by Trisha Telep
The queen laughed and clapped her hands, enjoying the brother’s and sister’s barbs. Everyone laughed when the queen laughed.
“Your name means April in French,” Mary told her.
“I was born on the first day of April,” Avril said, “and my mother named me Avril Mairi in Your Majesty’s honour.”
“How nauseatingly sweet,” murmured a female voice.
“Fiona,” she heard the Earl of Melrose caution.
Avril felt interested gazes on her back. Some wished her well, others emanated unspoken hostility.
“What an exquisite necklace,” Mary complimented her.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Avril raised a hand to touch her necklace. “My husband is a generous man, but this ring” – she held her hand out – “comes with a marvellous legend.”
The queen beckoned her forward. “I would hear this story.”
“A guardian spirit lives inside this six-pointed star ruby,’’ Avril said, stepping closer. “If danger approaches, the ruby warns me by darkening to pigeon’s blood red.”
“I could use one of those,” Mary murmured.
“No one could ever wish you harm, Your Majesty.” Avril told her. “Your devoted subjects waited years for your return and rejoiced at your homecoming.”
Avril hoped her words proved true, but Darnley’s smile hid deceit. Even worse, the queen’s own half-brother coveted the crown.
“Do you golf, Lady Campbell?”
“Yes, I do golf.”
“You must golf with me and my ladies tomorrow.”
“Your invitation honours me.”
“The gentlemen will serve as caddys,” Lord Darnley said, advancing on the dais. “I would be honoured to carry your golf bag, Your Majesty.”
Queen Mary dismissed Avril at Darnley’s approach. Magnus was there to escort her away.
“Well done, wife.”
“We must speak privately,” Avril whispered.
Magnus ushered into the corridor. “We can speak outside.”
Leaving the palace, they strolled away as if taking the air. “Enemies surround the queen,” Avril said. “Those whom she loves and trusts will prove disloyal.”
“Do not repeat that.”
The topic was treason, endangering their queen. That required action, not discretion.
“We must warn her.”
“Would you endanger the Campbells and the Gordons?” Magnus countered. “I will send you to Argyll if you persist.”
Avril arched a copper brow at him. “Then you can resume your affair with Fiona Seton. Do not bother denying it. Your doublet reeked of rose perfume.”
Magnus held his open hands out. “I danced with the lady, nothing more.”
“Fiona Seton is no lady.”
“True.”
“Mary must not marry Darnley.” Avril said, her tone urgent. “Someone must discourage that romance.”
“You will do or say nothing,” Magnus ordered her. “Darnley is short on brains and long on ambition but a harmless, affable blockhead.”
“Darnley is not harmless and will bring Mary toppling down.”
“You met the man once,” Magnus argued. “How do you know?”
“I know because …” Avril lifted her small nose into the air. “Sometimes I know what others do not.”
“Hocus-pocus?” Magnus planted a kiss on her lips. “What does the future hold for our clans?”
“The Campbells and the Gordons will survive the storm,” Avril answered, “but Mary will not survive the Darnley problem.”
Her husband ran a hand down his face and sighed in obvious frustration. “What is the Darnley problem?”
“Only God knows everything, husband.”
“How well do you golf?”
Inspecting herself in the pier glass, Avril adjusted the forest green hat that matched her gown and jacket. Then she faced her husband.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Mary excels at golf,” Magnus said. “She wants to win against a good golfer.”
“Trust me husband.” Avril stepped closer, so close their bodies touched, and inhaled his clean scent. “You smell like mountain heather.”
“I love your lilac scent.”
“More than rose perfume?”
“Rose perfume stinks like the English.” Magnus lifted her golf bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We cannot keep Mary waiting.”
Magnus and Avril arrived at Holyrood Park ahead of the queen. A golf course had been landscaped in the park. Tin cups sat in small holes placed strategically at measured distances, and flags marked the cups.
