CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

G WENYTH ARRIVED in Edinburgh at the end of a long day's ride, and Mary Fleming was the first to greet her, riding astride outside the castle walls.

"Gwenyth!"

The Scottish guard of ten men, fine fellows who had met up with her at the Borders and taken over the task of escort from their English counterparts, allowed them the time to greet one another. The lady's maid sent by Elizabeth herself, a young girl from Stirling who would go onward to her father's home, was equally discreet, holding back out of earshot.

Gwenyth thought she would fall from her beloved Chloe, Mary Fleming gave her such a fierce hug from the saddle. When they pulled apart, Mary said, "There's so much to be told. We'll get you to Holyrood, and I will bring you up-to-date on the most recent affairs."

"Laird Rowan, do you know of his fate?" Gwenyth asked anxiously.

"He escaped. All believe that the queen intended him to do so. Yesterday, there was a session of parliament, and she demanded that a bill of attainder be drawn up against the lairds in rebellion, yet she chose not to have his name mentioned, though he is still banned from the country."

"He escaped?" Gwenyth repeated dully.

Surely it could not be true and God so cruel that she had been allowed to reach Edinburgh, so close to seeing his face again, only to find him gone.

"Aye. There is word that he is over the border, perhaps with Laird James at Newcastle." Mary Fleming appeared very sad and grave and set a hand comfortingly on Gwenyth's shoulder. "He is safe. Guards went after him, but he managed to leave them trussed up on the road. They spoke highly of him, and now his reputation with his peers and the people grows. No one believes that the queen ever wished him harm. She is just in such a temper about the rebellion, and—"

"Let us get to Holyrood. Away from prying eyes and ears."

At last they reached the palace and the room that had long ago been assigned her, where she sat upon the bed and listened to Mary Fleming.

"You have been gone so very long. We've missed you, Gwenyth. Sometimes it seemed that you could say things we could not. We are all Scots, but we came here with so much that was French. Mary often had more faith in your words. Of course, once she had such faith in James, her brother, as well. The trouble all began with Lord Darnley. And now…while the queen awaits the birth of her child, he is out drinking each night, and God knows what other diversions he seeks. I believe there is a conspiracy all around us."

"Against the queen?"

"Perhaps. It is so hard to tell truth from fiction. I know only that certain lairds remain furious about Darnley. They whisper that he has become far too much a Catholic monarch. The lairds despise him, and there is a rumor that some are suggesting he be given more power—so that our good queen may lose her rights and a Protestant monarch can be set in her place. Always, everywhere, secrets are whispered behind our backs. I fear for Mary."

"But…she is about to have a child. She will produce an heir for Scotland, and she will…she will win over the people and the lairds."

"I hope you are right. Now you must get ready. The queen is planning a small supper party in her rooms tonight. She knows that you are here, and she is delighted."

"Will Laird Darnley be at this supper?"

"Do you jest?" Mary Fleming said drily. "No. Laird Darnley—or King Henry, as he calls himself and as the queen honors him—will be out drinking and carousing, as is his way. His chamber lies just beneath the queen's, but he rarely comes up the privy staircase that connects them."

When Mary left her, Gwenyth lay upon her bed for a long while, heartsick that she would not see Rowan, yet also grateful that he was out of harm's way. She was bitter, however, that she had come to Scotland from England just when he had left Scotland for England.

At last she rose and, with the help of a castle maid, dressed. Shortly thereafter, a tap on her door from one of the queen's chamber servants alerted her that the time had come for supper.

Mary's personal quarters were in the northwest tower of the palace and consisted of four rooms: a presence chamber that led to her bedchamber, and beyond her bedchamber, two smaller—though far from small—rooms that could also be reached via the privy staircase into the bedchamber. As Mary entered the queen's bedroom, heading for the supper room beyond, she heard the soft sound of the queen's voice and she noted the stairway that now led to her husband's, the king's, chambers.

Then she forgot the past, for Mary saw her, even in the midst of her company, and hurried through the supper room to greet her. Gwenyth forgot that she was angry with the queen, so concerned was she to see how much Mary had changed. The laughter that had once lurked constantly in her eyes had dimmed, and her features were gaunt. She seemed to have aged greatly.

"My dearest Gwenyth," Mary said and held her tenderly, as if she meant the words.

"Your Grace." Gwenyth dipped low with all propriety.

Then the queen swept her inside. "You know your friends, my dear Marys, of course. And you no doubt recall Jean, Lady Argyll and Robert Stewart."

