James Stewart

Holyrood Palace, December 24th 1566

"Happy Christmastide, Your Graces," greeted James Stewart to his royal half-sister and her husband. He and his wife Agnes bowed and curtseyed as their gifts to the young queen and her king consort were presented. When James and Agnes had entered the chamber, he observed Robert Dudley gazing dotingly at the small child sat upon a cushion of purple velvet. His half-sister looked in high spirits and with a hand on her belly. Agnes had informed him that the Queen was with child again though no formal announcement been made yet.

The young queen wore a gown of white satin adorned with gold trimmings and pearls. Decked from her head to her pale hands in glittering jewels. Her long strands of fine pearls around her white swan like neck. Her brother's eyes glanced over the fine piece of large diamonds and rubies, a gift by King Henri II of France. His attention fell to their Tudor grandmother's large diamond, the Great Harry, the star jewel of Mary's crown. James Stewart recalled the weight of his younger sister's crown being far too much for her when she was a girl of sixteen.

It still is.

James bowed deeply thrice as he offered again his good tidings to Prince James and wishes for the prosperity of Mary's rule. He waved to his manservant to come forward with his gift for his young nephew. He had the goldsmith engrave symbolic references to his close kinship to Mary and the little prince. James watched his half-sister's response to his Christmastide gift to Prince James. His mouth twitched with pleasure as Mary, as he expected, seemed very pleased by his Christmastide gift for her precious son. The Earl of Leicester- the Prince- nodded with a smile and thanked him warm heartedly.

"How does your little Lady Elizabeth fare?" Robert asked pleasantly. Robert had stood as one of the godfathers of James and Agnes' first child, a daughter named Elizabeth also born months before Prince James in 1565. James thought fondly of his daughter.

"Our lady Elizabeth is a healthy babe and a credit to my husband and I, Your Grace," answered Agnes proudly. James smiled at his wife and also expressed the sentiments in a similar vein. Her triumphant maternal joy was expressed in her exceedingly generous Christmastide gifts to James' daughter this Yuletide and the last.

"I hope you shall accept an invitation to sup with His Grace and I," smiled Mary. Agnes replied that they would be honoured to. As he bowed on his way out he eyed the throne, which his younger half-sister sat upon so easily and assured. It still rankled him that his illegitimate birth prevented him from sitting in Mary's place. After all, he was more a Stewart and a Scotsman than this half French and French raised girl. That all his work for his country would be credited to a woman.

William Maitland

Lethington Castle, February 13th 1567

Maitland addressed the group of men gathered around the long table,

"I have received word from my contact in London and our friends there has no disapproval for what we want done."

"But do we have support from Prince Robert?"

Maitland smoothed his brown moustache and replied carefully but with conviction,

"We have support from the Prince to protect the true religion here." That wasn't a lie.

"His Grace mislikes the Queen's reliance on Riccio. As well as Her Grace's letters to Rome," a quiet steady voice added with brotherly disapproval. And ire, if Maitland was not mistaken. "Mass shall not return to Scotland." Scotland would not have their own Marian rule lead to the persecution of Protestants. Cecil had warned him of this. It seemed the wisdom of Queen Mary had dissipated or he had been taken in by her words.

Maitland glanced up at the ceiling hoping his young wife was deep in slumber. Last thing he needed was interference from his wife in their plans. That and the inevitable discord between them if she ever learned of his part in this murder. William scratched the back of his head as he looked around at the faces and shadows of his fellow conspirators.

A rougher voice joined the chorus with a spat, "I shall be glad to never have to seek a favour from that foreign papist sodomite." There was resentful nods all around.

A lowborn sycophant with pride and ambition that threatened them. Their Catholic queen threatened the Church of Scotland.

A papal agent!

A foreign spy!

"That's all?"

"No."

"We felt His Grace should not have knowledge of the specifics in our dealing with Riccio."

"But don't we need legitimacy? His name should be on this bond as well."

"We have already stated that we have His Grace's support to do what is necessary to protect the Church."

"Then we must act quickly lest he changes his mind." Or learned of how and where the lords planned to kill the queen's personal secretary.

"If there is nothing further to discuss, then shall my lords sign the bonds to remove that Italian mignon from further influencing our Queen in bringing Mass back?"

One by one each scrawled their signature in agreement to murder David Riccio. Maitland locked the papers in his cabinet after the men had all gone. He nearly jumped at the sound of his wife's voice.

"William?"

"My sweet Mary, why are you awake?"

"I woke and heard the lords' voices and their horses. Will, what were they still doing here so late an hour?"

"We were discussing the upcoming session of parliament," he lied so easily striding over to her. Mary gave him a peck on the lips to which he smiled. He turned the questioning onto her. "What did you hear?" His eyes were sharp but his voice gentle. "I apologize if their speech was rough."

