‘It was a terrible shock to us all. I don’t think my daughter Marie will ever get over it,’ said the Bishop. ‘They hoped to marry, you know.’
‘Yes, I have heard.’
‘Oh yes. They were both very happy and looking forward to their future together. We had all journeyed down to Glasgow and were celebrating their betrothal. That was the night it happened…’
‘You think the old man was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing?’
‘That’s what everyone said. But of course he was in his dotage. Half the time he didn’t know what he was doing.’
Gavin McNaughton looked both sad and thoughtful. He was a tall handsome man of at least six feet, and broad shouldered. The paleness of his skin—no doubt a result of his incarceration—was in stark contrast to his piercing blue eyes.
‘I hear that you have taken responsibility for McKeever’s family,’ Gavin said.
‘They had nobody else. I felt I had to do something. Do you take exception to my action?’
‘No. It is most generous of you.’
In the days that followed, the new Duke of Glasgow, as he was now, spoke at some length with Joseph and Agnes McKeever. The Bishop had watched them from his window walking together deep in conversation. Eventually the young Duke had said to him,
‘The McKeevers are convinced their grandfather did not commit the crime and I have come to believe them.’
The Bishop smiled.
‘They are naturally loyal to him.’
‘It’s not just that. They have convinced me that it was not possible. He was a frail old man who had no reason to commit murder. It seems completely out of character. All his long life, I’m told, he was a quiet-spoken, gentle person.’
‘People have been known in their dotage to act out of character, quite differently than they would have done with all their senses about them. And he was smelling of drink, remember.’
‘That was out of character too,’ the Duke said thoughtfully.
‘My dear boy,’ the Bishop sighed, ‘why do you keep worrying at this like a dog at a bone? The poor man is dead and gone, as is your dear father Machar. Nothing can bring either of them back.’
‘But if Murdo McKeever did not murder my father, then someone else did. And that someone must not escape unpunished.’
‘Gavin, it is all in the past now. Even if it is as you say, we shall never know who committed the crime.’
‘Maybe not, but I will not rest until I know the truth.’
PART II
FRANCE
1558
XIV
‘MY dear Marie,’ Mary said, ‘you appear downhearted. What ails you? Can I be of any comfort?’
Marie looked at her Queen with affection.
‘My mind was in Scotland.’
The Queen looked surprised and a little distressed.
‘You pine for Scotland? I thought you were happy here with me.’
‘Oh yes, I am.’
‘If you really wished to return, you know I would allow you to go, although with much sadness.’
‘No, no. It’s not that. It’s just something in the past that I regret happening. No, I am truly happy here with you. I have never been happier in my life.’
The Queen embraced her and Marie felt a rush of love for the girl. She admired her too. Although only fifteen, the Queen had already shown a quick intelligent mind and was highly talented in music and the dance. She had also insisted on, and received, her own establishment. As a result they now had their own servants on the same lavish scale as the Court. Although Mary was still being trained in courtly accomplishments, she sang very sweetly and could play the lute, the harpsichord, the cittern and the harp. The wonderful agility of her tall, slim body gave way to a quiet grace when dancing and could suit any harmony of strings.
She could be equally happy to sit with Marie working at her embroidery. On other occasions Mary revelled in the hunt and could race a horse as well as any man. She often challenged Marie to a race and the two of them, dressed as boys, would gallop at speed through fields and woods until they were flushed and breathless.
But Marie was often worried about Mary. The Court was rife with rumours of plots against her, and many suspected that Catherine di’ Medici was the driving force behind them. She was certainly a very dangerous woman—quiet, watchful, sinister—and she had never liked the Queen of Scots. One day, Marie mentioned her fears to Guthrie Jamieson.
‘You’re right to be fearful,’ Jamieson agreed. ‘That Medici woman has no scruples, but even she dare not harm the Queen. As for the Dauphin, however, now that is quite a different matter … his death might suit her purposes very well. She has never liked that pathetic weakling, and favours his brother, the handsome Charles.’
Jamieson’s words did nothing to calm Marie’s worries, and, still fearful of an attempt to poison the Queen, she kept keenly alert, often hovering around the kitchens at mealtimes.
Mary laughed at her but always added affectionately,
‘But do not think I’m not grateful, dear Marie. I know that you love me and are anxious to do all in your power to protect me.’
Marie marvelled at her courage. Underneath, she knew, the girl suffered more anxiety than she would ever admit. Mary had begun to complain of sickness and a pain on her right side. Once she was ill with a fever. Another time she had a fainting fit. These ailments became more marked after Catherine di’ Medici had banished Lady Fleming back to Scotland. In her place Catherine had put the sly Madame de Paroy. Mary protested but Catherine wanted a spy to report everything that might be of interest or of use to her. She would not listen to any protests.
The loss of the merry, frivolous, flirtatious Lady Fleming and the acquisition of Catherine’s spy had been a terrible blow to Mary and Marie. They wished with all their hearts that Lady Fleming had been more discreet. She had not only become involved with the King when his mistress was unwell, she had boasted about the result.
‘God be thanked, I am pregnant by the King, for which I count myself both honoured and fortunate.’
