I finished my letter then sealed it, setting it aside to be posted the next day. Picking up the candle I made my way to the tiny chamber where Isobel had slept in solitude for many weeks now. I pulled back the woven coverlet and slid in beside her. The news had not been exciting, but I felt a deep satisfaction in finally hearing from Mary. I hoped a promise of peace would accompany that satisfaction and that I might actually get a full night’s sleep alongside my wife in our bed tonight. I blew out the candle, determined to find out.
~25~
May 1565
I only heard from Mary periodically for the next year. She would write to me about her suitors and I would begrudgingly reply with my opinions and advice. There usually wasn’t too much to be concerned about. There were always so many rumors whirling, and so many potential husbands. I knew, however, that eventually one would stand out and I would have to face the truth. When that time finally came I was not prepared for such news.
The letter came to me on the twenty-fifth of May. One might wonder how I could remember such an insignificant date. But it was not insignificant to me, for that was the day that my world as I knew it; my sun about which the planets and stars revolved, burst and the cataclysmic ramifications left me reeling.
In her jubilant letter she wrote:
My Dearest Thomas,
My heart soars! I have met a man who fulfills all my dynastic and womanly wishes. You may have heard reports, my dearest, for I know how all of Scotland prattles about my marital scruples. Therefore, I will not bore you with the unmanly details. Please come to Edinburgh. I desire your opinion concerning my dear Henry and your blessing, as my father would have done had he still been alive, God rest his soul.
As you can imagine, I have faced oppositions from many sides due to differences of opinion concerning my choice; the utmost remonstrances coming from Lord James and the Earl of Arran. I wish for you to come to my aid and talk some sense into these pragmatic brutes, and the other Protestant lords, for that matter.
There is to be a gathering at Holyroodhouse to announce our engagement at the end of the month. It is my deepest wish that the two people dearest to my heart should get acquainted, and to have you standing behind me when that announcement is made would mean the world to me.
Please do not delay.
Your loving sister,
MR
Tears stung my eyes as I read the letter over two more times. So, I had now been relegated to the ranks of her father. I always fancied myself to be her protector, but never imagined myself in that paternal role. I wasn’t sure I liked the change.
And her betrothed? The perpetrator of this cosmic tragedy was a man by the name of Henry Stuart, also known as Lord Darnley. He was a cousin of Mary’s whose family had been exiled to England years ago. I had heard rumors of the spoilt and arrogant man that Mary now believed herself in love with. Although I had never met him, I had already formed a biased opinion of the man, based solely on the opinions of others and the nature of my relationship with Mary. To throw my unfailing support behind a man that I doubted could ever live up to the celestial ranks of our angelic queen, would be difficult.
I folded the letter gingerly, and then went in search of my wife. I found her in the yard, tossing feed to our chickens and talking to them in hushed tones as if they were her own sweet little ones. The maternal tendencies that she had developed were natural. I walked over to her and removed the bucket from her hand. Setting it on the ground, I placed my hand on her belly and said a silent prayer over the life that even now grew inside her. I scolded her for over-exerting herself, for that very morning she had risen with the sickness that comes only in the mornings and spent half the day recovering from the exhaustive indisposition. Most women only suffer the condition for a few months; poor Isobel had endured it her entire gravidity.
“I received a letter from Mary,” I began.
“I know,” came her simple reply.
“She needs me to come to Edinburgh. She has selected a husband, and she wishes for me to smooth things over with her lords and convince everyone that he isn’t the heel they think he is.”
She smiled slightly at the folly but didn’t speak.
I began again, “I naturally would have wanted you to accompany me if it weren’t for—”
“That is out of the question, as ye know.”
Detecting a sourness to her tone, I stepped back to get a better look at her face. “What troubles you, Isobel?”
She didn’t speak for a moment and when I started to prompt her again she erupted, “What about what I need, Thomas?”
Surprised at her heated words, I took another step back.
“What is it that you need, Issy? You only need speak the word, and I will do it for you.”
“I need ye here with me!” She was shouting now, and the tears had begun to flow. She was given to sudden bursts of emotion over the past few months, but never coupled with an angry tirade. “I expect our babe in six more weeks. Will ye be back before the baby comes? I cannot bear this alone, ye know that.”
“I will make sure I am back before your confinement begins. And in the meantime, to quell your fears, I will ask if the Spottiswoodes can spare their maid, Maggie, to come and stay with you.” I wiped her tears with the back of my hand and looked searchingly into her eyes to see if I had appeased her anger. She sniffled, then took the hem of her apron, and wiped the edge of her eyes, then the tip of her nose.
“Will that make you feel better?” I entreated.
“It comforts me that I shall not be alone, but it does not make me feel any better that my husband is rushing off to aid another woman.”
Taken aback, I tried to reason with her. “She is not just another woman, Isobel.”
“Nay! She is the queen! How can I compete with that, Thomas? I knew when ye proposed marriage to me, that ye loved her. But I trusted ye when ye promised to protect and care for me. I foolishly thought ye would eventually come to love me. What a fool I was.”