"I could not discern their speech over the wind." His wife looked him in the eye and gave no visible tell that she was not telling the truth.

"Yes, right-the wind," remarked Maitland with relief. He took her candle from her. "I am finished for the night. Let's get to our bed."

"You should not stay up late so often," Mary chided with a yawn as she held his hand. "You will ruin your health."

"Aye, you are right," he agreed meekly.

Whilst his lovely wife slept soundly curled against him, Maitland lay with his eyes closed waiting for sleep to come. His mind was awake even though his body yearned for slumber. William half-dreamt of his conversation with Prince Robert on the subject of removing Riccio when they had caught whiff of Papal correspondence through Riccio's indiscreet boasting.

Robert scowled, "I wish Riccio gone from court. I have for some time." Maitland could have clapped his hands.

"What did you have in mind, sire?" he asked immediately careful to not seem too outwardly pleased.

"I had half a mind of convincing the Queen to send him back to his homeland in search of talented artists. I remove his person and influence and hopefully if he can convince - have you heard of an artist by the name of Federico Zucchari?" Maitland shook his head. "Well, I have heard Zucchari has talent in portraiture."

"How does this artist fit with our problem of Riccio?" David Riccio could return back to Scotland and they would still have suffer him.

"Riccio can conveniently fall ill or have an accident on his journey back." Robert stood up and walked the length of the chamber. "But I fear sending Riccio there is a bad idea, now with-"

"The Queen has found corresponding with the Pope." Robert gritted his teeth and gripped the back of the chair.

"Aye," he cursed some then strode the length of the room. Robert muttered angrily to the floor, "To risk souring relations with England and to alienate the Church and the lords here." Was he talking of himself or just the Queen?

"Sir William Cecil is not pleased with this," Maitland commented dryly. Robert nodded grimly but let a small laugh,

"To be frank, he will not be pleased until Queen Mary is- no longer a threat." Robert had caught himself before speaking aloud of the Queen's death. Maitland watched with fascination how Robert's face had seemed to brighten at the treacherous thought of Queen Mary's speculative death. Maitland wondered how much Robert's fury was directed at the Queen or it was all placed upon unfortunate Riccio.

"I have seen in person his prejudice against our queen. Cecil's letter to myself was dripping with smug self-righteousness." Maitland shook his head with disappointment and exasperation in his young queen. It seemed all his praise of Queen Mary's wisdom and intelligence had been proven wrong.

"I can imagine what ill he speaks of me-us."

"The English queen must be furious," Maitland observed without adding 'with Your Grace'. Robert flinched, unable not hide his troubled emotions from Maitland. His fear and anxious devastation was so evident.

"That is none of your concern," Robert snapped.

"Forgive me," apologized Maitland impatiently with a sneer at Robert's back.

"Is Your Grace opposed to dispatching Riccio here?" Robert turned to face Maitland with an impassive face.

"No. I am not opposed," Robert paused then continued, "It matters not the method, so long as no one accuses my person of being party of it."

"Of course, sire."

A firm hand grabbed his arm forcefully. "Another thing, it must not happen before the Queen has delivered our child." Maitland gave the barest of nods and swallowed.


"It could have caused her to miscarry."

Robert shrugged. "I would say it is not too late to hope, even now, for that."

-Susan Kay, Legacy

March 8th 1567

The English, Venetian, and French ambassadors had all left the capital, knowing the murder was in the air. Thomas Randolph had left Edinburgh a week prior, keeping a vigilant correspondence with Cecil of the great attempt.

Mary's eldest half-brother, Moray had left for England a few weeks earlier. The English court had begun to buzz with the rumours that a murder had already taken place or was about to happen at the court of their northern neighbour.

Even word had trickled across the channel to the ears of Mary's Guise relations and the French court.

The only persons completely ignorant of what was to come was the Queen of Scotland and those amongst her private inner circle.


Mary

Holyrood Palace, close to the early hours of March 9th 1567

Mary had risen in the middle of the night after a restless sleep. Mary had laid in her bed for hours trying to find a position comfortable to sleep but sleep evaded her. She instead stared up at the richly embroidered canopy of her bed in the dim light. Mary tried to do the game of counting till sleep came that her old nurse Janet Sinclair taught her to do when she was a small restless child. However, she lost count after twenty-five and listened instead to the soft snores of Mary Seton. It was far too dark to embroider and going to the privy did not provide relief. Mary needed a distraction from the pain in middle of her back.

"Seton," she whispered as she knelt and gently nudged the sleeping Seton. "My Mary Seton."

"Yes, madam," answered Seton opening her eyes and rising up from her pallet bed near Mary's. "Do you need help to the privy, madam?"

"No, I have been. My dearest Seton, I cannot sleep," Mary explained apologetically.

"Le bébé vous fait mal?"

"Oui," she nodded as she touched the left side of her stomach.

