Shannon Drake - The Queen's Lady

Mary cast him an appreciative glance, then looked back at Gwenyth. “You are all right?”

“My dignity is sadly shaken, but in all else, I am fine,” Gwenyth assured her, then drew a deep breath. “Laird Rowan arrived with miraculous timing. He—” Why, she wondered, did she hate so to say it? “He saved my life.”

“Then we are beyond grateful to Laird Rowan,” Mary said gravely.

He nodded in easy acknowledgment of her words. “Your Grace, I am pleased to serve in any way that I can.”

James said gruffly, “Let’s return to the palace. Lady Gwenyth needs care and rest.”

“Your horse?” Mary asked Gwenyth.

“I dare say the mare has returned to the stables. I’m certain she knows the way,” Rowan said. “Styx is broad and strong,” he added, indicating his horse. “Lady Gwenyth and I will reach the stables as easily as we rode here.”

To protest in the circumstances would be futile and she would merely look the fool, so Gwenyth acquiesced with no more than a murmur.

Later, when they returned, and stablehands and servants ran about shouting and hurrying to assist in whatever ways they could, she heard Laird James speaking softly with Rowan. “If they are to prowl the forests seeking diversion, then they must learn to ride.”

Gwenyth longed to turn and confront the man, but then, to her surprise, found she did not need to do so.

“James, I believe the lady rides as well as any woman, perhaps as well as any man. No one can stay atop a falling horse. If the horse is flat upon the ground, so shall the rider be.”

Startled by Rowan’s defense of her, Gwenyth was not prepared when one of the large, bulky guards came to take her arm and escort her within.

“I can stand on my own, please,” she insisted. “I am not hurt, merely wearing much of the forest floor.”

She was not released on her own say-so. The guard looked to Mary, who nodded, and only then was she allowed to stand on her own.

She fled to her apartments, anxious to escape being the object of so much concern.

ROWAN WATCHED GWENYTH GO, surprised by the tugging she could so easily exert upon his heart. He didn’t know if it was the look in her eyes, the passion in her voice, or even the ferocity of her manner combined with the innocence that lay beneath.

“Laird Rowan,” Mary said.

“My queen?”

“I did wish to speak with you away from the palace, but the opportunity did not present itself. And so, if you will attend me in chambers…?”

“Whatever your desire.”

He realized that she and James must have spoken while he was rescuing Gwenyth, for the other man now clearly knew exactly what Mary intended to say to him. Indeed, James was the one to lead the way to the small reception chamber near the queen’s apartments.

An exceptional French wine was brought for their pleasure. Rowan preferred good Scottish ale or whiskey, but he graciously complimented the queen on her choice. She did not sit in the regal high-backed chair she would be expected to take when receiving foreign ambassadors but rather chose one of the fine brocade upholstered chairs grouped before the fire.

James didn’t sit. He stood by the mantel as Mary indicated that Rowan should join her, which he did, his curiosity growing by the second.

“I have it on good authority that you are on friendly terms with my cousin,” Mary said.

He sat back, caught unprepared. “Queen Elizabeth?” He should not have been surprised, he chided himself. Mary had very able ministers who had served her for years.

“Yes.”

“My wife’s mother is distantly related to Queen Elizabeth’s mother,” he said.

“Relationships are a good thing, are they not?” she inquired. “We are taught to honor our fathers and our mothers, which makes it strange that, in matters of politics and crowns, so much evil may be done to those we should love. But that is not of import now. We are engaged in quite a complicated game, Elizabeth and I. I have never met my cousin. I know her only through her letters and the reports of others. Serious matters occupy us now. I have not ratified a treaty between our countries. And that is because she has not ratified her will.”

This was something that he already knew. “I suppose,” he replied carefully, “that Elizabeth still considers herself to be young and is not eager to contemplate what will happen upon her death.”

Mary shook her head. “She must agree that I am the natural heir to her crown.”

Rowan held silent. He was certain that Mary was aware of why Elizabeth was hesitant. England was staunchly Protestant now. If she were to recognize a Catholic heir to the crown, it could create a tremendous schism in her country. He knew the Protestant powers in England were not looking to the Catholic Queen of Scotland. Though the line of sucession would most probably recognize her claim, there were other grandchildren of Henry VIII, among them Catherine, the sister of poor Lady Jane Grey, known as the Nine Days Queen. The Protestant faction had set Jane upon the throne following the death of Henry VIII’s one son, Edward. The forces behind another Mary, this one the daughter of Catherine of Aragon, a Catholic, had easily routed Jane’s defenders, and in the end Jane had lost her head upon the scaffold. She had died not because her family had urged her toward the throne, but because she had refused to change her religion at Mary’s demand. It had been Mary’s legitimate right of succession to the throne that had won her so many followers, and it had been her order that so many Protestant leaders be executed that had earned her the title “Bloody Mary.” At her death, when Elizabeth had ascended the throne of England, she had put an end to religious persecution, but the memory of blood was still rife in the hearts and minds of the English, and they wanted no Catholic ruler now.

