The Queen's Lady

by Shannon Drake

  And so they rode together on the remaining mount until they came to the farmstead, where an anxious man awaited them. Rowan told him where he might find his wagon, and warned him to go quickly, while there was still darkness and before the guards could be discovered.

  “You’ll find that the horse we’ve left for you, Ajax, is a fine one. Gavin, we’ve a gold piece for this fine man, haven’t we?”

  “Indeed.”

  “See that my horse is well when I return,” Rowan said.

  “I’ll feed the good fella apples aplenty from me own hand,” the farmer promised.

  They mounted, both on their fresh horses, and Rowan was deeply pleased to be reunited with Styx, then headed out quickly, not wishing to bring any danger to the farmer.

  “To London?” Gavin said.

  “Aye.”

  Rowan had never intended any other course of action; his one driving thought each day, all that had kept him alive, was his eagerness to see Gwenyth again. Even so, when Gavin had spoken, his heart had given an unexpected jolt. Leave Scotland, and not as an ambassador traveling south.

  In exile.

  “There is no other course of action,” Gavin said.

  “I know.”

  Gavin smiled at him. “There is one bright spot, my lord.”

  “My lady wife.”

  “And more,” Gavin said, still grinning. “Your son.”

  His jaw dropped; he felt it but could not control it. At last he managed to speak, albeit in a croaked whisper. “What?”

  “I have it from Maitland, my lord. It is no rumor, though the birth was kept very quiet. You have a son, now several months old, hale and hearty. Daniel Rowan, your lady christened the lad.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GWENYTH ARRIVED in Edinburgh at the end of a long day’s ride, and Mary Fleming was the first to greet her, riding astride outside the castle walls.

  “Gwenyth!”

  The Scottish guard of ten men, fine fellows who had met up with her at the Borders and taken over the task of escort from their English counterparts, allowed them the time to greet one another. The lady’s maid sent by Elizabeth herself, a young girl from Stirling who would go onward to her father’s home, was equally discreet, holding back out of earshot.

  Gwenyth thought she would fall from her beloved Chloe, Mary Fleming gave her such a fierce hug from the saddle. When they pulled apart, Mary said, “There’s so much to be told. We’ll get you to Holyrood, and I will bring you up-to-date on the most recent affairs.”

  “Laird Rowan, do you know of his fate?” Gwenyth asked anxiously.

  “He escaped. All believe that the queen intended him to do so. Yesterday, there was a session of parliament, and she demanded that a bill of attainder be drawn up against the lairds in rebellion, yet she chose not to have his name mentioned, though he is still banned from the country.”

  “He escaped?” Gwenyth repeated dully.

  Surely it could not be true and God so cruel that she had been allowed to reach Edinburgh, so close to seeing his face again, only to find him gone.

  “Aye. There is word that he is over the border, perhaps with Laird James at Newcastle.” Mary Fleming appeared very sad and grave and set a hand comfortingly on Gwenyth’s shoulder. “He is safe. Guards went after him, but he managed to leave them trussed up on the road. They spoke highly of him, and now his reputation with his peers and the people grows. No one believes that the queen ever wished him harm. She is just in such a temper about the rebellion, and—”

  “Let us get to Holyrood. Away from prying eyes and ears.”

  At last they reached the palace and the room that had long ago been assigned her, where she sat upon the bed and listened to Mary Fleming.

  “You have been gone so very long. We’ve missed you, Gwenyth. Sometimes it seemed that you could say things we could not. We are all Scots, but we came here with so much that was French. Mary often had more faith in your words. Of course, once she had such faith in James, her brother, as well. The trouble all began with Lord Darnley. And now…while the queen awaits the birth of her child, he is out drinking each night, and God knows what other diversions he seeks. I believe there is a conspiracy all around us.”

  “Against the queen?”

  “Perhaps. It is so hard to tell truth from fiction. I know only that certain lairds remain furious about Darnley. They whisper that he has become far too much a Catholic monarch. The lairds despise him, and there is a rumor that some are suggesting he be given more power—so that our good queen may lose her rights and a Protestant monarch can be set in her place. Always, everywhere, secrets are whispered behind our backs. I fear for Mary.”

