The Queen's Lady (33 page)

Gwenyth took a deep breath, trying to understand all that the queen had been through. She had clearly learned a great deal about duplicity during the length of her reign. Still…“Mary, I am his wife.”

The queen rose, her eyes and her features icy. “You are not his wife. You are a Scottish subject.
My
subject. And I have declared that your marriage is null and void, do you understand? You are not wed to that traitor. I will see that he remains banished, in England, for the rest of his life—or else he will face the block!”

“Mary!”

“Do you understand me?”

“Nay, I'll never understand you. You have no proof that he was involved in any treachery against you.”

“Darnley has told me that he was.”

Gwenyth gasped. “You would listen to Laird Darnley?”

“He confessed a great deal.”

“He cast out names to save himself. Mary, have you lost your senses? Rowan always despised Darnley!”

“Indeed, and so did others despise Henry, but they were willing to use him as a puppet against me. They forgot that a man they could so easily manipulate could be manipulated in return.”

“He's lying.”

“There is nothing so bitter as being betrayed by one you have come to love,” the queen said.

“Rowan never betrayed you!”

“Gwenyth, listen to me. Darnley is a pathetic creature, but I am in power again, and he is afraid. He gave me Rowan's name. Rowan was a part of this conspiracy, don't you understand?”

“I will never believe it.”

“Then you are a fool. A worse fool than I have ever been,” Mary assured her.

“I have a child with him.”

Mary stared at her, stunned. For a moment it seemed that she might bend, soften, but too much that was ill had been done against her. “Then you have a bastard,” she said coldly.

Gwenyth clenched her fists, staring at Mary. “I love him. In the eyes of God, he is my husband and the father of my child. And if you so bitterly loathe my husband, I can no longer, in good conscience, serve you.”

Mary looked as if she had been slapped. “So you would betray me, too.”

“Never.”

“I will see that you do not have to serve me, then.”

“I can find my own way out of Scotland.”

Mary shook her head. “I am to let you go—to join with him in a country where I am despised? God knows, Elizabeth never sends help or sympathy from England. I have my spies, you know. She might have denied James an army against me, but she certainly funded him when he needed money. You will not go back to England, my Lady Gwenyth.”

“Will you imprison me in Edinburgh Castle, then?” Gwenyth demanded, a touch of contempt in her voice.

“Not in Edinburgh Castle,” the queen said softly, and turned her back on Gwenyth.

“Leave me.”

“Your Grace, I am begging you one more time to consider—”

“Leave me. Now.”

Heartsick, Gwenyth returned to her room, where she passed the time pacing, wondering what would happen now.

She did not have to ponder long.

There was a knock on her door. Guards—the same guards who had so recently seen to her safe arrival—were in the hall.

Their leader looked at her and sighed, deeply, wearily. “Ye are to come with us, my lady.”

“Where?”

“We cannae say.”

“I am a prisoner?”

“Aye, lady. I say so with my deepest sorrow.”

“What manner of clothing shall I bring?” she demanded.

“We ride north,” the man said.

“I will be ready shortly,” she assured him.

She did not even have Annie near her, she thought. She was far away from her precious babe and being taken farther still.

Worse, Rowan had been branded a traitor again—and this time the queen believed it.

She longed to throw herself on the bed and cry, to rant aloud hatred for the queen.

Except that she didn't hate Mary, though she was furious with her for her refusal to see the truth. And furious with herself for having been blind to danger.

She packed her own possessions quickly. When she was done, she opened her door and pointed out her belongings to the guard, then asked that she be allowed to see the queen.

Mary granted her an audience, and Gwenyth saw immediately that the queen, too, had been crying. Mary took her into her arms.

“Dear God, Mary, I would never betray you,” Gwenyth whispered.

The queen stepped back. “And that is why I will keep you from all temptation,” she whispered back.

“What?” Gwenyth asked, confused.

“Sadly, I do know what it is to love and feel the passion that you do. I was blinded by something that glittered before me, but its beauty was superficial, and now I am paying the price.”

