Just a Queen by Jane Caro

were to rule as equals. She even commanded that Henry Darnley be addressed as king. Now, only a few months later, word reached us that the scales of infatuation had begun to fall from her eyes.
    â€˜Poor Mary. I did try to offer her a better husband, but she would have none of it.’
    â€˜She was not the only one who felt that way.’ Robin had dropped his voice very low and leant closer to me on our wooden seat.
    â€˜I suppose I can understand Mary reacting to my offer of you as her husband as if I had intended an insult, but do not pretend to me, my lord, that if she had been more open to the idea, you would have refused the honour. You are a Dudley and your family has always desired a crown.’
    â€˜I do not desire a crown; I desire you.’
    â€˜But that desire can never be fulfilled, and I think you would have made a much better husband for Mary than the vain youth she now finds herself saddled with. And you would have been my ally in her court and, of course, “my eyes”.’
    â€˜It does no good to think of things that will never be – as you so often tell me.’
    Robin had drawn back from me and I could see that he was not well pleased by the idea that I could part with him so easily.
    â€˜I am glad she would not have you, my lord. I would have missed you. But it was not a foolish suggestion of mine. You are the best man for husband in all of Christendom and she may have married the worst.’
    Just then the grooms threw the entrails of the slaughtered beast to the dogs, and their yelping as they fought over the choicest pieces of still warm innards distracted us from our conversation.
    â€˜The sun is low in the sky, my lord, and the shadows are long. It is time to return.’ I mounted my spirited mare, rested now and well watered and Robin, having handed me up, put his foot in the stirrup.
    â€˜I will race you, my lord!’
    I spurred my horse into a gallop, leaving the new Earl of Leicester hopping awkwardly on one leg.
    â€˜Let us test the filly’s mettle!’ I called to him over my shoulder.

Eight
    I was indisposed when I heard that the Queen of Scots was with child. The irony of the moment was one I had to keep to myself, for I had been on my close stool adjusting my garter and changing my soiled wallops with the help of a maidservant and this is business that can never be discussed. The dull ache that so regularly accompanied my monthly cycle had not improved my mood, so when the messenger from the Scots court was announced and one of my ladies discreetly rapped on the closed door to tell me so, I was not well pleased. I also recognised that the news must be urgent (and so unlikely to be welcome) before anyone would dare to interrupt me while I was about such intimate pursuits.
    â€˜Whatever tidings he brings can wait a few more moments!’ I barked through the door.
    My maidservant looked up and, wiping her hands on a fresh linen wallop, assured me that all was secure and I was free to emerge from my private chambers. I paused to apply some rich perfumes to various parts of my person. I had a horror of any revealing odour escaping from beneath the confines of my gown.
    There are many things that distress me about the passage of time. I have only to look in a mirror to see the marks that the years have etched upon my face. As time has passed I have reduced the number of mirrors hanging on the walls of my apartments. I no longer take any pleasure in catching sight of myself unawares.
    I was never beautiful. I knew the truth of this despite all the protestations to the contrary. It is one of the things I value most about Cecil: he never flatters me. He has not once remarked upon my appearance. I believe he is utterly indifferent to it. When I was young, however, I was attractive in my own way. My hair was auburn and fell silkily down my back. My eyes were large and black and well set. My nose, too strong for beauty, had character and proportion and