  “But…she is about to have a child. She will produce an heir for Scotland, and she will…she will win over the people and the lairds.”

  “I hope you are right. Now you must get ready. The queen is planning a small supper party in her rooms tonight. She knows that you are here, and she is delighted.”

  “Will Laird Darnley be at this supper?”

  “Do you jest?” Mary Fleming said drily. “No. Laird Darnley—or King Henry, as he calls himself and as the queen honors him—will be out drinking and carousing, as is his way. His chamber lies just beneath the queen’s, but he rarely comes up the privy staircase that connects them.”

  When Mary left her, Gwenyth lay upon her bed for a long while, heartsick that she would not see Rowan, yet also grateful that he was out of harm’s way. She was bitter, however, that she had come to Scotland from England just when he had left Scotland for England.

  At last she rose and, with the help of a castle maid, dressed. Shortly thereafter, a tap on her door from one of the queen’s chamber servants alerted her that the time had come for supper.

  Mary’s personal quarters were in the northwest tower of the palace and consisted of four rooms: a presence chamber that led to her bedchamber, and beyond her bedchamber, two smaller—though far from small—rooms that could also be reached via the privy staircase into the bedchamber. As Mary entered the queen’s bedroom, heading for the supper room beyond, she heard the soft sound of the queen’s voice and she noted the stairway that now led to her husband’s, the king’s, chambers.

  Then she forgot the past, for Mary saw her, even in the midst of her company, and hurried through the supper room to greet her. Gwenyth forgot that she was angry with the queen, so concerned was she to see how much Mary had changed. The laughter that had once lurked constantly in her eyes had dimmed, and her features were gaunt. She seemed to have aged greatly.

  “My dearest Gwenyth,” Mary said and held her tenderly, as if she meant the words.

  “Your Grace.” Gwenyth dipped low with all propriety.

  Then the queen swept her inside. “You know your friends, my dear Marys, of course. And you no doubt recall Jean, Lady Argyll and Robert Stewart.”

  Of course, Gwenyth thought. Jean was the queen’s illegitimate half sister, and Robert was her illegitimate half brother. Robert had evidently not fallen from favor along with James.

  The queen went on with the introductions. “This is my page, Anthony Standen, Arthur Erskine, my equerry…and David Riccio, my musician and my most estimable secretary.” She turned to the others. “This is Lady Gwenyth, freed at last from the hold of my cousin Elizabeth.”

  They all greeted her. She had met Anthony and Arthur before, and they were true men who served the queen well. Jean had never been anything but a loving and supporting friend to Mary, and Robert, too, seemed to have her best interests at heart. The Marys were always her loving servants. At least in the night’s company, the queen had surrounded herself with those whose loyalty could not be questioned. Except for David Riccio, Gwenyth thought, whose true character was a mystery to her.

  As the meal progressed, Gwenyth noted that, although David Riccio might have been as ugly as a toad, he was a clever man with a dulcet voice. He had the ability to make the queen laugh, something that, Gwenyth thought, she clearly did not do often of la
te.

  The little man grinned at her. “Welcome home,” he said. “I still know so little about this vast and wild land, though I have been here these many years. Such passions and tempers here, such life.”

  Gwenyth smiled, about to answer him, when they were disrupted by a loud noise from the bedroom area. Looking to the door of the supper room, Gwenyth saw that Lord Darnley had entered.

  She understood Mary’s waning affection. The man was young, yet he managed to look old and dissolute. “The king arrives!” he announced.

  The others rose. Mary did not. “Henry, how lovely of you to take the time to join us,” she said.

  He smiled, and even from a distance, he smelled as if he had all but bathed in a keg of ale. Walking into the room, he tilted to one side.

  A second man made an appearance from the direction of the staircase. It was Patrick, Lord Ruthven. Gwenyth knew him, but still, she was amazed to see him. He had been ill, she knew, something Mary Fleming had told her earlier. Indeed, he looked as if he were still ill, and he sounded delirious when he began to speak.

