The Flower Reader by Elizabeth Loupas Read Free Book Online

and
contes-de-fées
she had learned from other books. How I had loved it when she read to me, when she came home from the court with my father. Even though their visits were rare, I memorized the stories and knew when she left out so much as one word.
    No one knew about my secret hiding place, not even Jennet or Tante-Mar. But Alexander was my heart, my husband, my own flesh. I had no secrets from him.
    I put the casket and the key on top of the books, and fitted the stone back into place. Then I hurried to wrap myself in my night-gown, so I would be presentable when Jennet arrived with our supper.

Chapter Four

    F rom that day to this, here is what happened.
    The poor little French king died in December, to the surprise of no one. This left the young queen of Scots a widow at eighteen. The Lords of the Congregation were firmly in the saddle here in Scotland, and no one dreamed that Mary of Guise’s Catholic daughter would do anything but find another Catholic husband with another European crown.
    At Granmuir, we were far from crowns and politics. We brought in the harvest on the mainland and sheared the sheep; I laughed at Alexander, who was happy to spend our estates’ revenues on fine clothing, horses and hawks and dogs, but looked at me with blank horror when I suggested he shear a sheep or two himself. We celebrated our first Christmastide, and around Epiphany I began to suspect I was with child. By the beginning of Lent I was certain. When I told Alexander, we cried together for the joy of it.
    By Easter Day, however, he had grown restless and cross-grained. He was not used to such isolation, he said. He was not born to be a countryman. He rode to Aberdeen twice, on some matters ofbusiness—to do with his estate at Glenlithie, he said. He began to talk of the pleasures and prestige of court life. I reminded him that with the queen in France and the Lords of the Congregation ruling the country, there was no court. We had sharp, childish quarrels and reconciled blissfully in the Mermaid Tower, with the sea roaring around us.
    In June the news broke that the queen of Scots was coming back to Scotland after all. Her marriage negotiations were being thwarted at every turn by Catherine de Médicis; perhaps the queen of Scots thought that in Scotland she would have more freedom to find a new husband. Perhaps she simply wanted to be queen of her own court again. In any case, the Lords of the Congregation turned their Protestant coats and invited her back, Catholic or no, because her pretensions to the English crown gave them a bargaining chip to use with the queen of England.
    At Granmuir I began to make plans to go to Edinburgh to meet her.
    Tante-Mar and Jennet did everything they could to dissuade me. Alexander forbade me, with frightful oaths. The journey down to the capital, he said, would be exhausting, agonizing, and dangerous to me and to the baby. He would not allow me to go. He would lock me in the Mermaid Tower before he allowed it. It puzzled me that he was so determined to remain at Granmuir when all through the spring and summer he’d been pining to get away.
    For the first time, we quarreled a true quarrel. I swore I would go to Edinburgh. I would go if I had no one but my mare Lilidh to accompany me. I am not sure why I was so determined. Yes, I had promised the old queen, but I had already broken my promise to her twice—once when I fled Edinburgh with the casket instead of hiding it under Saint Margaret’s, and once when I showed it to Alexander. Perhaps it was because my poor promise was so broken and tattered that I was determined to fulfill what remained of it.
    I was only sure that I would go, and give Mary Stuart the silver casket. It was as simple as that. Alexander gave in eventually, and we went together.
    It took ten days, because we rode slowly and rested along the way; when we finally arrived in Edinburgh I was exhausted and sore. We settled ourselves at the Earl of Huntly’s town house with