the time I reached the fountain, but I felt good. Then suddenly as I was sitting there in the rain cuddling Thimble beneath my brat , I heard a strange, unearthly sound with a beauty so intense I felt a bruise in my heart. It was the wild, lonely notes of a bagpipe! I had asked Lord Erskine to send pipers but they could not have yet arrived. The rain had almost ceased but vapour rose from the pool of the fountain and gathered in the old trees like moss turned to mist. For a moment I was completely confused. Had I suddenly become a spirit who could traverse two continents, hover within one moment in two different realms like some ghost queen? Then from the swirling mist a figure melted. My breath locked in my throat. Robin! Robin MacClean was piping those pipes, his brat thrown back over one shoulder. “Robin!” I cried out.
He ceased blowing on the pipes. “Your Majesty!” Indeed he was as surprised as I was. We knew not what to say to each other. I finally stammered an explanation of how I could not abide the courtiers chattering away. “Hence I seek peace and refuge here in this harsh weather.” I gestured toward the sky.
“Not so foul, Your Majesty. In Scotland we would think nothing of this. Have you so forgotten Scotland?”
I felt the colour rise in my cheeks, a sob swell in my throat. “Never!” My voice cracked. “What I would not give to be there now. I miss my mother most terribly and all about this court seems fusty and too … too…” But my voice dwindled.
“Aye, Milady, I understand.” And his blue eyes shone with feeling. Then he said something extraordinary to me, something I shall treasure forever. Something more precious than any gem in my jewel casket. “I look into Your Majesty’s face and I believe that I am seeing Scotland. I believe the oceans evaporate and continents dissolve, and yes, I see my homeland.”
He then began once more to play the pipes. He told me that he was practising for when the Scots pipers arrive next month. He played for an hour, and I felt a peace steal over my soul, and yes, I felt the bruises in my heart. But to be bruised is to be human, to be coursing with blood. For bruises are caused by blood spilled under the skin. They are the tears that bleed inside. My eyes rested on Robin MacClean, and I have memorized every line of his face. I am shocked to have these feelings.
So now I am sick with the catarrh knocking in my chest. But I mind it not. I still hear the music Robin played. I can almost feel the mist on my cheek, and I remember the creases that fan out like rays of light from the edges of his bright blue eyes. It stirs my heart and my heart does pump blood and if I am to be bruised – well, so be it. I am human, a Queen now, and someday, a woman.
May 18, 1554
I am feeling better, but three of the four Marys are now sick. Not Mary Fleming. There is a part of me that wishes Mary Fleming were sick. It would perhaps explain some of her odd behaviour. She was quite upset today when Madame de Parois insisted that even though the rest of us were sick that she continue with the music lessons with Signore Marcellini. I saw no need for it and thus have sent a note to Madame de Parois that there are to be no more music lessons until I can attend again.
June 1, 1554
Nearly two weeks since I have written. My illness took a turn for the worse. I was actually delirious at one point. They bled me. Doctor Bourgoing finally agreed. I was so delirious I did not realize they were slicing into my heel and cupping it. Now my heel is black and blue and hurts if I put weight on it. I had strange, turbulent dreams, for days on end it seemed. I often dreamed of Robin MacClean. In one dream we stood in a pool of the fountain and he piped to me. It was so real. I could almost feel the water lapping against my legs. In another we, Robin and I, were back in Scotland at Lake Mentieth at the priory on the island of Inchmahome. We were the only people on the island, and Robin
He ceased blowing on the pipes. “Your Majesty!” Indeed he was as surprised as I was. We knew not what to say to each other. I finally stammered an explanation of how I could not abide the courtiers chattering away. “Hence I seek peace and refuge here in this harsh weather.” I gestured toward the sky.
“Not so foul, Your Majesty. In Scotland we would think nothing of this. Have you so forgotten Scotland?”
I felt the colour rise in my cheeks, a sob swell in my throat. “Never!” My voice cracked. “What I would not give to be there now. I miss my mother most terribly and all about this court seems fusty and too … too…” But my voice dwindled.
“Aye, Milady, I understand.” And his blue eyes shone with feeling. Then he said something extraordinary to me, something I shall treasure forever. Something more precious than any gem in my jewel casket. “I look into Your Majesty’s face and I believe that I am seeing Scotland. I believe the oceans evaporate and continents dissolve, and yes, I see my homeland.”
He then began once more to play the pipes. He told me that he was practising for when the Scots pipers arrive next month. He played for an hour, and I felt a peace steal over my soul, and yes, I felt the bruises in my heart. But to be bruised is to be human, to be coursing with blood. For bruises are caused by blood spilled under the skin. They are the tears that bleed inside. My eyes rested on Robin MacClean, and I have memorized every line of his face. I am shocked to have these feelings.
So now I am sick with the catarrh knocking in my chest. But I mind it not. I still hear the music Robin played. I can almost feel the mist on my cheek, and I remember the creases that fan out like rays of light from the edges of his bright blue eyes. It stirs my heart and my heart does pump blood and if I am to be bruised – well, so be it. I am human, a Queen now, and someday, a woman.
May 18, 1554
I am feeling better, but three of the four Marys are now sick. Not Mary Fleming. There is a part of me that wishes Mary Fleming were sick. It would perhaps explain some of her odd behaviour. She was quite upset today when Madame de Parois insisted that even though the rest of us were sick that she continue with the music lessons with Signore Marcellini. I saw no need for it and thus have sent a note to Madame de Parois that there are to be no more music lessons until I can attend again.
June 1, 1554
Nearly two weeks since I have written. My illness took a turn for the worse. I was actually delirious at one point. They bled me. Doctor Bourgoing finally agreed. I was so delirious I did not realize they were slicing into my heel and cupping it. Now my heel is black and blue and hurts if I put weight on it. I had strange, turbulent dreams, for days on end it seemed. I often dreamed of Robin MacClean. In one dream we stood in a pool of the fountain and he piped to me. It was so real. I could almost feel the water lapping against my legs. In another we, Robin and I, were back in Scotland at Lake Mentieth at the priory on the island of Inchmahome. We were the only people on the island, and Robin
Similar Books
