The Queen's Almoner

by Tonya Ulynn Brown

  “How will we ever cross safely on horseback?” Mary cried. “It’s a devil’s trap.”

  “You will not be crossing at all,” James said. “You will stay here, on the safety of this hill. You will be able to see everything and send messages should you find the need.”

  “May I remind you who’s in command here?” Mary crossed her arms in aggravation, staring James down with those fiery green eyes.

  James sighed, “Mary, please.”

  “Allow me,” I interrupted, touching the queen gently under the elbow and pulling her aside. “Mary, this is a very dangerous area, as you have already observed. Your safety is the most important issue at hand. No matter what the outcome is here today on this field, if something happens to you it will all be in vain. Please, just stay here. Rizzio will keep you company, and there will be soldiers here to protect you. You can still watch the whole thing unfold before you.”

  The color drained from her face at my words. “You mean Rizzio and you will be here with me, correct?”

  I didn’t speak for a moment, but the silence was answer enough.

  “You talk of my safety, but what of yours?”

  “Mary, I’m not the sovereign. If anything happens to me, the world will go on.” She opened her mouth, presumably to protest, but I continued. “I cannot stand idly by, knowing that I have the skill and strength to assist in this battle. I do it for my queen, and my queen only. Do I have your blessing?”

  She stood, lips trembling and tears puddling in her eyes. “I…”

  I pulled my sword from its scabbard and turned the blade toward me. Kneeling, I handed Mary the handle of my sword. “Your blessing, my queen…please.”

  “What about your oath…to God?”

  “I do not feel I am compromising my oath. If I said it was for God and queen, would that make you feel better?”

  A slight smile lifted the corner of her mouth, and she wrapped her hands around the guard. “You have my blessing, Reverend Thomas Broune.” She raised the sword to her lips and gently kissed the hilt. Handing the sword back to me, she added under her breath, “If you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you.” The husky scratch in her voice on the word never drove her point home.

  I stood and took my sword from her hands. Replacing it in my scabbard, I gave her one last look. My chest tightened, causing a shortness of breath. This woman had turned my world upside down. No matter what happened here today, I knew she held my heart in her hands.

  Mary’s men assembled at the edge of the marsh. I stood holding Ramses’ reins when Sir Arrick approached me. “I have been given strict instructions to keep you within my sight at all times.”

  “You just worry about the battle at hand. I can take care of myself.”

  “Nay, I cannot defy the queen’s orders. She is concerned about your horse, and I must admit, I have seen how uneasy he is.”

  “Aye, he is a little rambunctious today. I think he senses a fight.”

  “Smart horse. Just be sure to stay close to me. If you don’t, she might have both of our heads.”

  I nodded in understanding but made no promises. Arrick had enough to worry about without having to play nursemaid to me.

  We picked our way across the bog, almost reaching the other side when a shout rang out from the top of the hill. In an instant Gordon’s men rained down on us, as we scurried to mount our horses and prepare our arms. I watched Arrick turn to the east and unman a horse. But before I could follow him on his campaign, I suddenly felt the ground shift under Ramses’ feet. The horse let out a terrible noise and reared onto his back legs. I gained control of him just in time to reflect a sword coming straight at me. I easily deflected the blade, for the man who bore it was on foot. Thrusting my own sword between his ribs, the soldier fell with a curse on his lips.

  “God forgive me and give his soul rest,” I prayed. And that was the last thing I remembered.

  Part II

  One thought, that is my torment and delight,

  Ebbs and flows bittersweet within my heart

  And between doubt and hope rends me apart

  While peace and all tranquility take flight.

  ~Mary Queen of Scots

  ~19~

  November 1562

  I awoke with a piercing pain at the back of my skull, and a mouth so dry it felt as though I’d gargled sand. My stomach, a barren wasteland, churned and groaned.

  How long had I actually been asleep?