Of course, Gwenyth thought. Jean was the queen's illegitimate half sister, and Robert was her illegitimate half brother. Robert had evidently not fallen from favor along with James.

The queen went on with the introductions. "This is my page, Anthony Standen, Arthur Erskine, my equerry…and David Riccio, my musician and my most estimable secretary." She turned to the others. "This is Lady Gwenyth, freed at last from the hold of my cousin Elizabeth."

They all greeted her. She had met Anthony and Arthur before, and they were true men who served the queen well. Jean had never been anything but a loving and supporting friend to Mary, and Robert, too, seemed to have her best interests at heart. The Marys were always her loving servants. At least in the night's company, the queen had surrounded herself with those whose loyalty could not be questioned. Except for David Riccio, Gwenyth thought, whose true character was a mystery to her.

As the meal progressed, Gwenyth noted that, although David Riccio might have been as ugly as a toad, he was a clever man with a dulcet voice. He had the ability to make the queen laugh, something that, Gwenyth thought, she clearly did not do often of late.

The little man grinned at her. "Welcome home," he said. "I still know so little about this vast and wild land, though I have been here these many years. Such passions and tempers here, such life. "

Gwenyth smiled, about to answer him, when they were disrupted by a loud noise from the bedroom area. Looking to the door of the supper room, Gwenyth saw that Lord Darnley had entered.

She understood Mary's waning affection. The man was young, yet he managed to look old and dissolute. "The king arrives!" he announced.

The others rose. Mary did not. "Henry, how lovely of you to take the time to join us," she said.

He smiled, and even from a distance, he smelled as if he had all but bathed in a keg of ale. Walking into the room, he tilted to one side.

A second man made an appearance from the direction of the staircase. It was Patrick, Lord Ruthven. Gwenyth knew him, but still, she was amazed to see him. He had been ill, she knew, something Mary Fleming had told her earlier. Indeed, he looked as if he were still ill, and he sounded delirious when he began to speak.

"Let it please Your Majesty," he said, offering Mary a sweeping bow that all but tumbled him from his feet. "May it please Your Majesty that yon man, David Riccio, has stayed far too long in your presence, in your bedroom."

"Have you gone mad?" Mary demanded furiously, looking from Ruthven to her husband. "David is here at my most royal request," she announced firmly, then looked at Darnley. "This can only be due to your ridiculous machinations."

"Blame not your good lord, my queen," Ruthven insisted. "Riccio has bewitched you. You don't realize that people talk, that they say you make a cuckold of your good husband."

"I am with child!" the queen roared, still disbelieving all that she saw. "I play cards and I listen to music, while my dear sainted husband plays at other games."

Mary's fury was so great that Gwenyth was afraid that she would soon burst into tears and fall into a state of emotional distress that would harm both her and her child.

Suddenly, the room began to fill with more men. Gwenyth didn't know all of them, but she recognized George Gordon, the younger, Thomas Scott and Andrew Ker.

"If you've an argument with David Riccio, then he will appear before parliament," Mary said evenly.

But her words had no effect. Gwenyth could see immediately that, whatever they might later claim, these men had come to do violence.

David Riccio, too, had realized that something dire was afoot, for he leapt from his chair as if to run, but there was nowhere to go. He headed toward the massive window, behind the queen's back.

Gwenyth stepped back just as the rush of men overturned the table. Someone managed to hold on to a single candle as the others were extinguished, the threat of fire fading and the only light in the room now coming from the fireplace, and the one remaining candle.

David Riccio cried out in a confused mixture of French and Italian, "Justice, justice! Madam, I pray you, save my life!"

The men had pistols and daggers, and a terrified Riccio literally grabbed the queen's skirts, trying to hide behind them.

Gwenyth sprang to life, grabbing Mary Fleming's hand. "Help! We need help here! Do they mean to murder Riccio?"

"Or the queen, as well!" Mary Fleming cried.

The men had Riccio, wrenching his fingers from the queen's skirts and dragging him, kicking and screaming, through the supper room and into the bedchamber.

"Justizia, Justizia, sauvez ma vie!"

Gwenyth heard the sounds of David Riccio being thrown down the privy stairway, and she cried furiously, "Help! Help! To the queen! The queen's life is in danger!"

Suddenly the room became a sea of confusion; Mary's own servants arrived in panic, bearing brooms and dust mops, whatever weapons they had found. Members of the Douglas clan had apparently been about in the castle, and they rushed in next, followed by the queen's guard, brandishing real weapons.

