The Queen's Lady

by Shannon Drake

  “You must pay heed,” Lady Huntly warned her.

  Gwenyth did. She argued firmly against any notion of the queen attempting escape via a bedsheet ladder, pointing out that not only did her condition make it impossible, she would be seen from the rooms above or in an adjacent tower, or noticed by a guard below. “Someone must be convinced to help us, someone from within the fold of conspirators,” she said.

  The queen, with remarkable bravado, spoke up. “I know exactly who,” she said bitterly.

  In the morning, Darnley returned to his wife’s room. The ladies instantly departed to the chamber beyond, but one of the Marys stayed with her ear to the hallway door to listen for sounds of approaching danger, while the others eavesdropped, ears to the wall.

  Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, was nearly in tears. He spoke in choked words about his distress. “Mary, there was not to have been murder,” he said.

  Gwenyth couldn’t see the queen, yet she knew to what proportion Mary’s hatred for her husband had grown; none of this could have happened without his participation. But the queen’s words were gentle as she said that she forgave him. Then she talked about the possibility that he might find himself a prisoner, as well, and apparently she convinced him that they were both being used terribly and in an ungodly manner by certain overly ambitious lords who were eager to achieve power.

  Later in the day, when Darnley led in the lairds who had so hideously attacked her, she spoke as compellingly as she had with her husband, assuring them all that they would be pardoned.

  At that point, word came that James Stewart had arrived at Holyrood.

  “My brother is here?” the queen demanded, evidently pleased.

  Gwenyth was not so sanguine. James had, after all, attempted to rise against her. But it seemed that Mary was remembering only that James had been there to help her when she had first come to Scotland, so young and with so little knowledge of affairs in her country.

  But when she saw James and threw herself into his arms, declaring that none of the horrors could have occurred had he been with her, he had stern words for her. Though Gwenyth could not hear, she watched Mary’s face, and saw her fury and her indignation rise.

  Then, removing the focus from affairs of state, she screamed out in sudden pain that she had gone into labor and begged that a midwife be sent for, which was quickly done.

  Mary requested that the room be cleared of everyone but her ladies, and as soon as the others were gone, she stopped her playacting and carefully outlined their options.

  That night, the escape was put into action.

  At midnight Darnley came, and together, he and the queen slipped down the privy staircase by which the murderers had gained entrance to her supper party. Her French servants had been warned earlier of the escape, and they escorted her secretly through the hallways.

  Gwenyth was on guard at the castle door when the queen and Darnley quit Holyrood, and she quickly led them past the cemetery beside the Abbey. There was a painful moment when the queen stopped beside a freshly dug grave—Riccio’s, Gwenyth was certain—and Darnley paled, then began an apology to the queen.

  “Shh,” Gwenyth warned. “You must away now, no time for regrets, Your Grace.”

  Outside the abbey, others, forewarned, were waiting. Mary mounted behind Erskine, and there was a horse for Darnley, as well as one for Gwenyth.

  The ride through the night began, their plan being to reach Dunbar Castle. Gwenyth understood ever more deeply why the queen had come to so loathe her husband. He was in terror, now that he had turned back to her, that they would be caught by the rebels he had just betrayed, and he brutally urged the horses on.

  “Have pity, my husband, for my condition,” the queen pleaded.

  “If that babe dies, we can have others,” he replied carelessly. “Come on!”

  They rode hard for five long hours and finally reached Dunbar. There, at last, the queen was able to rest.

  Gwenyth, too, fell into bed, exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. She dozed and awoke repeatedly through the night. But even in her dreams, she could hear Lord Darnley, Henry Stewart, self-imagined King of Scotland. If that babe dies, we can have others.

  Nay, if that babe died…

  He would never be a royal father. Not even for country or duty would Mary ever allow the man near her again.

  She came fully awake, and she wept. She longed for her own child, and for the comforting arms of his father, a man who did not falter or waver, who would never rise in rebellion, then cry and beg for reprieve.

  She lay there, shaking, aching, knowing a greater loneliness than she had ever imagined possible.

