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Authors: Jennifer McGowan
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trifle, my lady,” Alasdair said, lifting a thick hand to brush the tears away from my eyes that I hadn’t realized I’d allowed to surface. “I sought only to see your first true emotion, one not laced with guile or artifice. You’ve satisfied my request, and to spare. I now know you can express genuine anger. And never have you been more fine.”
“I—” I stopped, mystified. How can I respond to that? I hastened on. “I need to know of your loyalties, Alasdair. Do you support the Protestant cause, or are you allied with the Catholics? You are at no risk in either case. The Queen is ever tolerant, especially of those who are not her God-given subjects, but—”
“Shh, m’lady. Doona trouble your heart about me, at least not on this account. The MacLeods and all we tarry with do not want French rule. That is really the issue here, for me and mine. Our God is our master, and we will worship him as we see fit, but the French will never own us, as long as we draw breath. For that reason alone do we support the rebellion, and all the men committed to its cause. And I will tell you this much more, fair Beatrice. A MacLeod will never back down from his word, nor change his heart once it is given. He will never swerve in duty nor steadfastness, and he will always protect his own.” He eyed me with a piercing gaze, his face suddenly intense with the fire of his fealty. This was a young man who knew what he wanted. Who, once committed, would not stray from the course. This was a young man who lived by his heart.
Where did that thought come from?
“Is that what you wanted to know?” Alasdair recalledme from my reverie, his words naught more than a whisper now, but as loud as thunder in my ears. I stared back at him, momentarily unable to speak. Then the breath returned to my lungs, and wits to my brain. I favored him with my archest of smiles.
“That’s what I wanted to know,” I said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next several days passed quickly enough, and I was happy to be able to avoid Alasdair as I bent myself to the Queen’s service.
Jane reported when the Lords of the Congregation arrived—a string of men and horses approaching the castle under cloak of darkness, who were then hastened off to the heavily guarded Visitors Apartments, none of the hundreds of castle inhabitants the wiser. A few of their number departed just as quickly, then approached with all public fanfare the following day. We assumed the “public” members of their party allowed the closeted Lords access to what was going on in the court proper, and passed information back and forth. There was also the usual collection of guards, thick-necked Scotsmen who kept to themselves, dressed in matching dun-colored tunics, belts, and loose-cut breeches. Really, you would think they’d try a little harder to make a statement if they were here to save all of Scotland.
Even though the Lords had taken pains to hide their faces, with Jane’s keen eye and Anna’s knowledge of the peers ofthe Scottish realm, by nightfall we knew which Lords had traveled to Windsor. And it appeared that the one Protestant I was most keen to see had thought the wiser of showing his face in an English court.
John Knox had earned no blessings of our Queen.
A strident and outspoken proponent of Protestantism, the clergyman Knox would ordinarily have cultivated Elizabeth’s favor. But while she had still been a princess with Queen Mary upon the throne, the reverend had “anonymously” printed a rather unfortunate booklet detailing his true opinions of ruling Queens, The First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women.
Even though he had not included our Elizabeth in his disdain for female monarchs, since she hadn’t been one at the time, he was doomed. The Queen could carry a grudge like no other. Knox would never openly gain her goodwill.
As morning broke, bright and fair, we were gathered off the Queen’s Privy Chamber in a room that had until
“I—” I stopped, mystified. How can I respond to that? I hastened on. “I need to know of your loyalties, Alasdair. Do you support the Protestant cause, or are you allied with the Catholics? You are at no risk in either case. The Queen is ever tolerant, especially of those who are not her God-given subjects, but—”
“Shh, m’lady. Doona trouble your heart about me, at least not on this account. The MacLeods and all we tarry with do not want French rule. That is really the issue here, for me and mine. Our God is our master, and we will worship him as we see fit, but the French will never own us, as long as we draw breath. For that reason alone do we support the rebellion, and all the men committed to its cause. And I will tell you this much more, fair Beatrice. A MacLeod will never back down from his word, nor change his heart once it is given. He will never swerve in duty nor steadfastness, and he will always protect his own.” He eyed me with a piercing gaze, his face suddenly intense with the fire of his fealty. This was a young man who knew what he wanted. Who, once committed, would not stray from the course. This was a young man who lived by his heart.
Where did that thought come from?
“Is that what you wanted to know?” Alasdair recalledme from my reverie, his words naught more than a whisper now, but as loud as thunder in my ears. I stared back at him, momentarily unable to speak. Then the breath returned to my lungs, and wits to my brain. I favored him with my archest of smiles.
“That’s what I wanted to know,” I said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next several days passed quickly enough, and I was happy to be able to avoid Alasdair as I bent myself to the Queen’s service.
Jane reported when the Lords of the Congregation arrived—a string of men and horses approaching the castle under cloak of darkness, who were then hastened off to the heavily guarded Visitors Apartments, none of the hundreds of castle inhabitants the wiser. A few of their number departed just as quickly, then approached with all public fanfare the following day. We assumed the “public” members of their party allowed the closeted Lords access to what was going on in the court proper, and passed information back and forth. There was also the usual collection of guards, thick-necked Scotsmen who kept to themselves, dressed in matching dun-colored tunics, belts, and loose-cut breeches. Really, you would think they’d try a little harder to make a statement if they were here to save all of Scotland.
Even though the Lords had taken pains to hide their faces, with Jane’s keen eye and Anna’s knowledge of the peers ofthe Scottish realm, by nightfall we knew which Lords had traveled to Windsor. And it appeared that the one Protestant I was most keen to see had thought the wiser of showing his face in an English court.
John Knox had earned no blessings of our Queen.
A strident and outspoken proponent of Protestantism, the clergyman Knox would ordinarily have cultivated Elizabeth’s favor. But while she had still been a princess with Queen Mary upon the throne, the reverend had “anonymously” printed a rather unfortunate booklet detailing his true opinions of ruling Queens, The First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women.
Even though he had not included our Elizabeth in his disdain for female monarchs, since she hadn’t been one at the time, he was doomed. The Queen could carry a grudge like no other. Knox would never openly gain her goodwill.
As morning broke, bright and fair, we were gathered off the Queen’s Privy Chamber in a room that had until
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