  “Let it please Your Majesty,” he said, offering Mary a sweeping bow that all but tumbled him from his feet. “May it please Your Majesty that yon man, David Riccio, has stayed far too long in your presence, in your bedroom.”

  “Have you gone mad?” Mary demanded furiously, looking from Ruthven to her husband. “David is here at my most royal request,” she announced firmly, then looked at Darnley. “This can only be due to your ridiculous machinations.”

  “Blame not your good lord, my queen,” Ruthven insisted. “Riccio has bewitched you. You don’t realize that people talk, that they say you make a cuckold of your good husband.”

  “I am with child!” the queen roared, still disbelieving all that she saw. “I play cards and I listen to music, while my dear sainted husband plays at other games.”

  Mary’s fury was so great that Gwenyth was afraid that she would soon burst into tears and fall into a state of emotional distress that would harm both her and her child.

  Suddenly, the room began to fill with more men. Gwenyth didn’t know all of them, but she recognized George Gordon, the younger, Thomas Scott and Andrew Ker.

  “If you’ve an argument with David Riccio, then he will appear before parliament,” Mary said evenly.

  But her words had no effect. Gwenyth could see immediately that, whatever they might later claim, these men had come to do violence.

  David Riccio, too, had realized that something dire was afoot, for he leapt from his chair as if to run, but there was nowhere to go. He headed toward the massive window, behind the queen’s back.

  Gwenyth stepped back just as the rush of men overturned the table. Someone managed to hold on to a single candle as the others were extinguished, the threat of fire fading and the only light in the room now coming from the fireplace, and the one remaining candle.

  David Riccio cried out in a confused mixture of French and Italian, “Justice, justice! Madam, I pray you, save my life!”

  The men had pistols and daggers, and a terrified Riccio literally grabbed the queen’s skirts, trying to hide behind them.

  Gwenyth sprang to life, grabbing Mary Fleming’s hand. “Help! We need help here! Do they mean to murder Riccio?”

  “Or the queen, as well!” Mary Fleming cried.

  The men had Riccio, wrenching his fingers from the queen’s skirts and dragging him, kicking and screaming, through the supper room and into the bedchamber.

  “Justizia, Justizia, sauvez ma vie!”

  Gwenyth heard the sounds of David Riccio being thrown down the privy stairway, and she cried furiously, “Help! Help! To the queen! The queen’s life is in danger!”

  Suddenly the room became a sea of confusion; Mary’s own servants arrived in panic, bearing brooms and dust mops, whatever weapons they had found. Members of the Douglas clan had apparently been about in the castle, and they rushed in next, followed by the queen’s guard, brandishing real weapons.

  There were shouts, furious accusations—and a bloody battle ensued.

  Gwenyth and the queen’s ladies tried hard to form a protective barrier around Mary, but Ruthven had dared to set his pistol against her stomach while his fellows had wrestled Riccio from her presence.

  In the end, the rebels were left in control.

  David Riccio, the tiny Italian, lay dead, a bloody pulp almost unrecognizable as human, so many dagger wounds had torn into his small frame. When word of his death reached her, Mary cried. But then, she responded with courage as she looked at those who had taken over the palace of Holyrood.

  “I am ill,” she announced. “I carry the heir to Scotland. You will leave me be with my ladies to attend me and let me rest.”

  The men looked awkwardly at one another, then decided to obey Mary and left.

  But they were all still in dreadful danger, Gwenyth knew. As most of the rebels drifted from the room and Mary took to her bed, Gwenyth found a renewed sense of love and loyalty for the queen.

  As Gwenyth helped her into her bed, Mary whispered, “We will yet find vengeance. Pay heed to every whisper and word our captors speak. Listen for every nuance. We will escape.”

  The queen’s eyes were alight with fire and she leaned heavily on Gwenyth’s arm, feigning distress in hopes that those rebels still in the room would leave. She cried out, as if in pain, and at last was left with only her ladies and her supporters.

