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“You have been misled by misguided scholars.”
“But many men, great in learning, do not see the word of God as you do,” Mary protested.
And they began again to go around.
“It is right for men to rise up against a monarch who does not see the light of God,” he said.
“That most certainly is not right. I am God’s choice as your queen,” Mary snapped in turn.
“It is not fitting that so frail a creature as a woman should sit upon a throne. It is a hazard of circumstance, and a true hazard indeed,” Knox replied.
“My dear man, I am hardly frail. I tower over you,” Mary retorted.
Their voices dropped again.
Rowan was startled to see that Gwenyth was smiling. He arched a brow to her in question.
“She is enjoying this,” she said.
Even James appeared proud of his sister. “She is deeply intelligent and has the weapon of words at her disposal.”
Rowan nodded, aware that Gwenyth was staring at him. “Aye, the queen holds her own. But Knox will not stop, and he will not bend.”
Even as he spoke, they could hear Mary’s voice rising again.
Gwenyth started to stand, alarmed. Rowan shook his head imperceptibly. To his amazement, she appeared uncertain and sat again.
Knox went on to tell Mary that, despite his misgivings, he would accept her, just as the apostle Paul had lived under Nero’s rule. He lamented her lack of learning, for surely that was what kept her so stubborn. She assured him that she had read a great deal.
In the end, it was an impasse.
But when they all rose, Rowan was certain that Mary had discovered much about Knox—and that Knox had learned a new respect for the so-called lesser being who was his queen.
When Knox was gone, Mary spun to face them. “What a horrid little man.”
“Your Grace, I tried to tell you—” Gwenyth began.
“I actually did enjoy sparring with him,” Mary said. “Though he is stubborn as an ox, and misled. But, James,” she said, addressing her brother, “doesn’t he see I mean him no harm? I intend to rule with respect for my people, and I will honor the Church of Scotland.”
James sighed, at a loss. Rowan stepped in. “Your Grace, men such as Knox are fanatics. There is but one way to salvation in his eyes, and you do not follow his way.”
“Nor will I.”
Rowan bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Mary looked at Gwenyth. “I did match him, argument for argument.”
“You did.”
Mary offered them a wide smile. “Now we must hunt.”
“Hunt?” James said in dour confusion.
“My dear brother, there are times to work hard, and there are times to play.”
James rolled his eyes.
“Do not be dour,” Mary commanded. “If there were no hunts, how would we eat anything beyond mutton and beef? I long to ride today, to hunt.”
“I will see that it is arranged,” Gwenyth promised. “Shall I call your ladies and the noble French gentlemen of your retinue?”
“No, I would prefer a small hunt today. We will take a fine meal with us of meat and cheese and wine, and we will dine in the fresh air.”
James was still staring at her. “Mary, there are grave matters to be dealt with. There is the matter of the treaty you have refused to sign with Elizabeth.”
“There is the matter that Elizabeth still refuses to acknowledge me as her heir,” Mary informed him, her tone slightly sharp. “There are indeed many serious matters ahead—and I will devote my full attention to every one of them. I will be the queen you wish to see upon the throne, brother. But not this afternoon. I will meet you in the courtyard in an hour. We must let no more of the day go by.” When it looked as if James would protest once again, Mary continued quickly. “Why did God place this wondrous forest near the palace if it is not to be appreciated? Remember, brother, all men must eat. And we will also discuss an order of business…Laird Rowan.”
James Stewart’s bushy brows shot upward. He had been taken by surprise. Gwenyth, however, smiled, and Rowan was more aware than ever that she did indeed know her queen. What she didn’t know, he realized as he looked at her more closely, was what the queen wanted with him.
MARY WAS AN EXCELLENT rider and hunter; she had a fine kennel of sporting dogs, as well as the many smaller lapdogs she so loved. She had an exceptional air of happiness about her as they set off into the forest. She had been desirous that they go alone, though neither James nor Rowan was at ease with that, and Gwenyth understood why. They could not be comfortable, not when men such as Knox were preaching from the pulpit that a man had a right to remove a ruler who was ungodly. In his narrow mind, ungodly meant anything that did not precisely match his teachings, so the queen could well be in danger from religious zealots.
