"Reinstate me?" she asked. "Have I been deprived of it? Legally, I
mean. But you can tell them no. I will never leave the Earl of
Bothwell, my wedded husband."
Maitland looked pained. "My dear Madam. I have known you so long, and
through my wife, who has known you since childhood, I feel I have known
you always. Please, I beg you, see him as he is. Since the divorce
from his first wife was obtained under collusion, it is undoubtedly
illegal or could be proved to be so. You need not cling to him any
longer. You can be delivered. You are safe now."
Safe! With the howling mob outside, and in complete custody and
subjugation to the predatory Lords? She could not help giving a
gentle, despairing laugh.
"No," she said. "He is my husband, and I will never leave him. I
would gladly be set adrift in a boat with him, to go wherever the winds
take us, to try our fortune."
He looked pained. "It is as I feared, then. You must face the truth
about him. I tell you, he wrote letters to his first wife, telling her
he but regarded you as his concubine." When she did not respond, he
added, "He paid her visits at Crichton Castle and continued to visit
her bed."
She laughed outright. "That is a lie!"
"So you will not leave him?"
"Never. And should you wish a practical reason to take back to that
council of jackals who call themselves the Lords, tell them I am with
child and will never consent to allow that child to be labelled bastard
like the Lord James!"
The mob was still howling outside. Maitland looked at her sadly. "Then
I fear, due to the anger of the people, we will have to protect you
from their wrath. And should you fail to recover your wits and
strength, it may prove necessary to alleviate the heavy burden you
carry. I see the crown has proven too weighty for that slender
neck."
That evening they staged a ceremonial transfer to Holyrood for her.
Morton and Atholl escorted her on either side, with a guard of three
hundred footsoldiers. Behind them marched the Lords and another twelve
hundred soldiers. All deference was shown to Her Majesty, and the
crowds were satisfied. During the day they had gradually swung over to
sympathy for her, and now they were clamouring for her release or
rescue. Seeing her treated in a respectful manner, and walking in
freedom to her own palace, they dispersed and went home to their own
houses.
Once inside Holyrood, Mary was at last reunited with her women: Mary
Seton, Mary Livingston Sempill, who had come to be with her, Madame
Rallay, and two newer but no less faithful ladies who had replaced the
departed Marys: Jane Kennedy and Marie Courcelles. They took her
upstairs to her own room and helped her change clothes. Dinner was
served, and at last Mary had an appetite and could eat among friends
without fear.
In the middle of the night they roused her. "Get ready," they said,
and it was not the voices of her women, but the voices of Lord Lindsay
and Lord Ruthven.
"Why, what is this?" She clutched the covers about herself.
"We have a journey to make. Get dressed."
She looked round. The women were nowhere to be seen. "Where? Why?"
"We are not at liberty to divulge."
"Very well. " She climbed out of bed. "Will you permit me the privacy
to dress?"
They nodded and faded away, or so it seemed.
This seemed like a dream. Or something that had already happened once,
long ago. She had been awakened and told to get ready, that she was
being taken to a secret place.. ..
Quickly she put on her sturdiest clothes and selected her riding boots.
There was a coarse riding cloak, rust-coloured, and that she would
need. Yes, it all was like something that had already happened.. ..
Her women .. . she must speak to them, must leave a message with them.
She had a note ready to take to Bothwell, telling him briefly what had
happened and assuring him of her loyalty.
"Let us go," said Ruthven's voice from the door.
"I come," she said.
As she passed out through the outer chamber, she stopped. There were
her women, having been ordered to wait there. She made her way to
them, and Ruthven did not attempt to stop her.
"Take a message to Balfour at the castle," she told Mary Seton. "Tell
him no matter where I am taken, to keep faith with me, and not to
surrender the castle into the hands of the Lords. I will get word to
him later. And to Bothwell at Dunbar." She thrust a paper into their
hands. There was no envelope. She did not care if they read it. She
loved Bothwell, and there was no shameful secret in that.
"Come." Lindsay's voice was impatient. Lindsay: the proud young lord
who had dared even to think he could fight her husband in single
combat.
Squeezing Madame Rallay's hands in farewell, she turned and made her
way to the door.
Once they had descended the steps and reached the courtyard, they
nudged her to turn to the back of the palace. It was the same place
where she had crouched and crawled to hide herself when she had escaped
from these very men, or their fathers, when Riccio had been slain. Then
Bothwell and Huntly had been waiting for her, but now there was no
one.
"Mount up," ordered Lindsay, the older and rougher of the two. He
jerked the bridle of an unfamiliar horse and led him over to her, and
forced her to climb into the saddle. Then he swung himself up onto his
own mount, and motioned to the young Ruthven. A band of men-at-arms
appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and then, at a signal, they all
trotted off.