  To make matters worse, my eyes hurt and my vision was blurred. I could not make out what or who was with me. The room was exceedingly warm, almost stifling, and all I could make out was the soft glow from what I assumed was a fireplace across the room. I could see no windows, or rather, no light through any windows. The only sounds to meet my ears were the sounds of soft murmurings, the poking of the fire, and the stirring of a pot.

  “Your Grace,” I heard a damsel whisper.

  I blinked hard to try to focus my vision and saw Mary rush toward me. She seated herself in a chair already at my bedside.

  “Oh Thomas, my love, you’re awake at last!” Mary reached for my hand and grasped it tightly, squeezing it ever so often as if to convince herself that I was truly awake. I tried to swallow, and when that didn’t work, I ran my dry tongue over my lips in an effort to create wetness in my mouth. Mary perceived my dilemma and quickly moved to get a cup of ale to appease my thirst. She placed her hand gently under my head and lifted slowly until I sat up enough to swallow. I drank the cup dry then tried to pull myself up to a seated position in order to see better, but Mary restricted me.

  “You need to lie down. You have had a terrible injury to the back of your head that required many stitches. My physicker believes that sitting up may cause the stitches to tear, and he strongly advised that we keep you lying down until the wound has healed a little more.”

  This command was easy to obey, for as I moved to sit up, a gut-wrenching pain tore through my side causing me to feel as though my ribs were being torn asunder.

  After catching my breath, a more immediate concern returned to me. “Mary, I can’t see. I mean, everything that is not directly before me is distorted. I—”

  “Hush now,” she interrupted. She placed a slender finger to my lips. “Do not fret, dear one. It will take some time to heal. You just rest, and I will send word to the physicker that you are awake. When he arrives you can tell him how you are feeling.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair, smoothing down my locks and shushing me as though I were a child. Her touch was soothing, and I soon felt myself drifting toward unconsciousness again. However, my senses were pulled to attention when I heard what sounded like weeping. I opened my eyes again and looked at the queen. Her head was bent, and she was wiping her eyes with a piece of cloth.

  I raised my hand and cupped her face in my palm. “Mary.” I wiped a stray tear that slipped from her eye. When she raised her head and looked at me, I could see the watery amber of her eyes sparking between the shades of green, almost setting her eyes aglow; a sight I had seen on more than one occasion when she was worried or afraid. “What is it? What do ye keep from me?”

  “Oh, Thomas,” she blurted, as a fresh set of tears poured forth from her eyes. “I thought I had lost you. Truly. You slept for a fortnight, stirring only occasionally, and moaning some unintelligible words every now and then. I…I’m not sure what I would have done had you…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away nervously.

  “Mary,” I whispered, for the loss of blood and lack of food left me bereft of strength. “Look at me.” I shifted my hand on her cheek and pulled her attention to me. She leaned closer in order to hear my words, but as she drew nigh I could feel the tremble in her hand that held mine. “Why would ye fear for me? I am nothing to you. I can be replaced. You have many trusted advisors. Trust James, he will not lead you astray.”

  Her eyes caught fire and bore into me, and I could feel the heat of her ensuing words. “Thomas Broune, how can you sa
y that you are nothing to me? I speak not of your advice or the counsel you may give me. You are my…my light, my strength. To lose you would be to tear out my heart and trample it under foot. You cannot be replaced,” she finished weakly. Her words were like a balm to the ache in my throbbing head, and as she spoke, I found myself mesmerized by the lips that spoke such tender words.

  When she had finished her soliloquy, she too was watching me as if she expected me to say something more. When I didn’t speak, she slowly leaned into me and laid her soft lips to mine. I was weak. The injury to my head coupled with the lack of nourishment rendered me practically helpless. But when Mary pressed her trembling lips to mine, an unexpected heat ignited beneath my skin, and for a moment my body forgot how incapacitated I really was. Yet, however much my heart wanted to take, my body wouldn’t allow it, and when Mary pulled away from me, I had not the strength to demand more than what she was willing to give.

  She rose quickly and gave instructions for a maid to bring broth and more ale. She then turned her attention to a footman right outside the door and demanded he send word for the physicker, a man named Davies, to come.