Mary could not believe that anyone would dare to harm a royal, so she chafed at their restrictions, but at last she agreed that guards could be posted around the section of forest where they would be hunting. And so, with the hounds baying around their horses’ hooves, they began.
Scotland might not be as lush and rich as the continent, but the forest did have an almost eerie and beckoning beauty. It was barely fall, yet it seemed that under the green canopy, darkness came quickly. At first Mary rode ahead with James. Gwenyth, riding behind with Rowan, could not hear their conversation, though the two of them rode in silence, which seemed a strain to her.
Laird Rowan did not seem to notice, being caught up in his thoughts. Then, suddenly, he turned to her. “Will you go home soon to visit?” he inquired.
She stared blankly back at him. Amazingly, she had come here and not even thought about returning to her home on Islington Isle. She didn’t answer with the first thought that came to her mind.
I am not wanted there.
“I…have not thought so far ahead.”
“So far ahead? But you’ve known for some time that you would be returning to Scotland.”
“I’ve been worried about the queen, I suppose.” She found herself adding in a rush, “You don’t understand. This has been a difficult time for her. She is, despite her rank, an extremely caring and kind woman. She nursed King Francis through terrible times. She was with him when he breathed his last. Suddenly, despite her youth, she was the dowager Queen of France, and there were so many problems to be faced, so many people to be seen…. She was in mourning, but there were emissaries, strangers, coming to offer messages of solace from royalty and nobility, all of whom had to be seen and greeted courteously. All the while, she had to decide on the best course of action for herself and others.”
He was smiling as he watched her—sardonically, she thought.
“One would think that you, of all men, would not judge her but would have some understanding of what she felt,” she snapped.
His smile faded slightly, and he looked ahead. “I was thinking again, Lady Gwenyth, that our good Queen Mary is lucky to have such a staunch friend as you.”
She felt like a fool. “Thank you,” she murmured stiffly, then talking to cover her confusion. “Those who know her well truly love her—all those who know her, not just me.”
“Then she is very lucky indeed,” he said softly.
“Are you coming?” Mary called back to them then.
As she spoke, something thrashed in the woods ahead of them.
“Boar,” James said. “Let it be. We haven’t the men to cope if the hunt goes badly.”
But Mary never heard him; she was off. She was an excellent archer, and Gwenyth knew full well that she could make the kill. But James raced after her, concerned, and Rowan, muttering beneath his breath, followed.
Gwenyth kneed her mount, ready for the chase, as well, though she didn’t particularly like the hunt. Once she had seen a hart die a slow death; she had watched the glow go out of the beautiful beast’s eyes, and she had never desired to be part of the hunt again, though there were times, such as now, when she had no choice.
Ahead, the unfamiliar path twisted and veered. Gwenyth found herself alone and realized that the others had apparently taken a different turn. She wasn’t concerned; she did love riding. But as she slowed her horse, wondering where she had gone astray, she heard a thrashing sound.
Her horse heard it, as well, and began to shy. She talked soothingly, her hands firm on the reins.
All her experience did her no good. The mare suddenly shot straight up in the air, then flipped over, snorting and screaming, a blood-curdling sound. The next thing Gwenyth knew, she was on the ground, lying several feet from the mare, which struggled to its feet and bolted.
“Wait! Traitor!” Gwenyth shouted.
She stumbled to her feet, testing her limbs for breaks. She was sore from head to foot, covered in dirt and forest bracken. At first she was aggravated with both the horse and herself; there had been no way to keep her seat, but she should have been up more quickly, soothing the animal, keeping it near her.
Then she heard the noise again, and the boar appeared.
Arrows stuck out from its left shoulder. Blood oozed down the maddened animal’s side. It had been hit and badly wounded, and now it was staggering but still on its feet.
And it saw her.
It stared at her, and she stared into its tiny eyes in return. It was immense; she couldn’t begin to imagine its weight.
