My Contrary Mary

by Cynthia Hand

  There was a tap on the door, and the Four Marys slipped in, Flem bearing a tray with bread and cheese.

  Mary rolled onto her side and faced away. “I’m not hungry.” Her body felt empty, hollow, and she had no desire to fill it.

  “Come, now. It’s time to get up,” Liv said more firmly.

  Mary turned and stared at her reproachfully. “Why should I?”

  “Because you must be strong,” answered Liv.

  Mary was tired of being strong. She had always been the strong one, because Francis had needed her to be strong. But being strong hadn’t saved either of them, in the end.

  “Your brother is insisting upon seeing you today,” Bea informed her. “He says it’s important.”

  Nothing is important, Mary thought.

  “He doesn’t need me,” she murmured. “I’ve done nothing for him but make a mess of things.”

  And for Scotland, she realized, her heart sinking even further. Francis was dead, so now there would be no heirs. Therefore, according to the prenuptial agreement that Mary had so foolishly signed, Scotland now belonged to France.

  She hadn’t told James about that yet.

  “If you’ve made a mess, then now it’s time to clean it up,” said Liv.

  Mary shook her head. There was nothing she could do about it now. She’d signed. It was over and done.

  “Francis would want you to go on, you know,” Flem said.

  “He’d want me to never have left him in the first place,” Mary said.

  “You’re right,” murmured Hush, glancing meaningfully at the other Marys. “You must stay in bed. Rest. James can wait.”

  Mary sat up. Without Francis, it felt like her life was over. But Mary still wanted to have a life. She had never been one to give up entirely.

  If she was going to survive this, she was going to have to get up. Collect herself. Figure out how to outsmart and outmaneuver her enemies, who were all around her now: John Knox and the E∂ians and Catherine and her insidious uncles and even, possibly, James. (He seemed like a nice enough fellow, but you never really know, do you? Her uncles had seemed like nice enough fellows.)

  “Fetch me one of my mother’s gowns,” she said. “As fine a cloth as you can find.”

  Bea hurried away to look for one.

  Flem smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet and went to locate Mary’s shoes.

  Liv crossed to the vanity and started to dig about in the drawers for suitable jewels for Mary to wear.

  Hush nodded and approached eagerly with a hairbrush. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she murmured. “Now you’ll show them that you’re still the queen.”

  “Oh, I will,” Mary said. “I’ll show them.”

  The Mary, Queen of Scots, who entered the throne room of Holyrood Palace an hour later was an entirely different Mary than the one who’d first come searching for her mother a week before. That Mary had been, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in the world—at least in the top five, if there is a way to truly judge such a thing.

  This Mary, the orphan, the widow, was a bit thinner, certainly, than she had been before, and there was a new, sad awareness in her large brown eyes—a knowledge of all that one could lose in this world, all that one could regret. We, as your narrators, would like to add that Mary’s grief did not make her more beautiful. She had dark shadows under her eyes, which were still quite puffy from crying. She had a few stress-related “spots,” as she would have called them, marring her chin and forehead. She hadn’t bathed in days, so she didn’t smell fantastic, and her hair was pretty greasy, even though Hush had done her best to fashion it into something suitable. She appeared, quite frankly, frail and exhausted.

  She looked like a girl having the worst week of her life.

  But she also looked determined to get through it.

  “Ah, Mary.” James jumped from his chair the moment she was announced. “I’m so glad to see you up and about.”

  She gave him a wooden smile.

  “I have someone here I’d like you to meet,” he said, and gestured at a figure who’d been sitting beside him, a young man who Mary had never seen before, who rose eagerly to his feet.

  “May I present Henry Stuart, Duke of Albany and heir to the Earldom of Lennox,” James said.

  Mary extended her hand, and the young man kissed it gently. “Your Grace,” he said.

  She gazed at him steadily. “I have heard of you, I think.” It was so hard to think, really, her head was so muddied by the pain of losing Francis.

