The Queen's Lady (16 page)

“Perhaps,” Rowan said, “but I believe that the lady will need a bit of time to prepare to travel in appropriate style.”

“Really?” She could not stop herself from arching a brow in response. “This is a wild country, as well you know, Laird Rowan. I am quite capable of riding it in any style.”

“You may, of course, suit yourself,” he told her. “But then the queen, I am afraid, who is so fond of dress and pageantry, may well be disappointed.”

“The queen?” she murmured.

“Aye.”

She frowned, studying him. “Are we on our way to England?”

“In a roundabout manner. Mary has determined that the time is right to visit her Highlands so…”

Gwenyth turned to Angus. “Uncle, perhaps you would be so good as to see to a meal for our guests. I will be ready shortly to ride.”

So saying, she hurried up the stairs to the rooms. She intended to get ready quickly; she did not want Rowan here long, did not want him judging her home.

Not when she had come to love it here so much herself.

 

A
NGUS FROWNED
,
STARING
at Rowan over a tankard of ale. “The queen has a dispute with Lord Huntly?” He shook his head. “The man is a Catholic now, is he? He has ever changed with the wind, whatever is necessary to improve his estates. He is all but king himself, nearly as strong a power on the mainland as the queen herself. But what is the argument? One would have thought he would have ingratiated himself with her—a Catholic monarch.”

Rowan took a deep breath, trying to think how best to explain the situation quickly. “The queen has made it clear that she does not wish to impose her religion upon her people, only practice it herself in peace, as she would have others do. She does not take sides. John Gordon, the son of George Gordon, fourth earl of Huntly, seriously wounded Lord Ogilvie in a duel, and now Lord Huntly has refused to turn over his son for justice, acting as if his Catholicism somehow exempts him from justice. In addition, it's being said that he considers his son to be the proper bridegroom for the queen, and that, too, displeases Her Majesty. The queen had originally intended a journey north to enjoy the country and to hunt, but now her intent has taken a new direction.”

Angus MacLeod shook his head. “'Tis a dangerous journey. Lord Huntly can call forth thousands of men.”

Rowan looked up at the sound of footsteps and stood, politics no longer of interest in this moment, because Gwenyth had reappeared.

She was now properly attired for a journey, her bodice fitted, her hat jaunty and her skirt a rich green velvet drapery. Her hair was contained in a neat coil beneath the hat, and she was the picture of propriety. In fact, she was…

Stunning. A feast for the eyes and the senses.

But no more so than when she had first entered only a few minutes ago, cheeks flushed, feet bare, sweeping smoothly into the room, as if borne on air.

He found himself thinking that she was a witch. She walked into a room and heads turned. She looked at a man, and something in his muscles tightened. She…

She was so like Catherine in so many ways, so not like Catherine in others. She was swift to argue, so passionate for whatever cause she chose. She had a streak of stubbornness as wide as the country, and a quick wit that she didn't mind using against the slightest hint of criticism.

No, not a witch; he did not believe in the foolishness that so many learned men of his day saw as God's truth. She was simply young, beautiful, and possessed of a charm that lured and seduced. And she had somehow, from the moment they had met, decided to be his enemy.

While he….

And yet there was still something he could not bear. Something that had to do with the agony in his heart when Catherine had turned from him.

Rowan stood and straightened, looking at her, though he directed his words to Angus. “The queen intends to bestow the title of Earl of Moray on her brother, Laird James. Laird Huntly has been behaving as if the lands and revenues of Moray are his own, and now the queen means to wrest them from him.”

Angus, noting Gwenyth's entrance, rose as well, but as he did, he groaned, lowering his head. “More war,” he whispered.

“Let us pray not. Perhaps she and Huntly will come to an understanding.”

Angus arched a skeptical brow. Then he frowned. “I cannot allow my niece to accompany you on this journey. It is not safe.”

Gwenyth rushed forward. “Uncle Angus, please. The queen has asked for my presence. And were it not safe, do you think the queen herself would be traveling? If there is any threat, she can summon thousands of archers and men-at-arms. She is,” Gwenyth reminded Angus, “the queen.”

Angus sighed.

“I am commended with your niece's safety, Angus,” Rowan said. “You must know, sir, that my men and I would lie down and die before allowing any harm to befall her.”

Angus was still frowning as he turned to Gwenyth. “You will heed every word spoken by Laird Rowan?”

She hesitated noticeably.

“Gwenyth?” Angus persisted.

“Until the queen commands otherwise,” she said.

Rowan lowered his head, smiling. She might be the lady here, but Angus had long ruled the land, and she knew she needed his support in any matter relating to her future when she was within his sphere of influence.

“Indeed, Gwenyth?” Rowan queried politely.

She stared at him with tremendous dignity and very cold eyes. “I would never seek to be any burden upon you, my Laird of Lochraven.”

“What is your interest in this?” Angus asked him sharply.

“To serve the Crown,” Rowan said wearily. “I do not fear the earl of Huntly. My holdings are far too strong for him to attempt to extend his feud to me. I have admired the queen's determination not to fall to his wild suggestion that she create territories where the Catholics might hold sway. She has honored her country's decisions. I can find no fault with her. She is intelligent, witty and ready to take the advice of learned and able men, such as her brother.”

“Then,” said Angus, “there is nothing left but that you take your leave.”

Gwenyth lowered her head. Rowan knew it was lest her uncle should see the excitement in her eyes.

“I took the liberty of sending Geoffrey to see that the stableboys outfit your mare with a proper saddle, my lady,” Rowan informed her.