“You know Rowan.” Gwenyth hesitated. “You know him well.” She almost mentioned that he was of her blood, but she did not. Darnley, too, was of her blood, and the tie to Henry VII did nothing to make him a commendable man.

“Aye,” the queen said gravely, and shook her head. “I know him. I had great faith in him. And I pray God that he may somehow find a way to prove that Henry, Lord Darnley, my husband, has lied to me.”

Again Gwenyth paused. “He is the one who betrayed you,” she said. “Why would you believe him now?”

“Because he fears me now. He betrayed me, and then turned on those with whom he betrayed me. I am his only hope. Gwenyth, there will be an inquiry. But as for now…I will love you both. I will keep you safe.”

“Mary—”

“Take her,” she said softly to the guards who waited at the door.

Tears streamed down Mary's face, but events had hardened her, and she did not relent.

“I
WOULD SUGGEST
, Lord Rowan, that you simply stay in England,” Elizabeth said, when she had finished telling Rowan of the events in Scotland.

Rowan looked at Elizabeth and shook his head. “You know that I cannot.”

“Your country is a hotbed of traitors, and it seems there is no rhyme or reason as to those who have been pardoned—and those who have not,” Elizabeth said. “Queen Mary writes letters as if she is a secretary herself, long passionate letters. She wants you to be innocent, she dares not believe it.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I have it from reliable sources that there truly was a plot. Mary's dear Maitland never signed the agreement between the lords, but I believe he knew of it. Not that there is anything on paper that admits the lords meant to commit murder, but they did sign a Protestant agreement to wrest Mary Stuart from the control of David Riccio and to place the crown matrimonial on the head of Darnley. Now Mary has taken James Stewart, Earl of Moray, back to her side, though there are indications that he was connected to the plot. Your precious land is in deep trouble, Rowan.”

“But there, Your Majesty, is the truth of the matter. It
is
my precious land. And Gwenyth is there.”

“Mary has forced a legal issue and said that in Scotland, you are not married. And no one knows where she has ordered Lady Gwenyth held.”

“I will find her.”

“You will lose your head.”

“I must take the risk.”

Elizabeth sat back, studying him. She seemed both curious and amused. “Take a long look at the situation, please. The Scottish lairds are ever at one another's throats. When one man is lifted, the rest of his peers turn on him like a pack of angry dogs.”

“Is that so different anywhere?” Rowan asked her.

Elizabeth's smile deepened. “We are not so quick to violence here. I have more power than Mary,” she said. “I can, and do, imprison those I suspect may be against me. I watch, I listen, and at times I give pardon. I fear for you, Rowan. You are an honest man among thieves.”

He could not stop himself from pondering aloud. “I don't understand. I scarcely know Darnley, and what I know, I do not like. Still, I have done nothing to the man. Why would the queen have turned on me?”

“She arranged for you to escape, and immediately thereafter violence was done to her. You provide a convenient scapegoat for any who are guilty. You have never altered your position, in that you have supported James and her barons. I know you believe a united and strong Scotland must be at peace in itself, but I fear that Mary has set upon a course of action that has ensured that will never happen. Yes, from all I have been told, she has come to despise Darnley. But she will support him now. She has no choice. She will not ask for an annulment or a divorce.”

“Because of her child,” Rowan said bitterly.

Elizabeth nodded. “Because of the heir, she will outwardly support Darnley in many matters. Until her child is born, she will take no action that will cast any doubt on the paternity of her babe, so it is born legitimate. Therefore, I suggest you use caution. Wait until the babe is born. Then you will see. Soon after, I predict, Darnley will fall from grace.”

“I fear for Gwenyth in the meantime,” he said quietly.

“I envy you both, you know,” Elizabeth said.

“Envy?”