  “Only good things, I hope,” he said.

  She didn’t remember what she’d heard, only that she should know his name. If only because it was Stuart, which was also, well, her name. “Are you my cousin?”

  “Yes. Your first cousin, in fact. You can call me Henry, if you wish.”

  “I do not wish,” she answered. “Being as how I find there to be entirely too many Henrys to keep track of.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Then you can call me Darnley,” he said. “Everyone does. Or any other name that you wish to call me. I’ll answer to ‘hey, you,’ if you’d prefer. I’m your servant, madam.”

  So. He was charming. He was also handsome, she realized dully, taller than she was (which was saying something) with red-gold hair, shrewd gray eyes, and a finely chiseled face.

  But if he was her first cousin that meant that he was in direct line for the thrones of both England and Scotland. And a man. He had the right parts to be considered a “proper” monarch. Mary’s heart began to pound. Had this guy come here to replace her as Scotland’s ruler? Had James called him here? She glanced between her half brother and Darnley as they spoke to each other, trying to assess their relationship. They seemed friendly, definitely. But what did that mean?

  “Isn’t that so, Mary?” James was saying.

  She blinked at him. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I wasn’t listening.”

  James looked mildly embarrassed, but Darnley’s gaze was kind, sympathetic, even. “You’ve been through much these past few days,” he said. “I was sorry to hear it.”

  “Were you?” she replied sharply. “Or have you come to usurp my throne now that you find me brought so low? Because I assure you, my lord, I am no meek and cowering woman to be pushed around by the likes of scheming men. I am the rightful queen, and you would do well to remember that.”

  There I go again, she thought in dismay. Insisting that she was the queen. Francis would laugh if he could see her now. (Reader, we don’t think Francis would laugh, actually.)

  “How could I forget?” Darnley said smoothly. “When your every movement, your every word and breath, is queenly.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” she said. “Have you come for my throne, or haven’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t. I have no desire for a throne, and never have, although I do understand well enough what it’s like to have titles and the responsibilities of birth thrust upon me. I have merely come to see if I might be of service to you, as part of your family, during this difficult time.”

  “Oh,” she said. He seemed so earnest that she couldn’t help but believe him. “Well, then I’m sorry if I was impolite just now.”

  “Don’t be. I completely understand,” he said.

  They were silent for a moment, both at a loss for what to say next. Finally Darnley cleared his throat. “I will take my leave, Your Grace. I am sure you are tired, and I do not wish to impose upon you further. But perhaps, if you’re feeling better on the morrow, we can take a walk together. I would like to get to know you and see how I can help your cause.”

  She nodded mutely. Darnley kissed her hand again and left.

  Mary wandered over to the throne and sank down upon it. “What do you know of him?” she asked James.

  He shrugged. “Very little, I’m afraid. His family is Scottish, but they were exiled by your mother for supporting the English during the Rough Wooing.”

  M
ary shivered. The Rough Wooing, as it was called, had occurred when she was little more than a babe, when England’s King Henry VIII had decided that Mary should be wed to his son Edward VI. When her mother betrothed her to Francis instead, Henry VIII had flown into a rage and declared war on Scotland.

  It had been a difficult time for everyone, and Mary had always felt rather guilty about all this blood spilled on account of her.

  “But he could be useful to us,” James said. “He hails from a family of respectable Verities, but he is also in favor with Elizabeth, the English queen.”

  “Do you think he’s come to challenge me?” she asked.

  He shook his head with a knowing smile. “No.”

  “Why has he come, then?”

  “Who knows, really? Maybe he just wanted to get a good look at the infamous Mary, Queen of Scots.”

  “Infamous?” she sniffed.

  “Or perhaps he is interested in the Four Marys. He is known to be somewhat of a ladies’ man.”

  She gasped in outrage. “My ladies are not his business!”

