If ever there was a romantic, it was Queen Mary. I could just hear John Knox thundering, "Yer going to Hell, Mary!"
She was the rightful heir of Scotland, being the only surviving child of James V. Her father died when she was just a baby and she was brought up in France. She married the Dauphin and became Queen of France, but only briefly. She was widowed about a year later.
Mary returned to Scotland and married Henry, Lord Darnley, and though they had a baby it was not a happy marriage. Henry was found dead in his garden under mysterious circumstances. One James, Earl of Bothwell was suspected of doing away with Henry but he was not convicted of that crime. Mary married the Earl of Bothwell and that was too much for the Scots. She was forced to abdicate the throne and ran to the South, to Elizabeth I her couswin, for refuge.
Elizabeth had no love for Mary (who was considered the real heir of the English throne by Catholics in the land), and as soon as Mary arrived, she was imprisoned and stayed behind bars for eighteen and a half years until she was executed by order of Elizabeth, ending the threat to the English throne.
Mary was beheaded and it is said that when the executioner picked up her head by the hair, the head sllipped out of the red wig she had been wearing all these years to hide her snow white hair. A tale that her faithful little dog had been hiding among her skirts is a favorite, the little creature stayed with his mistress through the execution and had to be taken away forcibly.
This should be a hymn to Scotland, and so it is. Heather and buttery shortbread and the very air of the Scottish moors. It manages to be at once out-doorsy, floral, and never cloying. Somewhat foody, somewhat floral, yet there is a definate backdrop of sophistication and class that you only find in the best places.
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