The Queen's Lady

Shannon Drake

16th Century. She desired him above all others… Would he now be her executioner?Lady Gwenyth Macleod has staked her fortune and her reputation to help Mary, Queen of Scots take her rightful place on the throne. But her struggle to guide the reckless, defiant queen has put her at perilous odds with Rowan Graham, a laird dangerously accomplished in both passion and affairs of state. And the more Gwenyth challenges his intentions, the less he can resist the desire igniting between them. Now, with her country in turmoil and treachery shadowing her every step, will Gwenyth's last daring gamble lead her to the ultimate betrayal–or a destiny greater than she could ever imagine?

The Queen’s Lady

Shannon Drake

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For Joan Hammond, Judy DeWitt

and Kristi and Brian Ahlers, with love and

thanks for always being so wonderfully supportive

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

PART I: Homecoming

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

PART II: The Queen Triumphant

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

PART III: Passion and Defeat

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PROLOGUE

Before the fire

GWENYTH HEARD THE SOUND of footsteps and the clang of metal, and knew the guards were on their way to her cell.

Her time had come.

Despite knowing since the beginning that she was doomed, despite her determination to die defiant, scornful and with dignity, she felt her blood grow cold and congeal in her veins. Easy to be brave before the time, but now, faced with the reality of the moment, she was terrified.

She closed her eyes, seeking strength.

At least she could stand on her own two feet. She would not have to be dragged out to the pyre like so many pathetic souls who had been “led” into confession. Those who had seen the evil of their ways through the thumbscrews, the rack or any of the other methods used to encourage a prisoner to talk, could rarely walk on their own. She had given her interrogators what they had wanted from the beginning, standing tall and, she hoped, making a mockery of her judges through her sarcastic confession. She had saved the Crown a great deal of money, since the monsters who tortured prisoners to draw out the truth had to be paid for their heinous work.

And she had saved herself the ignominy of being dragged—broken, bleeding and disfigured—to the stake.

Another clank of metal, and footsteps drawing closer.

Breathe, she commanded herself. She could and would die with dignity. She was whole, and she had to be grateful that she could walk to her execution, having seen what they were capable of doing. But the terror….

She stood as straight as a ramrod, not from pride but because she had grown so cold it was as if she were made of ice, unable to bend. Not for long, though, she mocked herself. The flames would quickly thaw her with their deep and deadly caress. Instead of adding to the agony of the punishment, further torturing the doomed and broken souls delivered to their kiss, the flames were meant to see that such damned creatures were destroyed completely, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Before the flames were ignited, the condemned was usually strangled. Usually.

But when the judges were infuriated, the flames might be lit too quickly, without allowing the executioner time to hasten the end and lessen the agony. She had made enemies. She had spoken up for others; she had fought for herself. Her death was unlikely to be quick.

She’d made too many enemies, and that had led to her conviction and impending death. It had been easy to put the pieces together—after her arrest.

There were many who believed in the devil, believed that witchcraft was the source of all evil in the world—including the queen Gwenyth had served with such loyalty. They believed that mankind was weak, that Satan came in the night, that pacts were signed in blood, and cur