The Captive Queen: A Novel of Mary Stuart

The

Captive

Queen

A Novel of Mary Stuart

DANNY SAUNDERS

Copyright © 2014 by Danny Saunders

ISBN 13: 978-1497462434

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Images: 123rf.com

A tribute to my Scottish ancestors.

Alas what am I? What use has my life?

I am but a body whose heart’s torn away,

A vain shadow, an object of misery

Who has nothing left but death-in-life.

O my enemies, set your envy all aside;

I’ve no more eagerness for high domain;

I’ve borne too long the burden of my pain

To see your anger swiftly satisfied.

And you, my friends who have loved me so true,

Remember, lacking health and heart and peace,

There is nothing worthwhile that I can do;

Ask only that my misery should cease

And that, being punished in a world like this,

I have my portion in eternal bliss.

Mary Stuart

(while held captive at Fotheringhay Castle)

CONTENTS

Foreword

PART I

The First Confrontations

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

PART II

Despite All Opposition

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

Actual Chronology

Acknowledgements

FOREWORD

When I was a child, my maternal grandmother often talked to me about the predominant place my ancestors had in the history of Scotland and, later on, Great Britain. Once I became an adult, I wanted to pay tribute to these men and women who have, since then, captured my imagination.

The tragic life of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, was one of the most important periods in the history of these people. Since that time, no other woman has left such an indelible mark in the past of this country.

Six days after her birth, Mary loses her father and becomes queen. She will rule Scotland from 1542 to 1567. Very early on, her reign will be disrupted by her tempestuous relationships with the men of her entourage along with the repeated conspiracies from the Protestants of John Knox. Held captive in England for nineteen years by her cousin Queen Elizabeth I, she will be beheaded at Fotheringhay Castle on February 8, 1587.

The Captive Queen: A Novel of Mary Stuart is a historical fiction with a touch of romance. Although it recounts true facts, this book is by no means a biography. One of the main characters, the charming Charlotte Gray, is the sole fruit of my imagination, and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.

Throughout this captivating story, you will be immersed in the plots that were hatching at the Scottish Royal Court, experience the religious confrontations with the Presbyterian Church along with Mary Stuart’s imprisonment and decapitation. After a tumultuous past and a series of misfortunes, Charlotte Gray will attempt to take control of her existence by all means necessary.

But will love and friendship finally prevail in this universe of betrayal and chaos? This is what you are about to find out in the following pages…

PART I

The First Confrontations

CHAPTER I

The Catholic Queen

Palace of Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh

1561

THE QUEEN of Scotland hastily entered her private quarters, lavishly decorated with Italian tapestries and French paintings. She immediately ordered the servant, who was standing by the imposing solid oak armoire located at the back of the room, to ask for the presence of her lady-in-waiting at once.

Mary Stuart was quite fond of this antique piece of furniture that had belonged to King Robert II, the first Stuart to ascend to the throne of Scotland, two centuries earlier. For the sovereign, this closet embodied the royal heritage that she had sworn to preserve with dignity and judgement, the same way her predecessor had.

In a swift manner, the young red-haired grabbed the bottom of her yellowish petticoat with her white hands. She then exited the anteroom by a concealed door, dissimulated in the huge floral fresco painted on the wall, which led to a secret passage. She rushed through the palace’s many dark and narrow corridors nervously, in search of the missing young lady.

Elizabeth McLeod was serving the sovereign since her return to Scottish soil in 1561.

Her mother worked in the kitchens until her last breath, and had devoted her life to indulging the whims of the Earl and Countess of Argyll, one of the wealthiest families in the kingdom. Her father, an alcoholic sailor, was rarely home and had the unfortunate habit of beating his wife for little nothings when he was there. This is why Elizabeth, very early on, had taken on her small shoulders the burden of caring for her four sisters and two brothers, like a mother.

When she was barely twenty years old, the young woman received an offer to work at the Palace of Holyroodhouse, following the atrocious death of her husband, who had died two years earlier during a religious uprising in Glasgow. This proposal was a relief, as the death of the man she cherished more than anything was unbearable and left her bitter for a long time. After several months of negotiations with the Earl of Argyll, Elizabeth’s mother obtained the man’s promise to speak with some members of the Royal House. And this is how he was able to offer her, without much difficulty, a decent position at the palace.

