I diverted the conversation. My thoughts about Duncan were confused. Too much of his life was shrouded in mystery. With no specific duties at court, he came and went as he pleased. For his part he was polite when addressing me – an infuriating coolness, combined with an amused sarcasm. Except . . . last night when the mask had slipped. Neither of us had been aloof then. We’d teetered on the edge of a precipice with a ribbon of fire between us.
But it wasn’t my eligibility to wed but Mary’s that occupied everyone’s attention. All Europe speculated on what partner might be suitable for the beautiful Queen of Scots and, to her annoyance, both John Knox and Elizabeth of England aired their opinions.
So it was in secret that Mary first began to explore the possibility of a liaison that would give Scotland a strong ally in Europe. And, as one of her emissaries, she chose Duncan Alexander.
Mary was walking with me in the palace garden when she told me this. ‘Jenny, will you miss Sir Duncan when he is abroad?’ she asked me.
I nodded, recalling how I’d missed his company when he’d gone off to see to his estates.
‘I sense that you might love him, yet you are reticent with him.’
‘I do not know whether I can truly love him or not,’ I replied.
‘Perhaps there is a time, Jenny, when one should listen to one’s heart.’
I couldn’t tell Mary that the reason I was reticent was because I mistrusted Duncan on her behalf.
‘He carries important papers for me,’ she went on.
‘To France?’ I enquired.
‘Not France, no. He goes into Spain.’
‘Spain?’
‘Yes, marriage with the King of Spain’s son has been mooted once more. Obviously this must be kept quiet for now.’
Spain! Even I understood how furious this would make Elizabeth of England. Using the pretext of religion, she had smashed Scotland’s alliance with France so that this troublesome country on her northern border now had no powerful ally to come to its aid in any quarrel it might have with England. If the Queen of Scots married a Spanish heir, then France would be replaced with an even more dangerous threat to England.
‘These papers require the utmost discretion, therefore I send someone whom I know to be discreet.’
If Mary trusted Duncan, why then did I hesitate? Because the queen wasn’t always a good judge of character, I told myself. Her tender heart made her inclined to believe that those with ill intent towards her could be won over with charm and soft words. Duncan was no oily-tongued flatterer, yet in France he’d slid between the diverse factions of the Scots lords and was doing the same here in Scotland.
His departure was no secret. It was given out that he was going to the Low Countries to settle matters of tax duties in order to promote trade. This would be believed as it was a genuine concern of Mary’s. Ever since our foray into Edinburgh she’d sought ways to assist commerce so that the poverty of her people might be alleviated. He came to bid us farewell, and I’m sure it was Mary who engineered that he and I had a few moments alone together.
‘I wish you a safe journey, sir,’ I said. I was plucking at my handkerchief with my fingers.
His tone was light. He doesn’t care that we will not see each other for many months, I thought.
‘I brought you a farewell gift.’ He handed me a tissue-wrapped parcel.
My eyes met his, but in their depths I could not fathom his mood. I tore open the paper.
‘You always complain of the cold, Jenny. I thought it might keep you warm while I am away.’
It was an underskirt. Expensive. Made of heavy satin. Coloured deepest red.
I recoiled as if struck by a snake. My mouth slack with horror, I held it away from me.
‘My gift is not welcome, I see,’ Duncan said. ‘And, I fear, neither am I.’
I could say nothing. I was reliving the awful scene in the Castle of Blois and its aftermath, when the Count of Cluny had threatened me with death. The red underskirt slid from my hands to the floor.
Duncan turned on his heel and left the room.
It was over a year before I saw Duncan Alexander again, but hardly a day passed when he wasn’t in my thoughts. Messengers came and went, but there was no letter for me and I sent none to him. By rejecting his gift in such a way, I’d offended him. But it would be foolish to write to explain my apparent revulsion and mention my suspicions about the Count of Cluny. Mary and her retinue knew that our mail was frequently read by others.
