The door to Elizabeth’s Privy Chamber almost fell off its hinges, she’d slammed it that hard behind her.
“How dare he? How dare that braggart of a Scottish boy have the nerve to look me in the eye after he’s slighted Mary so? Has he forgotten that my army could crush his in the blink of an eye if I ordered them to? You’d think he’d have a little more care.”
“It’s not James’s fault, Mother,” Anne defended, pushing herself off the wall and coming forward with her hands outstretched placatingly, “You mustn’t think it is.”
Elizabeth whirled on her, “Not James’s fault? Whose fault could it be if it’s not his? The Scots knew that signing the marriage treaty meant they had agreed to make your sister Queen. Who else but James would have had both the power and the nerve to demote her to the mere