After a thorough look at almost every corner of the gigantic main wing, Elizabeth considered continuing her search outside the residence. Miss is certainly taking a walk in the gardens on such a beautiful day, thought the servant, convinced that she would find the sovereign’s lady-in-waiting there.

So she walked towards the big kitchens of the main floor, hurried in and left the last room, filled with a beam of sunshine, by the service door. Once outside, she could single out the exquisite aroma of the bread, baking in the big stone oven. With hasty steps, Elizabeth arrived at the splendid royal gardens that surrounded the building and from which a sweet fragrance of summer flowers was emanating.

Going around the several luxuriant groves, she finally caught sight of Charlotte, who was sitting on the freshly mown lawn, by the superb red roses that reminded her of her tender years in England, which she spent with her family.

She was so radiant in her scarlet dress with wide bishop sleeves and a white taffeta shirt finely buttoned around her frail neck. Her brown hair were plaited back just like her favourite aunt had taught her, the youngest of her mother’s sisters. That day, she was wearing a modest but elegant gold chain and a matching ring. We could have easily mistaken her for a princess.

Charlotte very well knew that clothing was a meaningful symbol and that it indicated someone’s rank in society; this is why she always dressed accordingly. And it would be so as long as the queen remained the most majestic at all times. No one could compete with her. For that matter, a lady-in-waiting was immediately reprimanded if she wore too sumptuous a dress.

The queen’s favourite loved finding herself among the thousands of red, blue and pink petals. The gardens of the Royal Palace were the only place where tranquility was to be expected. When her role as lady-in-waiting made moments unbearable, the Englishwoman found refuge there to regain some sense of serenity.

Miss Charlotte! Madam is looking for you! cried the servant with a trembling voice as she was heading towards her.

Charlotte Gray was a pretty young woman with big green eyes of an emerald-like shade and long curly sandy brown hair. Her skin was as soft as silk and almost as white as milk, and her delicate stature had always made her sisters envious. No man could remain insensitive to the beauty and refinement of this perfect body.

Brought up as a catholic by her caring mother on her father’s farm in England, she settled down on the enemy kingdom, Scotland, after a first marriage which ended abruptly.

Her parents were good Christians and taught theirs daughters early on that self-accomplishment was achieved through the daily hardships that God put on their path and relentless work. They reminded them often that they should never be keen on power or jealous of the situation of others, two deadly sins that were unforgivable for God’s children.

In spite of having a little bit too dreamy a soul on occasions, Charlotte had a personality of her own and never let herself be stepped on. One moment, she could be the most docile and the next fly into a furious rage. Her sisters quickly learned that they shouldn’t annoy her unnecessarily. Nevertheless, she knew how to play the game in front of her parents who never understood the extent of the exasperation their other children felt.

The lady-in-waiting stood up promptly when she heard her name. She gently laid the small bouquet of perfumed red roses she was holding in her hands on the verdant ground and walked towards the castle, followed by Elizabeth. Charlotte very well knew that the servant’s nervousness meant that the queen was in a foul mood. The two young women quickened their step.

They entered the imposing residence through the same door the servant used a few minutes earlier. They rushed through the kitchens and parted ways at the bottom of the narrow staircase that led directly to the queen’s vast quarters, on the second floor. The young red-haired turned back to help the old Jane, the official cook of the Royal House since the reign of late King James V ended; she was busy preparing the first meal of this long day, which was going to be arduous. Meanwhile, Charlotte was climbing up the stairs anxiously to join the sovereign, who had been waiting for her impatiently for quite some time.

Here you are my dear, finally! she sighed with exasperation.

Please forgive my negligence Madam, mumbled the lady-in-waiting nervously, looking at the floor.

Since she did not want to rouse the queen’s anger any further, Charlotte came closer with hesitant steps and ventured to ask the reason for her presence. Mary Stuart, looking at her favourite jewels in a richly decorated casket, stood up gracefully and asked the young girl to accompany her to the drawing room. An emissary from the head of the Presbyterian Church had been waiting in this room for several long minutes.

