Sheena felt her heart sink. What could she tell her father, waiting anxiously for her report on the attitude of Mary Stuart towards the dissentious Scotland? How could she ever explain to this laughing, happy girl the horror and the privation her subjects were suffering not only from the persecution of the English but also from the poverty which stalked the land, taking more toll of helpless children and weakened women than were ever killed in battle?
“I expect you can ride,” Mary Stuart was chattering on. “We must persuade the King to lend you one of his horses. The stables at the Château des Tournes are filled with the most magnificent horseflesh you have ever seen.”
Sheena murmured something.
“His Majesty says that I can ride as well as I dance,” the young Queen boasted. “I saw the Q
