The Queen's Lady. Shannon Drake

and, with James, Rowan and a troop of their trusted men as escort, the royal party entered into the chapel.

      The priest shook throughout the Mass and spoke so quickly that the service was over in what seemed to Gwenyth like mere moments.

      Mary was clearly shaken, but she managed to wave to the people and return to her apartments, and then James dispersed the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard.

      Gwenyth had expected Mary to be deeply disturbed by what had occurred, but the queen was surprisingly resilient. “They’ll understand soon enough,” she told her ladies, as they all sat with her in her chambers, “I will not tolerate violence against Catholics—or those who have chosen any faith, including the Church of Scotland.”

      Though she loved embroidery, which was occupying her other ladies, Mary was also an avid reader. She was able to read in many languages; at the moment, she was reading the work of a Spanish poet. But she looked up suddenly, oblivious of the volume she held. “It’s Knox!” she said vehemently, and stared at Gwenyth. “He is the very personification of fanaticism and violence.”

      There was silence in the room, and for a moment Gwenyth thought that the queen’s eyes seemed almost to condemn her—as if, because she was more familiar with recent events in Scotland, she should somehow have been able to avert the morning’s trouble.

      Gwenyth drew a deep breath. She knew that Mary couldn’t intend violence or even punishment against John Knox, for if she were to take such a position, not only would she be contradicting her own stance against religious persecution, she would be inviting her people to rebel. Gwenyth shook her head, a rueful smile curving her lips. Mary didn’t want violence; she sought an understanding of the man. Gwenyth suddenly realized that the queen meant to debate him.

      “My queen…John Knox is well-traveled and well-read. Despite that, he is of the opinion that women are inferior to men.”

      “Though they do need us, do they not?” Mary Livingstone said, a sweet grin upon her face as she looked around at the other Marys—Fleming, Seton and Beaton—and at Gwenyth.

      Gwenyth offered a swift smile in return but looked back to the queen and spoke in all seriousness. “Most men here believe women to be inferior, but they are willing to accept a queen as…a necessary evil, if you will. They also believe that an ill-suited ruler is best off removed. Or…dead. Knox is an excellent speaker, filled with fire, and though the new church took hold with the masses first, Knox swayed the nobles to accept it, and it was certainly his influence that caused the legal formation of the Church of Scotland just a year ago. He is an intelligent man, but a zealot. You must…you must beware of him.”

      “I must meet him,” Mary said.

      Gwenyth thought she should protest, but what could she say? If Mary was determined, she was the queen.

      But Mary had never seen Knox speak. And Gwenyth had.

      ROWAN ACCOMPANIED LAIRD James Stewart on the appointed day when John Knox was to have his audience with the queen. He was not surprised, when they greeted Knox and brought him into the reception hall to meet the queen, to find that she was with only one attendant, Lady Gwenyth MacLeod of Islington Island. Gwenyth, he gathered, had heard Knox speak at some time during her young life. And of all the queen’s intimate circle, though her many ladies might be Scottish by birth, Gwenyth was the only one who knew at first hand about the recent mood of the country.

      Rowan was afraid that this day would bring fireworks, because Knox was a very dangerous man. All fanatics were.

      John Knox was in his late forties, and had a fevered and intense gaze. The minister of the great parish church in Edinburgh held tremendous sway among the people. He was, however, courteous enough, behaving with decorum and civility upon meeting the queen, who was cordial in return, indicating that they might speak privately, while her brother James, Rowan and Gwenyth took up chairs some distance away, closer to the fire, in attendance but not close enough to interfere with a private conversation.

      “Foul weather, eh, lass?” Laird James said kindly to Gwenyth as they took their appointed positions.

      “It does seem as if fall has come with a vengeance, my lord,” Gwenyth replied.

      James smiled, but Rowan didn’t venture a word, only watched her intently. In truth, they were all attempting to listen to the queen’s conversation, despite their pretense of holding private conversation of their own.

      Things seemed to begin well. Knox was courteous, if brusque, and Mary firmly stated that she had no intention of disturbing the Church of Scotland. Then Knox began offering his views. And they were blunt.

      While Mary felt it was possible to allow people to choose their mode of worship, Knox vehemently believed there was but one true way. There was a constant danger, he insisted, that, as she was a Catholic monarch, Catholics would rise up in revolt and foreign princes and armies would attempt to stamp their own Catholic religion back on the surface of Scotland.

      “One Mass,” Knox informed her in righteous tones, “is far more frightening to me than ten-thousand armed enemies, madam.”

      Mary again tried to show reason. “I offer no threat to what is established. Do you not see that I was taught by great scholars, that I know the Bible, that I know my God?”

      “You have been misled by misguided scholars.”

      “But many men, great in learning, do not see the word of God as you do,” Mary protested.

      And they began again to go around.

      “It is right for men to rise up against a monarch who does not see the light of God,” he said.

      “That most certainly is not right. I am God’s choice as your queen,” Mary snapped in turn.

      “It is not fitting that so frail a creature as a woman should sit upon a throne. It is a hazard of circumstance, and a true hazard indeed,” Knox replied.

      “My dear man, I am hardly frail. I tower over you,” Mary retorted.

      Their voices dropped again.

      Rowan was startled to see that Gwenyth was smiling. He arched a brow to her in question.

      “She is enjoying this,” she said.

      Even James appeared proud of his sister. “She is deeply intelligent and has the weapon of words at her disposal.”

      Rowan nodded, aware that Gwenyth was staring at him. “Aye, the queen holds her own. But Knox will not stop, and he will not bend.”

      Even as he spoke, they could hear Mary’s voice rising again.

      Gwenyth started to stand, alarmed. Rowan shook his head imperceptibly. To his amazement, she appeared uncertain and sat again.

      Knox went on to tell Mary that, despite his misgivings, he would accept her, just as the apostle Paul had lived under Nero’s rule. He lamented her lack of learning, for surely that was what kept her so stubborn. She assured him that she had read a great deal.

      In the end, it was an impasse.

      But when they all rose, Rowan was certain that Mary had discovered much about Knox—and that Knox had learned a new respect for the so-called lesser being who was his queen.

      When Knox was gone, Mary spun to face them. “What a horrid little man.”

      “Your Grace, I tried to tell you—” Gwenyth began.

      “I actually did enjoy sparring with him,” Mary said. “Though he is stubborn as an ox, and misled. But, James,” she said, addressing her brother, “doesn’t he see I mean him no harm? I intend to rule with respect for my people, and I will honor the Church of Scotland.”

      James sighed, at a loss. Rowan stepped in. “Your Grace, men such as Knox are fanatics. There is but one way to salvation in his eyes, and you do not follow his way.”

      “Nor will I.”

      Rowan