Letters came from all over Europe. A lot of the queen’s work consisted in replying to foreign dignitaries. Most of these missives went via her appointed secretary, the Italian, David Rizzio, who now managed her correspondence. He spent hours in her company as she dictated letters, and she enjoyed working out new ciphers with him for the ones that were sent in code.
Mary was an expert linguist. In addition to Scots and English, she could read and write in Latin, French, Italian and Greek. So could David Rizzio, whose first position within our court was as a singing musician. To many he seemed an odd choice to find favour with Mary. Short in stature, with stooped, rounded shoulders, he was usually passed over as unattractive. But Rizzio was clever, with a quirky sense of humour that men thought annoying but Mary found refreshing. More and more often, when her spirits were low or she’d had a trying day with her advisers, or when someone brought word that John Knox had launched another attack on her from his pulpit, she would invite Rizzio and a few other intimates to her supper room, where they’d pass the evening listening to music and playing dice or cards.
By the summer of 1564 we knew what Duncan’s letters had been hinting at for months. The King of Spain finally and publicly declared his son would not marry the Queen of Scots.
John Knox was one of those who delighted in this news, as he’d been preaching against any union with another Catholic country. The Scots lords who’d privately supported Mary’s plans were disappointed – they’d anticipated more titles and wealth – and Mary herself was depressed.
‘I thought to do the best for Scotland,’ she complained. ‘I feel as though I am still a child, to be sold as property. I am a woman with a woman’s needs . . . and fears. The same fear of marriage that I believe Elizabeth has.’
I didn’t understand this remark. Mary had been married to Francis and had been intimate enough with him to hope for a child. Although she guarded her virtue, she was in no way prudish, and Elizabeth of England was thought to have lovers – one of them the man named Lord Robert Dudley.
‘Oh,’ Mary laughed as she realized what I was thinking. ‘It’s not physical intimacy that we both fear, it is the prospect of losing control. Any man who marries us will expect to be given the crown matrimonial. He will demand to be made king in his own right, with all that entails. Then he may convene parliament, ratify laws, declare war, award honours to his friends, spend the purse on anything he sees fit. As women, we become brood mares, to stay in the background and produce children – sons as heirs, and girls to be bartered with princes and nobles for power and money. If we die, as women frequently do in childbirth, our husband’s family will move in and secure every high position. If he later remarries, then the children of his new wife may take precedent, and our name and royal personage would disappear. My royal English cousin and I know this only too well. This is why neither of us rush to wed, and why we are so cautious when it comes to matters of inheritance. Elizabeth will not be cowed by the great lords who surround her and I do respect her for it.’
‘Marriages arranged for reasons of state can involve personal feelings,’ said Marie Fleming. ‘Catherine de’ Medici was sent as a child to marry King Henri but fell in love with him.’
‘Only to find that he preferred his mistress,’ Marie Beaton was quick to point out.
‘As a child, you were betrothed to Dauphin Francis and were quite content to marry him,’ said Marie Seton.
‘Yes, but I knew Francis well and we had a great affection and respect for each other.�
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‘But had you not loved Francis, the marriage would still have taken place,’ I said.
Mary groaned and held her head. ‘When I say my night prayers, I will ask the Blessed Mother of God and my own dear mother, who I am sure is also in Heaven, to send me an acceptable suitor. One who is well connected but also attractive to me.’
‘And rich,’ added Marie Livingston.
‘I like a man to have wisdom,’ said Marie Fleming.
I glanced at her. Prior to meeting William Maitland, I would have guessed that she prized good looks above other attributes.
‘Kindly,’ I suggested, for I thought my queen needed a man who would care for her.
‘Strong,’ Marie Seton.
Rizzio strummed his lute and began to sing:
‘Rich or wise, kind or strong,
Who can my true love be?
I have waited for my gallant o’er long,
And weary he’ll ne’er find me.’
He stopped, tilted his head at the queen, and smiled.
