For some reason, known only to men and in this instance a nobleman, he has ridden at the head of a train of a hundred people for ten days and failed to notice.

“Well, they don’t all expect to be housed here, I suppose?”

“Some of them have gone to the alehouse in the village, but her household—companions, retainers, servants, and the grooms—are under our roof, and they are all eating and drinking at our expense.”

“She has to be served as a queen,” he says. “She is a queen to her fingertips, don’t you think, Bess?”

It is undeniable. “She is a beauty,” I say. “I always thought they must be exaggerating when they spoke of her as the most beautiful queen in the world, but she is all of that, and more. She would be beautiful if she were a commoner, but the way she carries herself and her grace...” I hesitate. “Do you like her very much?”

The gaze he turns to me is totally innocent; he is surprised by the question. “Like her? I hadn’t thought. Er, no, she is too...” He breaks off. “She is troubling. She is challenging. Everywhere we go she has been a center for treason and heresy. How can I like her? She has brought me nothing but difficulty.”

I hide my pleasure. “And do you have any idea how long she will stay with us?”

“She will go home to Scotland this summer,” he says. “The inquiry has cleared her of any wrongdoing; our queen is certain that there is nothing against her. Indeed, she seems to have suffered much injustice. And her lords put themselves utterly in the wrong by holding her prisoner and making her abdicate her throne. We cannot tolerate this in a neighbor. To throw down a queen is to overthrow the natural order. We dare not let them do it. It is to go against the order of God. She has to be restored and the rebels punished.”

“Will we escort her home?” I ask. I am thinking of a royal progress to Edinburgh, of the castles and the court.

“Our queen will have to send an army to secure her safety. But the lords have agreed to her return. Her marriage to Bothwell will be annulled and they will bring her husband Lord Darnley’s murderers to trial.”

“She will be queen in Scotland again?” I ask. “Despite Cecil?” I try to keep the doubt from my voice but I shall be very surprised if that arch plotter has an enemy queen in his hands and quietly sends her home in comfort, with an army to help her.

“What has Cecil to do with it?” he asks me, deliberately obtuse. “I don’t think that Cecil can determine who is of royal blood, though he thinks to command everything else.”