The Queen's Lady Read Free Page A

far more comfortable accommodations along with its warmer weather. Much of the known world, and certainly the French themselves, considered the country to be the epitome of art and learning and felt that Scotland had been blessed to be tied to such a great power by marriage. In France, Mary had known the finest of everything. Gwenyth feared that the queen would be disappointed by the amenities her homeland offered.
    Cheers went up from the shore, as Mary offered a radiant smile. Despite their early arrival after five days at sea, a good-sized crowd had mustered. “Curiosity,” Mary whispered to Gwenyth, a dry note in her voice.
    â€œThey’ve come to honor their queen,” Gwenyth protested.
    Mary merely smiled and waved; radiant, she stepped from the ship, to be greeted first by her half brother James and then the milling court around him. The people were shouting joyously. Perhaps they had come out of nothing more than curiosity, but they were impressed now, as well they should be. Mary 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.
    â€œAt 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.
    â€œWhy the frown?”
    She turned, startled, to see that Rowan Graham had moved up and was riding at her side—and regarding her with amusement.
    â€œI am not frowning,” she said.
    â€œReally? And to think I had imagined you might have the intelligence to worry about the future despite the fanfare.”
    â€œWorry 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?”
    â€œQueen Mary’s half brother, the Lord James, has assured her that she may worship as she chooses,” she said.
    â€œIndeed,” he said, and laughed aloud,