‘Tall,’ Mary said. ‘I’d like him to be long of limb.’
Chapter 29
AFTER CHRISTMAS I remained in Edinburgh suffering from a heavy cold while the queen and her court went travelling in Fife.
In the middle of January Mary wrote to me with birthday greetings and telling me to come to her as soon as I was well. A most attractive young man was on his way from England and had asked for an audience with her, she said. He was in fact a cousin of hers, for they shared a grandmother – the English Tudor princess, sister of Henry VII, who had married twice. Also, he was connected on his father’s side to the royal Stuart line via the Lennox family.
He does not attend religious duties, although his mother is an ardent Catholic, and as such Elizabeth is not too enamoured of her. But my sisterly cousin the Queen of England has given this man a title and allowed him leave to visit Scotland so that he might meet me. I’ve heard he is most charming. His name is Henry, Lord Darnley.
It was early February before I was fit to travel to Fife. I left Edinburgh with a groom and a few armed men to take me to the estuary crossing where someone would be waiting to conduct me to the queen at Wemyss Castle.
My escort was waiting by the quay. Mary had sent her recently returned emissary, Duncan Alexander.
Ah, now! My fingers tightened on my reins as I brought my horse to a halt. I quickly signalled to my groom, for I did not want to be dependent upon Duncan to help me dismount.
‘My Lady Ginette,’ Duncan said formally, ‘I am commanded by the queen to convey you to her presence.’
I didn’t blame him for his manner. It was my fault that we’d parted so badly. And now it was upon me to say something.
‘Once again,’ I said, ‘I believe that my behaviour to you when last we met requires explanation.’
He affected a puzzled air. ‘I do not recall . . .?’
‘I was rude to you when you gave me a gift and I would like to explain—’
‘Oh, that,’ he said lightly. ‘I have not thought about it at all.’
This made me sadder than if he’d still been angry with me. He was tanned from his time abroad, but thinner. Had the failure of Mary’s attempt at a Spanish marriage disappointed him?
Duncan rang the bell for the ferryman. We had only gone a few yards in our journey across the estuary when the sky darkened, yet the sun was still present.
‘Look!’ Duncan touched my arm.
I raised my head in the direction he indicated and saw a swiftly moving dense cloud of animated shadows approaching from the south. Suddenly there was a noise like the rustle of a thousand silken petticoats at a fabulous ball. Swinging and soaring above us, borne on the evening air, we heard the chittering of wild fowl as birds in their thousands came sweeping in.
‘Oh!’ I gasped in wonder.
Duncan too was gazing skyward. ‘At my home in Knoydart,’ he said, ‘there is a similar sight worth seeing in spring and late autumn. It is a stopping place for the wild geese as they travel their migration routes.’
All about us the birds came in to land on the river banks as the sun set.
‘It is quite wonderful,’ I breathed. Fiery red rays of light were slanting through the mountains. It was as though some untutored painter had released his palette upon the sky, as if God himself had dispersed a rainbow among the snow-crowned hilltops.
‘More beautiful than the stained glass of any grand cathedral,’ Duncan murmured.
It was cold on the water and I shivered. He unhooked his cloak and offered it to me. I gave a proud little shake of the head. He pretended not to see this and wrapped the garment around my shoulders. I pulled up the hood and turned my face towards the castle, which we could see in the distance. He stood beside me and fleetingly I thought of his arms around me.
‘Your mistress has not spoken of any future marriage plans?’ he asked.
Ah! He was being friendly to elicit information from me. I decided not to tell him of Mary’s letter.
‘Why should she speak of her marriage plans to anyone?’ I countered.
‘She is the queen. Her marriage is an affair of state and therefore not her sole business but that of her people.’
‘Too many people,’ I retorted. ‘Has she to consult with every crowned head of Europe and wait for their permission before she may select a husband?’
‘If that’s what it takes to preserve peace in her realm, then, yes, she must, Jenny,’ he replied.