Madame de Paroy asked many questions about Mary. And she also questioned Marie about herself, lingering over the tragedy in her past.
‘No, we were not married. We were betrothed.’
‘But still, such a tragedy. You came directly from Glasgow to join the Queen at Dumbarton?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘How fortunate that you were so close at hand and your position of maid d’honneur could be arranged with such speed.’
‘It wasn’t a case of arranging anything with speed. We were many months on Dumbarton Rock. I do not know why you have taken such a particular interest in my life, madame. Or for that matter, the particular comings and goings of Mary, Queen of Scots. You are, I believe, to tutor the Queen, not to act as her jailor.’
Madame de Paroy flushed with anger and Marie realised that she had made an enemy.
The talk about the murder and Madame de Paroy’s sly probing caused Marie’s nightmares to return. At about this time, the Queen’s ailments took a turn for the worse. A letter from Scotland from the Dowager had informed Mary that Madame de Paroy had written a long epistle, full of complaints about her. Mary’s hands shook and she sobbed as she penned a reply. She could not bear to be thought ill of by her mother.
Marie also wrote to the Dowager saying she too was unhappy with Madame de Paroy. She was of the opinion, she wrote, that the woman was a bad influence on her daughter’s health and happiness, and the Dowager was not the only person to whom Madame de Paroy had told lies about Mary. The Court was rife with evil rumours. In her distress, Marie confided in the Earl of Edinburgh about the problem of Madame de Paroy. Devious though he might be, she knew Jamieson was unswervingly loyal to the Queen of Scots. He advised that Mary should complain to her uncle, the Cardinal.
‘I will also approach him in person,’ Guthrie said, ‘and put the case for Madame de Paroy’s removal. No Medici spy will harm the Queen if I have a
nything to do with it!’
To the intense relief of Mary and Marie, the Earl eventually managed to have the woman removed. But it had taken considerable effort because Catherine di’ Medici resented any opposition. The young Queen had always loved her grandmother, Antoinette de Guise, and her Guise uncles, especially Charles, the Cardinal of Lorraine. Now she adored the Cardinal for his help in freeing her of the evil shadow of Madame de Paroy. She was also profuse in her thanks and affection towards Guthrie Jamieson. Marie was grateful to him as well. In fact, she now regarded him as her close friend.
The four Marys had now rejoined them from the French convent where they had been educated in French language and French customs. They had been furious at first and consumed with jealousy of Marie because, right from the start, she had been allowed to stay at the Queen’s side. It had been explained to them that the King wanted Mary to be as a French woman, and during her formative years, she had to be cut off from as many Scots influences and tongues as possible.
‘But what about Marie Hepburn and Lady Fleming?’ the girls had protested.
‘They are the Queen’s tutors and they will converse with her only in French. That is what you must learn to do.’
Mary enjoyed the company of all her maids d’honneur but she was always happiest when she was with the Dauphin. It was very touching to see the Queen and the Dauphin together. Mary was so sensitive and tender with him. He absolutely adored her, and despite the fact that he was sickly and, in Marie’s view, unattractive in appearance, Mary showed every sign of loving him in return. Although Marie was sure she only loved him like a young brother, they seemed to enjoy nothing better than walking hand in hand, chatting easily together. But it was pathetic how the boy’s passion for her made him strive in all sorts of energetic ways to impress the Queen and struggle to prove to her that he was neither weak nor sickly. Not that Mary demanded such behaviour. Time and time again, she assured him that her affection for him did not depend on how many stags he shot or wild boar he chased. All to no avail. The more the young Queen showed her affection for him, the more grateful he seemed, and the more feverishly he sought to perform deeds that he believed would make him truly deserving of her.
‘The poor boy,’ Marie confided in Jamieson, ‘he has never received any love from his mother, that’s the trouble. More than that, he is afraid of her, as all the other royal children are.’
‘Maybe,’ Jamieson replied, ‘but our Queen deserves better than this puny French creature. She would have been much better served by Edward of England.’
Marie looked at him in surprise and alarm. ‘You mustn’t say things like that.’
He shrugged. ‘It is the truth. You must see that.’
Despite everything Jamieson said, Marie still looked forward to the royal wedding. The prospect made her feel more secure, made her feel that she, like Mary, was being safely rooted in France. There would be no danger of the Scots Queen, particularly as French Dauphiness, leaving France with its magnificent palaces and chateaux and its fashionable Court, to return to the small and rugged country of Scotland. Especially now, when by all accounts that country was facing increasing trouble with the Protestants.
Mary was a devout Catholic and never missed hearing daily Mass. She glowed with pleasure when the Cardinal praised her devotion to the faith. Marie knew that the Cardinal’s devotion had led him to persecute and put to death many French Protestants but she refrained from telling Mary this. Firstly because Mary’s sensitive nature could not cope with violence, and secondly because she would never have believed the suave and handsome Cardinal with the neat pointed beard was capable of such cruelty. Marie sometimes worried about the influence the Queen’s uncles had over her. This was one subject on which she was in agreement with the Earl of Edinburgh. Everyone, except Mary, could see that the Guise family were ruthlessly ambitious. She feared it was true what Jamieson whispered to her,
‘They’re using Mary as a stepping stone to ultimate power. Through their influence on her, and her marriage to the Dauphin, they’ll have the chance, one day, of ruling France. You mark my words.’
