Only two more days until Darnley would leave Kirk O'Field. He had
obstinately refused to move until after the wedding, and had declined
to attend the ceremony.
He does it to annoy me, she thought. But he cannot imagine how
precious even an extra day of freedom from him is!
For on Monday he would move back to Holyrood, expecting to be received
back into her bed. She felt a rush of revulsion in even thinking of
it.
And Bothwell how can I see him privately? Will I ever be able to see
him, have the luxury of an evening alone with him, a quiet supper, a
night in bed in which we make love and sleep and wake to make love
again in the dark? It must be possible it has to be.
Why could my father have his mistresses and enjoy them openly, and I am
compelled to hide myself, like any serving wench?
In a gush of resentment she hated her father.
And my grandfather! she thought bitterly. He took Bothwell's
grandmother to his bed; 'twas no secret. And we, the grandchildren,
cannot do likewise because I am a Queen and not a King. What James IV
could do, I cannot.
He could not have burned as I do!
Her desire for Bothwell, her love for him, made her sway on her feet.
Hold me, kiss me, touch me
"Your Grace, pray sit down. You are unsteady."
In acute embarrassment, Mary turned to see Lord James standing behind
her.
The proper Lord James, representation and embodiment of her father's
kingly prerogative, whisked a stool toward her. Averting her eyes,
acutely aware of the blood throbbing in her cheeks, she sat down.
"I must beg your pardon for intruding, but I wished to obtain leave to
absent myself from Edinburgh." He seemed so deferential, as if he
never had done anything without her approval and permission. "My wife
needs me at St. Andrews."
Too preoccupied with covering her tumultuous thoughts, she merely said,
"I prefer that you remain another day to attend the marriage
festivities. Then you may go."
"No, I must not tarry!" He sounded alarmed. "My wife has had a
miscarriage, and the physicians fear the onset of childbed fever. It
is imperative I go immediately!"
"Very well. When will you return?"
"When it is safe to do so."
Bothwell patted the last of the wall of powder tenderly. It was done.
What a backbreaking task. He stank with sweat, and the exertion had
shown him that his injuries had not completely healed. His belly in
particular pained him whenever he contracted the muscles.
But it was done.
And just in time. Lord James, as was his wont, had scurried away from
Edinburgh. If anyone wanted the sure sign of an impending political
murder, all they had to do was note the whereabouts of the Lord James.
He was never on the scene.
To throw the stone without seeming to move the hand: that was his
motto.
For Lord James and all the rest wanted Darnley removed. But in the end
only Bothwell would stand to the task.
It is fitting, he thought. It is I who am the Queen's lover, and it is
my child within her. My responsibility is personal, theirs merely
political.
Now everything had moved into that most difficult of phases, waiting.
Waiting for the long Sunday to pass; waiting for the wedding ceremony,
the banquet, Mary's farewell to Darnley, her departure for Holyrood.
Archibald Douglas and his men were to surround the house to prevent
Darnley from escaping. French Paris would light the train of powder,
although he, Bothwell, would like to have the honour. But it might not
prove possible.
The wedding, held in the Catholic Chapel Royal at Holyrood, had gone
well. In spite of the desperate unhappiness of her own marriage, Mary
had an innate optimism when she saw others taking their vows.
Bothwell was there, despite his Protestant scruples, and during the
ceremony she stared at his back, unable to look away, wondering why
even his back seemed distinctive and different from all other backs.
Everyone went on to a banquet celebrating the nuptials, and then a
smaller group attended a formal dinner party celebrating the departure
of Moretta, who had only just arrived, so it seemed, to represent the
Duke of Savoy. He had missed the baptism by more than a month.
Bothwell was seated far down at the opposite end of the table. Mary
watched him without seeming to do so; watched him even as she made
sprightly conversation with the earls of Argyll and Huntly.
"So late, perhaps he can stand as godfather to your next child," said
Argyll with a wink.
"Indeed, yes "
"His christening gift is magnificent. The jewels in the handle of the
fan "
Bothwell was gripping his wineglass with his powerful fingers. She
could not see them shake at that distance.
The meal being over, she realized that there were several hours left
before the carnival masque at Holyrood and the formal "putting the
bride and groom to bed" ceremony. Laughing, she stood up and said,
"Come, let us go to Kirk O'Field and cheer the King. He would
appreciate your company, I know."
And I would appreciate being spared being alone with him, she
thought.
In the descending gloom of the February afternoon, they made their way
down the frosted cobblestones of the Blackfriars Wynd, led by torches
to the precincts of Kirk O'Field. Their laughter rang out, their
cloaks of scarlet, tawny, and violet showing bright against the grey
stone houses and the light frosting of snow underfoot.
