The Queen's Lady (15 page)

He shook his head. “Thank
you,
Lady Gwenyth. I am ever in your debt.”

Then Liza and Tristan were behind her as her mare picked up speed, cantering behind Styx and the Laird of Lochraven.

The journey to the ferry was no more than a few hours, perhaps, but to Gwenyth, it felt like days. Despite Annie riding behind her, she had never felt quite so alone.

When they reached the shore and the ferry, Rowan dismounted immediately.

Apparently the ferryman had been awaiting them, for he strode forward and said, “Laird Rowan,” in unsurprised greeting.

“Brendan, are you set for the lady's journey?”

“Aye, m'laird. I'll see that she arrives safely, and whatever the hour, I'll await the return of y'er men, if that's what ye'd have me do.”

“Nay, good man. The men will reside with her until I'm able to return for her myself, that we might continue our journey as commanded by the queen.”

Brendan, a rugged-looking man of stout build and imposing height, nodded gravely. “'Tis best,” he agreed.

“The sea, how does she today?”

“A bit rough, but nae so bad. I've seen her far worse, m'laird.”

Rowan suddenly stared at Gwenyth, and a reluctantly admiring smile curved his lips. “I doubt it will be too rough for my lady.”

She stiffened in her saddle. “I do not fear the sea, 'tis true,” she assured him.

Rowan strode to her side and, as he lifted her down, there was a moment when her eyes met his and she did not see the fierce hatred she had sensed in him before. Indeed, now it seemed that there was speculation there.

She felt the keen power of his hands, breathed the scent of him as he set her on the ground. She was amazed to feel tremors streak through her, and she was eager to be upon her own feet.

“Gavin is now my representative,” he told her. “He bears letters to your uncle. You need not fear him.”

“I don't fear him. I barely know him,” she murmured, blushing. How could he have known that, in a way, she
did
fear Angus?

He was so cold and driven by duty. She didn't mind working—she never had—and Angus believed that they owed it to their tenants, those who worked the land for them, to show that the masters of the house were willing to do the same. No, what scared her was the possibility of what he might consider duty.

Despite the queen's command that she shortly sail for England with Laird Rowan, would her uncle be willing to sell her to the highest bidder in marriage, if it meant the betterment of Islington?

Rowan watched her gravely for a moment, then shrugged. “Still, I have sent letters. He will be aware that you are on the queen's business and that I will come for you in good time.”

She realized that she was holding her breath.

He was staring at her, so she let it out softly and tried to speak. At last she managed, “Truly, I am sorry for the burden I have been, for the trouble I have caused.”

He actually smiled. “Rue your recklessness, and take care with it. I admit I loathe the MacIveys and was glad to arrive before…” His voice trailed off, and his lips tightened as he pointed a finger at her. “No recklessness. Gavin will see to that. In fact, I imagine old Angus will see to it, as well. However, in case there is any question, my letters remind him that he is not free to act as head of the family and, for example, dispose of your hand in marriage. Only the queen has the right to determine your future at the moment.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, wondering if he were capable of reading her mind.

He stared at her again, and she realized that it was apparently as difficult for him to speak as it had been for her. “Nay, lady. Thank you.”

From around his neck, he took a delicate gold chain and pendant she had not noticed before, then fastened it about her neck. She realized it was an intricate and very beautiful Celtic cross.

“My lady would have dearly loved that you should have this, so I give it to you now in thanks for your care of her,” he told her.

She felt the oddest sense of warmth seep into her. “She was gentle, kind and beautiful. And you have my deepest sympathy, Laird Rowan.”

He stepped back, his features suddenly harsh again. “Godspeed,” he said, and that was the last he said to her before he remounted Styx to watch the party make ready to leave. Before the ferry was even fully loaded, he nodded to Gavin, turned his horse and rode away.

As the ferry started out upon the rocking sea, she looked up to see him watching from atop one of the high tors some distance from the sea.

He might have been a statue, as cold and hard as the stone itself.

Indeed, she thought, he was an extension of the rugged land, and like that land, he watched impassively as she drew away.

G
WENYTH CHEWED UPON
a blade of grass as she read Queen Mary's letter.

“…the difficulty being that Maitland, bless him, though the finest ambassador possible—he served my mother well, you know—is still just that: an ambassador. In consequence, I am eager for the time when you reach England. I see the dilemma that Elizabeth faces, for England sorely fears the hand of a Catholic monarch, yet I cannot sign a treaty that says I cede my rights to the English crown when I am awaiting her legal word that I am her heir. She has stated in public that she sees no one with a clearer right to the English throne than I, but she will not commit to such a belief legally. She claims she will not do so until I sign the treaty, and I cannot sign the treaty until she has so committed.”

Gwenyth sighed, looking at the sky. It was so beautiful that day. In fact, she had found her own estates here on Islington to be far more beautiful than she had remembered. Perhaps she had forgotten the power of the sea and the passionate dash of the waves upon the shore. Or the valleys, those slim stretches of green with the sheep so white upon them. Even the ragged, defiant rise of the rocky castle above the earth was dear to her now.