“Circumstances have been unjust, and yet…in both of you, I see such deep commitment. Perhaps your faith and the depth of your love will save you in the end. Or perhaps they will bring about your demise. Or, as happens so frequently in this world, perhaps time and hardship will make enemies of you, and all that is tender and romantic will end in bitterness.”

“That I will not allow,” he said.

“Don't behave as recklessly as your kind are so quick to do.”

He couldn't help but inquire. “My kind?”

“Highlanders,” she told him, but she did so with a smile. “I am only advising you, of course. In the end, you will do what you will do.”

 

T
HE NEWS REACHED
G
WENYTH
at the beginning of July that Queen Mary had been delivered of a baby boy, healthy and fine in every way, though the queen's labor had been long and hard.

She wrote Mary a long letter, describing her happiness at the event, but in reality she was miserable, wondering if she was doomed to spend her life as a prisoner. She spent long, agonized hours wishing that she dared send to London and ask Annie and Thomas to come north with Daniel, but since so many terrible events had taken place, she was afraid to do so. Daniel was safe where he was, and she had to be content with that.

As in the Tower, she was not kept harshly, only at the rather bleak and fortified holding of James Hepburn, Laird Bothwell, newly elevated because he had been instrumental in the queen's escape from Edinburgh. She spent a great deal of time writing letters to the queen, and to her own family and friends, but though they were duly taken from her, she doubted they were ever sent on.

She was allowed visitors, at least, and Angus MacLeod came to see her soon after she learned about the birth of the royal child. Angus had begged her to bow to the queen's fury over her marriage and drop her claim as Rowan's wife. She was astonished that her uncle could be so fickle, as she knew he had admired Rowan.

“The queen can strip you—and Laird Rowan—of every holding,” he told her gravely. “Thus far, she has been content to await her child. But now the babe is born, and we cannot know what she will do.” Angus shook his head. “Love. What is love?” he said to her wearily. “Marriages are contracts that bind families, secure alliances. Ye know that, child.”

“I've seen what wonders they do,” she told him drily.

He hesitated. “The queen is using yer name upon occasion, ye should know.”

“Pardon?”

“She is offering ye as a prize to many a man who will support her.”

“I am not so rich as to be a prize worth winning!” she exclaimed.

“She has suggested that other holdings, seized from the rebels, will be granted to your new laird husband, once ye have one.” Angus walked to the hearth, shaking his head. “A marriage contract is a marriage contract. Sixty-year-old widows have been wed to twenty-year-old men. Oft, a bride in her teens is given to a fellow so ancient, he is like the walking dead. That is the way of the world. But to a fellow seeking to plant his seed in the future of the world, a young bride is desirous. And beauty is not a detriment.”

“She cannot marry me off without my consent. And I do not believe she would do it.”

“You still love your Mary so dearly, don't ye?” he said.

“I am bitter, of course. But I watched her change. I watched her arrive with hope, with love for Scotland, with the confidence that she would be a good queen, one who would unite her country. I know she is misled right now, but I also know that, eventually, she will see the truth.”

“I pray that ye are not blind, lass,” he said gently. “But as ye have this belief, I will remain quietly at Islington, far from politics, and do me best fer ye.” He was silent for a moment. “And fer Daniel, whatever may fall.”

She wondered how she had ever found Angus to be stiff and cold. Since she had come back from France, she had discovered that he had been nothing but honorable and constant. And she told him so, hugging him tightly, perhaps embarrassing him a bit, until it was time for him to leave.

She continued her letter campaign, writing to Mary, to Annie and Thomas, and to Rowan, though she knew that none of her letters would reach him.

Very few letters made their way back to her. She did receive letters from one person: Queen Mary.

One letter informed her that Mary suggested she consider marriage to Donald Hathaway, newly created Laird of Strathern. The queen was full of enthusiasm, describing Donald as young, hale and vigorous.

Gwenyth threw the letter down with fury, but there was more on the page, so she picked it back up.

Gwenyth refused to believe what she had read. Still, she allowed herself an hour's fury and tears. And then…despair.