  Mary next removed a pot of water that hung over the fire and gathered the supplies she would need to dress my wounds. She returned to my bedside and motioned for a maid to help raise me up slightly, just enough so that she could see to the wound on the back of my head. Slowly, she began to unwrap the dressing.

  “Your Grace, surely there is a maid that can see to my care. Is it proper for the queen to perform such menial tasks?”

  “Nay, there is none that I would leave your care to. They are all simpering fools, mind you.” I raised an eyebrow to her facetious remark, and she let out a stifled laugh. “Oh, come now, Thomas. You mean to tell me that you are oblivious to the gawks and giggles of every young maiden that lays an eye on you?” I stared at her blankly, but I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks in response. At that, Mary threw back her head and let out a full, heartfelt laugh. She touched my brow softly and smiled. “You are so modest. But really, they all adore you.”

  I smiled and shook my head at her, but I had exhausted my strength for the time being. I closed my eyes again while she unwrapped the used cloth from around my head. She began to slowly blot at the wound on the back of my head, and then she gently wrapped a clean cloth around my head and secured it with some sorghum pitch. She patted my shoulder and indicated that I could then lay my head down again. Next, she began to unbutton my shirt. My eyes flew open in complete attention. Mary must have noticed my alarm, for she smiled and let out another soft laugh.

  “You have a wound to your side. Have you not felt pain from it?”

  “Aye, I felt the pain.”

  “Then calm thyself. I’ve been dressing this wound for two weeks now. I’ve seen your half-unclothed body all this time and have managed to keep my wits about me thus far.” My eyes opened wider and I took a breath to speak again but was cut off by Mary’s chastisement. “Oh, hush now. Just let me do my job.”

  She began to peel back the soiled bandages that had been wrapped around my ribs. A new and different kind of ache hit me when the stifling air hit my wounded flesh. I looked down at the wound and found a large gash the size of a broadsword. “I don’t remember sustaining that wound.”

  “You wouldn’t. You were already unconscious when it was inflicted upon you,” Mary explained.

  I watched as she cleaned the wound then began wrapping a new clean cloth around me again. I rolled to my side as best I could, so she could get the bandage beneath me, and then rolled to the other side for her to pull it around. “How did you get the bandage around me when I was unconscious?”

  “The maids would help me roll you to your side. You’re quite heavy.”

  I continued to watch as she completed the wrapping then reached for an ointment and began to rub it into my skin.

  “I was barely able to get enough broth down you to keep you alive, and I think the lack of liquids has dried your skin out.” She continued to talk as she rubbed the ointment on my chest; her soft hands igniting a fire beneath the surface of my skin and scorching every centimeter of my body where her touch lingered. She paused momentarily with her hand over my heart. I never took my eyes off of her and when she brushed her hand up my chest I placed my hand over hers and moved it back over my heart.

  “It beats still,” she whispered. With my remaining strength I squeezed her hand then released it reluctantly. Eventually, she looked at me questioningly, and it was then that I realized she must have asked me a question. When I didn’t answer she spoke again.

  “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “Only when I move,” I said. She nodded her head and continued to administer the oil. She rubbed the ointment down my arms and began to work the soothing oil into my fingers, massaging each appendage and giving equal attention to each. Finally, she turned my hand over and focused on my palms. When she had finished, she bent and softly placed a kiss into the palm of my hand and then pressed my palm to her warm cheek. When she looked up into my eyes, I could read the thoughts of her heart and knew she had come to a realization within herself. It was the same realization I had to come to terms with so many months prior. And although she never spoke the words, I knew the feelings were there, and I knew the mental struggle that would ensue.