It was not Castle Grey, by any means. There were far more drafts, fewer tapestries, and the fires never quite seemed to warm the bones. But it was a handsome castle, nonetheless, built entirely for defense, yet proud and regal while still well-suited to its purpose.

The master's quarters were hers; Angus had never taken them for his own, even when he had known that she would be gone for years. It wouldn't have been right; it wouldn't have been Godly.

And he was a Godly man.

Church services on Sunday were long, taking up most of the day. No one worked on Sunday. Indeed, even within the castle, they saw to themselves, just as Angus had insisted that while she was here she should go out with the fishermen on their boats, and learn what the shepherds did with their days, as well. Sunday was a day of rest, and Angus ordered the servants to observe it as such.

But in fact, she had not found Angus as much of an ogre as she had remembered. Perhaps it was because she had matured and seen something of the world, so she was no longer a child to be easily intimidated by him. He was stern—he reminded her of John Knox—but he had been gentle when she had arrived. He had greeted her almost lovingly—at least by his standards. He had offered no embrace, but there had been a smile and even kind words noting that he was proud of her, that he'd heard from Laird James that she had remained a Protestant despite the queen's papist ways, and that she had conducted herself at court with grace and intelligence.

He had read the letters from Rowan—including one that Rowan had carried from the queen—with a grim expression. She knew that Mary had informed him that her future would remain in royal hands, but she knew not what Rowan's letters had contained, other than the few points he had mentioned and, from her uncle's reaction, that he had recounted at least some of what had happened the night she encountered Laird Bryce MacIvey.

The giveaway had been her uncle's cry of fury as he had informed her that if a MacIvey so much as made landfall upon Islington, he would consider the man guilty of far more than trespass and see to it that he was conducted to Edinburgh for trial.

Gwenyth had to admit she was actually touched by his fierce determination to protect her. Almost.

“Such a man to pretend to greatness,” Angus swore, his salt-and-pepper beard shaking as he enunciated each word. “When you are wed, it will be for the better of land and crown, a laird of my choosing, with the blessing of the queen. Ye'll not be sold so cheaply, ever!”

Sold.

What a word. Had he meant to use it?

“I thank you,” she murmured, “for your vehemence on my behalf.”

“Indeed,” Angus agreed, and he was pleased, she realized.

She was glad to have pleased him, and she didn't mind continuing to do so.

She had enjoyed the rough waters and hard work of the fishermen—who had, she was certain, curtailed their language when she was upon their boats. And accompanying the shepherds, as she was doing today, was certainly not vile, either. She was able to relax, as she did now, with the rich scent of grass and earth around her, the sky above her, beautiful and ever changing, and read her recent correspondence from the queen.

And yet…

The queen's letter made her long for a return to Edinburgh. Mary wrote to her as if she knew everything that was happening at Holyrood, as if they had never parted, but Gwenyth was beginning to feel the distance. Months had now passed. A year had come and gone since she had first left Edinburgh. She had once believed that by this time, even with a long sojourn in London, she would have returned to Mary and her court. But though Laird Rowan's official time of mourning had certainly come to an end, he had never come to Islington for her. She knew from Mary's letters that the situation at home had caused her to order Rowan to return to court—without her. The plan remained, however, for Gwenyth to travel to London to meet with the Queen of England. But there was never a specific mention of when.

She returned to the missive.

“Ah, that you were here. The nobles in Scotland are such a quarrelsome group, ever at one another's throats. I do thank God for my half brother, James. His advice is all that keeps me sane at times. There was a rumor that Aaron, the son of Chatelheraults, intended to abduct me, as he was so in love. James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, is feuding with the Hamiltons, and this is of a far more serious nature. Bothwell wanted revenge upon Aaron Hamilton for some slight, and he broke into the house of a certain Alison, known to be a paramour of Aaron's, and I'm quite disgusted to say that force was used. Thankfully, my brother was near, as there was nearly a riot in Edinburgh, and I had to have both men arrested. What shall I do with these Scottish nobles? They have a far greater power than the nobility in France, but I have sworn that I will not play one house against another, and that I will be just in all things. But I am the queen, and I
will
be respected, though it is difficult to practice wisdom, even mercy, and maintain the respect due this office. Scotland is lovely in so many ways, but it is not the refined and well-governed country I knew so well.”

Gwenyth winced at that. There was little more to the queen's letter than a promise of her care and concern, so Gwenyth decided to destroy it on the spot, lest someone unscrupulous read the queen's comment regarding her people. She immediately tore it to shreds, letting the bits of paper fly in the breeze.

She rose, stretching, noting idly that her hair, which she had worn loose today, was now decorated by long stems of grass. It mattered little here, where no one was assessing her apparel. She was casually clad in a linen shift, a wool dress and her cloak. She couldn't help but think of being at court, where skirts lay over petticoats that lay over fine linen, where choosing which jewels to wear was a major decision every day. Mary, despite the excellence and richness of her long hair, had dozens of wigs and hairpieces, and dressing her could take far more than an hour. Mary loved clothing, jewels and pageantry, and when she was in the queen's company, Gwenyth found such display to be fun, as well. But here…

Here the lairds and ladies were one with their people, and life was simple.