There were shouts, furious accusations—and a bloody battle ensued.

Gwenyth and the queen's ladies tried hard to form a protective barrier around Mary, but Ruthven had dared to set his pistol against her stomach while his fellows had wrestled Riccio from her presence.

In the end, the rebels were left in control.

David Riccio, the tiny Italian, lay dead, a bloody pulp almost unrecognizable as human, so many dagger wounds had torn into his small frame. When word of his death reached her, Mary cried. But then, she responded with courage as she looked at those who had taken over the palace of Holyrood.

"I am ill," she announced. "I carry the heir to Scotland. You will leave me be with my ladies to attend me and let me rest."

The men looked awkwardly at one another, then decided to obey Mary and left.

But they were all still in dreadful danger, Gwenyth knew. As most of the rebels drifted from the room and Mary took to her bed, Gwenyth found a renewed sense of love and loyalty for the queen.

As Gwenyth helped her into her bed, Mary whispered, "We will yet find vengeance. Pay heed to every whisper and word our captors speak. Listen for every nuance. We will escape."

The queen's eyes were alight with fire and she leaned heavily on Gwenyth's arm, feigning distress in hopes that those rebels still in the room would leave. She cried out, as if in pain, and at last was left with only her ladies and her supporters.

"Come close," Mary whispered to Gwenyth, and together they began to plot.

R OWAN ARRIVED IN L ONDON on a strangely beautiful day. The weather was disarmingly mild as he made his way to the town house. He had not even reached the door when Thomas and Annie came running down the steps, almost embarrassing him by the ardor with which they greeted him.

There was a great deal that he needed to know; but, having reached the house at last, he had only one thought. "My lady?"

He saw the confused expressions on their faces.

"She…has gone at last to Edinburgh," Thomas said.

"Sweet Jesus!" Rowan cried.

"But the babe, Daniel, dwells here, safely with us, at her command," Annie assured him.

And so it was that, as he bitterly rued the freakish accident of fate that had sent them in opposite directions, he was brought to see his son.

"My God," he breathed in awe. The child slept, but he had to awaken him. His son gave a tremendous shiver when Rowan picked him up and then let out a cry of indignation. But then he stared at his father. His eyes were wide, very blue. He had blond curls, and Rowan found himself amazed, touched as he had never been before, and shaking himself as he sat down to hold his child.

Hours later, he at last returned his son to the young woman charged to nurse him and, with Gavin at his side, rode to request an audience with Queen Elizabeth.

He was startled when he was immediately granted an audience in her privy chamber.

"I will tell you, first, that your bold escape is being quite romanticized across the countryside," she said in amusement.

He shrugged. "My escape was not so bold. I was helped, and from an unexpected quarter."

"So I imagine. I think that we sovereigns, with the strength of our blood, are loath to bring harm to others." She turned away from him, thoughtful. "I know that my sister, Mary Tudor, cried for hours when her highest advisors and council demanded that she execute Lady Jane Grey. There is no pain such as that we face too often, fighting those closest to us…who threaten to become us."

"You still have yet to meet Mary of Scotland," he reminded her.

"Her situation is dire, I am told."

He exhaled. "I believe that she rues her marriage, Your Grace."

"You know nothing of what has transpired, do you?" she asked gently.

His heart fell. "My Lady Gwenyth?"

"I should have kept her here."

His heart seemed to reverse itself and leapt into his throat.

"She is well, so comes the news, but word is very confused."

"I beg of you, tell me all of it."

"Indeed, I must," Elizabeth said gravely.

G WENYTH MOVED ABOUT the palace the next morning, silently and as unobtrusively as possible, though the rebels had taken such strong control that they didn't mind the ladies moving about, ostensibly serving the needs of their queen.

She learned that Father Black, a Catholic priest, had fallen prey to the murderers, as well, but that the Lairds Huntly and Bothwell, also intended victims, had managed to escape. Then she ducked into a doorway, listening as two of Ruthven's followers stood guard, and laughed and joked about their easy success.

"I hear the queen will be taken to Stirling, there to be held 'til the babe is born. No doubt she will be happy enough," said one.

"Oh, aye, with her music and embroidery…and she can tend her child and hunt in the fields while the good king rules the country." He laughed as he spoke.

"Darnley? Already he shows signs of remorse and wavering—and fear," said the first man.