  “Come close,” Mary whispered to Gwenyth, and together they began to plot.

  ROWAN ARRIVED IN LONDON on a strangely beautiful day. The weather was disarmingly mild as he made his way to the town house. He had not even reached the door when Thomas and Annie came running down the steps, almost embarrassing him by the ardor with which they greeted him.

  There was a great deal that he needed to know; but, having reached the house at last, he had only one thought. “My lady?”

  He saw the confused expressions on their faces.

  “She…has gone at last to Edinburgh,” Thomas said.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Rowan cried.

  “But the babe, Daniel, dwells here, safely with us, at her command,” Annie assured him.

  And so it was that, as he bitterly rued the freakish accident of fate that had sent them in opposite directions, he was brought to see his son.

  “My God,” he breathed in awe. The child slept, but he had to awaken him. His son gave a tremendous shiver when Rowan picked him up and then let out a cry of indignation. But then he stared at his father. His eyes were wide, very blue. He had blond curls, and Rowan found himself amazed, touched as he had never been before, and shaking himself as he sat down to hold his child.

  Hours later, he at last returned his son to the young woman charged to nurse him and, with Gavin at his side, rode to request an audience with Queen Elizabeth.

  He was startled when he was immediately granted an audience in her privy chamber.

  “I will tell you, first, that your bold escape is being quite romanticized across the countryside,” she said in amusement.

  He shrugged. “My escape was not so bold. I was helped, and from an unexpected quarter.”

  “So I imagine. I think that we sovereigns, with the strength of our blood, are loath to bring harm to others.” She turned away from him, thoughtful. “I know that my sister, Mary Tudor, cried for hours when her highest advisors and council demanded that she execute Lady Jane Grey. There is no pain such as that we face too often, fighting those closest to us…who threaten to become us.”

  “You still have yet to meet Mary of Scotland,” he reminded her.

  “Her situation is dire, I am told.”

  He exhaled. “I believe that she rues her marriage, Your Grace.”

  “You know nothing of what has transpired, do you?” she asked gently.

  His heart fell. “My Lady Gwenyth?”

  “I should have kept her here.”

  His heart seemed to reverse itself and leapt into his throat.

&nb
sp; “She is well, so comes the news, but word is very confused.”

  “I beg of you, tell me all of it.”

  “Indeed, I must,” Elizabeth said gravely.

  GWENYTH MOVED ABOUT the palace the next morning, silently and as unobtrusively as possible, though the rebels had taken such strong control that they didn’t mind the ladies moving about, ostensibly serving the needs of their queen.

  She learned that Father Black, a Catholic priest, had fallen prey to the murderers, as well, but that the Lairds Huntly and Bothwell, also intended victims, had managed to escape. Then she ducked into a doorway, listening as two of Ruthven’s followers stood guard, and laughed and joked about their easy success.

  “I hear the queen will be taken to Stirling, there to be held ’til the babe is born. No doubt she will be happy enough,” said one.

  “Oh, aye, with her music and embroidery…and she can tend her child and hunt in the fields while the good king rules the country.” He laughed as he spoke.

  “Darnley? Already he shows signs of remorse and wavering—and fear,” said the first man.

  “He’ll not rule the country. Those lairds with something between their ears will do so in his name.”

  “The queen could well die from this ill treatment,” the first man said.

  “If so, Darnley has royal blood enough. He’ll be a decent figurehead. And God knows, he loves fornication enough to quickly produce an heir elsewhere.”

  Armed with her knowledge, Gwenyth returned to the queen’s side where, joined by several of the others, including Lady Huntly, who was now in the queen’s service, she explained what she knew of the plot.

  “I have to escape,” the queen said. “I must. And then those who honor me must call up the countryside, and we will ride back into Edinburgh in triumph.”

  “Escape first,” Lady Huntly whispered.

  Gwenyth was silent, worried. The attack on the queen had been part of a well-planned and very dangerous conspiracy. She did not think they would be easily defeated.

  “Gwenyth?” Queen Mary said.

  Gwenyth blinked, having become lost in her thoughts.