But dear, loving, trusting Mary saw only the happy day ahead when she would marry her Dauphin. She was happy. For now, as far as Marie was concerned, that was all that mattered.
Although she did not see eye to eye with the Earl of Edinburgh on everything, Marie respected his opinion and she felt sure that he had the Queen’s welfare at heart. When he was in attendance in the French Court she couldn’t help noticing what a dominant figure he was. Not that she felt romantically attracted to him, she assured herself. She preferred lean men, not great hulks like Guthrie Jamieson. Nevertheless, it had to be said that his face was handsome enough. But there was something, however, that disturbed her, something she couldn’t quite fathom about his eyes, and in the many meetings she had with the Earl, this strange frisson of—she knew not what—was always present.
XV
‘THE wedding has got to be stopped,’ the Earl of Edinburgh declared.
‘The wedding?’ Marie echoed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You know as well as I do that it is not the best thing either for the Queen of Scots or for Scotland.’
‘But she loves the Dauphin and her heart is set on it. Anyway, how could anyone stop it even if they wanted to?’
‘If the sickly Dauphin were to die …’
‘God forbid such a thing!’ Marie cried out. But in her heart she often worried about the young man’s state of health and feared that he might not be long for this world. But God forbid such a thing, she repeated to herself.
‘Oh, I doubt if God would forbid it,’ the Earl told her. ‘But as for the wedding, however, you could have a few words in the young Queen’s ear. You have great charm and influence, and you would do your country a great service by helping me put a stop to this nonsense.’
Marie was beginning to feel uneasy.
‘Nothing I could say on the subject could possibly make any difference. Especially at this late stage. Anyway, Mary’s uncles have far more influence on the Queen than I could ever hope to have.’
‘But if the Dauphin were to die—if not by natural causes, perhaps by poison say—then their influence would die with him. Their bid for power through Mary would be ruined.’
‘Poison?’ Marie was shocked. ‘How can you even think of such a thing? I refuse to listen to any more of this treasonable talk.’
‘Now, now,’ Jamieson mocked. ‘Don’t pretend that you’re shocked.’
‘What do you mean—pretend?’ She was angry now. ‘I’m not pretending. I am shocked. You seem to be …’ She could hardly form the words. Surely she must be mistaken. ‘You seem to be suggesting that you … that we … might even bring about such a plot…’
‘There are no mights about it.’
‘You mean you are actually …’ Words failed her for a moment and then she said, ‘I am going to warn both the Queen and the Dauphin. If you value your own life, sir, you had better make haste to disappear on one of your journeys.’
The Earl was unperturbed.
‘No,’ he said calmly, ‘I have no journeys planned for the moment. And you will not repeat our conversation to anyone.’
‘And who will stop me?’
Unexpectedly one of his big hands shot out and snatched her to him. She was surprised not only at his action but at the rock hardness of his body.
‘How dare you!’
Before his mouth came down over hers, he whispered,
‘I’d dare anything for you.’
At first, surprise immobilised her. Also she experienced a physical thrill of a kind she’d forgotten existed. In the long years since her intimacy with Donald, there had been no other man. Donald had told her that she was a passionate woman. Now she realised how true his words had been. If this man had not spoken of murder …
She began to struggle against him but punching at his chest only made him laugh. His laughter ignited her temper and made her, with
all her strength and in one vicious move, bring her knee up between his legs.
‘You … little … !’ he groaned, staggering away from her, bending forward, nursing himself.
‘Don’t you dare touch me again.’
‘What would you do?’ he managed. ‘Stab me? Do you always keep a dagger handy for killing your lovers?’
She froze.
‘Oh yes, we have more in common than you could possibly imagine.’
Cold terror paralysed her brain.
‘I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she managed to stammer.
‘Come now, lady. Can you really be so stupid? Indeed, you are obviously exceptionally clever. To have begun as a poor bastard and end as a friend and confidante of a queen, not to mention getting away with murder en route, is no mean feat. I admire you. I will indeed be happy to pay court to you if you’ll have me.’
‘You keep talking about murder. …’
He smiled.
‘You thought no-one knew. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I witnessed you despatching the old Duke. And a very thorough job you made of it!’ The Earl laughed inwardly at the irony of his accusation.
‘Why have you never said anything before?’ she gasped.
‘I’ve waited years for the right moment, and I’m pleased to say that you have not disappointed me.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing to say. We’ll talk again when I’ve decided how best you can help me despatch that pathetic weakling.’
Later in her room, one question would not go away. Why had Guthrie Jamieson been hiding behind the tapestry in the Duke of Glasgow’s chamber? Why had he not rushed to the Duke’s aid or called the guard? Surely that would have been the natural and instinctive reaction. Of course he was a devious man. She suspected that he might have something to hide and that was why he hadn’t told anyone about her crime. Had he been saving his own skin, not hers?
Burning Ambition Page 10