"He'll not rule the country. Those lairds with something between their ears will do so in his name."

"The queen could well die from this ill treatment," the first man said.

"If so, Darnley has royal blood enough. He'll be a decent figurehead. And God knows, he loves fornication enough to quickly produce an heir elsewhere."

Armed with her knowledge, Gwenyth returned to the queen's side where, joined by several of the others, including Lady Huntly, who was now in the queen's service, she explained what she knew of the plot.

"I have to escape," the queen said. "I must. And then those who honor me must call up the countryside, and we will ride back into Edinburgh in triumph."

"Escape first," Lady Huntly whispered.

Gwenyth was silent, worried. The attack on the queen had been part of a well-planned and very dangerous conspiracy. She did not think they would be easily defeated.

"Gwenyth?" Queen Mary said.

Gwenyth blinked, having become lost in her thoughts.

"You must pay heed," Lady Huntly warned her.

Gwenyth did. She argued firmly against any notion of the queen attempting escape via a bedsheet ladder, pointing out that not only did her condition make it impossible, she would be seen from the rooms above or in an adjacent tower, or noticed by a guard below. "Someone must be convinced to help us, someone from within the fold of conspirators," she said.

The queen, with remarkable bravado, spoke up. "I know exactly who," she said bitterly.

In the morning, Darnley returned to his wife's room. The ladies instantly departed to the chamber beyond, but one of the Marys stayed with her ear to the hallway door to listen for sounds of approaching danger, while the others eavesdropped, ears to the wall.

Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, was nearly in tears. He spoke in choked words about his distress. "Mary, there was not to have been murder," he said.

Gwenyth couldn't see the queen, yet she knew to what proportion Mary's hatred for her husband had grown; none of this could have happened without his participation. But the queen's words were gentle as she said that she forgave him. Then she talked about the possibility that he might find himself a prisoner, as well, and apparently she convinced him that they were both being used terribly and in an ungodly manner by certain overly ambitious lords who were eager to achieve power.

Later in the day, when Darnley led in the lairds who had so hideously attacked her, she spoke as compellingly as she had with her husband, assuring them all that they would be pardoned.

At that point, word came that James Stewart had arrived at Holyrood.

"My brother is here?" the queen demanded, evidently pleased.

Gwenyth was not so sanguine. James had, after all, attempted to rise against her. But it seemed that Mary was remembering only that James had been there to help her when she had first come to Scotland, so young and with so little knowledge of affairs in her country.

But when she saw James and threw herself into his arms, declaring that none of the horrors could have occurred had he been with her, he had stern words for her. Though Gwenyth could not hear, she watched Mary's face, and saw her fury and her indignation rise.

Then, removing the focus from affairs of state, she screamed out in sudden pain that she had gone into labor and begged that a midwife be sent for, which was quickly done.

Mary requested that the room be cleared of everyone but her ladies, and as soon as the others were gone, she stopped her playacting and carefully outlined their options.

That night, the escape was put into action.

At midnight Darnley came, and together, he and the queen slipped down the privy staircase by which the murderers had gained entrance to her supper party. Her French servants had been warned earlier of the escape, and they escorted her secretly through the hallways.

Gwenyth was on guard at the castle door when the queen and Darnley quit Holyrood, and she quickly led them past the cemetery beside the Abbey. There was a painful moment when the queen stopped beside a freshly dug grave—Riccio's, Gwenyth was certain—and Darnley paled, then began an apology to the queen.

"Shh," Gwenyth warned. "You must away now, no time for regrets, Your Grace."

Outside the abbey, others, forewarned, were waiting. Mary mounted behind Erskine, and there was a horse for Darnley, as well as one for Gwenyth.

The ride through the night began, their plan being to reach Dunbar Castle. Gwenyth understood ever more deeply why the queen had come to so loathe her husband. He was in terror, now that he had turned back to her, that they would be caught by the rebels he had just betrayed, and he brutally urged the horses on.

"Have pity, my husband, for my condition," the queen pleaded.

"If that babe dies, we can have others," he replied carelessly. "Come on!"

They rode hard for five long hours and finally reached Dunbar. There, at last, the queen was able to rest.

Gwenyth, too, fell into bed, exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. She dozed and awoke repeatedly through the night. But even in her dreams, she could hear Lord Darnley, Henry Stewart, self-imagined King of Scotland. If that babe dies, we can have others.

Nay, if that babe died…

He would never be a royal father. Not even for country or duty would Mary ever allow the man near her again.

