The Queen's Lady (38 page)

“Aye.”

He kneed Styx, and he and Gavin rode down the hill and quickly through the town. They rode hard until they reached the village, where Finnan awaited them with the chemist.

“Bring her to the bedroom,” the chemist, a slender man named Samuel MacHeath, said.

Despite the fact that they seemed to have found an oasis where the folk were honest and fair-minded, Rowan was careful to keep Gwenyth covered until they had climbed the stairs and closed the door behind them.

“Does she live? Before God, tell me that she lives,” he said to the man.

The chemist checked Gwenyth's pulse, leaned his ear to her chest, and slowly smiled. He rose. “Aye. She'll sleep some fair time, perhaps as much as three days. But she lives.”

Finnan, who had come with them, let out a deep sigh of pleasure. “Ah, now, but good old Amie McGee would be a proud woman to have done something so fine as to use her lifeless body to save the likes of a poor, maligned lady.”

“Amy will never know my gratitude,” Rowan murmured.

“Say a few prayers fer her soul, good Laird Rowan.”

“That I will,” he assured the man.

“We should ride as far from here as possible,” Gavin warned Rowan.

“Aye.” Rowan turned to the two men who had helped them, pressing gold coins, ironically minted with the queen's likeness, into their hands.

“Now, I dinnae say we needed money to do what was godly,” Finnan said.

“Nay, good man, you did not. But favor me by taking so small a token of what I have, when you have given me back all that matters.”

Finnan grinned. “Ah, a warrior
and
a poet.”

With that, Rowan lifted the precious bundle of his wife close to him. This time she was covered gently with a linen sheet. When he hurried back down the stairs, the horses had been watered, his men had mounted, and they were ready to ride.

It was an hour later that the MacIveys caught up to them.

“Graham!” came a roar across the trail.

Rowan turned Styx. Fergus MacIvey, his sword drawn, was ready to ride against him.

“You have played some trick on us, and you will not ride away so easily.”

“Careful,” Gavin warned Rowan.

But Rowan could no longer take such care. He paused to hand the light burden of his wife to Gavin, then roared out a battle cry of fury.

He raced across the plain of grass. Fergus sped toward him, his sword glinting in the sunlight.

In the center of the field, they met. Their swords clashed, yet neither man was unhorsed. They parried, blow for blow.

Then, with a shuddering impact, Rowan managed to unseat Fergus. He leapt down from Styx, kicking the man's dropped sword to him.

Fergus grabbed the weapon, leaping to his feet, let out a cry of hatred and surged forward. His emotions had gotten the better of him. Rowan had only to shift his weight and let the man rush him. As Fergus tried to make a direct strike through his heart, Rowan stepped aside and brought his sword down on the man's neck.

As Fergus fell, Gavin cried out a warning.

Rowan turned to see that Michael MacIvey had meant to drive his sword into Rowan's back while his uncle had kept his attention.

There was no time to think, no chance to consider whether the man should live or die. Rowan was forced to spin, and as he moved, he caught the man through the stomach, sending him crashing backward.

Rowan stood above the fallen man.

Michael's eyes were open, and a trickle of blood oozed from his lips, and he was dead, an expression of shock frozen upon his face.

Rowan quickly looked up, anxious to see which of the MacIveys' forces would come for him next. But they had gone, deserting when it appeared they could not win.

It was Brendan who came to his side then. “Laird Rowan, it's over. Let's take yer lady home.”

“Aye,” Rowan said. “Home.”

 

G
WENYTH AWOKE SLOWLY
, feeling as if she had been submerged in a deep, black cave. She was aware of little things first.

A hint of light.

Something soft beneath her.

The scent of clean linen.

But she had died! Surely Heaven could not have the scent and feel of earth!

She tried to open her eyes more fully. She was no longer in rags but a clean, snowy-white gown.

Upon a snowy, sweet-smelling bed.

For a moment the world seemed to be a white mist, and she blinked to clear her vision.

There were two smiling faces staring intently at her. She blinked again.

Annie!

And Liza Duff.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, she has awakened!” Annie cried. Then she leaned forward, her ample bosom nearly crushing Gwenyth as she hugged her, tears streaming down her face.

“It's true. Laird Rowan, Laird Rowan!” Liza cried.

And then he was there, features taut and golden hair blazing, eyes a miraculous blue fire.

“My lady!”

“Rowan?” she said incredulously.

“Aye, my love,” he said, and sat at her side. His fingers brushed hers, and then she was tenderly in his arms, as he held her as if she were as fragile as glass.

“It can't be,” she whispered, and he pulled away. She looked at him, stunned, lost, afraid that this was but some dying dream. But the linen was real; the heat of his hold was real.

“She's wakened? Thank God, our lady is with us again,” came another voice. Gavin.

“Saints be praised!”

Gwenyth looked beyond Rowan and saw that Thomas was there, as well.

Rowan spoke quickly. “We had to substitute a…well, a corpse for you, my love, on the stake, but there was no time to talk to you before. You had to appear dead, so I drugged you. I am so sorry to have hurt you in any way.”

She blinked, throwing her arms around him again. “But I am condemned by law!” she told him.

“That is a situation that is being righted even now.”

“The MacIveys will never let it be,” she said, drawing back again to look at him.

“The MacIveys are no more,” he said in a low, hard tone.