As she stood there, waving to the shepherds who had gathered to dine on their midday meal of cheese on bread, she heard the sound of horse's hooves and spun around quickly, shielding her eyes from the sun.

She did not know the man who was riding toward her, but she didn't fear his arrival. Angus had at his service, always, twenty well-trained men-at-arms, and additionally there were the ten men, headed by Gavin, who had remained at the behest of Laird Rowan. She could roam this isle at will with no fear of any evil. And she had enjoyed exploring all the caves, beaches, nooks and crannies and tree limbs that had enchanted her as a child.

She had so dreaded coming here, but nothing had been so terrible as she had imagined. The only source of upset was the man who, against her conscious will, continually haunted her dreams.

There was a cold truth to life, though. She was of too fine a family to be considered a proper bride for a MacIvey, but Laird Rowan was of too fine a stock to consider her for marriage.

Mary herself had warned her not to fall in love with him. He was of royal blood and nothing more than a remote memory, she reminded herself as the horseman drew nearer.

“My lady!” The man spoke with a decided English accent. He seemed surprised, however, when he saw her.

She thought with amusement that he would not have expected to find the lady of the land in the grass, barefoot. “I am Lady MacLeod, aye,” she said, waiting.

He wore a feathered hat, which he doffed as he dismounted from his horse and approached her. She knew that he was studying her with interest, despite the passive expression he attempted to wear. “I am Geoffrey Egan, sent by Queen Mary,” he told her.

She frowned in worry. “The queen is well?” she asked anxiously.

“Indeed,” he said hastily. “I am here because she has urged that you move on to England with all speed.”

Gwenyth felt a slight tremor in her heart. She was to move on alone.

“I see,” she murmured, though she didn't see at all.

“If I may offer my horse, we can return to the castle, my lady, and all will be explained as you make ready.” He cleared his throat. “I have already spoken with your uncle, and your woman is even now seeing to your belongings.”

Gwenyth smiled. “I have my own mount,” she assured him.

Her long stay on the isle had made her very good friends with the wayward mare who had deposited her on the ground before the boar at Holyrood. She let out a soft whistle, no doubt shocking the messenger. But the mare, Chloe, instantly appeared from over the next hillock, obediently trotting straight to Gwenyth, who was sure that her visitor was equally shocked that the mare wore no saddle, and that Gwenyth instantly and yet modestly mounted astride.

“Are you ready, Geoffrey?” she inquired.

“Indeed, at your leisure, my lady.”

She kneed the mare, delighted with the instant burst of speed, and was quick to put the no-doubt disapproving messenger far behind. She was amused as she dismounted in the courtyard, filled with chickens and other beasts, and tossed the reins to one of the stable hands with a quick smile and a thank-you.

The messenger arrived at last, huffing and puffing. “My lady—”

“Come into the hall,” she told him, walking ahead.

But when she scampered up the outer stone stairs and straight into the castle's cold and barren great hall, she was quickly brought up short. Angus was there, along with Gavin, a few of the other men-at-arms, and a man she had not been expecting at all.

Rowan.

She was sure that her cheeks were instantly suffused with scarlet. She no doubt looked like a farmhand herself—or worse. She might well have given the impression of being a less than virtuous maid who had just spent a few hours tumbling in the hay with a stableboy.

She stood dead still on her bare feet—eyes far too wide, she was certain.

Rowan was anything but mussed or tumbled. Tartaned, his insignia brooch in place at his shoulder, his hat at a perfect angle atop his head, boots shined to a high gloss, face a bit leaner but still as ruggedly attractive as she remembered, he might have stepped straight from the queen's presence.

She felt the sweep of his eyes over her costume, saw the arch of his brow, the twist of wry amusement that lifted his lips.

Angus, tall, lean, grizzled and a bastion of dignity, stood by his side.

“My lady.” Rowan swept his hat from his head, offering a deep and courtly bow. Such a display was certainly a mockery at this moment.

“My Laird Rowan,” she murmured, her eyes moving quickly to her uncle's. “I was not aware of the impending honor of your arrival at our poor isle,” she murmured.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Geoffrey was to have informed you.”

Geoffrey chose that moment to come panting into the hall. “I'm so sorry. She…the Lady Gwenyth got…quite ahead of me.”

“Ever forward into the fray?” Rowan said.

Was there a rebuke in his words?

She forced a smile, wishing that she couldn't feel one particularly large piece of grass tickling just above her brow. “On this isle, there is never a fray. In fact, with my uncle's good men and those you placed at our disposal, I dare say heaven itself could be no safer a place.”

Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned heaven. Something in his eyes hardened.

To her surprise, Angus instantly rose to her defense. “Lady Gwenyth is aware that men and women serve their laird with far greater fervor when those who govern it know it as they do,” he said. “I had asked her to accompany our shepherds into the fields today.”

She flashed him a grateful smile, and he smiled in return. It was a shock, but a pleasant one.

Whatever other errors she might have made, she had definitely earned her uncle's approval during her time here.