"Shall Your Grace request myself and the other ladies for a game of cards?"

"And music of course." Mary sat back in her bed wincing at her swollen ankles. Perhaps, the bairn will be lulled to sleep.

"As you wish." Seton wrapped her robe around her and crept out of the chamber soundlessly.

Jean Stewart, Jean's mother, and Flamina all returned with Seton.

"Oh Jean, I am growing weary of being with child," Mary lamented to her half-sister as she embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"It will not be long, my sister," assured Lady Jean as she dressed Mary in her silk robe. Mary smiled wearily,

"You have been saying that awhile now."

Lady Jean's mother Lady Elizabeth Bethune reminded Mary, "Only a fortnight before Your Grace shall retire for the lying in."

"My queen," greeted Flamina as she held out her hand to help Mary up from the bed.

Mary complained, "Oh, Flamina, why won't the bairn keep still to let me sleep even just a short while."

She placed Flamina's hand over her stomach.

"Goodness, madam. Is that normal?"

"T'was, the same with James though I don't remember being so large," Mary winced in discomfort, " Jesu, I feel many pair of feet drumming along my ribs."

Mary laughed, "Remind me ladies, to send for the finest French and Italian dancing instructors pour ce petit bébé." Beaton and Lusty laughed.

"My poor queen," Flamina said gently suppressing a yawn.

"Oh, when the time comes I am sure Queen Catherine would know of the best. Remember the ballet we performed, madam?"

"Oui, je me rappelle."

"Here comes Davie and the others," exclaimed Seton.

"My queen," addressed David carrying his musical instrument with a flourishing bow.

"Let's go to the gardens to watch the sun rise," suggest Mary impulsively.

"Ah, how poetic, my queen," sighed Davie clasping a hand to his heart.

Mary and Lady Bethune was only ones seated in chairs in the room adjacent to the gardens. Davie was sat at her feet playing his lute. The three other ladies were seated on cushions and blankets on the floor.

"It was a lovely walk despite the cold," she remarked as they warmed themselves by the fire.

Gedden barked causing everyone to stop their chatter and David paused his playing. Gedden leapt off Jean's lap and barked at the doors leading the gardens. Everyone looked with a frown on their face.

"What is it, Gedden?"

Mary rose to her feet with some difficulty and addressed the intruders as they stepped inside,

"Who goes there?"

"My lord, you are ill. Why are you in full armour?" He was red-faced and every step was strained with great effort.

"Aye I am ill, madam, but not too ill to do this."

"Which is what?" she demanded coldly

He began a long tirade of grievances they had about Catholicism and of Mary conspiring with her Guise relations and the Pope to persecute the followers of the Kirk. Mary did not bat an eye at the allegation that they had intercepted a message written at her behest to the Pope.

Ruthven continued with a fat finger pointed at Davie.

"He be your lover and a papist spy." Ignoring Davie's protests, Ruthven went on accusing her of having an affair with David and the others chimed in hurling insults. Mary would have laughed at the accusations of Mary having an affair with David Riccio if she had not been shocked in anger and outrage.

"You have insulted the King with your whorish behaviour." The mention of her husband made her alert.

"The king?" She raised an eyebrow.

"His Grace is agreement that something must be done."

"What be that?" she questioned. Ruthven motioned a signal and ambled like a drunken bear to the chair brought for Mary. Ruthven wiped his red flushed face with a dirtied kerchief.

"Lower your weapons and remove yourselves from my presence." The men ignored their weapons and advanced towards her.

They mean to kill me and my unborn child.

But to her horror and surprise, they lunged after David Riccio.

"My queen save me! Save me! Please, save me, madam," cried David with fright as he clutched her skirts. Mary repeated told them to lower their weapons, whilst shielding her poor friend from the armed lords with her own body. But that did not stop them from stabbing Davie over her shoulder. Mary screamed as Davie did. His blood splattering onto her dress and silk robe.

"Stop this at once," she shouted as she gaped in horror at his many stab wounds. They roughly wrenched away Davie from Mary. Mary screamed over and over from them to stop. All of the ladies, from Jean to the four Marys, shrieked and cried with horror as they witnessed Riccio be dragged away crying and screaming.

"Unhand him! David is my servant! Unhand my secretary, I am the queen," shouted Mary in her most commanding voice as she helplessly watched poor David continue plead for her protection. Her orders and pleas were disobeyed and Mary could do nothing. Could do nothing but stare at the blood splattered wood panelled walls.

Ruthven roared at Mary and the ladies to silence their wails. Mary went to follow the men and Davie but Ruthven had risen from his seat and poised his pistol at Mary's pregnant stomach and ordered her to be quiet.

"Don't move and tell your women to be quiet." Mary quieted grudgingly with a glare at the short red faced man. If only she held a pistol in her hand and not one one pointed at her belly.