I closed the space between us and took her face in my hands. “Nay, Isobel, you are no fool. I have come to love you, and I hate myself that you have felt otherwise. I have tried to give you everything I promised. I…I realize I have fallen short.” I could feel the tears pressing against my own eyelids, and I blinked several times to control them. When one fell against my wishes, I saw her anger melt, and she brushed the tear aside with the tip of her finger.
“I have wanted for nothing. Truly, ye have been a good husband to me. I suppose deep down I know that ye love me. I just feel…well, sometimes I feel that I will never measure up to her. She is a shining diamond, and I a tiresome pebble.”
“Nay, you are a beautiful pearl, my dove.” A stray tendril of golden hair had escaped her kerchief and now blew softly across her eyes. I tucked it behind her ear and continued. “Do you know how a pearl is formed?”
Sniffing, she shook her head and whispered, “Nay.”
“Pearls are formed when a tiresome pebble gets trapped between an oyster’s shell.” I pinched my fingers together to indicate the size of the tiny grain. “The oyster secretes a wonderous substance to cover the little pebble and protect itself. Over and over the substance is layered around the pebble until a beautiful, perfectly shaped pearl is formed. It can take years for the priceless jewel to be created, but when it is finished, behold how beautiful it is. You are just as precious to me as those rare pearls found in the ocean.” I stopped talking and looked into her crystal blue eyes. Gently, I laid my hands upon her belly and spoke again. “I give you my word: I will be back before this little pearl is born. I will not forsake you.”
She did not speak, but nodded her head, then bent to pick up the bucket I had sat on the ground. I took the bucket from her hand again and finished feeding the hens for her. “Go rest your feet,” I offered. “I’ll finish up the chores out here.”
Wiping her eyes once more, I watched my wife, the mother of my child, waddle away, carrying a piece of my heart with her. And fo
r a moment, I felt torn about my decision. Was I choosing Mary over my wife? As the guilt weighed me down, I already knew the answer.
~26~
May 1565
I arrived at Holyroodhouse three days later, having left the morning after I received her letter. I had not seen Mary since the night I talked with her in St. Margaret’s Chapel. The night where I had struggled, questioned, been tempted even, to turn my back on all that I knew was good and right, to appease the unquenchable fire that burned within my being.
I had built up a defense of immutable circumstances; safeguards that would now stand in my way and prevent any vacillation on my part. I had a wife, and we would soon have a child. These two facts alone should have been stone walls to block out any indecisiveness. Yet, as I drew near to the castle, I found a cold sweat breaking forth across my brow. My body too, deceived me, and I felt a shaking that made my legs as weak as a willow branch and my insides take a sickening churn.
All the court was aquiver with frenzied activity as final preparations were being made for the feast. A solicitous footman with yellow, curly hair, greeted me as I entered the courtyard, rushing toward me and nervously shoving hair out of his eyes as he spoke. I heaved my satchel over my shoulder and looked about me in astonishment. I had never seen such feverish activity bustling about Holyroodhouse in all my years of attendance there.
“My lord, Her Majesty is not accepting callers for two more days. I’m afraid I must ask you to find lodging in town and send word to the queen as to your business at Holyroodhouse. She will answer thee at her convenience.”
I turned my eyes on him and it was then that I noticed how truly mussed he appeared, swiping curls across his forehead and tucking them behind his ear.
“My name is Thomas Broune. I am here at Her Majesty’s request.”
His eyes grew in diameter, as he began to bow and sputter profusely.
“My apologies, Reverend Broune.” Swiping again. “Her Majesty has been awaiting your arrival. Come right this way. She has requested your immediate attendance.”
The man took my satchel and handed it off to another servant with instructions as to its destination. I followed the man, trying to keep my eyes on the crimson ribbon that tied back his unruly locks, but my attention was accosted by maidservants and menservants eagerly attempting to carry out every decorous instruction demanded of Her Majesty.
The crimson ribbon led me through the Great Gallery, where monstrous ornamental chandeliers had been hung, replacing the old iron rings that had graced the ceiling since the time of James IV. The walls smelt of fresh whitewash and enormous extravagant tapestries were hung at both ends of the hall. I followed crimson into the Queen’s Lobby and up the spiral staircase that connected the first floor of James’ tower to the second where Mary’s more private rooms were.
My breath caught in my throat when I beheld her for the first time in so many months. She was radiant as she stood talking with Mary Seton of some household interest. Her eyes shone and her speech was spirited, making her cheeks shade to the slightest color of pink. Being in love, if that is truly what it was, seemed to have agreed with her achingly well.
The crimson ribbon announced my name, and Mary turned to me rhapsodically. A high-pitched squeak broke forth from her as she ran to me with arms outstretched. I hardly knew how I was expected to behave, but for her part she kissed me on the cheek and clung tightly to me before decorum demanded that she let me go.
“Oh, Thomas! I dared hope that you would come. I am aware of Isobel’s delicate condition and know how difficult it must be for you to be away from her at such a time as this.”