They went down the road toward the water, and then, instead of going to
Leith, turned left and descended to Queensferry. At the wharf a vessel
was waiting for them; they and their horses were taken abroad quickly.
The crossing was made with little difficulty, and when they alighted at
the other side, Mary expected that they would take the road to
Stirling. She had assumed that they would hustle her to Stirling, that
great fortress which could also serve them as headquarters. So she was
surprised when they rode straight for Dunfermline, and did not stop.
They clattered through the little town in the darkness, and emerged on
the other side, then out into the open country. In the soft summer air
it was still warm, even now she could hear the nightingales singing in
the woods. They came to Blairadam Forest and Lindsay led the way
through; he seemed to know it well. Here in the shrouded darkness
there were other sounds: the sharp cries of the owls, the snarl of a
polecat, the whining of a wild dog somewhere in the underbrush who
resented being disturbed.
By the time they emerged on the other side of the forest, the east was
growing light, with a pearly white glow. Mary saw, swimmingly outlined
against the light, the shape of Benarty Hill and, to her left, the dark
Lomond Hills. She heard the sound of geese honking, and suddenly she
knew where she was and where she was going: to Lochleven Castle.
Of course! It was a strong castle on an island in the midst of a deep
and often storm-tossed loch; but most important, it was held by the
mother of Lord James and her considerable brood of non royal offspring.
Lady Douglas had seven daughters and three sons besides her beloved
Lord James. Lindsay was married to a Douglas daughter, and the elder
Ruthven's first wife had been a Douglas. Her imprisonment would be a
family affair in a stout family prison, with all the gaolers loyal to
each other.
She could see the broad flat surface of the loch now, bearded round its
edges with reeds and cattails, and she could hear the geese who nested
within them. She had come here on other occasions; she and Darnley had
stayed here just after they were married, and had gone hunting in the
surrounding countryside, returning at night by rowboat to their island
retreat. Then it had seemed dreamy, perfect, remote a lover's dream
come true. She even furnished her own rooms here with her royal
accoutrements.
A bitter laugh escaped her, and Ruthven jerked his head around to see
what she found so amusing.
My suite is just waiting for me, she thought. The bride's dream
retreat has now turned into a gaoler's dream.
They swung a lantern back and forth three times, and a light answered
them from the island, about a mile away. They boarded the small
rowboat and two of Lindsay's retainers did the rowing, their
thick-muscled arms making it look easy. It took them very little time
to make the crossing, and Sir William, Lord James's half brother and
keeper of the castle, was waiting for them at the landing. As the prow
of the little boat pushed through the weeds, startled birds flew up.
The water lapped up almost to the foot of the thick, high walls
surrounding the castle.
"Welcome," the wheezing Sir William said, bowing. He was a sickly man,
Mary remembered, always having to send for medicines for his chest and
perpetual cough. Although he was very nearly the same age as Lord
James, he had none of his stolid robustness. That was supplied by his
redoubtable mother, the Lady Douglas, who was also standing there.
Mary had known her earlier, and although the lady had always been
polite and had tried to make Mary's stay at Lockleven comfortable,
there had always been the jostling between them inherent in two women,
both beautiful, one of whom was in her prime, and the other past it.
Now the lady was smiling and welcoming Lindsay, her son-in-law.
"We have a warrant for her incarceration," said Lindsay loudly. "Signed
by Morton, who is acting as head of the Lords in the absence of Lord
James."
Sir William took the paper in a shaky hand and held it out to read it
in the dim light. He then folded it and was about to put it away when
Mary said, "May I have it read? I am entitled to know what it
contains."
"Oh .. . yes. It says, "The said Lord William Douglas is to reserve
her within Lochleven and keep Her Majesty surely within. So shall she
be detained and kept from harm until she agree to part herself from her
pretended husband the Earl of Bothwell, the evil ravisher and cruel
murderer who seeks to oppress and destroy that innocent infant the
Prince as he had done his father, and so, by tyranny and cruel deeds,
at last to usurp the royal crown and supreme government of this realm."
"
She laughed. "You yourselves have the Prince safe in Stirling Castle,
and as for cruel murderers why, my lords Lindsay and Ruthven, I saw the
knives in your hands when Riccio was killed. I forgave you and Morton
for that crime, as I recall, when you were at my mercy."
Ruthven stepped forward and took her elbow. "Enough of this. That was
before your wits were turned by the potions of the Earl of Bothwell."
Again she laughed, but this time desperately.
"You see?" said Ruthven. "We must get her to a resting place."
"Yes, yes," said Sir William, leading the way.
As they entered through the fortified gate, Mary saw that she was not
being taken to her customary quarters in the square tower, but was
being paraded across the green inner courtyard to a circular tower
diagonally across from it, which was built into the southeast corner.
Lady Douglas unlocked the thick wooden door and gestured that they
should enter.