The Queen's Almoner Read online

  “I can unhitch one of the teams for ye,” Hammond offered. I shook my head, knowing that we had already lost precious time. I was surprised that Mary had not already sent someone to track me down as it was.

  “There’s Purité, but he’s not fit for such a long journey.”

  “Not to mention he is Mary’s most prized possession,” I added.

  “Aye,” Hammond pondered, as he stood chewing a piece of straw. “I do have a new stallion that just came into our possession recently. He is rough around the edges, but given your knack, ye might be able to settle ‘em.”

  “Oh no. Not another one of your rascals.” I kicked the dried mud off my left boot.

  “Aye, but hear me out. He had a bad injury when he was found wandering along Salisbury Crags. We thought for a time that we might have to put the poor creature down. But he made a miraculous recovery and is as strong as any of the steeds in this stable.”

  “Miraculous?”

  “Aye! That be your area of expertise, eh?” he asked with a lopsided grin breaking forth.

  “Show me the beast,” I sighed, resigning to the fact that unwieldy creatures must be my lot in life.

  Hammond led me to the far end of the stable where the horse was quietly pondering his own lot. I scrutinized him from my spot, and he stared back at me with as much intensity from his.

  “Why were you hesitant to suggest this animal to me?” I turned to look at Hammond and noticed that he seemed to still have an unsure look upon his face.

  “Well, he…gets spooked from time to time. Probably a result of whatever means caused his injury.”

  “What is his name?” I asked.

  “We don’t know his given name, but the stable boys have taken to calling him Ramses.”

  “Hmpf. Which one?”

  “Whichever,” Hammond replied with a shrug.

  I appraised the animal for a minute or two more before acquiescing to Hammond’s suggestion.

  “All right,” I replied with another sigh. It’s not as though I had much choice at this point anyway.

  Hammond went to get a saddle then I began loading Ramses down with my things. He seemed calm enough as we dressed him, and when I mounted him he showed no disagreement or angst. My own reservations dissolved as I walked him around the courtyard and got a feel for him. Perhaps I had judged him too hastily. Time would tell.

  ***

  The journey was wet and exhausting. The earth had turned to softened butter and our days were spent digging out sunken cart wheels and trudging along slowly to ensure the horses did not injure themselves. On distances between the villages we spent our nights in the open fields cursing the rain and vying to stay dry. The tents we pitched would keep a man dry but would not warm his limbs. Starting a fire and keeping it burning so that Her Majesty would not become ill became every man’s purpose, and my driving force. Through Stirling and Perth, the rain did persist until tempers were shortened and everyone had had enough.

  When we reached Aberdeen, we were met by a bustling town full of fishmongers, tanners, weavers, and other craftsmen. Four heavily traveled roads intersected at the center of the town, but the real action occurred along the riverfront where fishing had been a source of livelihood for centuries. By the time we arrived the townspeople were in a frenzy, bustling about and tidying their shops at the rumors of the queen’s arrival. The people thronged Mary, all trying to get a glimpse of the beautiful young queen. The majority of retainers that had accompanied us made a bee line to the tavern and only Lord James, Randolph, and I remained to offer Mary some protection from the pressing crowd. After the span of about an hour, a burgess intervened and called for the merchants and shoppers to resume their business and led an escort for Mary to the inn.

  By evening we were resting in the inn, partaking in some provisions and enjoying the warmth of an indoor fire. At about half past the seventh hour a servant announced the arrival of a Lady and upon further investigation it was ascertained that the Lady was the Countess of Huntly, Lady Gordon. She had not been expected, nor was her visit particularly a desired one. The Countess was the wife of George Gordon, the 4th Earl of Huntly. The Gordons had many offspring, but it was one, Sir John Gordon, that had set himself up as a nuisance and had recently managed to escape from his imprisonment.