The queen asked to be completely dressed in black to show her total disapproval and her deepest indignation to meet with this Protestant ambassador. And, in a fit of tremendous rage, she had decided at the last minute to cover herself with as many crosses and rosaries as the fabric of her dress could hold; it was her way of declaring, to all of those who were on her way, her devotion to the Church of Rome, and that in the most eccentric fashion possible.

With a gracious gesture, the sovereign closed the jewelry box she was holding in her hands and laid it on the white marble table beside which she was standing. She grabbed her small silver amber apple, which contained musky oil, brought it towards her nostrils and started heading downstairs to the main floor to grand this adversary an audience.

The Queen of Scotland hated John Knox. The founder of the Reformation in 1545 and Puritan was by far her greatest enemy because of his bad influence on her people. Adhering to her Catholic beliefs and being a loyal servant of the Vatican, she had to control the agitation of this preacher and extremist. I shall defend the Church of Rome as long as I have a breath of life in me, for I believe it is the true Church of God, enjoyed telling herself the fervent sovereign.

What if facing the enemy was the key to keeping unity among the kingdom? She would then play the game for the good of her subjects and the Scottish Crown, passed on by her father.

With the conviction that the religious leader would one day be under her control, the sovereign smiled at the thought of negotiating with the representative that was sent to her. I, Queen of Scotland, sit down with an enemy! Never would my father have tolerated such a humiliation, she thought, grinding her teeth.

Charlotte followed her mistress two steps behind, as was required by the Royal Court protocol. A steep staircase made of wore out stone had to be climbed and a long, poorly lighted corridor had to be crossed before setting foot in the room where the man was told to wait. The Englishwoman admired an instant the beauty of this gracious woman.

She noticed that Mary was wearing in her chestnut brown hair the small gold pin that her late French husband had given her. She had only seen the sovereign wear this precious jewel in difficult times, and immediately understood how preoccupied she was about this unexpected meeting. I must try and reassure Madam the best I can, she said to herself, convinced that she was seemingly about to perform a divine task.

When the lady of the house finally arrived in front of the drawing room, followed by her favourite, two carefully dressed valets opened the huge bronze doors to let them in. These men were almost as imposing as the great stone statues that solemnly surrounded the castle. A nosy crank would quickly understand that there was no point in speaking with them if he crossed their path.

The queen moved until the middle of the room with grace and majesty to welcome the old man. He pushed heavily on his cane and stood up with difficulty. His tired body took some time to find balance. He was short and a malformation of the spine kept his back bent. Mary held out her right hand and waited for him to kiss her ring in a sign of respect and submission to the royal authority.

The man, who was soberly dressed in a burgundy cassock, bowed as well as he could and timidly brought his lips to the jewel inlaid with rubies that the powerful woman was wearing proudly. The fear that the sovereign felt in the Protestant emissary gave her great pleasure. Someone just prostrated himself in front of a Catholic, she thought to herself with a smile.

Dazzled by her delicate white skin and fine curly hair, the old man tried not to stare at her for too long for fear of annoying her. He had been assured that the Queen of Scotland was an ugly woman, stout, and lacking any feminine charm. Nevertheless, an elegant and self-confident lady was standing in front of him. As soon as their eyes met, the Protestant noticed that the petrifying black pupils of the sovereign were looking at him with disdain.

This creature was certainly put on my path to test my commitment to my convictions. The Devil himself probably sent her to charm me… but nothing will make me stray from the right path. I am a fervent believer of the Protestant faith… the one and only that will lead us directly to God!

And, embarrassed by this burst of emotions that he had repressed for so many years, he bowed his head again.

My dear, did you lose the ability to speak? said she drily.

I am the humblest subject of Your Majesty. And I will cherish the honour that you bestowed upon me by welcoming a poor old man such as myself for the rest of my miserable existence.

Enough! Let’s get to the point, shall we, interrupted the queen, holding the pearl rosary that was hanging around her waist.