  Mary had escaped. Already Laird Gordon, the pardoned eldest son of the Lord Gordon who had done battle against the queen, and James Hepburn, Laird Bothwell, were already out rousing the countryside, without even having paused to sleep.

  They were triumphant, and she should be grateful. They might have all died in the frenzy of the attack or been captured and killed in the escape. And she was grateful, she told herself. It was just that she was also…

  Lonely.

  BOTHWELL AND HUNTLY FULFILLED their duty to their queen with admirable speed.

  They gathered a force of eight thousand men within a matter of days, although the queen’s own proclamation, asking that the inhabitants of the area surrounding Dunbar Castle meet her at Haddington with eight days’ provisions, certainly helped swell the numbers.

  At the end of March, Mary, heavy with child, rode at the head of the troops, Darnley at her side, a very unhappy man. They heard, even as they rode, that the rebel leaders had deserted Edinburgh, aware that they had been betrayed by Darnley and in fear for their own lives.

  As she had promised, Mary entered Edinburgh victoriously.

  Gwenyth was relieved that Mary was not forced into battle, and that, even though the rebels deserved to be executed for murder, most of them had fled.

  She was equally pleased—though rumor persisted that his name had been signed to a pact among the conspirators—that the events had somehow brought about Mary’s determination to forgive her brother James.

  And if James was forgiven, Gwenyth thought, then clearly the queen would have to pardon Rowan, as well.

  She had not received so much as a letter from him in so long now that there were times when she was afraid she would not know him. Then she would be flooded with anguish, certain that she could never forget him, so deeply did she love him.

  Their first days after returning to Edinburgh were filled with both emotion and activity.

  One of Mary’s first passions was to see that David Riccio was dug up from his impromptu grave and given a proper Catholic funeral. The next was the matter of dealing with her nobles, rewarding those who had so staunchly stood for her, punishing those who had betrayed her. Several of the underlings of the conspirators were arrested and condemned to death.

  In addition, Mary was deeply worried about the birth of her child.

  “It breaks my heart that my babe will enter a world in turmoil,” she said, pacing her room.

  “That is why you are kind to Laird Darnley?” Mary Fleming whispered. “So your babe will know at least some harmony in life?”

  “There will be no question of anything awry between us until after the child is born. There will be no question, ever, that my child is legitimate, the heir to the throne,” Mary said, though her absolute loathing for her husband was clearly apparent in her face.

  But Gwenyth knew her well. Mary would play the part of the good wife until the child was born. Gwenyth understood, the queen’s absolute love for her unborn child and the protective instinct she was feeling. And she meant to speak to the queen as soon as possible regarding Rowan and her own sweet babe, Daniel.

  Her chance came a few days later. Mary, having at last reconciled with James Stewart, Argyle, Huntly and many others, felt she had regained control of her world. And when she sat at last, satisfied, daring to take some time alone to work on th
e tiny garments she was sewing for her child, Gwenyth at last managed to speak to her.

  “What of Laird Rowan?”

  To her amazement, the queen stared at her with bitter eyes. “What of him?”

  “Well, you have taken Laird James back into your confidence…”

  Mary rose. “Speak not to me about that man. My trials and tribulations began in earnest the minute he was freed. I was a fool!”

  Gwenyth gasped and rose, both stunned and dismayed. “Mary! How can you speak against him so? He escaped to England. He—”

  “How do I know that? I was merciful and urged his escape, and then murder was done in my very chamber.” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a fool. I have learned a great deal about men, and I warned you once not to fall in love with him.”

  They were alone. And Gwenyth was so furious and heartsick that she dared speak her mind clearly. “You warned me…and then you fell head over heels in love with a man such as Darnley!”

  “I am the queen. I had to have a proper husband.”

  “But he was not proper. Elizabeth—”

  “Elizabeth is conniving, double-faced, and—evil! She sent him here. She planned for him to ingratiate himself, for me to marry him, so she could then force an outcry to deny me my right to the English crown!”

  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.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “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.”