She came fully awake, and she wept. She longed for her own child, and for the comforting arms of his father, a man who did not falter or waver, who would never rise in rebellion, then cry and beg for reprieve.

She lay there, shaking, aching, knowing a greater loneliness than she had ever imagined possible.

Mary had escaped. Already Laird Gordon, the pardoned eldest son of the Lord Gordon who had done battle against the queen, and James Hepburn, Laird Bothwell, were already out rousing the countryside, without even having paused to sleep.

They were triumphant, and she should be grateful. They might have all died in the frenzy of the attack or been captured and killed in the escape. And she was grateful, she told herself. It was just that she was also…

Lonely.

B OTHWELL AND H UNTLY FULFILLED their duty to their queen with admirable speed.

They gathered a force of eight thousand men within a matter of days, although the queen's own proclamation, asking that the inhabitants of the area surrounding Dunbar Castle meet her at Haddington with eight days' provisions, certainly helped swell the numbers.

At the end of March, Mary, heavy with child, rode at the head of the troops, Darnley at her side, a very unhappy man. They heard, even as they rode, that the rebel leaders had deserted Edinburgh, aware that they had been betrayed by Darnley and in fear for their own lives.

As she had promised, Mary entered Edinburgh victoriously.

Gwenyth was relieved that Mary was not forced into battle, and that, even though the rebels deserved to be executed for murder, most of them had fled.

She was equally pleased—though rumor persisted that his name had been signed to a pact among the conspirators—that the events had somehow brought about Mary's determination to forgive her brother James.

And if James was forgiven, Gwenyth thought, then clearly the queen would have to pardon Rowan, as well.

She had not received so much as a letter from him in so long now that there were times when she was afraid she would not know him. Then she would be flooded with anguish, certain that she could never forget him, so deeply did she love him.

Their first days after returning to Edinburgh were filled with both emotion and activity.

One of Mary's first passions was to see that David Riccio was dug up from his impromptu grave and given a proper Catholic funeral. The next was the matter of dealing with her nobles, rewarding those who had so staunchly stood for her, punishing those who had betrayed her. Several of the underlings of the conspirators were arrested and condemned to death.

In addition, Mary was deeply worried about the birth of her child.

"It breaks my heart that my babe will enter a world in turmoil," she said, pacing her room.

"That is why you are kind to Laird Darnley?" Mary Fleming whispered. "So your babe will know at least some harmony in life?"

"There will be no question of anything awry between us until after the child is born. There will be no question, ever, that my child is legitimate, the heir to the throne," Mary said, though her absolute loathing for her husband was clearly apparent in her face.

But Gwenyth knew her well. Mary would play the part of the good wife until the child was born. Gwenyth understood, the queen's absolute love for her unborn child and the protective instinct she was feeling. And she meant to speak to the queen as soon as possible regarding Rowan and her own sweet babe, Daniel.

Her chance came a few days later. Mary, having at last reconciled with James Stewart, Argyle, Huntly and many others, felt she had regained control of her world. And when she sat at last, satisfied, daring to take some time alone to work on the tiny garments she was sewing for her child, Gwenyth at last managed to speak to her.

"What of Laird Rowan?"

To her amazement, the queen stared at her with bitter eyes. "What of him?"

"Well, you have taken Laird James back into your confidence…"

Mary rose. "Speak not to me about that man. My trials and tribulations began in earnest the minute he was freed. I was a fool!"

Gwenyth gasped and rose, both stunned and dismayed. "Mary! How can you speak against him so? He escaped to England. He—"

"How do I know that? I was merciful and urged his escape, and then murder was done in my very chamber." Mary's eyes narrowed. "Don't be a fool. I have learned a great deal about men, and I warned you once not to fall in love with him."

They were alone. And Gwenyth was so furious and heartsick that she dared speak her mind clearly. "You warned me…and then you fell head over heels in love with a man such as Darnley!"

"I am the queen. I had to have a proper husband."

"But he was not proper. Elizabeth—"

"Elizabeth is conniving, double-faced, and—evil! She sent him here. She planned for him to ingratiate himself, for me to marry him, so she could then force an outcry to deny me my right to the English crown!"

Gwenyth took a deep breath, trying to understand all that the queen had been through. She had clearly learned a great deal about duplicity during the length of her reign. Still…"Mary, I am his wife."

