The Fugitive Queen by Fiona Buckley

Meg, I’ll leave her behind unless I’m sure we’re well protected.”
    Cecil understood and conferred with Hugh. Brockley went to Hawkswood to fetch Meg and came back with two young men from the estate, a young groom called Harry Hobson (his father was Hugh’s falconer) and a lad named Tom Smith, the son of one of Hugh’s tenants. Hobson was fair, placid, and burly, while Smith was a dark and gangling fellow with an eye for the wenches and a cheeky tongue, but both were sensible lads, who had been taught swordplay. Tom had a sword supplied by Hugh, but Harry brought one that his grandfather had owned, a rather splendid affair with an amethyst in the hilt, probably loot from some bygone battlefield.
    In addition, Cecil contributed two of his own men, a fatherly individual called John Ryder and a sturdy, sandy man named Dick Dodd. I already knew them and had always liked them. Ryder was completely gray by now, but seemed as fit as ever and was pleased to meet Brockley again, for they were good friends. With these four men and Brockley, I reckoned that we had an adequate retinue.
    â€œThe queen wants secrecy,” said Cecil, “but that’s a relative matter. Those in one’s service have to be briefed to some extent. Ryder and Dodd are aware that you have a private errand to Mary Stuart, though they have no idea of its nature, nor will they seek to discover it. They are both trustworthy. I expect that you’ll also tell Dale and Brockley a certain amount, though they should not know any details either. But avoid mentioning the errands to any of the others if you can.”
    Our company therefore consisted of five men and five ladies,the ladies being myself, Fran Dale, my good friend Mistress Sybil Jester, Pen, and Meg. We were all well mounted. Hugh and Cecil always made sure that their men had good horses. I had my own mare, a good-looking dapple gray called Roundel, a gift from Hugh. I had decided to breed from my former favorite, my pretty Bay Star. Her first foal, a charming filly, the image of her dam, was now a long-legged yearling and I hoped one day to present her to Meg, who was already a competent rider.
    Meanwhile, Meg had her own pony, a new and bigger one, since she had just turned thirteen, and was growing. Pen, who also rode well, was on the black mare she had brought from Lockhill. Dale, however, disliked riding and these days was very wearied by it and was therefore traveling on Brockley’s pillion.
    Brockley’s old cob, Speckle, was aging and was now keeping Bay Star company at grass. Speckle’s replacement, Brown Berry, was heavily built and inconveniently hairy about the fetlocks (always a trouble to the grooms who have to keep their charges’ feet clean), but more than equal to carrying double. Dick Dodd had a cob that was similarly strong, and since Sybil too was a poor rider, we put her up behind Dodd.
    We also had Meg’s merlin, Joy, full saddlebags, and two pack mules to carry everyone’s belongings. I needed suitable wear for an audience with a queen, and since Pen might accompany me, I had provided the same for her. Also, in a fit of optimism, I had stowed Pen’s very best blue velvet gown and a new lace-edged ruff in a separate hamper for use on her wedding day, if wedding day there should be. We were quite an impressive cavalcade, though hardly a speedy one, as Brockley remarked, just as we were starting.
    â€œThe village dominie who taught me my letters had traveled a bit when he was young, madam,” he said to me in his calm voice with its slight country accent, and with no expression at all on his immobile face. His high brow with its dusting of gold freckles was unwrinkled, though he was over fifty. “He talked about it sometimes. He called them the three Perfidious P’s—pillions, pack animals, and pets.” There was just a trace of a smilein his blue-gray eyes. “Then he’d say that he learned to