Closing her eyes, Avril inhaled deeply. The world smelled green. Singing birds provided nature’s music accompanied by the sensuous swish of wind caressing trees. Overhead, the sun shone in a clear blue sky. Nary a cloud marred its oceanic perfection.
Queen Mary and her entourage arrived, including both players and spectators. The Countesses of Melrose and Moray planned to golf while the four Marys, never far from their royal namesake, would watch the game.
Darnley carried the queen’s golf bag, and James Stewart carried his wife’s. Surprisingly, George Gordon carried Fiona Seton’s.
“What are you doing here, brother?”
George rolled his eyes. “Melrose enlisted me to caddy for his wife.”
Queen Mary teed off first. The ball landed on the green, not far from the first hole. All the spectators clapped for the queen.
“Good shot, Your Majesty.” Avril knew the queen’s height gave her a strength advantage.
The Countess of Moray set the leather-covered ball on the tee. She swung her driver but missed the ball.
“I hate this game,” she complained. “I apologise, Mary, and will watch today.”
“Practise keeping your eyes on the ball,” Avril advised the countess, “and follow through when you swing.”
“Lady Campbell knows golfing,” Lord Darnley said.
“What else can she do in the Highlands except count sheep and hit golf balls?” Fiona Seton quipped.
Avril rounded on her. “Do you want to golf, Lady Seton, or discuss the Highlands?”
That earned her a deadly look from the woman. The spectators’ smothered laughter did not help.
Taking a driver from her golf bag, Fiona gave George Gordon an arch look. He placed the ball on the tee for her.
Fiona hit the ball but twisted her leg. “Ouch, my ankle hurts.” She limped back and forth on it. “I don’t think I can play.”
“Perhaps you should return to the palace and keep your leg raised,” Queen Mary suggested, her concern apparent.
“I would prefer to watch the game,” Fiona said.
“You Majesty, our numbers are dwindling,” Avril said, “but I would like us to continue the game.”
“I do love golfing,” the queen said.
“Shall we spice our game with a friendly wager?” Avril asked. “The woman who holes the ball first wins a gold piece.”
Mary flicked a glance at her brother, the Earl of Moray, whose face remained expressionless. Avril suffered the feeling that Mary feared making a misstep.
“I see no problem with wagering,” Lord Darnley said.
“Neither do I.” Avril ignored her husband’s unspoken warning and looked at Moray. “Both the old and new kirks frown on gambling but” – she smiled – “forgiveness for this small sin requires a prayer of contrition, not the purchasing of an indulgence.”
When the Earl of Moray laughed, Queen Mary leaned close to Avril. “I’ve scarcely seen James laugh before you arrived yesterday.”
“Alas, many people laugh at me,” Avril whispered.
“Are you ladies golfing or sharing confidences?” Moray asked.
Avril approached Magnus, who was holding her golf bag. She donned her fingerless leather gloves and grabbed her ash driving club, balls and tee.
“I know what I’m doing,” she whispered.
“That scares me.”
Avril
sidled up to the tee. Gently but firmly, she gripped the driver and, without taking her eyes off the ball, swung in an arc.
Wham. The ball flew high in the air and landed close to the queen’s. The surprised spectators remained silent.
“Great shot, Lady Campbell.” Queen Mary applauded her. “I have found a worthy opponent.”
“Call me Avril.”
The queen slipped her hand through Avril’s arm. “Let’s walk together.”
“Did you hear the story about Reverend John Knoxious?”
Mary smiled at her wit. “Tell me.”
“Knox sneaked away for an illicit solo round one Sunday afternoon,” Avril said, “but God saw the hypocrite golfing and punished him with a hole in one. Saint Peter protested that a hole in one was no punishment. God cocked an eyebrow at the saint and said, “Oh, no? Who can the righteous reformer tell?”
Queen Mary laughed. “I love it.”
“Do not tell your brother,” Avril whispered.
“I will tell Lord Darnley,” Mary said. “What is your opinion of him?”
“Lord Darnley is an exceedingly handsome gentleman.”
