The Queen's Lady. Shannon Drake

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СКАЧАТЬ had never forgotten her Scots tongue; she spoke it fluently, with no trace of an accent. Her voice was clear, and she was not only beautiful—tall, stately and slender—but she moved with an unmistakably regal grace.

      Gwenyth stood slightly behind the queen and Lord James. The towering blond man, Lord Rowan, slipped past her, bending to whisper in Lord James’s ear. “It’s time to move on. She’s done well. Let’s not take a chance that the mood will turn.”

      When he moved to retreat, Gwenyth caught his eyes and she knew her own were indignant. He wasn’t, however, cowed in the least by her fury; instead was amused. His lips twitched, and Gwenyth felt her anger deepen. Mary of Scotland was a caring queen. True, she was young, and she had grown up in France, but since the death of her young husband—not just the King and her marriage partner, but her dear friend since childhood—Mary had demonstrated a firm grasp of statesmanship. That this man should doubt her in any way was nothing less than infuriating. And, Gwenyth decided, traitorous.

      Soon they were all mounted, ready to ride to Holyrood Palace, where they would dine while the queen’s rooms were prepared. Gwenyth sighed softly. This homecoming would be a good thing. The people would continue to rally around Mary. Meanwhile, Gwenyth herself was content simply to revel in the familiarity of the truest home she had ever known. Though the day was a bit foggy, even what some might call dismal, the gray and mauve skies were as much a part of Scotland’s wild beauty as the rugged landscape itself.

      “At the least,” one of the young Marys said, “it seems that Mary will be adored and honored here. Even if it isn’t France,” she added sadly.

      Gwenyth was dismayed to feel a strange chill as they rode through Leith. There was nothing to cause her such discomfort, she assured herself. People were cheering the queen’s passage with great enthusiasm. She had no reason for uneasiness.

      “Why the frown?”

      She turned, startled, to see that Rowan Graham had moved up and was riding at her side—and regarding her with amusement.

      “I am not frowning,” she said.

      “Really? And to think I had imagined you might have the intelligence to worry about the future despite the fanfare.”

      “Worry about the future?” she said indignantly. “Why should I worry that the concerns of the world might impose themselves upon a queen?”

      He stared forward, a strange look of both amusement and distance in his eyes. “A Catholic queen has suddenly come home to rule a nation that has wholeheartedly embraced Protestantism in the last year.” He turned back to her. “Surely that is cause for concern?”

      “Queen Mary’s half brother, the Lord James, has assured her that she may worship as she chooses,” she said.

      “Indeed,” he said, and laughed aloud, which she thought quite rude.

      “Would you deny the queen her right to worship God?” she inquired. “If so, perhaps you’d be best off returning to the Highlands, my lord,” she said sweetly.

      “Ah, such fierce loyalty.”

      “No more than you, too, owe your queen,” she snapped.

      “How long have you been gone, Lady Gwenyth?” he asked softly in return.

      “A year.”

      “Then such pretense on your part is either foolish or you are sadly not as well-read or intelligent as I had imagined. You speak of loyalty, but surely you know loyalty is something to be earned. Perhaps your young queen does indeed deserve such a fierce defense, but she must prove herself to her people, having been gone so long. Have you been gone so long that you have forgotten how it is here? That there are parts of this land where the monarchy and government mean nothing, and devotion is given first and foremost to one’s own clan? When there is no war to fight, we fight among ourselves. I am a loyal man, my lady. Fiercely loyal to Scotland. Young Mary is our queen, and as such, she has not just my loyalty but every shred of strength I can provide, both my sword arm and my life. But if she wishes to gain real control as a monarch, she will have to come to know her people and make them love her. For if they love her…no battle in her name will be too great. History has proven us reckless, far too ready to die for those with the passion to lead us into battle. Time will tell if Mary is one such.”

      Gwenyth stared at him, incredulous. It was a heroic speech, but she sensed something of a threat in it, as well. “You, my lord, haven’t the manners of a Highland hound,” she returned, fighting for control.

      He didn’t lose his temper, only shrugged. She was further irritated when once again he laughed out loud. “A year in France has made you quite high and mighty, has it not? Have you forgotten that your own father hailed from the Highlands?”

      Was that a subtle rebuke? Her father had died on the battlefield with James V, though he’d not left such a great legacy as the king. He’d been Laird MacLeod of Islington Isle, but the tiny spit of land just off the high tors barely afforded a meager living for those who lived upon it. Riches had not sent her to France to serve Queen Mary; respect for her father’s memory was all that had been left her.

      “It’s my understanding that my father was stalwart and brave, and courteous at all times,” she informed him.

      “Ah, how sharp that dagger,” he murmured.

      “What is the matter with you, Laird Rowan? This is a day of great joy. A young queen has returned to claim her birthright. Look around you. People are happy.”

      “Indeed,” he agreed. “So far.”

      “Beware. Your words hold a hint of what might sound traitorous to other ears,” she informed him coolly.

      “My point,” he said softly, “is that this Scotland is a far different place than the Scotland she left so long ago—indeed, even from the Scotland you left behind. But if you think I am less than pleased to see Mary here, you are mistaken. It is my entire aim to keep Mary on her throne. I, too, believe a man—or a woman—must worship God from the heart and as seems best, not turning upon details that have so torn apart the Catholic Church and the people of this country. Men of power write policy and interpret words on paper, yet it is the innocents who so often die because of that simple fact. I speak bluntly and boldly—that is my way. I will always be here to guard your Mary—even against herself, if need be. You, my dear, are young, with the idealistic perceptions of youth. May God guard you, as well.”

      “I hope He will start by helping me avoid the boors of my own country,” she returned, her chin high.

      “With one so charming and dedicated as yourself, dear Lady Gwenyth, how could our Maker not oblige?”

      Kneeing her horse, she hurried forward, keeping her place within Mary’s vanguard, but putting some distance between herself and the rough Laird Rowan. She heard his soft laughter follow her and shivered. He had managed to cast a pall over what should have been a day of unalloyed triumph. Why, she wondered, did she let his subtle byplay disturb her so deeply?

      She turned her horse back toward him. Riding was one of her finer talents, and she wasn’t averse to displaying her abilities as she swerved her mount, covered the distance she’d put between them, then swerved once again and rode up beside him.

      “You know nothing,” she informed him heatedly. “You do not know Mary. She was sent to France as a child and given a СКАЧАТЬ