She is there, like a girl waiting for her lover, at the gate. “I heard the bell,” she says. Her face is bright with hope. She looks from the young man to me. “What is happening? Why did they ring the alarm?”

“Your Grace, I must ask you some questions, and this gentleman—”

“Sir Peter Brown.” He bows to her.

“This gentleman will listen. He has come from Lord Burghley with most disturbing news.”

Her gaze that meets my eyes is so honest and true that I am certain that she knows nothing of this. If the Spanish land, they will do so without her knowledge. If they come for her and take her from me, it will be without her consent. She gave her word to Lord Morton and to me that she would not plot with anyone anymore. She plans to get back to Scotland by Elizabeth’s treaty, not by destroying England. She gave her word there would be no more plots.

“Your Grace,” I begin trustingly, “you must tell Sir Peter all that you know.”

She droops a little, like a flower heavy-headed in a shower of rain. “But I know nothing,” she says gently. “You know that I am cut off from my friends and my family. You know yourself that you see every letter that comes for me and that I see no one without your consent.”

“I am afraid that you know more than I do,” I say. “I am afraid that you know more than you tell me.”

“You don’t trust me now?” Her dark eyes widen as if she cannot believe that I would betray the affection I have for her, as if she cannot imagine that I would accuse her of being false, especially in front of a stranger and an adherent of her enemy.

“Your Grace, I dare not trust you,” I say clumsily. “Sir Peter here has brought me a message from Lord Burghley that commands me to question you. You are implicated in a plot. I have to ask you what you know.”

“Shall we sit?” she asks distantly, like the queen she is, and turns her back on us and leads us into the garden. There is a bench in an arbor with roses growing around the seat. She spreads out her gown and sits, like a girl interviewing suitors. I take the stool that her lady-in-waiting was using, and Sir Peter drops to the grass at her feet.

“Ask,” she invites me. “Please, ask me whatever you want. I should like to clear my name. I should like everything to be aboveboard with us.”

“Will you give me your word that you will tell me the truth?”