“Yes, her confinement is drawing near, which is why I cannot stay long. But I was quite concerned when I received your letter. You sounded worried.” My voice was rough, but I spoke the words softly, for I felt a sudden dryness in my throat. I also felt my own cheeks warm as my hands rested on her waist and her gaze arrested my complete attention. Suddenly aware of other eyes on us, I dropped my hands and stepped back.
“You are just in time. I have ordered a light lunch to be brought to my rooms, and it should be here shortly. Henry is out hunting with Rizzio. Can you imagine? Rizzio with a gun, hunting? The mere thought of it makes me laugh irrepressibly.”
I too smiled at the thought, but then, almost as if on que, five servants entered the chamber, bearing trays loaded down with Mary’s light lunch. Within minutes they had the fare spread, and we were seated around the table. The Supper Room, which was adjoined to Mary’s bedchamber, was small and intimate and those that supped with her here were usually the closest of acquaintances. Today the company consisted of only Mary Seton since Darnley and Rizzio had not joined them yet. Mary Livingston had married an Englishman named John Sempill two months prior, and she no longer served at court.
“I would have thought that Mary Beaton and Randolph would have joined you. And what of Mary Fleming and Maitland? I had a letter from him some three months back. I know he is just as enamored with Mary as he was before I left Edinburgh. What are they about today?”
“Yes, the poor fellow. Mary Fleming is a little hesitant to encourage any amorous feelings because he is so much older than she. However, I have tried to encourage her. William is a dear. He would give his life to please her. I believe they could be happy together. Mary Beaton and Randolph on the other hand…” She tilted her head slightly as she picked a poppy seed roll from a basket setting at the center of the table. “Mary doesn’t trust Randolph,” she continued. “He tends to ask a lot of questions concerning me that she does not feel he needs to know.”
“Well, he does work for the English queen,” I added.
“Yes, and I fear that it is for that very reason that I too have my suspicions. He is currently in London, and I do not know if I shall see him again before the wedding. As you know, my fair cousin is not too happy with my choice. They are probably plotting against me as we speak.”
Just then, a tall, lean man entered the room. He unbuttoned his cloak and handed it to a servant. “Mary, dear, I thought I told you we would have pheasant for supper. I told you we would enjoy my kill tonight, but Cook says you have already ordered lamb for the table. Really, sweetling, if I am to be respected and feared by our subjects, you must honor my wishes and do as I....” It was here that he finally looked over and noticed me. Pulling on the middle finger of his gloved right hand with his teeth, he worked each finger out of their coverings before finally breaking them free. He then began to pull the fingers of the left glove until both hands were free and bare. He tossed the gloves on the table and pulled out a chair to sit down. “You must be the infamous Thomas Broune of whom I have heard so much about.” He pulled the stopper from a flask on the table and poured some wine into a cup.
“Indeed,” was my only reply. I watched the man as he took a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and dropped the cup onto the table. He was light-haired and fair-faced. A slight mustache embellished his upper lip but was the only sign of facial hair that had even begun to spring forth on his young face. His cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the hunt, and he sat erect with an air of fine breeding that masked the liberty he took at Mary’s table. His clothing was the height of English fashion, congruent with the upbringing he must have clearly enjoyed in England before arriving here.
“Darling, allow me to introduce you to one of my longest, most endearing friends. This is indeed the Reverend Thomas Broune of whom I have spoken extensively.”
“Night and day for the past two weeks.” He sounded like a petulant child.
“Yes, well, he has been a true and constant friend to me these many years. I’m so pleased he shall be with us when we announce our engagement.” She turned her eyes on me and smiled warmly as she reached out her hand and touched mine.
The gesture did not go unnoticed by Lord Darnley. He took another drag from his cup then cleared his throat.
“Yes, indeed,” he started rather dryly. “It is my pleasure to meet the
man whom I am to look up to and endeavor to emulate.” The dark look that had clouded his face left as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cheerful, albeit, strained expression. “I do say,” he stated, looking about him in feigned interest. “Has Mrs. Broune accompanied you to Holyroodhouse?”
I shifted in my seat. I knew exactly what he was getting at and loathed him for it.
“Isobel is with child, dear,” Mary explained. “It wouldn’t do for her to attempt such an arduous journey in her condition.”
“Yes, how convenient,” Darnley smirked.
Now I really wanted to take those leather gloves he had tossed on the table and shove them down his throat. It was a good thing I rarely acted on my impulses, for since renewing my friendship with Mary, they had become quite frequent. But the truth is, I did indeed feel guilty for being here, when Isobel was so far away and so close to her confinement. I didn’t need this young rake to remind me of that.
Changing the subject, Darnley asked, “Do you hunt, Reverend Broune?” He spoke the word with a distaste in his mouth, and I raised my brow at the question. What was he about?
“I’m afraid my duties at St. Andrews do not leave me much time for such leisurely activities. However, I am capable and enjoy the sport when time allows.”
Rizzio entered and nodded in my direction.
“Fine. Perhaps you would accompany me and my new friend, Rizzio here, on the hunt tomorrow. He is a bit slow at the draw, but with a few more days of practice I venture he will be a master.” He swatted Rizzio on the back as he seated himself at the table.
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