  I was freshly bandaged by the time Davies arrived. However, he had to unwrap my bandages to check the wounds, which he announced were healing nicely under Her Majesty’s excellent care, and thus the rewrapping began all over again. He gave me an herbal concoction of some sort to clear my vision and ordered me to stay in bed, lying flat as much as possible. Once Davies had departed and Mary had administered some broth, she insisted that I needed my rest and commanded everyone attending me to leave. She settled me back onto my pillows and demanded that I sleep. I felt exhausted, but I wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. There was so much still to discuss. I resisted Mary’s demands and finally grabbed her wrist to stop her fussing over me.

  “Mary, stop,” I chided gently. “I have somewhat that I need to speak with you about.”

  “It can wait. You need your rest.”

  “Nay, it cannot wait. I cannot rest until I know all that has come to pass since my injury.” I sensed that she was reluctant to answer my questions, and that in turn made me more anxious.

  “Where is Ramses?”

  “Thomas, really, you—”

  “Mary, please,” I interrupted. “I will not rest until I know Ramses’ condition. Is he injured?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, and when she averted her eyes from mine I knew his fate.

  “Tell me all.”

  She sat down beside me and took my hand again. I wished with all my heart she would stop petting me like a cursed dog. Her touch was maddening and had it not been for my lack of strength and the sickening pain in my head, it would have taken every ounce of strength I had not to pull her down to lie next to me. When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky and lacked the calm assurance that usually accompanied her words. “Do you remember anything?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to make sense of what little bit of memory had stayed with me.

  “Well, I remember riding to Corrichie. Ramses was very skittish and the closer we drew to Gordon’s men, he would halt and buck. I almost slid off of him once, but I know we reached Corrichie because the last thing I remember was thrusting my sword into the rib of one of Gordon’s men. I breathed a prayer for his soul when I realized that I must have hit some vital organ, as he fell immediately to his knees and swore an oath before hitting the ground completely. The ground was boggy, and I remember thinking how strange it was that it should be so soft when the ground we covered to get to Corrichie had been frozen and hard. I don't remember much past that.”

  “Yes, James believes it was the bog that entangled Ramses and frightened him. He threw you from his back. When you fell you struck your head on a large rock.” She stopped speaking at this d
eclaration as if there was no more to tell.

  “So, he is hurt?” I prodded, encouraging her to continue. She looked down at our hands in hesitation, her soft, white fingers intertwined with my torn and bloody ones.

  “He broke his leg in the fall. I'm sorry, but he had to be put down.”

  I feared that was the news she would give me. And, although it was the first thing that I asked, it wasn't the most pressing. Mary appeared relieved at my next question.

  “And what of Gordon? How did we fare in battle?”

  “He's dead,” she said simply, as if the news of George Gordon's death was easier to deliver than Ramses’. “He died from an apoplectic episode while riding on the battlefield. He fell from his horse and appeared to be dead before he hit the ground. The battle was already well in hand for us. Perhaps it was that devastating news that caused his heart to stop. As you know, we’ve taken his son, Sir John. Nothing will bring me more pleasure than to have his head for his treachery.”

  I laughed softly although the action brought a pain to my head. Mary's eyes were lit with perverse satisfaction, but I knew the carrying out of that sentence would likely cause her distress. She was a fierce and passionate sovereign, yet her heart was still the gentle organ I had once known it to be as a child. The wee lass who cried for me to rescue her stranded kitten when it had climbed too far into one of the oak trees that lined the edge of the gardens at Stirling Castle. And the child who loved deeply and cared for those whom she thought were in need.

  “And what of this injury to my side? How did I come to be struck with a sword? I do not recall any altercations.”

  “After you fell from Ramses and struck your head, I feared that Ramses would fall upon you on his way down. However, he fell to your side, struggling and kicking and making all sort of devilish sounds. Arrick saw you fall and, not knowing for sure whether you were dead or alive, pulled you from the path of Ramses’ kicking feet, and left you when a blade nearly struck him in the head. You were motionless; I thought for sure you were dead. However, one of Gordon’s men must have seen you draw breath, for he suddenly struck a sword into your side. There was no movement from you. I thought him the evilest of men to strike a man already dead. But, he must have known something that we did not. Morton struck him down soon after.”