“We all know why Elizabeth stalls,” he said.

“But here is the thing. You know, Laird Rowan, that I have no intention of forcing my beliefs on my people, who are so set now in the ways of the Church of Scotland. If Elizabeth knew this, believed it as you do, I don’t believe she would balk. You are on friendly terms with her. You can seek an audience to wish her good health, and during that audience, you can tell her what you have learned about me.”

“Rowan, you’re being sent to London,” James said bluntly.

Rowan looked at James. The man was so often an enigma. He knew so much about the people of Scotland, having served as regent. He knew the law, and he had asked his sister to return, ceding the crown to her. And yet there must have been times when he thought that this country would be in a much better position had he been his father’s only legal issue.

“Naturally I am willing to obey your every command.” Rowan hesitated. “Though I was planning a trip to my estates,” he said huskily. “There are matters to which I must, in good conscience, attend.”

Mary set a hand on his arm. He saw the deep sympathy in her eyes, and he realized that one thing her supporters said of the queen was very true: she had an enormous heart. She was kind and cared deeply for those around her.

“You certainly have leave to travel home and to take whatever time you need there. But then I would have you journey westward as escort to Lady Gwenyth, then on to London.”

“Escort to Lady Gwenyth?” he repeated questioningly.

“I have received a letter from Angus MacLeod, great-uncle to and steward for Lady Gwenyth’s estates. He is anxious that she return to visit, to greet her clansmen and allow herself to be seen. You will do me great service if you act as her escort, bringing her to Islington Isle before you yourself travel onward to England.”

He was startled by the request, and dismayed, though he was not certain why. “Perhaps, as speed is of importance, I should simply ride to my estates and then on to England without even attendants of my own,” he suggested.

Mary frowned slightly. “No, Laird Rowan. I think not. I would prefer that the Lady Gwenyth should travel the full journey with you, accompanying you to the English court once she has visited her own home. I shall have you serve as guardian for her, and it will be known that I sincerely wish for her, my dearest lady, to know more about the English way of things, that she may tutor me in understanding my close neighbors, in the interest of the continuing peace between our two countries.”

Trapped.

There was little he could say or do. For how could a man tell the queen that she was asking him to be escort to far too great a temptation?

No. He would be expected to be the staunch guardian, whatever his thoughts or desires.

“Rowan, Mary asked my advice on this matter,” James informed him. “I think your friendly visit to Elizabeth will mean much, and bringing Lady Gwenyth along will help matters. She attends Mary but remains Protestant herself. She loves Mary dearly, but her blood and her ways remain far more Scottish than French. Unofficially, she will serve as an ambassador for our queen’s cause.”

“Does Lady Gwenyth know about this?” Rowan inquired.

“Not yet,” Mary said. “But she will understand perfectly what I want from her. I am newly here, though not newly queen, for that has been my title since I was but days old. My desire to bring only good to my country must be understood, as must my desire for peace. You, sir, are the man who can hold out the true hand of friendship in what is most important, an unofficial capacity. I will not be bound to words you exchange, while, if my ministers and ambassadors make foolish statements in the heat of the moment, I am held to them. You will bring Elizabeth some personal gifts from me, and I know that she will be enchanted by Gwenyth. I have yet to meet anyone, commoner or king, who has not found her to be charming and intelligent. Her nature will serve me well.”

“When did you intend that I begin this journey?” Rowan asked.

“After the next Sabbath,” the queen informed him gravely.

GWENYTH WAS STUNNED.

She couldn’t believe that Mary would send her away. Of course the queen had her ladies, her Marys, but Gwenyth had believed that Mary depended on her for her friendship. As well, they had just arrived. Surely Mary needed her for her knowledge of Scotland.

Though she realized she was being presumptuous, Gwenyth told her thoughts to the queen. “I can’t leave you now. You need me with you.”

At that, Mary smiled. “Please, Gwenyth, have you no faith in me? I have been away since childhood, but I am extremely well-read, and I am also fortunate to have my brother James to advise me in all things. I intend to move very slowly and carefully. I’ll be journeying to many cities within the country soon, so I can meet more of my people. Gwenyth, I am not sending you away. I am placing the dearest desire of my heart in your hands.”

That was a staggering thought.

Elizabeth was more than a decade older than Mary. She had taken the throne at the age of twenty-five, after bearing witness to turmoil, battle and death for many years. She had even been incarcerated—in royal conditions, it was true, but incarcerated nonetheless—because there had been times when her older half sister, Bloody Mary Tudor, had feared a Protestant uprising. In time, Mary had died a natural death and Elizabeth had duly taken the throne. She was neither young nor naive, and she had gained a reputation as a powerful and judicial monarch. Mary of Scotland still believed in the heart—in her emotions—in the belief that wishing could make things right.