‘It is England which interferes most in this matter and pretends to give helpful advice, but I think the English queen doesn’t want her married at all,’ I said. ‘She is afraid that Mary would be fertile while she is barren.’
‘Hush!’ he said anxiously. ‘You may speak treason.’
‘I am in my own country. I cannot speak treason here!’
‘Would it were so simple,’ he sighed. ‘It isn’t merely womanly jealousy that makes Elizabeth fear a Scottish child, nor what might happen when she is gone. For if there were a strong heir who she thought would protect England from the predators in Europe, then she’d welcome it.’
‘Then why is she so against any wedding talk where Mary is concerned?’
‘Because there are those who might use such a marriage and any child thereof to take the English throne’ – Duncan put his mouth close to my ear –‘while Elizabeth is still upon it.’
I turned my head to look at him, and my face was level with his. His eyes were the dense colour of fine emeralds, with the white around them very clear after a day spent outside. They were serious, a change from his usual mocking expression.
Despite his nearness and my rush of emotion, I found my mood matching his own. ‘Then no suitor of Mary’s will meet with Elizabeth’s approval,’ I whispered in return.
‘Lord Dudley was proposed by Elizabeth.’
‘Dudley was Elizabeth’s lover!’ I exclaimed. ‘You cannot expect Mary to accept her cousin’s cast-offs.’
‘Shh.’ He glanced at the ferryman. ‘Well then, another high-placed nobleman of Elizabeth’s court. An alliance with England would make us stronger.’
‘Stronger against whom?’
‘Against France or Spain or the Emperor in Austria, or whichever larger state seeks to gobble a smaller one.’
‘Don’t you think that England too would eat Scotland up?’
‘There would be a more equitable balance of power.’
‘Not in matters of religion. Elizabeth has banished Catholics and executes priests.’
‘I’d not like to keep score on that contest,’ Duncan said drily.
‘Mary has striven hard to ensure that no type of religious practice is deemed a crime. In all the time that her mother ruled, only one Protestant was burned.’
‘Mary’s mother chose the wrong man, for the one she burned was Knox’s friend and mentor and he has never forgotten that. His sworn mission is to exterminate every vestige of Catholicism here.’
‘Mary wants to see
Scotland as a country where both faiths might thrive alongside each other,’ I said.
But Duncan had the final word as our journey ended: ‘You might as well say that a lion and a tiger can be caged together with no harm coming to either.’
Chapter 30
LORD JAMES STUART’S face did not match his finery at the reception given by the Laird of Wemyss on the seventeenth of February for his English visitors. He glowered at the mention of Lord Darnley’s name.
‘Darnley is sent here by his parents for a purpose – that they may restate their assertion that their branch of the Stuart family, the Lennox Stuarts, is closest in line to the throne. His mother, Lady Margaret Douglas, is the most conniving woman in Scotland.’
Mary laughed. ‘Every noble in Scotland connives in one way or another. And anyway, Lord Darnley’s parents took up residence in England for many years after some trouble at the Scottish court about their royal claims, did they not?’
‘Indeed, the Lennox Stuarts courted favour with Elizabeth. That in itself should let you know that they’ll use any means to advance their ambitions.’
I thought that exceptional effrontery coming from a man whose own mother carried the name of Douglas and who himself had sought English help on more than one occasion to gain his own ends.
‘My cousin Elizabeth has asked me to graciously receive Lord Darnley and forgive his family any wrongdoing,’ said Mary.
‘God’s blood!’ Lord James swore. ‘Whatever plan is being hatched is more devious than I thought.’
But Mary didn’t hear the remark. She’d been rearranging her skirts, then looked up as a young man of about eighteen approached. And it was as if a new planet had appeared in the sky. Lord Henry Darnley was exceptionally tall, beautifully dressed in the latest fashion, with a high collar of diamond-pointed lace that enhanced his mane of blond hair.
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