. Aye keep your blanket if it makes ye feel better. I’ll not molest ye for it.”
Isobel moved away from the bed and bent to pick up a potato I had missed the night before.
“I assume Tess will not be waiting on me any longer,” I stated more than asked.
“Aye, ye assume correctly.” She eyed me as she pulled my clothing out of a chest at the foot of my bed. “After ye vexed her so last evening, she’ll not be catering to ye anymore.”
“Why? What did you hear? I merely shouted at her to let me be alone. I was upset.”
“Aye, ye did. But when a man of gentle spirit as yourself finds himself inclined to shout to get his point across, ‘tis not pleasant. Ye hurt her feelings, ye did. I personally think the maid was smitten with ye, but ye don’t have to worry yourself about that now. I think she’s cured.”
I stared at her in disbelief. Shaking my head, I said, “I must apologize to her. I meant her no ill will.”
“Apologize if ye must, but you’re stuck with me now. The maids were all in a tizzy last night when Tess came in all red-eyed and blubbering. When Her Grace came to find her—”
“The queen saw to finding help for me?” I interrupted.
“When Her Grace came to find Tess,” she continued, “to give her instructions concerning your toilette, the lass cried that you’d been most cruel to her and begged off of the responsibility.”
“Cruel?” I could scarce believe my ears. “And what did Her Grace say?”
Isobel shrugged. “Naught but that she understood and that ye had had a rough time of it the last few months, and that she hoped Tess would find it in her heart to forgive ye.”
I needed to speak to Mary. The confrontation the night before was poorly done, and I needed to explain myself. I wanted her to know that she didn’t have to avoid me to avoid an awkward or uncomfortable situation. I needed to tell her of my renewed plans to take up a position elsewhere. I would no longer be a thorn in her side.
“Isobel, would you please fetch my robe from the trunk? I have an errand I need to see to.”
She laughed. “You’re not going anywhere, Thomas Broune. You’ve been bed-ridden for months, what makes ye think you’re going to just walk out of this room all a sudden? Tell me what ye need and I’ll see to it that your business is taken care of.”
I knew she was right, and I sighed in frustration. As though she read my mind, she spoke again. “I know we’ve not seen each other for a spell, but I do still consider ye my friend. It’s not every man who will help a maid with her headaches.”
“How have you been feeling? Did the herbal concoction work?”
“Aye, it did, and the physicker ye sent to see me has helped replenish the herbs when they ran low. I thank ye.”
Isobel busied herself with rifling through my trunk even though everything I needed was already in her hands. Not knowing what else to say, I said, “I’m glad you are well.”
She shut the trunk abruptly. “When I heard…I mean, when I found out about…the accident…we didn’t know… no one told us if ye were alive.” Isobel’s gaze landed on me. “I’m glad you’re still here. Even if ye are terrorizing poor Tess.”
I gaped at her for a moment until a playful smile lit up her face. I smiled back.
“I’ll be discreet,” Isobel said, handing me the clothes. “Tell me what ye need, and I’ll take care of it.”
I motioned to my desk. “Would you bring me the small bundle that is tucked inside that drawer?”
She quickly moved to the desk, and opening the drawer, she pulled out a pile of documents and letters that I had tied together with a string. She studied them wide-eyed, then quickly handed them to me when she saw me watching her. I flipped through the stack and pulled a small folded letter from the middle. The red wax seal was still in place, just as perfect as the day I had first written it.
“I have a letter that I need to send to St. Andrews.” I handed the letter to her, then gave her the bundle to put back in the drawer. “I would still like to go downstairs, please. I have an apology to make to Tess, and I need to speak to Her Grace.”
“Her Grace is not here. She left early this morning for Falkland Palace. Plans to do some hawking, I believe.”
I stared at her again in disbelief. So, the queen had given me exactly what I asked for. I should have felt satisfaction, or at least relief. But instead I felt an emptiness. I had grown so accustomed to Mary’s visits, that I was a little put off by her failure to share with me her plans to visit Falkland. I had no right to be, but I felt the jilt nonetheless.
“Now ye get dressed and eat your breakfast.” The sound of Isobel’s voice stirred me from my reverie. “The parritch will be cold for all the talking. I’ll be back in a wink to help ye down to the servants’ quarters so ye can speak to Tess, for I fear there’s no convincing her to come back up here.”
Isobel left me then, and I quickly dressed and broke my fast. By the time she returned a quarter of an hour later, I was ready to attempt my intended endeavor.
“Perhaps you could find a footman to assist you. I’m quite a bit larger than you, are you sure you are up to the task?”
Isobel’s eyes gleamed as she placed her hands on her hips. “I am quite capable, Reverend.” It was the first time I heard her call me that, and the sound on her lips was rather amusing.
“How about I hold my staff in my right hand, and you assist me on the left?” I instructed, as I wobbled to a standing position at the side of my bed. She was quite a bit shorter than I,
and it made leaning against her much easier. We shuffled along at a snail’s pace. I leaned on her shoulder, and she kept her hand against my chest to steady me.
“Mayhap I could come every day for a little bit and help ye exercise your legs.”
I looked at her in surprise. “That is very kind of you to offer. I must admit that it is much easier to attempt when I have someone balancing me on the other side. But what of your duties? I would not want you to suffer a lecture for neglecting your other chores.”
“I don’t think it will matter much. I am due to leave here in another month anyway.”
“Due to leave?” I stopped moving forward, and the sudden lack of movement almost made me lose my balance. “What do you mean?”
“I am to return to my aunt’s house at the end of the month. My superiors think that the fresh air and rest will do me good.” We started to move again, but I wasn’t done with my interrogation.
“So you are to leave Holyroodhouse then? For how long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe forever. Or, until I get better, I guess.”
“But you still seem capable of performing your duties. You were sent to assist me.”
She shook her head. “I had to beg to be given the task.”
“Beg? I do not understand.”
“Aye, beg, Thomas Broune, because I have been told that I am too weak to be of much use to anyone. They only acquiesced because none of the other maids would do it after Tess cried off.”
“Why was it so important to come serve me? Apparently I’m a rotten scoundrel.”
“You’re not a scoundrel,” she said softly. “And must ye ask, Thomas? Really?” With that she began to move a little faster, and I could not keep up.
It was bound to happen. The increased speed of our movement, coupled with my weak legs threw me off balance, and suddenly I felt myself going down. I thought I had released my hold on Isobel, but evidently I had grabbed at her in an effort to stop my fall instead. Within seconds, we were both on the floor. I fell against the hard surface of the wooden boards, and she, given a soft landing on top of me.