pointing. “Let us return to Holyrood, then depart for the Highlands.”
He caught her hand and led her to her mare, Chloe—who had indeed headed back to the stables after the ill-fated hunt. She might have chosen another mount after what had happened, but Gwenyth was resolute that she and Chloe would become a team. She could hardly blame the horse for its fear; the boar had certainly given her cause for terror, as well.
She didn’t need assistance to reach the saddle, but as he was determined to give it, she decided not to opt for another argument.
“You did not defend me or the queen,” she accused him again, as he mounted and rode up beside her.
“I defended you both,” he told her curtly. “I am responsible for you.”
“You do not have to be responsible for me. I am quite capable of being responsible for myself.”
She was surprised when he offered her an amused smile. “Really? In that case, I think perhaps you are a witch.”
“Don’t say that!”
He laughed. “It was intended as a compliment—of sorts. You have the ability to sway and enchant—and certainly to create a whirlwind.”
He kneed his horse, moving ahead of her. She seethed, wishing she could drag the reverend out by his hair and tell him that he was small-minded and evil. She was equally angry at Rowan, and dismayed that she must now be in his company for days. Weeks.
Months.
“I think I should speak with Queen Mary once more before we depart,” she said as they reached Holyrood.
“Oh?”
“We shall surely kill one another in the time that stretches before us. I must ask her again to release me from your company.”
“Do your best,” he told her. “It certainly slows me down to have you in tow.”
It was true, and she knew it. It didn’t matter. Something about the offhand way he spoke made her long to rip his hair out.
“You could speak to her, too,” she reminded him.
“I tried.”
“You didn’t try hard enough.”
“Lady Gwenyth, I have been on this earth several years longer than you. I know how to go to battle, with a sword—and with words. I have learned when it is best to retreat, so that battle may be waged again. I’ve studied the history of this country that I love so dearly. I am not reckless, and I know when to fight. I have lost my argument with the queen. You are free to take up arms again. I, however, wish to be gone within the hour,” he told her.
Gwenyth tried. She found Mary in the small receiving chamber, where James was reporting to her about the sermon Knox had given that day. The man hadn’t accepted her or her ideals, but he had admitted from his pulpit that she was keenly intelligent and clever—misguided, and therefore still a thorn in the country’s side, but a ruler they must ever try to sway to the True Belief.
Mary seemed amused. And her smile deepened when she saw Gwenyth. “Ah, my fierce little hummingbird,” she said laughing. “Ready to battle the entire Church of Scotland in my defense.”
Gwenyth stopped in the doorway, frowning. How had word gotten back so quickly?
Mary rose, setting her embroidery aside, and walked forward to hug Gwenyth. “I will miss you so dearly,” she said, drawing away but still holding Gwenyth’s hands.
“I needn’t go,” Gwenyth said.
“Yes, you must,” Mary said. She flashed a glance at James. “Perhaps it is particularly important that you leave now.”
“I but defended Your Grace,” Gwenyth said.
“You are ever loyal, and I am grateful. I, too, am furious with the zealots who are so blind that they cannot see beyond their own narrow interests. But were I to forcibly silence them, I might well create an uprising, so I will just let them speak and hope to create a climate in which they are forced to silence themselves. Now, are you ready for your journey? Are you anxious to see your home?”
No, Gwenyth thought, she was not. She had neither father nor mother left to her, only a strict, dour uncle to whom duty meant everything in the world. Her home was a crude rock fortress virtually surrounded by the sea. The people there fished, eeled and tended a few rugged sheep for their livelihood, or eked out a living from the harsh, rocky earth. Usually they were happy. They had families, loved ones. In her uncle’s eyes, however, she deserved no such frivolity; she had duty to occupy her. Angus MacLeod was surely loved by the fierce John Knox.
“I am anxious about you, Your Grace,” she said.
Mary’s smile deepened. “I am blessed, truly. You must go.”
Gwenyth admitted to herself that she was not going to win the argument. Rowan had known it. Now she was going to have to hurry to be ready by his deadline. And she would not allow herself to be late, to give him any opportunity to wear that look of irritated, forced patience because of her.
“Then…adieu.”
“You’ll return quickly,” Mary assured her. “It seems long, but it will not really be so.”
Gwenyth nodded. They hugged, and then she was startled when Laird James came over to say a warm farewell to her. He was not a man prone to easy displays of affection, she knew, and she was pleased when he awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Go with God, Lady Gwenyth. You will be missed.”
She smiled and thanked him. Then she fled the chamber before the tears she felt welling up in her eyes could spill. This was life, she told herself brusquely. When Mary had been but a child, she had been sent overseas, without her mother, to meet the man she would wed whether she liked him or not. Women were sent from place to place constantly to honor marriage contracts—and often, it was as if they had been sold to horrid beasts.
Her heart froze for a moment. Customarily, despite the fact that her father’s title was hers, her great-uncle Angus had the power to decide her future. She could only thank God that because of her position at court, Mary had to approve any plan for her life.
Mary would never force anything heinous upon her. Would she?
No. Even now, Mary had but sent her on a journey to feel out the chance for a friendship with her cousin, the powerful English queen. She had never forced her will on any of her ladies.
Except now. Then Gwenyth chided herself for the uncharitable, even traitorous, thought.
In her room, the little private chamber she so loved, she found a middle-aged, slightly stout woman awaiting her. She had cherubic cheeks, a warm smile and an ample bosom. “My lady, I’m Annie, Annie MacLeod, actually, though any relationship is certainly quite distant.” She grinned, a rosy and cheerful expression, and said, “I am to accompany you and serve you, if you will grant me the honor.”
Gwenyth smiled. At last, here was someone who seemed to be nothing but cheerful and nice—and glad to be with her.
“I am delighted to have you, Annie.”
“I’ve
