The Wild Queen by Carolyn Meyer Read Free Book Online

before I set foot on this godforsaken land!”
    But her misery reached a peak on the second night of the journey when she was forced to share a flea-infested bed with one of the wardrobe mistresses.
    Unlike Sinclair, Lady Fleming seemed serenely content, going about with a pleased little half smile. The Four Maries had been released at last from the convent outside Paris where they had studied French and been instructed in the customs of the French court. Lady Fleming would soon be reunited with her daughter. That, I thought, must be the source of her pleasure.
    Early in the evening of the third day we stopped in a small village just outside the royal forest. The weather had turned damp and cold, and tents were set up for the evening meal. Later, while musicians played for the king and his court, the servants hurried on ahead to begin unpacking, which would take them most of the night. At midmorning the next day—Holy Thursday—the procession arrived at Porte d’Orée, the south gate leading to the château of Fontainebleau.
    I shall never forget my first view of the château—the enormous size of it and the awesome beauty. “Oh, I do wish my
mither
could see this!” I exclaimed, lapsing into the Scots tongue as I still sometimes did when I was thinking of her. I could no longer remember much about the castles and royal palaces of Scotland except for Dumbarton, my last home before leaving my country for my new life. I did realize that compared to this glorious château, Scottish palaces were quite small and, it must be said, rather dreary.
    Lady Fleming nodded agreeably “The queen mother would like this place well enough, I am sure,” my governess acknowledged. “But I fancy she saw it many times before she left France to marry King James. She grew up not far from here. When she first came to Scotland, she often talked of her home at Joinville. You are likely to see it too before many days have passed.”
    I watched her drift away, still in her dreamy state. I had known Lady Fleming all my life, for she was one of my mother’s closest friends. Everyone admired her shapely figure, her thick blond hair, and her eyes the color of Scottish bluebells. She was indeed beautiful, I thought, but not as beautiful as my
mither.
    ***
    Easter fell late in 1549—the twenty-first of April—and from then on the days were nearly always warm and pleasant. At Fontainebleau I again shared a large apartment with my good sister-friend Princesse Élisabeth. It seemed that one could easily become lost in this vast château, but Élisabeth knew it well and delighted in being my guide. Soon the two of us were roaming through the many corridors and grand halls, venturing out into the gardens, and stopping by a pool teeming with carp that clambered greedily over one another for the bread we tossed them. The dauphin had been unwell since his birthday in January, but now he was feeling stronger and sometimes came out to join us.
    The Four Maries had arrived in time for the Easter celebration. Peals of laughter rang out as my friends rushed to embrace me. We were happy to see one another after our long separation, and without thinking we were soon prattling happily in Scots. I saw Élisabeth staring at us. “I cannot understand you when you talk like that, Marie,” she complained, pouting a little.
    I knew I had made a mistake. The Four Maries had barely appeared, and already we had broken an important rule. “I will not forget again,” I told her, apologizing, and changed quickly to French. But it was too late. The next day Madame de Poitiers sent for me.
    â€œMadame Marie,” she began. “You are to speak only French. You do understand that, do you not?”
    â€œOui,
Madame de Poitiers,” I said.
    â€œThen you must promise me you will not speak your former language with the Four Maries.”
    My
former
language? Was it not still my language?
“Je