Legacy by Susan Kay

Author:Susan Kay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2010-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

In August, the French galley bearing Mary Stuart eluded the English warships in the Channel in a thick fog and arrived at Leith. There was no official welcome, her bastard brother James having been under the impression that she would be making an unplanned detour through England first. The dour Protestant preacher John Knox screamed at his cowering congregation that the haar which shrouded her entry was the devil’s work, an ill omen; but the Queen’s party were inclined to thank God for its shelter, having lost to the English ships, which had plainly been lying in wait for them, only the vessel carrying the royal stable.

James arrived at last with his Scottish courtiers, sombrely dressed and most apologetic, trying hard not to betray his surprise that she had arrived at all. Mary entered her capital city on a clumsy, battered, old nag and her heart sank as she rode through the winding streets to the bleak and uninviting edifice that was Holyrood Palace. A clumsy celebration followed, reminding her of the forced gaiety of a funeral feast, and she recoiled from the hulking, grubby figures of the Scottish lords, pounding their tankards on the bare tables, scratching, belching, and spitting in the dirty rushes. They were little better than savage chieftains, thought Mary. She was privately appalled to find herself Queen of such barbarians and was bitterly aware of the cynical glances among her lofty French attendants.

A huge fire roared in the stone hearth but it made no more impression on the Great Hall than the flame of a candle. Mary shivered. The long, elegant feet inside her satin slippers were like ice and the damp hung so heavily on the air that she fancied it to be solid. She could not believe this was really happening to her; it was a distorted nightmare from which she would surely awake.

The night dragged to an end with members of the Scottish kirk droning tuneless Protestant dirges beneath her window. She was glad to retire to the tiny stone-walled bedroom, where her women stood on the hems of one another’s sweeping trains as they attended her.

“It won’t be for long,” she said cheerfully, and they tried to smile; they had already seen their own sleeping-quarters.

It wouldn’t be for long, for Mary had no intention of staying; Scotland was an uncomfortable resting place, not a destination. Lying back on the hard bolster pillow she became aware of the spider busily spinning a large web between the far post and the tester—she too could spin as fast and furious on a web of intrigue.

Spain was her best hope. The Spanish heir was misshapen and mad, but such things scarcely mattered when set against the advantages of a Spanish match. A Catholic army at her back would certainly force Elizabeth to acknowledge her as her successor. Invasion might not be necessary after all. There were encouraging rumours that suggested Elizabeth’s health was failing and doubt had been cast on her ability to bear children.

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