vindictive tirade against the taint of Papists in the land, he was pounding his lectern. And he stared straight at Gwenyth as he did so. Then he pointed at her.
“Those who worship false idols are blasphemers! They live in blasphemy, and they are like a curse upon this land. They are akin to the witches who call upon dark evil and rancor and death.”
Shocked at first, Gwenyth sat still. But as his words reverberated, she stood.
She pointed at him in return, seething with fury. Her mind seemed to be moving at a maddened pace; she wanted to choose her words carefully, but that proved impossible, for she was inwardly burning, as if she were about to combust.
“Those who believe that God is their friend, and their friend alone, who dare to think He whispers what is right and wrong in their ears alone, they are the taint upon this land. None of us knows for a fact what His divine purpose may be. Those who condemn others and see no fault in themselves, they are dangerous and evil. When a land is blessed with a monarch who sees clearly that no one will know God until called before Him, who wants to allow her people to see goodness as they will, then the inhabitants of that land should bow down and be grateful. Sometimes, I fear, it may well be a pity that she is so kind and wise that no blood will be spilled.”
After she finished speaking, she stared at him for a moment longer, then swung around and stumbled over her neighbors in her haste to exit the pew.
The whole congregation reacted with shocked silence. She felt it keenly as she walked with as much dignity as she could muster down the aisle.
Just as she was about to exit the church, she froze, for fierce pounding was coming from the podium once again.
“Satan’s witch!” the reverend bellowed.
She turned. “I’m very sorry you think so, reverend, for you have impressed me as being a servant of Satan yourself,” she said with far more calm than she felt.
“This will stop now!”
Gwenyth was stunned when she saw Laird Rowan Graham rise from a pew toward the front of the church. He stared at the reverend, then at her. “There will no casting of vindictive accusations by any party within this house of God. Reverend Donahue, speak to our souls, but do not let the pulpit become your venue for personal attack or political arousal. Lady Gwenyth—”
“He attacked the queen!” she raged.
“And he will no longer do so,” Rowan declared. He turned back to the reverend. “Our queen shows nothing but tolerance for other beliefs and encourages the Scottish Kirk. She has asked only to be left to cleave to the religion she has known since a child. She will never tell others what they must feel or believe in their hearts. Let us respect her mind and steadfastness, and worry about our own souls.”
Gwenyth could only imagine how all the parishioners would be talking that evening. At the moment, however, they were all simply sitting, shocked and perhaps a bit excited, as they awaited the next lines of the scandalous scene unfolding before them.
But the show was over, Gwenyth thought with relief, as she virtually stumbled out into the day. Amazingly, the sun was shining.
She hurried along the broken stepping stones that led from the church and wound between the long rows of graves, both ancient and new. At the low wall that enclosed the church-yard, she paused, grasping the stone for support, gasping for breath.
The next thing she knew, brisk footsteps were heading her way. She looked up and saw without surprise that Rowan had followed her from the church.
“What the hell were you doing in there?” he demanded heatedly.
“What was I doing?” she repeated incredulously. “Reverend Donahue was attacking your queen.”
“And many ministers throughout the land will be doing so for some time to come. She is a Catholic. When Scots embrace something, they do so with a reckless abandon, and such is their feeling now for the church that bears their country’s name. You are but adding flame to a fire that already burns far too high. You attend Mass with the queen, then come to this church.”
“I have chosen the Protestant faith,” she said indignantly. “I attend Mary when she goes to Mass because I am sworn to accompany her wherever she goes.”
“She would understand if you did not.”
“It would show a lack of support for her choice.”
“You would show that you honor hers but have made your own.”
“You’re telling me every man, woman and child in this country is a Protestant?” she said. “So suddenly? It is but a year since the edict went through. What are we, then, sheep? Does no one think for him or herself? This morning we honored the Church of Rome. Tonight we honor that of Scotland. Tomorrow, good God, will we begin worshiping the goat gods of the ancient past? You, Laird Rowan, did nothing to speak up in defense of the queen.”
He folded his arms over his chest, staring down at her and shaking his head. “Do you think I have the power to force people to change their minds? Should I have demanded to meet an elderly white-haired preacher in the churchyard for a duel?”
“You should have spoken up.”
“And added fuel to his fire? Don’t you see? He wants a fight. If you ignore those who would degrade Queen Mary, you give them nothing with which to support their savage anger.”
“He pointed at me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“You should have listened quietly and pretended to find his words unworthy of response.”
“I can’t do that,” she said flatly.
“Then it is good that we are leaving.”
“Are you such a coward, then?” she asked, still seething as she looked up to meet his eyes.
She saw them narrow with a fury he nevertheless controlled. “I am not young, and I am not reckless. I know the mood of the people. I know that trying to silence a minister at his pulpit will only make him cry the louder, and his cries will then enter into the souls of his congregation, for they will believe his words. Your outburst will be seen only as proof of what he said. There are others inside who would have spoken later, quietly and with thought. They—and I—would have said the queen is proving herself to be a font of kindness, justice and the deepest concern for her people. Our measured words would have echoed far more resoundingly and effectively than your angry retort.”
She looked away. “He called me a witch. How dare he?”
Rowan sighed deeply. “If we can all rise above what is said by those who seek to disrupt the country with their own fanaticism, all will end as it should. The queen will not be swayed from her stance, I am certain. And, yes, there are other Catholics in the country—that is what angers men like the reverend. They fear there will be a revolt, an uprising.” He hesitated. “Pray God, Mary does not continue her quest for a marriage with Don Carlos of Spain.”
Gwenyth stared at him, deeply troubled. She had thought Mary’s contemplation of marriage to the Spanish heir was not known—even by James Stewart. She shook her head. “She has stated that she believes a union with a Protestant in her own country would be best.”
“Let