  When the door to the supper hall opened a host of attendants converged on the room and the entourage swept a clearing, allowing the visitor to enter in all her regal splendor. I, along with Sir Arrick and Lord James, stood to our feet, ready to take up arms.

  My Lady Gordon,” James began. “To what do we owe this most surprising interruption?”

  The countess, though possibly twenty years Mary’s senior, held the heir of a woman whose grace and beauty were unrivaled. She held herself as if she were royalty, and in this part of the country, she practically was. Her husband was the largest landowner in the eastern part of Scotland, and rumor had it that their house was great and the furnishings, by which one could always count on to determine wealth, was in a word, grandiloquent.

  “She has come to pay homage to our most illustrious queen, I dare say.” I stepped between the countess and the queen, bowing in respect, yet eyeing the servants who had entered before her. “My lady, allow me to introduce myself. I am Reverend Thomas Broune. Would you allow me the pleasure of presenting you to our queen?” I swept my hand toward Mary and waited for her answer.

  A hush fell on the room and an awkward silence hung in the air before the countess remembered upon whom she called. She curtsied extremely low, her many layers of skirts fanning out around her and brushing the feet of those who sat close to Mary. When she straightened she fastened her eyes upon the queen and paid no attention to me nor anyone else who might happen to be occupying the room with her. Her face was still youthful and soft. Her eyes, round and blue, were accented by dark, heavy lashes that gave an alluring appeal to her already breathtaking beauty. Yet her arrogance overshadowed her good looks and any virtues her outward beauty may have boasted.

  “Ceud mìle fàilte dhut,” she began in Gaelic, welcoming the queen. No one spoke as she stood waiting for Mary to respond. It was unclear whether she spoke in the old language to test Mary’s knowledge of the old tongue, or whether it was to show her own deep-rooted history and ties to the ancient land upon which we now relied for hospitality.

  “Tapadh leibh,” Mary replied.

  A slow smile spread across the countess’ face. “A true Scotswoman to be sure. You have had a long journey. I pray that it has been pleasant and that you might find rest and refreshment within our boundaries.”

  “Our journey has been long, but you can rest assured it has not been pleasant. I look forward to replenishing our strength and enjoying the provisions that my loving subjects bestow upon us.” She accented the word my ever so slightly, and I wondered if mine were the only ears to catch this variation of her speech.

  She feels threatened. Yet, no one else seemed to notice the emphasis.

  “May it be so,” the countess replied. “Now I fear that I must intrude upon Your Majesty’s rest and request a private audience with you concerning a matter of urgent importance.”

  “Of course. Allow me and my party to finish our meal then I will see to you shortly. Where may I call upon you later this evening?”

  Lady Gordon looked taken aback for a moment. It was evident that she was not used to being put off. However, she quickly recovered and answered, “I reside in a small cottage on the edge of Aberdeen when I am in the area. You may call upon me there at your earliest convenience.” Her voice cracked upon these last words, yet she still maintained an appearance of pride.

  “So I shall,” Mary said in a light voice. Clearly, she felt she had won the upper hand.

  The older woman nodded another slight bow, then turning upon her heels, she quickly retreated to her carriage. When she was safely disposed of, a low chatter began to enliven the room again.

  “I reside in a small cottage on the edge of Aberdeen
when I am in the area,” someone in the room repeated mockingly.

  Another said, “I doubt there is anything small about that woman: body or property.” Laughter broke out as minds began to conjure up all sorts of lewd comments to make in reply.

  Ignoring the vulgarity and appearing unaffected, Mary said, “Friends, Lady Gordon is a grand woman whom I dare say is used to ordering people about. She has lived in this land, unrivaled for many years. Let us show her the respect that her title and property has earned her.”

  “I still find it disturbing that she thought she could just barge right into your presence unannounced,” I challenged when we were seated again.

  “As I said before, she is used to ordering people about. I can forgive her this indiscretion…this time.” Mary’s words dripped with honey.

