Page 43 of The Crimson Throne
“To deal with the problem of my husband, of course.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Explain.”
Mary actually seems excited now. She stands and starts pacing, her hands flailing as she punctuates her words with gestures. “You know I need a solution to the Darnley problem. And as I must constantly remind you, we cannot just kill him.”
Those words hit me like a punch. Now that Ihavekilled, I no longer feel so flippant about it.
Mary sighs blissfully. “One day, I’ll be rid of him.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing at the moment,” Mary says quickly. Then she adds, “But I’ve called my lords to determine some possible solutions at least.”
I’m not sure what she hopes a group of men would come up with that could be helpful, but I suppose she’s free to try.
“Most have arrived. I’ve been waiting on just a few more.”
My stomach sinks. “A few more…including Laird Latimer?”
Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow in suspicion. “Yes.”
“He couldn’t come. Sent his secretary in his place. A lad named Samson. I ran into him on the road.”
“What did you see?” Mary asks.
“His aura was…” I start. His aura was muted, but I saw no indication of danger from him, despite him being English. “I have no evidence, but I’m uncertain about him. I don’t think he’s outright lying to me, but he’s hiding something.” Even reading his aura tells me little more than that. I wouldn’t even be that on guard if it weren’t for the way he reacted to Darnley—and how Darnley reacted to him.
“Aren’t we all?” Mary asks. “Well, Moray, Argyll, and Bothwell are already here.”
The first two are not necessarily Mary’s closest allies but respectable men. But not Bothwell. He’s worse than Darnley if the rumors are to be trusted, but he’s got a shrewd mind and ruthless ambition where his heart should be, and that may be what’s needed in this situation.
“And even though Darnley has arrived early, I shall carry on with my plan. This secretary…he can come. But you need to be there too. Watch for…” She waves her hands about some more, still unsure of the language to use. Mary sometimes hopes that if she doesn’t name a problem, it’ll simply go away. That didn’t work for the Protestants, who are here to stay, and it won’t work on me, who’s not actually a problem. Usually.
Still, I get her meaning. “You want me to test them, be sure of their loyalties.”
She nods firmly. “Précisément.”
I give her a look. She may say she trusts me, but she’s still not telling me everything. She always uses French when she’s holding something back. “What are you planning, Your Grace?”
A divorce from Darnley would betray all the Catholic promises she’s given to the pope, the king of Spain, the queen mother of France—her most powerful allies. While she can refuse to give Darnley the Crown Matrimonial, which would elevate him to equal status as her, she can’t strip him of the titles he was born to, regardless of how irate the otherlairds are. And much as she may hate him, having a husband and—more importantly—a son has put Mary in a better position than her cousin Elizabeth of England.
Darnley may be a shackle around her ankle, but even a lead weight can be used as a stepping stone.
“You are the one who told me the attacks were still coming from those red fae creatures.”
“Red Caps,” I say, the name distasteful.
She nods. “Yes, well. Darnley was working with them, I got so ill, and then that needle thing that made you run off…I refuse to be held hostage by that man’s violent whims any longer. And for that freedom to happen, I need to know which men are on my side.”
“I understand.” I understand she’s still not telling me everything. She may keep me in the shadows, but I don’t like it when she keeps me in the dark. She has had months since David’s death to stew up something.
A servant arrives at the door. He bows and announces Mary’s new secretary. After David was killed, his family sent his brother, Joseph, to take his place. The young man has adjusted slowly to the Scottish court. He’s hard to understand; he doesn’t speak Scots, his English is limited, and his French—the other language of Mary’s court—is thick with an Italian accent. But he trusts me, and I think he even likes me, despite the fact that we’ve known each other only a few months. In this court, trust is rare, but true friendship is rarer still. I can trust plenty of people not because I like them but because I know what the price of their loyalty is. Joseph has no price.
But he’s consistently offered kindness for free.
After he bows to the queen, Joseph glances at me, offering me a sly grin in welcome before he turns back to Mary. He’s younger thanhis brother had been, with a sharp chin, dark hair, and warm eyes that always hide a laugh.
“Your Highness, Lord Latimer has sent his secretary in proxy for the upcoming christening.” He gestures to the door, and Samson enters, all lanky body and bright red hair.