Very well, Madam. My master, John Knox, sends me to inform you that he is requesting an audience with Your Majesty. He wishes to convince you to give up the Catholic faith… for the good of your people, he stammered.

"But he is completely crazy! He is asking me, daughter of King James V, to renounce my allegiance to the Holy Father and the Holy Bible? Never!" she thundered, raising her right fist towards the old man.

Shattered by the words of the emissary, the queen flew into an uncontrollable rage. Spinning round, Mary Stuart insulted the Presbyterian preacher. When Charlotte noticed the bad mood of her mistress, she moved briskly towards the discomfited man and asked him to leave immediately.

She took him by the arm and brought him out of the room before he even had time to object. Closing the heavy doors behind her, she promptly returned to her mistress and tried to calm her down.

Madam, you should lie down a few minutes. You look quite pale, insisted the favourite.

The queen yielded to her confidante’s good advice and lay on the padded sofa to rest. Shaken by her emotions, she stayed motionless among the paintings of her ancestors, staring at a series of generously decorated tapestries hung on both sides of the huge sculpted fireplace. So many historical events had taken place in this room, under the stern glances of these crowned heads.

This very instant, Charlotte understood that the kingdom of Scotland was irreversibility entering a critical period that was about to change the course of History. But she was convinced that the sovereign was not going to back down in spite of the threats from this group of Protestants. With the support of the Vatican, but also – and mostly – the support of the powerful French Crown, loyal to the Holy Father, the queen could allow herself to be stubborn.

The lady-in-waiting, looking at Mary Stuart dozing, could not help shedding a few tears as she thought of the extraordinary determination, the great strength and courage this woman constantly had to show in this men’s world. She found her own worries very insignificant compared to the heavy responsibilities imposed upon the queen because of her title and royal blood.

To make sure that her mistress would not be disturbed by outdoor distractions, Charlotte shut all the thick curtains of the drawing room and ordered the valets not to let anyone in under any circumstances. Satisfied with the peace and quiet of the room, she sat in an armchair that matched the one where the sovereign was resting, not far from her.

She waited patiently for her mistress to awake while crocheting – an activity that she particularly enjoyed because it relaxed her and which her sweet mother had taught her during her youth in England.

The young Charlotte loved looking at her mother crocheting during the warm and sunny days of summer. Her agile hands and unique beauty – never rivalled by any other woman in the region – gave the little girl that she was then the illusion that her mother was an angel sent from heaven to bring love and grace to her life.

Each time that she took the small pointed metal needle, she saw the tender face of her mother lighten up before her eyes. Unfortunately, this woman she cherished left this earth too soon.

The death of the young Englishwoman’s mother had cast a chill over God, and all the religious feuds that tore the people apart did not concern her. Nonetheless, fearing for her life, she had always kept secret this hatred that was eating away at her inside.

An hour later, the queen finally opened her eyes. Meanwhile, Charlotte had been attending to the tasks that her rank at the Royal Court required of her. In spite of her busy schedule, she checked on her mistress several times to make sure that she did not need help with anything.

Excuse me, Madam, but your meal is ready, said the lady-in-waiting politely. Must I ask that it be brought to you in the drawing room right away?

Charlotte, my dear, I think that I would rather take it in the gardens, expressed the queen with a smile, as if nothing had happened earlier.

The young woman bowed in agreement and returned to the kitchen to give her instructions to the servants.

Jane! said the Confidante. Her Majesty will take her meal outdoors…

Very well, Miss Charlotte, answered the plump cook, flipping around her wooden spoon.

Elizabeth will follow us in the royal gardens with the food tray, concluded the favourite.

The queen was still lying on the sofa when Charlotte came back to the drawing room. She helped her mistress stand up. The sovereign straightened up, well rested, and carefully replaced her imposing dress trimmed with pearls and precious stones, which gave her a presence that no other Scottish woman could compete with.

Content with her image, Mary Stuart, followed by her lady-in-waiting, crossed a series of long arched corridors to reach the doors that led to the private gardens of the Palace of Holyroodhouse.

Legend has it that King David I of Scotland was hunting in the woods that formerly covered all the estate when he was attacked by a deer. It was said that a silver cloud appeared in the sky and