Heaven and the Heather by Elizabeth Holcombe Page B

things are best kept hidden, mademoiselle ,” he growled.
    She struggled to free herself from the grip of this demented fool Her Majesty had seen fit to pair her with. No one should be allowed to order the path of another’s heart, not even a monarch. Yet, the queen had and there was nothing, beyond outright treason, Sabine could do about it.
    Campbell escorted her roughly through the masked revelers, some dancing, some drinking, some eating. A low rumble at the base of her belly reminded Sabine that, other than a large goblet of wine, she had not had the chance to sample the array of delectable royal-worthy delights. Before she could utter a word of protest, Campbell released her, bowing so deeply that the feathers of his mask brushed the polished wood floor.
    Mary entered the great hall. The crowd hushed and bent to her like wildflowers in a summer breeze. Sabine curtsied low, the drink in her head threatened to topple her balance. Where was the Highlander? Had he taken control of his senses and left? She prayed he had changed his mind and run all the way to his Highland den, but he still had her sac !
    The rustle of rich silk and velvet signaled the queen taking her place on the throne. The swish of her royal gown against the floor, the scent of the finest French perfume, and the contented sigh were clues Sabine knew very well.
    “Arise,” Mary commanded.
    Sabine joined the others, and carefully stood upright. She blinked away the dizziness into the dazzle of the queen’s mask, a lavish affair of gold and silver decorated with dozens of little arrows pointing toward the ceiling, each topped with a precious stone. She was Diana, goddess of the hunt.
    Sabine shifted her gaze to Her Majesty’s escort, a thin, bored-looking young man with wispy, dark hair. He was dressed in deep purple velvet pantaloons, a shining black leather doublet, black hosiery and finely cobbled leather shoes. His eye mask was made to look like an eagle, the feathers bright and sprinkled with gold dust. He took his place to the right of the throne, into the path of Her Majesty’s adoring stare.
    “Our Sabine,” the queen said with a lilt to her voice, “how delighted we are to see you with Lord John.” Sabine nodded. She could not have been less delighted.
    “Lord John, I believe you know my guest, Lord Darnley,” the queen said.
    Campbell regarded the wiry man briefly. “No, Your Majesty, I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.” And from his tone he did not want the pleasure either. Sabine glanced at Lord Darnley. He looked to be no more than ten and seven. Mary certainly had him in her favor. The queen was allowed to follow the path of her heart, no matter who or how young, no matter—
    When Mary said “we” she was not just referring to herself at that moment, she was referring to her five Marys and the ten attendants clustered behind her throne.
    Sabine caught Lady Fleming’s hard stare.
    “ Merci beaucoup. ” Sabine gave the queen a small, slightly faltering curtsy.
    “Set you down, Sabine, and Lord Campbell.” Mary gestured to two vacant chairs to the far left of the throne. The Marys and attendants took their place in two semicircles of chairs near the throne, in Sabine’s periphery.
    Light, bright applause broke her thoughts. She looked toward the props set before the throne. Monsieur Le Canard stood there and winked at her. Then he bowed low before the queen.
    “Your Royal Highness and honored guests!” he boomed. He stood upright and thrust out his great chest. Spittle leapt from his lips. “I indulge your entertainments this evening by presenting for Her Majesty’s pleasure L’Historie de l’Ecosse !”
    He waved his arms toward the props: painted trees, and dark, brooding hills. With as much flourish as a big man could muster, he leapt clumsily out of the way.
    Sabine sat rapt. The wine made her vision a little misty. She fought to concentrate on the players who moved out from behind the painted