“How very kind of you,” she murmured. “That will indeed save us time, and I know that you would reach the mainland while there's still light.”

When they stepped outside, he saw her smile as she bade her uncle a tender goodbye. And then they were on horseback, riding swiftly for the ferry.

The seas were rough, as they so frequently were. She did not seem to notice. She stood at the wooden rail, her expression thoughtful as she looked back at her home.

“You're sorry to leave?” he inquired, having thought it best to keep his distance, yet finding himself unable to do so.

“Naturally.”

“Perhaps I could explain to the queen—”

“I'm more anxious to see the queen,” she quickly interrupted.

“Ah.”

“You have seen her…since I have seen you,” she remarked.

“At her bidding,” he said.

She turned away from him, studying the sea again. He realized that she was disturbed that the queen had not sent for her before this.

“I'm sure Mary wanted you to enjoy time and peace at home,” he offered sympathetically, then decided that sympathy—which might seem like pity—was not something anyone should offer the Lady of Islington.

“Indeed, some of us
can
find peace,” she told him.

He straightened and walked away, then was startled when she ran after him, setting a hand upon his arm. When he looked down at her, he felt a tremor shake him. Her eyes were so wide, liquid.

“I am so sorry.”

He nodded and moved away, but as he did, he found himself worrying anew. He loved his country dearly, but it seemed destined for bloodshed. And he did not want Gwenyth to be a part of it, because he feared that even if he were to lie down and die for her, it might not be enough to keep her safe.

 

T
HEY RODE HARD
,
AND
there was little chance for conversation as they hastened to cover ground during the daylight hours and were exhausted by nightfall.

It was best that way, Gwenyth decided. She shared a few words with Annie when they rested, and he spent his time with his men. She could often hear them speaking, sometimes tensely and sometimes with laughter.

They caught up with Queen Mary and her party at Aberdeen, a town in the sway of Lord Huntly. The queen was lodged in one of the manses of Sir Victor D'Eau, a man of mixed Scottish and French descent. They arrived while she was meeting with Lady Gordon, Countess of Huntly, in a parlor just beyond the great hall.

The doors had not been closed. Perhaps neither woman cared whether they were overheard, or perhaps it had been purposely arranged so, with both women seeing an audience as beneficial, whatever transpired.

The countess was a woman of great vigor and had aged far better than her lord, who had gown quite corpulent with age. She was attractive and well-dressed, and a multitude of her attendants were waiting in the hall as she could be heard pleading with the queen.

Mary, it seemed, was adamant. She was appalled by the scandal attending the duel, and deeply upset because she cared about Ogilvie, as well.

“Your son, dear countess, must turn himself in,” Mary said gravely.

“I beg you, do not judge him too harshly,” the countess urged.

Mary's tone softened. “He must turn himself in,” she repeated. “I promise you, he will not come to harm. But the law must be obeyed.”

There was silence. Then the countess agreed with a soft sigh. “I will see to it,” she promised.

Words of farewell were exchanged, and then the countess swept into the crowded hallway, lifting a hand for her women.

She was quickly followed out by the queen, causing everyone to dip low in a curtsy. Mary didn't seem to notice. Her eyes came alight with pleasure at the sight of Gwenyth.

“My little Highlander!” she cried. “Oh, Gwenyth, you have reached me so quickly.” She gave Gwenyth a fierce hug, then looked beyond her. “Laird Rowan, with what speed you have achieved your goal. I am ever so pleased.”

Despite the queen's words and his pretense of pleasure at her greeting, Gwenyth thought Rowan appeared disturbed. Then she realized why. Everyone in the room was watching them.

“Little Highlander…” Lady Gordon, Countess of Huntly, repeated, then turned back to the queen, leaving her ladies to stand silently behind her. “Why, it's Lady MacLeod of Islington, is it not?”

“Indeed. Lady Gwenyth, I present Lady Gordon, Countess of Huntly. Countess, Lady MacLeod,” the queen said.

Lady Gordon took a very long look at Gwenyth while murmuring some pleasantry. Then she noted Rowan's presence. “Ah, the Laird of the Far Isles,” she said.

“Countess,” he replied, bowing his head in acknowledgment.

“I can only imagine that you've traveled with a host of Highland devils,” she said teasingly, but Gwenyth knew the words were seriously meant as the countess attempted to gauge the manpower Rowan had brought with him.

“That, my dear lady, from the princess of the Highlands herself,” he replied politely and in kind.

Lady Gordon laughed uneasily, and Gwenyth saw that Mary was watching the exchange carefully.

“Well, we are indeed a breed apart from the Lowlanders,” the countess agreed.

A law apart,
Gwenyth thought.

“But the hour grows late,” the countess went on, “And our good Queen Mary has had a long day. I will take my ladies and depart. No doubt we will meet again very soon. My queen…” She offered another curtsy, then took Mary's hand and kissed it. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“Your Grace,” Rowan murmured quickly, “surely you've men at your command, quite close. Pray tell me so.”

Mary laughed, but the sound was weary. “Oh, aye, my fine Laird Rowan. I'd not trust the lady—nor her husband—without a strong body of armed men at my back. Now tell me, how many are in your company?”

He shook his head. “Thirty. Thirty fine men, adept with swords and arrows, knowledgeable about cannon and fire-power…but beware, for this is Gordon territory.”

“Your men are a welcome addition, though I do not travel lightly.” She smiled then. “Oh, it is so good to see you both.”

As she spoke, James Stewart entered, looking anxiously at the queen.

“She has agreed that her son must turn himself in,” Mary said.

James nodded grimly.

“James is recently married, you know,” Mary informed Gwenyth.