As the year waned, she was stunned when an escort arrived, sent by Mary, who desired that she be returned to court just after the Christmas season. She was still so hurt and angry that she longed to refuse, but in the face of the queen's wishes and a half-dozen able-bodied men, she had little choice.

And she did not intend to spend her life in the queen's protective custody.

Even if the news of Rowan's betrayal were true.

 

“T
HERE
,” G
AVIN SAID
, pointing.

From his position atop the tor, Rowan could see the arrival of the queen's men through the trees. Gwenyth, in a handsome cloak that draped over her mare's hindquarters, rode behind the leader of the party, a maid behind her, with five armed guards at the back.

“I see,” Rowan murmured.

“It is madness to attack,” Gavin said. “We are surrounded by the earl of Bothwell's minions, and ye've taken such grave care never to harm another man fer doing his duty.”

“True.” Rowan watched the party moving along the road. He itched to attack, to do battle, to win or lose. But two factors weighed heavily upon him. He didn't want to kill. And neither did he want to risk the lives of his own men, ten fellows who had stuck with him through thick and thin.

He knew his arrival in Scotland had not gone unnoticed. But despite the royal ban against him, he had been greeted with love and honor by the people of Scotland. Friends, those who had kept silent and far from court, had allowed them to stay and rest; in markets and farm towns along the way, the tenants and craftsmen had known him but kept their peace.

Here, they were surrounded by the forces of a man who was ambitious beyond imagination, and high in the favor of the queen.

“We will not attack, but we will follow,” Rowan said.

They did, keeping a discreet distance from the party ahead of them.

Gavin, not nearly so recognizable as Rowan, rode ahead as a scout. Toward nightfall, he returned to Rowan's position in the woods.

“They have stopped for the night at Elwood Manse,” Gavin told him.

“I have never been there,” Rowan said.

Gavin grinned. “I have.”

 

E
LWOOD
M
ANSE WAS NOT
a fortification of any kind; rather, it was the residence of the Reverend Hepburn, a Bothwell cousin.

It was a handsome, rambling dwelling. Sheep and chickens moved about the front lawn, and the great house was surrounded by charming, thatched-roof cottages.

The Reverend Hepburn had obviously been alerted to their arrival; he was waiting outside his dwelling, ready to meet her. He was a stout man with a full head of iron-gray hair, and everything about him seemed as stern and rigid as his coloring.

The queen's men were lodged in surrounding abodes, while Gwenyth's maid was given quarters in the attic, and Gwenyth discovered that she herself was to dine with the reverend and be accommodated in the manse itself.

Reverend Hepburn was a courteous man, but he was also determined to preach. As she was served a fine fish dinner, he talked about the state of the country. “We are deeply gladdened by—I daresay we are
rejoicing
over—the birth of our dear Mary's heir, which will bring us all to greater glory. But we will all need to do our part to see that peace is at hand for all Scotsmen.”

“Of course,” she murmured, all the while wondering what he was going on about.

“That means that we will all bow in obedience to the queen,” he said firmly, amazing her when he pointed at her sternly with his fork. “We are all duty-bound, my lady. Fantasy plays no part in the reality of life. Traitors will not be tolerated.”

She knew that she should just hold her peace and be done with the meal as soon as possible, but she could not. “If you are referring to Laird Rowan, he is no traitor. Nor do I believe that, in her heart, Mary thinks so. She has not had his lands seized, reverend.”

The man's eyes narrowed. “So you would be like the wretched folk who do not see the truth. They cry his name in the streets,” he said with disgust.

“And he will be vindicated.”

“The queen will be avenged.” The man smiled. “If he is seen in this area, I promise you, the queen will be given a quick and easy solution to the problem he represents. We will deliver his body unto her.”

“She has never condoned murder. Are you mad?”

“Any man must fight to preserve his house and lands.”

She stood, utterly disgusted with him, and knew she could bear no more conversation. “I have had a tiring journey today. I beg your pardon. I will retire.”