Die, she thought. Oh, please, die.
But it wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. It pawed the ground, staggered, snorted—and began to race toward her.
She screamed and ran, looking desperately for a clear trail—and a tree she could climb.
Was it the pounding of the creature’s hooves she heard, or the rapid thunder of her own heart? If she could just keep ahead of it long enough, it would have to die, given that it was losing so much blood. It seemed as if she ran for eons, and still she could hear it coming behind her.
Then she stumbled on a tree root and went flying into the brush. Despite being certain she was dead, she rolled, desperately trying to jump to her feet and run again.
The boar was almost upon her.
Then she heard a new thundering drawing near and heard the whistle of an arrow cutting through the air.
The boar wasn’t ten feet from her when the arrow caught the creature cleanly in the throat. It seemed to back up a step, then wavered and fell dead.
She inhaled deeply, hunched down on the forest floor, shaking like a leaf. She blinked, and was barely aware when strong arms came around her, lifting her to her feet. She had never thought of herself as a coward, yet her knees gave way. She barely registered that it was Laird Rowan who had come for her, who had so unerringly killed the boar with a fraction of a second to spare, and who now lifted her cleanly to her feet, holding her close, soothing her as gently as he might a child. “You’re all right. It’s over.”
She clung to him, her arms around his neck, and as she leaned against the powerful bastion of his chest, she was all too aware that she was continuing to tremble.
“She should not have shot as she did,” he muttered.
“She” was the queen, Gwenyth knew. He was criticizing the queen.
She felt her indignation grow and gained strength from that. Her trembling ceased, and she realized Laird Rowan was shaking, as well, and she almost kept silent, but in the end she had to speak. She stiffened in his arms and said, “The queen is an excellent shot. Laird James should not have raced after her. He no doubt distracted her.”
“He was concerned for her life,” Rowan retorted instantly. “Apparently he should also have been concerned with yours.”
“Set me down, please, this instant,” she demanded, offended that he so clearly saw her as a useless fool.
He did as she demanded, and she wavered, then fell against him again. She really was a fool, she thought. She had not realized that her limbs had remained as weak as jelly.
He steadied her, not allowing her to fall. She fought desperately for strength and finally found it. “Thank you,” she enunciated, stepping back on her own at last. Of course, she must have made a sadly ridiculous picture, she thought, her riding hat gone, every pin lost from her hair, wild strands of it flying everywhere and filled with leaves and twigs. There was dirt on her face; she could feel it. Her riding costume was completely askew.
Embarrassed by her appearance, she knew she was defensive, and she even knew she had been wrong to take offense, when he had so clearly saved her life. As he stared at her, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she wanted desperately to open her mouth and speak, yet something—pride? shame?—kept her from it.
She saw disappointment seep into his eyes as she remained silent, and that made it all the worse. Why did she care so much what he thought of her?
She managed to whisper words at last. “It wasn’t the queen’s fault,” she said, but she knew those words were not enough. He’d saved her life. She needed to thank him.
It didn’t help that he just kept staring at her.
At last she dredged up some dignity, as well as her manners. “Thank you,” she said primly and quietly. “You saved my life.”
He bowed low to her courteously, as if her words had not come shamefully late. “Perhaps you’ll learn to ride with greater authority now that you are home,” he said, and turned away, heading for his mount.
Naturally his horse had obediently awaited him.
She followed him, moving with swift and certain strides. “I ride quite well,” she informed him.
“Oh?”
She flushed again. “My horse shied and fell,” she told him.
“I see.”
She could see that he didn’t believe her. “She reared straight up, and then went over,” she elaborated.
“Of course.”
“You are impossible!” she exclaimed.
“I’m so sorry. Why is that?”
“You are not listening to me.”
“Of course I am.”
“You do not believe a word I say.”
“Did I say any such thing?” he demanded.
She tried very hard not to grit her teeth as she gathered up her torn riding skirt so she would not trip. “Again, I thank you for saving my life,” she said, and started down the path.