“But…”

He let out a deep sigh. “Mary has abdicated the throne in favor of her son—by force, I imagine, but it is done. She made provision first that our marriage be declared legal in Scotland, and that Daniel is our legal issue. James, acting as regent, has signed his name to the documents, as well.”

She gasped. Such sweet news, though mixed with such a sad addendum.

And yet, at that moment, all she could do was thank God she was alive.

She drew Rowan tightly to her. “Oh, Rowan, I never meant to hurt you in any way. I was afraid…and I'd heard…”

He pulled away from her, smoothing her hair back, touching her cheek with such tenderness that she was afraid she would faint, and lose out on this sheer joy and wonder.

“I never entertained the idea of another wife, my love. And I know that you cried out against me only to force me to leave.”

This happiness was surely more than she could bear.

And then…

“My lady,” Gavin said, clearing his throat. “There is someone who wishes to see you—if you are strong enough.”

She realized, as Gavin walked to the bed, that he wasn't alone.

She stared in amazement at the small human being he carried. A boy with brilliant blue eyes and sun-gold hair.

He looked at her, his eyes wary but curious.

“Mama?” he said.

“He walks now, too,” Rowan told her, reaching for the boy and setting him on the bed between them.

Gwenyth stared at her son, the child who shouldn't have known her, who couldn't know her, but who watched her with such curious expectation.

“Daniel,” she breathed. Then she looked from him to Rowan and suddenly burst into tears.

“My love, my love,” Rowan said, and she struggled for control, anxious not to make Daniel cry.

“I…”

“It's all right,” he said. “Everything will be all right,” he vowed, and then he smiled. “Because I will never leave you again. Ever. I have served my country, and we both served the queen we love, with all that was in us. But now I have discovered that the Scotland that I love is here on my own land and in my heart, that I cannot change other men, and I certainly can't change the world. So…I will always do what I can to speak for the queen, to create peace and reason. But I will never leave you again.”

She stroked Daniel's hair, meeting Rowan's eyes, and smiled, though her own eyes remained damp. “And I will love you forever,” she breathed. “And ever.”

 

F
ATE WAS KIND
to them.

Even the great preacher Knox was furious when he found out that decisions of the soul were being tried and judged on a political basis.

The Reverend Miller and the Reverend Donahue were arrested to stand trial. The poets of the day wrote beautiful stories about Laird Rowan's rescue of his lady wife, and their status was assured in Scotland, their home secure.

Queen Mary miscarried, and the fierce maternal instinct that had made her proclaim for Bothwell was gone, but the people—her people, who had so loved their beautiful queen—could not forgive what they believed to be her complicity in a murder perpetuated so that she could marry her lover.

She escaped her captivity from the Douglas stronghold, helped by several members of the family, and fled to England.

Rowan and Gwenyth traveled many times to see her throughout the years of her incarceration by her cousin, gratified to find that Elizabeth—though refusing to see her cousin—also for many years refused her lords' urging when they suggested that Mary was a threat against the state and should be executed. There was still the possibility of a Catholic uprising, and Elizabeth was too wise to incite it.

As the years passed, Daniel was joined by Ian, Mark, Ewan, Haven, Mary and Elizabeth. Gwenyth's children were with her when Rowan, every bit the great knight as when she had met him, when she and Mary had both been such young women, came to her with word of Mary of Scotland's death. He tried to break the news to her gently, told her that Mary had been surrounded by those she loved when she had walked to the scaffold, that no one there, not her enemies, not Elizabeth's servants, could say that she died with anything other than the greatest composure and dignity. She had offered her love to those around her, and she had assured them all that she knew she would find her place in Heaven with her God, and that she was weary and ready to rest.

The threats and the pressure had grown too many and too great. Queen Elizabeth had felt forced to give in.

Headstrong, passionate, determined to be the best ruler she could be, prey to plots around her, still seeking the best in men, Mary, beautiful, vivacious, tempestuous Mary, Queen of Scots, had ended her days with grace and elegance.

No matter how Rowan tried to ease the blow, Gwenyth was heartsick. She cried for days on end. She needed time alone. Rowan gave her that time. He was busy, the threat of war with England looming on the horizon. Mary's people might have turned against her when she had needed them, but they didn't intend to tolerate her death now. But James, her son, now grown, lived with the dream that had been bred into him: that of the joint thrones of Scotland and England. He could have led the country to war, but he did not.

Several weeks after the queen's death, Gwenyth rose from her chair when the family had ended supper and walked around behind her husband, slipping an arm around him, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “I need you so tonight,” she whispered.

Rowan rose a little too quickly.

“Good heavens,” Daniel said lightly, shaking his head.

“What on earth does that mean?” Marcy—as their Mary was called—demanded.

Daniel, fully a man then, laughed and looked at his parents, then apologized. “I'm so sorry. But you two have been married these many, many, many—”

“Aye, Daniel, move it on,” Rowan said.

“Well, it is almost embarrassing,” Ian put in.

“What are you talking about?” Marcy persisted.

“It means we're seeking a name for a new baby,” Daniel said with a soft groan.

“Daniel, it is a problem we will just have to deal with,” Rowan said firmly, and winked at Gwenyth. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he swept his protesting wife off her feet and, ignoring their handsome brood of children, carried her laughing all the way up the stairs.