  “Aye, well, you have the right of it though. The Gordan clan has ruled the north for hundreds of years. I dare say she finds you a threat to her domain. She needs to be put in her place.”

  “I will deal with her in my own way and in my own timing, Thomas.” She reached for her spoon. Then lifting her voice, she said, “Now, let us finish our meal. I’m starving!”

  The men lifted their cups with a “Hear! Hear!” and the chattered resumed its feverish pitch within minutes.

  ~14~

  October 1562

  Sometime after the first watch had been called, I awoke in a sweat from a fitful sleep. Although the fire that burned in the fireplace had long since turned to a low ember, the air felt stifled and heavy. I arose and drained the flask of wine into a cup, drank it in one long gulp then removed my damp shirt. I splashed water onto the back of my neck then opened the wooden shudders that closed over my small window. The cool October night air felt soothing, but the small opening would not suffice to cool the hot room. I slipped a dry shirt on and pulled on a pair of breeches. I departed the room and as I walked cautiously down the stairs I could hear a fiddler still picking out tunes and many of the soldiers that had been employed to accompany the royal progress still drinking and making merry in the hall below. I feared they would pay for their indiscretions in the morning, for it was decided that we would be moving on to Inverness the next day.

  I slipped out of the side door of the inn without being detected and headed to the stable to check on Ramses. Since becoming the queen’s almoner, sleepless nights were more the norm, and on such occasions, I would often spend time in the stables, brushing Achaius.

  As I approached the stables the moonlight gave off just enough glow that I could see a figure leaning against the side of the barn. The closer I came I could see that it was a feminine figure that stood in the darkness. In no need of a prostitute and not wanting to be approached by a woman of ill reproach I turned to go toward the other end of the barn. But as I turned, the figure called out to me in that sweet, familiar voice.

  “Thomas, I see that you had trouble sleeping as well.”

  I paused then turned to face her. I could see the small puffs of chilled breath depart from Mary’s lips as she breathed in the night air. My body, that had just begun to cool from the midnight air, instantly began to burn as the blood that coursed through my veins heated like a poker in the fire. As I drew closer to her, she turned to face me and the cool moonlight spilt onto her face, bathing her in icy light. Fire and ice. That’s what we are. I, a consuming fire, and she an icy wave of calmness. There is danger to both when they are joined together, I reminded myself.

  “Mary, what are you doing out here all by yourself? It is not safe for a woman to be alone in the darkness, and especially if she is the Queen of Scotland.”

  “I, like you, could not sleep and needed to be alone. I had a most bothersome conversation with Lady Gordon this evening, and I fear that I have been unable to get the details out of my mind ever since.”

  “Ahh, yes. What had she to say? Was it as important as she saw fit to insinuate?”

  “She sought pardon for her son, Sir John Gordon, who escaped from the tolbooth last month. She reminded me that her husband, Lord Gordon, has been a faithful supporter of my mother, and the Catholic faith, for years and proceeded to inform me that he has been in dire fits since I removed his titles, the Earl of Mar and Moray, and gave them to my brother, James. I detected a hint of threat as she reminded me that the earl has many supporters in the northeast and that he is a man that does not tolerate impudence very well.”

  “Impudence! What has she to say for herself? Surely she must realize to whom she was speaking!”

  “Aye. She knows to whom she speaks. And I daresay she knew exactly of what she spoke. She assured me that all her faith lies within her husband’s power to maintain that which rightly belongs to him. Her conversation began and ended with her beloved son, Sir John, and all his merits. She hinted that they even hoped that he might one day be granted the honor of becoming my husband.”

  I stood gaping at her as she recounted her conversation with the countess. “Becoming your husband! What audacity! What shamelessness has this woman shown!”

  “Calm thyself. She is a woman who fears for her son and who greatly honors her husband. I did not think her impertinent, but rather likened her to Abigail who spoke boldly to King David on behalf of her wicked husband.”