The queen rose, her eyes and her features icy. "You are not his wife. You are a Scottish subject. My subject. And I have declared that your marriage is null and void, do you understand? You are not wed to that traitor. I will see that he remains banished, in England, for the rest of his life—or else he will face the block!"

"Mary!"

"Do you understand me?"

"Nay, I'll never understand you. You have no proof that he was involved in any treachery against you."

"Darnley has told me that he was."

Gwenyth gasped. "You would listen to Laird Darnley?"

"He confessed a great deal."

"He cast out names to save himself. Mary, have you lost your senses? Rowan always despised Darnley!"

"Indeed, and so did others despise Henry, but they were willing to use him as a puppet against me. They forgot that a man they could so easily manipulate could be manipulated in return."

"He's lying."

"There is nothing so bitter as being betrayed by one you have come to love," the queen said.

"Rowan never betrayed you!"

"Gwenyth, listen to me. Darnley is a pathetic creature, but I am in power again, and he is afraid. He gave me Rowan's name. Rowan was a part of this conspiracy, don't you understand?"

"I will never believe it."

"Then you are a fool. A worse fool than I have ever been," Mary assured her.

"I have a child with him."

Mary stared at her, stunned. For a moment it seemed that she might bend, soften, but too much that was ill had been done against her. "Then you have a bastard," she said coldly.

Gwenyth clenched her fists, staring at Mary. "I love him. In the eyes of God, he is my husband and the father of my child. And if you so bitterly loathe my husband, I can no longer, in good conscience, serve you."

Mary looked as if she had been slapped. "So you would betray me, too."

"Never."

"I will see that you do not have to serve me, then."

"I can find my own way out of Scotland."

Mary shook her head. "I am to let you go—to join with him in a country where I am despised? God knows, Elizabeth never sends help or sympathy from England. I have my spies, you know. She might have denied James an army against me, but she certainly funded him when he needed money. You will not go back to England, my Lady Gwenyth."

"Will you imprison me in Edinburgh Castle, then?" Gwenyth demanded, a touch of contempt in her voice.

"Not in Edinburgh Castle," the queen said softly, and turned her back on Gwenyth.

"Leave me."

"Your Grace, I am begging you one more time to consider—"

"Leave me. Now."

Heartsick, Gwenyth returned to her room, where she passed the time pacing, wondering what would happen now.

She did not have to ponder long.

There was a knock on her door. Guards—the same guards who had so recently seen to her safe arrival—were in the hall.

Their leader looked at her and sighed, deeply, wearily. "Ye are to come with us, my lady."

"Where?"

"We cannae say."

"I am a prisoner?"

"Aye, lady. I say so with my deepest sorrow."

"What manner of clothing shall I bring?" she demanded.

"We ride north," the man said.

"I will be ready shortly," she assured him.

She did not even have Annie near her, she thought. She was far away from her precious babe and being taken farther still.

Worse, Rowan had been branded a traitor again—and this time the queen believed it.

She longed to throw herself on the bed and cry, to rant aloud hatred for the queen.

Except that she didn't hate Mary, though she was furious with her for her refusal to see the truth. And furious with herself for having been blind to danger.

She packed her own possessions quickly. When she was done, she opened her door and pointed out her belongings to the guard, then asked that she be allowed to see the queen.

Mary granted her an audience, and Gwenyth saw immediately that the queen, too, had been crying. Mary took her into her arms.

"Dear God, Mary, I would never betray you," Gwenyth whispered.

The queen stepped back. "And that is why I will keep you from all temptation," she whispered back.

"What?" Gwenyth asked, confused.

"Sadly, I do know what it is to love and feel the passion that you do. I was blinded by something that glittered before me, but its beauty was superficial, and now I am paying the price."

"You know Rowan." Gwenyth hesitated. "You know him well." She almost mentioned that he was of her blood, but she did not. Darnley, too, was of her blood, and the tie to Henry VII did nothing to make him a commendable man.

"Aye," the queen said gravely, and shook her head. "I know him. I had great faith in him. And I pray God that he may somehow find a way to prove that Henry, Lord Darnley, my husband, has lied to me."

Again Gwenyth paused. "He is the one who betrayed you," she said. "Why would you believe him now?"

"Because he fears me now. He betrayed me, and then turned on those with whom he betrayed me. I am his only hope. Gwenyth, there will be an inquiry. But as for now…I will love you both. I will keep you safe."

"Mary—"

"Take her," she said softly to the guards who waited at the door.

Tears streamed down Mary's face, but events had hardened her, and she did not relent.