walls, carpets covered in roses and great hangings of exquisite embroidery swam before her eyes in a kaleidoscope of colour and movement and steadied into being only a frame for the person who stood waiting at the far end of the salon.
Sheena saw Mary Stuart.
She had expected a child. She saw instead a young woman who appeared far older than herself.
Her hair was that strange liquid gold that the poets had written about since the beginning of time. It was not unlike Sheena’s own hair and yet there the resemblance between them ended.
Mary Stuart was taller than Sheena and her full oval face had a beauty that was almost classical in its conception. There was no flaw to be found in it and, perhaps because it was so cool, so flawless, so smooth and clear-cut, the face was a little lacking in expression.
And yet Mary Stuart’s beauty lay in her skin, in her hands, long, slim and pale as snow, and in the way she held herself. There was nothing that was not beautiful about her and yet somehow Sheena felt a little stab at her heart as if she had expected far too much and found something lacking.
Her feet carried her forward without her being conscious that she had moved. Then, as she reached the Queen of Scotland and sank down before her in a deep curtsey that was not only a greeting but a reverence, the Queen spoke,
“So you are Sheena McCraggan! I thought I should remember you but I don’t.”
She sounded disappointed and Sheena said hastily,
“It is many, many years ago, Your Majesty. You were little more than a babe.”
“I thought you had dark hair,” Mary Stuart said a little petulantly. “So I must have been thinking of someone else.”
Sheena then rose from her curtsey. Never had she expected her first conversation with the Queen of Scotland to be like this. She had planned so often the things she would say, the greetings she would bring her and now she could only stand tongue-tied, something cold and unhappy crushing at her heart.
“I wonder who it was I found myself thinking about?” Mary Stuart persisted, looking not at Sheena but turning her head a little to address someone who was standing in the further corner of the room and who now came forward.
Sheena glanced upwards and felt herself stiffen. It was the man to whom she had spoken in the inn, the man who had insulted Scotland by his cynical and rude remarks, the man she had hated all the way from the coast to Paris and thought that she would never see again.
She had forced herself, when he had gone, not to ask any of her escort who he was and not to speak of him. Now she regretted that she had had no idea of his identity. If he was in attendance on Mary Stuart, he was an enemy and she must beware of him.
“You have not welcomed Mistress McCraggan to France,” the Duchesse said quietly to Mary Stuart, and to Sheena’s surprise the young Queen flushed slightly at the rebuke.
“Forgive me, madame,” she said to the Duchesse and, turning to Sheena, held out her hand. “I do welcome you, I do truly,” she said. “It must have been a long and tiring journey and it was very gracious of you to come to me.”
Sheena felt the young Queen’s hands touch hers and in that moment she knew the full and fatal fascination of the Stuarts, which could so cleverly and so skilfully charm all with whom they came into contact and make them in an instant their abject and adoring slaves.
She found herself holding on to the Queen’s hand and stammering the few words she had intended to speak and which had been in her mind when she first left Scotland.
“I have – come, ma’am, to – to bring you the greetings, the love and – the devotion of all those who look on you as their – rightful Queen and to tell you that they are holding your Kingdom for you if it means that – that every man in Scotland must die to do so.”
She spoke passionately, forgetting for a moment everything around her and seeing only the bare heads of the Clansmen, the wind and rain in their faces, as her ship drew away from the quay.
“Thank you! Thank you!” Mary Stuart said. “Tell them that my heart is with them.”
It was beautifully said and, as Sheena felt the tears gathering in her eyes, the voice of the man she so disliked intruded upon them.
“Well done,” she heard him say and it seemed to Sheena that he broke the poignant spell between herself and Mary Stuart.
“I have not introduced you,” the Duchesse said. “Mistress McCraggan, this is the Duc de Salvoire. Your Queen will tell you that there is no one in the whole of France who is cleverer at assessing the worth and performance of any horse. In fact none of us buy our horseflesh without his advice. Is that not so?”
The Duc bowed as Sheena dropped him a curtsey.
“You flatter me, madame,” he said to the Duchesse. “And yet somehow I don’t think our visitor is interested in horses. Surely in Scotland they have eagles to carry them from place to place?”
He was mocking her and Sheena attempted to annihilate him with a glance and failed.
Mary Stuart laughed.
“How ridiculous you are, Your Grace” she exclaimed. “You make a joke of everything. But what a glorious idea. If we could be carried about by eagles, think how swiftly we could travel. Even swifter than your chestnuts can convey us. And that is saying a great deal.”
“Do not speak of his chestnuts,” the Duchesse appealed. “The King is wild with envy and you know that he longs to buy them. Can I not plead with you once again to sell them to him?”
The Duc shook his head.
“What money could compensate me for the loss of such perfect animals?” he enquired. “They should not be the objects of sale and barter. But, madame, may I not present them to you as a tribute to your beauty and because, above all things, I enjoy your mind?”
“No, no, it is just impossible,” the Duchesse said and then added with a sudden smile, “I really believe you mean it. I warn you, if you make the offer again I shall accept if only to make the King happy.”
The Duc made a little gesture with his hands.
“They are yours,” he declared.
Sheena looked at them both with contempt.
So he was toadying now to the King’s mistress, this man she hated and despised, this man who she felt should have no contact with the child Queen who she had come to protect and help.
Eagles indeed! He had laughed at her and made her feel a fool. Now he was making an extravagant gesture that would ingratiate him with the King who would be, whether he liked it or not, in his debt.
“Are you not lucky?” Mary Stuart was saying enviously. “Oh, madame, I wish the Duc had given the horses to me.”
“You shall share them with me,” the Duchesse said generously. “When you want to use them on any special occasion, come and ask me. I will see that they are put at your disposal.”
“Oh, thank you,” Mary Stuart said excitedly.