Flamina and Seton were clutching each other in terror as they heard David's pitiful cries from behind a high hedge. Again they were shouted at by the murderers to silence their wails.

"Who else be party to this-this murder?" she snapped at Ruthven. Another brute pointed their dagger at her neck.

"I said quiet. You will know soon enough," grunted Ruthven.

Nevertheless to Mary and her ladies' fortune, their screams had alerted the palace servants and the guards appeared after the assailants. Mary could hear the bells ringing in the town of Edinburgh. Mary spat out a warning that she would have vengeance on them as they escaped.

"Merde," whispered Seton weakly.

"No more tears, I must think upon revenge."

"Should we not call a midwife or a physician, madam?" asked Jean nervously.

"I shall have to feign need of one- should I be need of a delay," Mary murmured. Should she go back to her chambers? Or flee now while she still had the chance?

A young man appeared and Mary's heart pounded. Another assassin?

"My queen," called Seton as she rushed to Mary's side.

"Madam, you must escape! The lords of the Kirk are coming to keep you imprisoned here," warned a young man urgently. "My lord Bothwell has just barely evaded them."

"Bothwell has escaped?" She was relieved knowing her ally was well.

"Aye, madam."

"Do you think we still have time do the same as well?" she asked.

"Horses will be needed but aye."

"Do you know anything else?"

"Nothing except the Earl of Moray has been sighted just outside of town, madam." Mary felt relieved at the thought of her capable brother near to help but then another thought troubled her more.

"I must go to Dunbar," she decided.

"Madam, you are too far along to ride."

"I will have to but I must know of where my husband be." She looked to Bothwell's servant.

"Surely wait to speak with our brother," said Jean. Mary did not respond for she was suspicious of their brother arriving just as- She glanced at the bloodstained walls.

"I need to contact my husband," Mary disagreed firmly. Keep Robert away from the murderers. Where was he in all this?

Did Robert know? Ruthven said so.

Mary closed her eyes and swallowed.

I do not have time to think of that now. She would confront Robert in person.

"I-I don't know where Prince Robert be, madam," stammered the young man.

"His Grace is with my husband," answered Flamina as she sat on the floor tremblingly. "At our home."

Lethington Castle.

"It is on the way to Dunbar," nodded Mary thinking quickly. "Your name-"

"Adam, Your Grace."

Mary grabbed the young man's shoulders gently and said,

"Adam, my lad must go now and find fresh horses. If we cannot escape soon, you must ride to Lethington Castle yourself to give message and then to your lord Bothwell." Mary glanced at Flamina with some suspicion before continuing,

"Tell only His Grace of what has happened and that we are to go to Dunbar Castle."

"Yes, madam," said the young Adam with a nod.

"Go now before you are found," she ordered with urgency. Mary called quietly,

"Flamina, you recall you were named Queen of the Bean-"

"Lady Maitland," gasped Jean. "Have you been wounded?" Mary turned around.

"I was shoved to the ground, but no I have not been stabbed. I fell very hard, I might have hurt myself like I did when I fell whilst riding."

"Is that David's blood then?"

"What blood?"

"On your gown."

Lady Bethune shook her head with a hand to her mouth, "Lady Maitland may be miscarrying. Are you with child?"

"What? I did not know I was even-" Flamina trailed off as she twisted to look at the back of her light grey skirts.

"Oh Mary," murmured Mary with tears in her eyes.

"Oh I saw your look- I swear I knew nothing," wept Flamina tearfully. "I swear, madam, I have always been loyal to you."

"I know this," soothed Mary as she embraced her friend. "Remember when you were Queen of the Bean and sat on my throne for the day. I need you to be me whilst I escape." Mary kissed Fleming's forehead. Fleming nodded with a weak smile.

"Yes, I remember."

Mary ordered, "Someone fetch a physician for her. I pray you shall only have to feign a miscarriage."

"Likewise, madam."

"We must hurry now."

Flamina moaned, "Tell my husband-no threaten that I shall go to my mother's or to back to France." Seeing Mary's hardened face at the mention of her husband, she looked stricken with guilt and with worry for William Maitland.

"Oh, please you do not punish my Will even if he is found to be party to this," Flamina begged, "Please, Marie, give William another chance. I swear he will prove himself to be a loyal servant to you."

Mary kissed Flamina on the tearstained cheek,

"I will be glad enough to relay your threats. Go to my bed and rest, cousin." Flamina hugged her once more before Jean and Lady Bethune led her away.

Bastian Pagez appeared and whispered in French,

"My queen, follow me through to the kitchens." Mary quietly followed him along the corridors.

"Is it true they have murdered Monsieur Riccio?"

"Yes," answered Seton.

"Seton, stay with Jean and Flamina," she ordered in whisper.

"No, madam, someone must attend to Your Grace," Seton whispered back.