Inside the house, Darnley was waiting. Mary expected him to be sulking
and hostile, but he was attired in sumptuous, jewel-encrusted robes and
was animatedly hopping about. He had even provided musicians and
hundreds of candles. Proudly he clapped a feathered mask on, and
pointed his skinny legs, attired in silver hose.
"Welcome! Welcome!" he was saying.
Was he drunk? Had he spent the entire afternoon drinking? But no his
gait lacked the unsteadiness, and his words were not slurred.
"My lord!" said Mary, in surprise. She allowed him to take her hand
and lead her in a dance.
The lords and guests stood watching, then cheered. Damley bowed.
"Come, again!" he said, pulling her.
"Oh, my lord, you tire me," she said.
His cheeks were strangely flushed. Had he a fever?
"Drink! Dance! Enjoy yourselves!" he commanded, gesturing to the
entire chamber.
"Ah, my Mary, you are so beautiful," he whispered. "So beautiful I
wish you were not made of flesh but of marble, so you could endure
forever." He took her hand and kissed it tenderly.
"Dice! We must play!" Darnley suddenly turned to the company. "Here,
on this table! I have set everything up!"
It had grown late, but once the darkness had settled, all the
subsequent hours had run together. There was no way of knowing whether
it was seven o'clock or nine o'clock, and their full stomachs gave no
hungry signals.
Mary had been engrossed in a game of Primero when suddenly Bothwell
leaned toward her and whispered, "Have you forgotten your promise to
return to Holyrood for the masque?"
"It is early yet," she replied, studying her cards. She had been
winning.
"No," he said. "It is late, past ten. French Paris has just brought
me word that they are waiting; they are holding up the performance."
"Oh!" And she would have to change her clothes, too. How tiresome.
She was not in the mood any longer for the carnival; the long walk back
to Holyrood in the cold, and then the costume, and then .. .
If there were any choice in the matter, she would not go, and continue
playing cards in the comfort of this house, and then sleep in the
little stone chamber again. But she could not fail to complete her
duty toward her servants. Wearily she rose.
She caught Darnley's attention and put her hand gently on his brocaded
shoulder.
"I must return to Holyrood," she said. "So I must bid you
goodnight."
"But you must return!" He threw his dice down. "You must promise to
come back and sleep here!" His voice was shrill and querulous.
"Alas, I am already weary. To travel back here in the deepest part of
the night "
"Then don't go!" He clutched at her.
She patted his hand. "I must. It is one of the obligations I feel I
must fulfill. Margaret and Bastian are two of my dearest "
"I am your husband!"
Bothwell's head jerked around.
"Yes, I know. But tomorrow you will be leaving this dwelling. It is
only a few more hours."
"Please! Grant me this wish!"
"Henry," she said in her sweetest tone, "do not be unreasonable. It is
not advisable. It is safer and healthier if we both sleep normal hours
tonight. You are just recuperating. Look" she removed a ring from her
finger and put it on his "here is a token "
"Mary!" He was on the verge of tears.
She had to get away now, or he would prevent her. And the bride and
groom would be hurt. Why was he so selfish?
She almost laughed. I ask that question as if he were normal and this
is the first peculiar thing he has ever done, she thought.
"If I can, I will return," she said. "But please do not remain awake
waiting."
Quickly the lords and ladies put on their mantles and hoods and passed
out into the night.
Looking back, Mary saw Damley standing, pressing his hands against the
glass in the window of the chamber.
She was indeed very tired, and the masque, with its requisite
participation, had sapped her strength. The child was starting to
affect her and drain her. Or perhaps it had been the odd, tearful
demands of Damley, and having to extricate herself from him. Ordinarily
she enjoyed such festivities, but this time she just wanted them to end
so she could go to bed. Even the sight of Bothwell in his black and
silver carnival costume did not stir her.
After the "putting to bed" had been duly enacted, and the rest of the
party had returned to the hall for further dancing, Bothwell and Sir
John Stewart of Traquair approached her.
"Let us draw apart," said Sir John. His face was white and he looked
shaken. Quickly she looked at Bothwell, but his expression was
completely different: grim and determined.
"Why, what is it?"
The two men took her by the elbows and steered her to an empty
corner.
"Do not even consider returning to Kirk O'Field," said Bothwell. "I
heard your words to the .. . King."
"In truth, I am too tired."
Bothwell nodded to Traquair. "Tell her."
"No. You told me. You know more."
"The King intends to murder you tonight if you return to the house," he
said.