“We look good dancing together, don’t you think? Most gentlemen are shorter than I.”
Avril managed a smile. “Height does not make the man, Your Majesty.”
“You are correct,” Queen Mary agreed. “What counts most is honour and integrity which Lord Darnley has in abundance.”
Avril glanced over her shoulder. Her husband was watching her like a hawk on the hunt. Beside him, Fiona Seton had looped her hand through his arm.
That friendship would die. Soon. Permanently. One way or another.
At the green, Queen Mary took her putter and skillfully dropped the ball into the cup. “You’ll need to equal my shot or forfeit a gold piece. Lord Campbell might regret your bold wager.”
“Campbell can afford it,” Avril said, smiling in his direction. “My husband tells me I married a wealthy man.”
Avril stood beside the tee, measuring the distance between the ball and the cup. Then she made a show of walking to the cup and judging the distance from that angle. On her return to the tee, she paused to remove a tiny twig from her intended path.
With putter poised, Avril stood at the tee, her head down and eyes on the ball. Then she tapped it.
The golf ball rolled towards the tee, heading straight for the cup. At the last moment, the ball veered to the right and missed its target.
“Great shot,” Mary said, “but you owe me a gold coin.”
Avril glanced at her husband. Magnus looked relieved.
And so it went. Avril needed one or two extra shots at each hole, and Queen Mary won the game.
“I would love to play again,” Queen Mary said.
“You honour me, Your Majesty.” Avril looked in her husband’s direction, calling, “Can we afford any more games, my lord?”
All the spectators, including the queen, laughed. Lord Darnley stepped forward to escort the victorious queen to Holyrood Palace.
George Gordon, golf bag slung over his shoulder, escorted Fiona Seton to the Palace. Avril struggled against the urge to draw her sgian dubh – the deadly little dagger strapped to her leg – and threaten the Countess of Melrose. The woman wasn’t worth the scandal.
Magnus and James Stewart were speaking. Avril approached the two men.
“What were my sister and you discussing?” Moray asked her.
“Nothing important, my lord.” Avril noted the earl’s gaze narrow on her. “I told her a silly joke about John Knox golfing on Sunday.”
“You must share this joke with me,” Stewart said, “but I can see you are weary from the game.” With that, the earl walked away.
“You do look tired.”
“Losing by one or two shots at each hole is more tiring than trying to win.”
Magnus looked surprised. “You were purposely losing?”
Avril nodded. “Mary wanted a challenge, not a better golfer to beat her.”
“I have underestimated you, wife. How did you become so skilled a golfer?”
“Counting sheep and hitting golf balls provide the only entertainment in the Highlands,” Avril answered, echoing Fiona Seton’s words.
Magnus laughed and, grasping her upper arms, drew her against the muscular planes of his body. His smile was the last thing Avril saw before his mouth captured hers in a demanding kiss, stealing her breath, sending her senses reeling. His tongue persuaded her lips apart to ravish the sweetness of her mouth.
Avril moaned, her body on fire with her first passionate kiss. Entwining her arms around his neck, Avril moulded her body to his and returned his smouldering kiss in kind.
“Shall we lock ourselves in our bedchamber tonight?” Magnus asked, his voice husky.
Avril answered with a soft smile and pressed her lips against the side of his neck.
“I will consider that a yes.”
She liked making love.
Avril awakened early the next morning, a drowsy smile on her face, her naked husband beside her. If she had known what awaited her, she would have demanded her conjugal rights three days ago.
The chamber’s dimness told her the hour was early, much too early to rise but …
She needed to thank the Goddess for sending her this special man for her mate.
She needed to ask the Goddess to protect the queen and allow her to see the true man beneath Darnley’s smiling mask.
She needed to worship outside in the open air, where she felt closer to the Goddess.
Avril slipped out of bed without waking her husband. She donned yesterday’s gown and jacket, and grabbed her pouch of magic stones. She glanced at her sleeping husband and left the chamber.