  “Your ladies are renowned the world over for their great beauty. Second only to you, my queen,” James added wisely. “And Lord Darnley is unmarried and seeking to reestablish his ties with Scottish families. He needs a good Scottish wife, one who will bring him prestige and fortune. I imagine that suitors will begin to arrive here regularly, when word gets out that you’re to remain in Scotland.”

  “Oh,” Mary said, feeling rather stupid. “And would Darnley be a good match for one of them?”

  “He’s a bit too puffed up for my taste,” said James. “But he’s a pleasant enough fellow. And seeing as he’s your cousin, of royal blood and all, I can’t see you finding a better match for your ladies than he.”

  “I shall consider that,” Mary said thoughtfully. It would be a good time to find matches for her ladies, as she needed to begin to build support in Scotland. But the idea also unsettled her, especially when she thought about Liv and the ordeal with the Norwegian lord. It felt so frivolous, thinking about marriage. Arranging matches. Planning weddings.

  But it could be an excellent distraction from her own dilemma.

  Or it could be a constant reminder of Francis and all that Mary had lost.

  Involuntarily she touched the golden ring on her finger. Francis’s ring.

  “You have lost your husband,” James pointed out, like Mary had somehow misplaced Francis the way a careless child loses her doll. “You are therefore vulnerable, as an unmarried woman, and Scotland, too, is vulnerable. Best to find new allies, wherever you can.”

  Sigh. James didn’t even know the half of it. She still had to tell him about the prenup that made Scotland a French province. And she would. Later.

  “Perhaps you were right and he has come to challenge you for the throne of Scotland,” James mused.

  “What?”

  James laughed. “He’s not going to oust you, Mary. We—I mean, I—won’t let him. I’ve held on to the throne for you all this time, through thick and thin, and I will keep holding it.”

  “Yes.” Lord, he was going to have a fit when she told him about the treaty. “Thank you, James.”

  He raised his goblet of wine and drank from it deeply. “You are still the queen, and I say, long may you reign.”

  “Who was that man in the throne room earlier?” Flem asked when Mary and her ladies had retreated back to Mary’s chambers. “He was a fine creature, wasn’t he?”

  “Flem, you’re incorrigible,” Bea admonished.

  “What? I can look, can’t I? He smelled good, too,” Flem continued. “And did you see that cleft in his chin? He’s delicious, that one. I could have licked his face, that’s for sure.”

  “Who was he?” Liv asked, rolling her eyes at Flem.

  Mary startled at the question. “He was my cousin, apparently. Lord Darnley.”

  “Ah, a handsome lord,” sighed Flem.

  “It’s funny that you say that,” Mary said with a ghost of a smile. “James suggested that perhaps he’s here because he wishes to marry one of my ladies.”

  Flem’s mouth dropped open. “Oh! That’s wonderful news!” She squealed, but then fake glared threateningly at the other Marys. “I saw him first. I call dibs.”

  “Flem!” cried Bea. “Be quiet, won’t you?”

  “Why?” Flem asked, cocking her head to one side exactly as she did when she was a dog. “We must all get married to this lord or that one, someday. If I must be married, I’d prefer a husband who’s handsome and rich and well spoken.”

  “We’ll find out what Darnley’s intentions are soon enough, I think,” said Mary, finding it hard to be stern and deliberate when Flem was dancing about squealing and flouncing her curls. “If he indeed wishes to be wed, perhaps we can arrange a match.”

  “We should find out more about him,” advised Bea.

  “Yes, and come to know his disposition and his character,” Liv said a bit grimly. Mary felt a twinge of guilt.

  “Yes,” agreed Hush in a whisper. “Looks aren’t everything, you know.”

  “Oh, tosh.” Flem waved them off. She turned to Mary imploringly. “It would be an honor to marry your cousin. Then we’d be even more like sisters.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Mary consented.

  “Do think about it,” Flem said. “And please do pick me!”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Ari

  “I said no!” Ari exclaimed.

