Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles Read Free

lass, and they shall pass with a lass," he murmured.
     
    Those were the last words he spoke, although, as the physician saw that he was sinking, he exhorted him, "Give her your blessing! Give your daughter your blessing, for God's own sweet sake! Do not pass away without that charity and safeguard to your heir!"
     
    But the King just gave a little laugh and smile, kissed his hand and offered it to all his lords round about him; soon thereafter he turned his head away from his attendants, toward the wall, and died.
     
    "What meant he by his words?" one of the attendant lords whispered.
     
    "The crown of Scotland," replied another. "It came to the Stewarts through Marjorie Bruce, and he fears it will pass away through what is the Princess's name?"
     
    "Princess Mary."
     
    "No," said his companion, as he watched the physicians slowly turning the dead King, and folding his hands preparatory to having the priest anoint him. "Queen Mary. Mary Queen of Scots."
     
    His widow, the Queen Dowager, struggled to regain her strength after childbirth as quickly as possible. Not for her the lingering recovery of days abed, receiving visitors and gifts and, as her reward for their well-wishes, presenting the infant for their inspection, all swathed in white lace and taffeta and wrapped in yards of softest velvet in the gilded royal crib.
     
    No, Marie de Guise, the relict quaint phrase, that, she thought of His Majesty James V of Scotland must right herself and be poised to defend her infant, like any wolf-mother in a harsh winter. And it was a very harsh winter, not only in terms of the flying snow and icy roads, but for Scotland itself.
     
    She could almost fancy that, in the ruddy flames of the fires she kept continually burning, the teeth of the nobles looked more like animal fangs than human dog-teeth. One by one they made their way to Linlithgow Palace, the golden palace lying on a long, thin loch just west of Edinburgh, to offer their respects to the infant their new Queen. They came clad in heavy furs, their feet booted and wrapped round with animal skins, and it was hard to tell their ice-streaked beards from the furs surrounding their faces. They would kneel and murmur something about their loyalty, but their eyes were preternaturally bright.
     
    There were all the clans who came to make sure that they would not be barred from power by any other clan. For this was the greatest of all opportunities, the equivalent of a stag-kill that attracted all the carrion-eaters of the forest. An infant was their monarch, a helpless infant, with no one but a foreign mother to protect her: a Frenchwoman who was ignorant of their ways here and far from home.
     
    The Earl of Arran, James Hamilton, was there; had not this baby been born, he would now be king. He smiled benevolently at the infant. "I wish her a long life," he said.
     
    The Earl of Lennox, Matthew Stuart, who claimed to be the true heir rather than Arran, came shortly and stood looking longingly down at the baby. "May she have all the gifts of grace and beauty," he said.
     
    Patrick Hepbum, the "Fair Earl" of Bothwell, stepped forward and kissed the Queen Mother's hand lingeringly. "May she have power to make all who gaze upon her love her," he said, raising his eyes to Marie's.
     
    The red-faced, stout northern Earl of Huntly strutted past the cradle and bowed. "May she always rest among friends and never fall into the hands of her enemies," he said.
     
    "My lord!" Marie de Guise objected. "Why mention enemies? Why even think of them now? You tie your well-wishes to something sinister. I pray you, amend your words."
     
    "I can amend them, but never erase them. Once spoken, they have flown into another realm. Very well: let her enemies be confounded and come to confusion."
     
    "Ilikenottheuwd."
     
    "I cannot promise that there will be no enemies," he said stubbornly. "Nor would it be a good wish. Tis enemies that make a man and shape him. Only a no-thing has no