Stepping outside the mansion, Avril paused to verify no one would see her and then sprinted across Holyrood Road to the safety the trees provided. She emerged on the other side of the copse. Discretion demanded she cast the circle near the trees instead of at the park’s centre.
Avril faced the north and emptied the contents of the pouch into her hand. There were five stones: emerald, aventurine, ruby, amethyst and black obsidian.
Using these stones, Avril made a makeshift circle. She placed the emerald in the north, the aventurine in the east, and the ruby in the south.
“All disturbing thoughts remain outside,” she whispered, closing the circle with the amethyst in the west.
Walking to the circle’s centre, Avril set the black obsidian down. Then she drew her sgian dubh and, starting in the east, fused the circle’s invisible periphery shut.
Avril returned to the circle’s centre and paused, gathering the proper emotion. “Great Mother Goddess, hear my prayer,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I beseech you to keep Mary Stuart safe. Open my queen’s eyes that she may see true hearts, not the disguises people wear. And, I give thanks for sending me a magnificent mate in Magnus Campbell.”
Bending to retrieve the black obsidian, Avril noticed her ring. The star ruby had darkened to pigeon’s blood red.
Surprised, Avril looked around. Lord Darnley was leaning back against a tree approximately twenty-five yards away. Kneeling in front of him was a boy with pale blond hair. Avril wished she’d worn a hooded cloak; her red hair was impossible to miss.
Refusing to panic, Avril gathered her stones and pretended not to see the men. She felt Darnley’s gaze on her. Ignoring his presence, she escaped into the copse and sprinted across Holyrood Road to Campbell Mansion.
Her thoughts twisted in turmoil. Would Darnley accuse her of witchcraft? Would he risk explaining what he’d been doing there at such an early hour?
Should she tell Magnus what happened? She didn’t need the Sight to know her husband would be angry. Very angry. Frothing-at-the-mouth angry.
Avril looked at her ring. The dark red was fading, the danger had passed.
Magnus was still sleeping when she returned to their chamber. She disrobed, climbed into bed, and snuggled against his back.
Magnus rolled over, his voice drowsy. “You’re shivering.”
Avril wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. “Warm me, husband.”
“With pleasure, wife.”
Avril dreaded seeing Darnley at court.
Remaining at Campbell Mansion was not an option, though. Not only would she consider herself a coward, but Darnley would believe she was frightened.
Avril had trouble choosing a gown to wear. She needed to look conservative in case Darnley had been whispering in the queen’s ear about what he’d seen that morning. Black seemed too sinister so she opted for grey, the same silvery shade of her husband’s eyes.
Walking beside her husband, Avril felt secure. Could he save her if Darnley accused her of witchcraft?
Entering the queen’s reception hall, Magnus and Avril saw George Gordon and the Earl of Moray in conversation on the opposite side of the chamber. They walked in that direction, but a voice stopped their progress.
“Lady Campbell?” The Countess of Moray stood there.
“I’ll meet you later.” Magnus left her.
Avril smiled at the other woman. “Good evening, my lady.”
“Walk with me,” the countess said, looping her hand through Avril’s arm. “I commend your golfing ability and––”
“How else can a woman entertain herself in the Highlands?” Avril quipped.
“Do not let Fiona Seton bother you,” the Countess of Moray said. “The only woman who escapes that witch’s sharp tongue is the queen.”
“If we could trick Fiona into sniping at the queen” – Avril slashed a finger across her throat – “we need never listen to Fiona Seton again.”
The Countess of Moray smiled. “One simple action solves a nagging annoyance.”
“Lady Campbell?” Avril recognized Darnley’s voice before she turned around. “May I have a word?”
“Which word would you like, my lord?”
The Countess of Moray nodded at Darnley. “I will leave you to your conversation.”
Darnley watched the countess walk away and then asked, “Are you practising witchcraft?”
“Do not speak nonsense,” Avril said, her tone contemptuous. “Witches exist only in small minds like yours.”