  Francis threw up his hands in exasperation. “But Mary’s uncles are plotting to assassinate Queen Elizabeth in two days!” They’d already been arguing for three days. Time was wasting.

  Ari started angrily chopping some sprigs of pennyroyal. “I know, but—” She carefully put her chopping knife down and sighed. “I know you’re frustrated with our situation. But it’s safe here. We just have to find something, or some way, for you to feel useful.”

  Francis’s face turned red. “I’m tired of playing it safe! I’ve done it my whole life and look where it has gotten me. My father was murdered. My wife is gone. My kingdom was stolen, and I’m a frogging frog!”

  “That’s another thing,” Ari said. “You can’t even control when you change into a frog!”

  “I’ve done it three out of five times successfu—”

  His voice cut off, and with a flash, Francis turned into a frog.

  Poor little guy, Ari thought.

  “Emotions, Your Highness.” She sat next to him and practiced calm breathing, hoping it would rub off on him, and waited. Sometime later, there was another flash and Francis was human again.

  Ari turned her head and handed him one of the several sheets she had stashed around their hovel. “Welcome back.”

  “Ribbit,” human Francis said.

  Ari gave a small laugh as he scooted toward the wall and pressed his back against it.

  They both sat there for a moment, two lonely people who might just spend the rest of their lives together, wishing they were somewhere else.

  “I may not have the frog thing totally down, Ari, but I refuse to stay the same inconsequential person I’ve always been.” He stood and began pacing. “I will not simply sit back and take it. Not anymore.”

  “I understand,” Ari said. And she did. She knew what it was like to feel inconsequential. Maybe she and Francis had something in common after all.

  “Those damn de Guises have ruined my life. They think they can murder and manipulate their way to the top. Well, I’m not going to let them do that.”

  Ari stood and went back to chopping. “What do you propose to do about it? It’s not like your mother is going to help you.”

  Ari couldn’t believe the harshness of her own words, but Francis simply shrugged. “You’re right,” he said. “But I’m in a perfect position to help by myself. Isn’t there a certain freedom in everyone thinking you’re dead?”

  “You may have gotten better at controlling your E∂ian form, but three out of five times isn’t good e
nough.”

  “You could come with me.”

  Ari nearly chopped a finger off.

  “Why not?” Francis asked. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we? You keep things running, and I do the chores.”

  Ha, Ari thought. Sure, they made a good team. She went out every day, gathering herbs, searching the nearby woods for harder-to-find ingredients, picking up food, making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, rebuilding her laboratory. And Francis completed the tasks Ari assigned him to keep him occupied. But apparently he still had time to sneak out of the hovel, gallivant about the town on his own, and then hatch a plan to single-handedly stop an assassination attempt on the queen of England, an E∂ian stronghold that also happened to be the nemesis of France.

  Keep him out of trouble, Queen Catherine had instructed.

  It wasn’t going well, so far. But there was one thing she knew for sure.

  “I can’t just up and try to rescue the queen of England. It would be treason,” Ari said.

  Francis scoffed. “Treason? You’re with the king of France.”

  “Former king of France! The queen gave me specific instructions. I only had to do three things. Keep you hidden in Calais. Keep you safe. Keep you from spending money.”

  “I don’t recall her saying to keep me from spending money.”

  Ari slapped her forehead. “That one goes along with keeping us both alive.” She took a few deep breaths.

  “I’m sorry, Ari, but I have to go. And you have to come with me.”

  Ari lowered her head. “I have more to lose than you do,” she said quietly. She thought about her father. “If the queen finds out—”

  “She’s not the queen,” Francis interrupted. “She’s only the regent. And she’s not even going to be that much longer. I’m going to save Elizabeth. And then I am going to Scotland to get Mary, and bring my wife back to France. And then we are going to reclaim my throne.”

  This all, except for the first part, was new information to Ari. “Oh, is that all?”