  “Hmph,” was all I could manage. If my blood wasn’t boiling at the sight of Mary’s enticing form in the darkness, it certainly was now, even if for a different reason. “And what said you of her son?” I usually didn’t voice my opinion about Mary’s suitors, but I was annoyed. This man was a scoundrel and the Gordons had the temerity to proffer their son for wedlock.

  Mary giggled then stepped closer to me. “Why Thomas, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous. You truly sound put off by her suggestion.”

  I straightened my back. It was my turn to take a step closer. I moved forward until Mary’s back was flat against the stable door. I raised my arm and placed my hand on the door, blocking her in and forcing her to note my seriousness. Her eyes grew wide and a mischievous smile spread across her face.

  “I assure you, my lady, your protection is my utmost priority. Not one wasp will use its stinger, nor one thistle prick your skin that I will not see it. Not one arrow will brush past your beautiful face before I stay its progression. And not one rascal will offer his hand in marriage that I will not have his head on a platter first.” I lifted a finger and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. She didn’t even have to touch me; her very nearness was seeping into me and would soon consume me altogether.

  Her frosty halo ceased as Mary caught her breath. Her eyes sparkled in the light of the moon and the silence produced from the stay of her heavy breathing hung like a willow tree, heavy and protrusive between us.

  “You cannot protect me forever.” Her voice was barely audible. “I must marry again.”

  “And you shall. But you shall not marry a scoundrel.”

  Mary burst out laughing and instantly the spell was broken.

  “The look on your face is dreadful. I’ve no doubt that you shall hang with your own two hands anyone who you feel is inferior to me.”

  “That would be every man,” I warned. I smiled as I replied, but my answer was sincere.

  She bit her bottom lip then dropped her gaze from my eyes. She reached out and ran her hand down my chest as she had before when she was tracing the buttons on my robe. But this time there was no robe, no buttons; only the thin material of my tunic that separated her hand from my skin. Instantly, my body went from flame to inferno.

  “You are always looking out for me. You always have.” She paused and we stood there silently for a moment, her eyes boring into my soul. Finally, she spoke again. “Do you ever wish you were born as someone else?”

  “All the time,” I replied.

  “I often wonder how things would be different for me if I hadn't been born into a royal family. If I didn't have the obligations that I do. If I didn't have to be queen.” Her voice trailed off and she looked past me into t
he darkness, suddenly lost in her own thoughts.

  I reached up and pulled her shawl tighter around her. She was shivering and the temperature seemed to have dropped drastically since I first walked outside.

  “You should get some sleep,” I said as I continued to tug at her shawl, trying to warm her without touching her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her. Take her into me and warm her body and soul, but I knew that was out of the question.

  But for all my caution, Mary leaned into me anyway. She spoke in such a whisper as if ours were not the only ears within hearing. “They say Elizabeth has a lover. He is not a prince, nor really even a nobleman other than the titles that she has bestowed upon him herself. Rumor has it that they have been friends since they were young. He is her…”

  “Don’t say it,” I said, pulling away from her abruptly. My body responded to her words, betraying my piety. “Why do you say such things?” I knew exactly what she was suggesting, and it scared the life out of me.

  “Thomas, I…please…I didn’t mean…” she stopped herself.

  As much as I wanted it, wanted her, I could not consent to what she was suggesting. In that moment I felt my limbs turn to parritch, and I feared that I would topple over completely.

  A look of mortification overtook her face. Embarrassed, she gathered her shawl tighter around her. The queen shook her head as if to shake her thoughts out completely, and that’s when I noticed the glistening of tears on her face. “It's getting late,” was her only reply.

  She shuffled quickly toward the inn and left me standing at the side of the stables. I watched as her form disappeared into the darkness. I stood there, completely unable to move for the span of several minutes. My heart pounded, and my head felt light. What Mary was suggesting was…highly improper, yet strangely tempting. I never dreamed my vow would be so hard to keep. There was no way I was going to sleep now. I might as well give Ramses a good rub down.