Mary stood gazing down at the house. Had Bothwell bought it for him?
How generous he was with his friends, then! The house was four
storeys. She saw lights being lit, and that enabled her to see into
the rooms, which seemed to be well furnished.
Bothwell. She had had no further news of him than that he was busy in
the Borders, as she had ordered him to be.
Sighing, she returned to her book. The candle was guttering in the
strong wind that managed to create a draft in the room. She would go
to bed soon. One of the happy things about her stay here was that she
made her own hours, in deference to nothing but herself.
She yawned. Perhaps it was time for bed now. Yes, she would call
Madame Rallay, put on her night attire
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Enter," she said.
Bothwell stepped in.
She was too surprised to act surprised. It was impossible that he be
here. He was here. She stared at him. "This is not Jedburgh," she
said, matter-of-factly.
"No."
Only then did she look around. There was no one with him. No one had
showed him to her room. "How did you "
"I came to Edinburgh on the sly, I fear. No one knows I'm here. I am
staying next door, at Chalmers's. Lady Reres kindly allowed me in,
through the back door. The courtyards are adjoining."
"Lady Reres?" she said. "Why yes, of course, you are old friends...."
Just so she must have let Bothwell in to see her sister Janet many
times. Suddenly she was not glad to see him, she wished he would go
away, back where he belonged, the Borders, or confine himself to her
dreams. "What do you wish?"
"To talk to you," he said. "May I sit down?"
Only then did she see that he was splattered with rain. "Of course.
What did you wish to see me about? Do you have a particular problem
with the prisoners, or the date we had set for the justice court?"
"No. No, all is well there. But "
"Pray sit closer to the fire. But what?" Now she was beginning to get
used to him, to realize he was not an apparition after all.
"There is trouble here, I fear. Where is Darnley?"
"Hawking somewhere. I know not."
"You should have him followed at all times. Word has reached me that
he has been plotting, sending and receiving secret letters from Europe,
yes, even from the Pope! And that he plans to flee the realm. He has
a boat in readiness "
"Good!" she cried. "Let him flee the realm! Let him sail to Mexico,
and dwell on top of one of their pyramids! I care not!"
"Perhaps you care not for his person," said Bothwell, choosing his
words carefully, "but he is more than a person. He is a symbol,
capable of being exploited by others. He can be "Catholic," or 'last
male Tudor," or 'heir-apparent' .. . what you will. After all, those
are some of the reasons you sought to marry him. For what he
symbolized. Is that not true?" His voice was gentle.
Miserably, she nodded. "It was partly my foolish desire to please
Elizabeth, and place myself in the line of the English succession.
Elizabeth had said she desired me to marry an English subject rather
than a foreign prince. And there was Darnley, with his dose of royal
English blood. And he was pretty, and tried so hard to please .. . and
I thought I loved him, he was different then, or he seemed
different...." She felt herself close to tears.
She did not mind saying these things; Bothwell had already seen them
for himself first hand.
"Poor Queen," said Bothwell. "You only sought to please."
"Yes!" cried Mary. "I was taught that if I tried to think of others,
tried to please, then I would be rewarded! And when I came here to
Scotland, I tried so hard to please! But the more I tried, the more I
vexed people ah!" She threw up her hands and gave a choked laugh.
"Remember how we talked, that day on the moors, about having a place
where one belongs? Since then I have come to see that I never have,
not really. You are fortunate. You have a home in the Borders and a
home on your ships. The ships appeal to me."
"Yes, I know you love sailing; I heard how on your way to France you
were the only one who wasn't seasick, or frightened of the storms. The
sea has proved a country to many a country less man. You should have
been a sailor."
"Where have you sailed?" she asked. "Have you been to the far north?
Have you been to the little isles in the west, the Hebrides?"
"Aye, I've sailed there. The seas around them are rough, and when you
arrive, you feel you have made a true pilgrimage. They are truly
otherworldly of a world we do not, cannot, know. The bitter
isolation.. . what drove the monks there, what kept them there in
their little stone cells?"
"Ah! How I long to go! If only you could take me!"
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. "There is no reason why I
cannot. Someday." He paused, then gave her a level stare. "If you
survive your husband's plotting and treasons."
"I already have." But she hated to have it named. Treason.
"He is not done yet. I pray you, watch him. Set spies on him. Do not
underestimate him."
Bothwell had not heard Darnley's threats at Traquair. If he had, he
would have been even more alarmed.
"Very well," she said. "I must trust you, and heed your advice."
"Never underestimate such a man," Bothwell insisted.
"And you came all the way here to warn me of that?"
"Yes. Don't you think it is important? You seem very unconcerned
about your own safety. Let me remind you of a soldier's maxim: never
let down your guard, never assume the serpent is incapable of
striking."
Gradually the attraction to him was creeping back. At first, stunned
at seeing him, she had not felt it. She had been relieved that it was
gone, like a person who finds a treasure with an elaborate set of
instructions to go with it, burdening it. This feeling for Bothwell
would be at best demanding, at worse bankrupting. Better to have found
that it vanished of its own accord before any damage was done.
But it was here again, as strong a presence as the man himself. She
felt convinced that he could see it, it was that palpable. At the same
time she prayed that he would go away without any further ado.
She stood up. He stood up, following her example. She heard herself
saying something about how kind it was for him to have come, how she
appreciated it. Would he like any refreshments? My, how late it is,
good night, I look forward to Jedburgh.. .. Was he following her to
the door, whence she was leading him? She dared not look back.
His hand touched her shoulder, and she turned immediately in a way that
meant his arm was around her. She was only six inches from him, facing
him. He did not drop his arm, but brought up the other one to encircle
her. He held her to him, gently. There was nothing in the touch but
solicitation and kindness.
He feels sorry for me, as he did for those peopk in the cottage.. ..
His touch is like that of a brother, only my brother's is cold.... He
must be happily married, and sees me as what did he say? Poor Queen.
His looks, his hands, all are brotherly ... I know how looks and hands
are when there is desire .. . I've seen and felt it enough when I did
not want it... Chastelard, Gordon, Arran, now; Damley.. ..
Never had she wanted something so badly; never had she felt so
rejected.
She lifted her face to look at him, and he kissed her.
She had been mistaken. There was desire there, great desire. His kiss
was nothing like the one in the dream. It was lingering and sensual.
She felt him breathing gently, easily, against her. It felt natural to
be held by him, to be kissing him, without thought or hesitation. She
loved the feel of his lips; they were smooth and promised intimacy at
all levels, of which this was only a beginning.
All she felt was the lips, and the promise of them.. ..
Bothwell had pulled away. "No!" he said. "No, forgive me!"
She wanted to draw him back, but she could not allow herself to. He
looked ashamed and confused. "There is nothing to forgive," she
finally said.
"It will not happen again," he said, stepping far enough away that she
was out of reach. "I can promise you that, if only you will forgive me
this one lapse, this one presumption."
"There is nothing to forgive!" she insisted. "Pray, do not run away.
The rain has become worse " Outside they could hear the rattling of the
rain on the roof.
"I must go!" he said, reaching for the door. "Remember what I told
you about Lord Damley!" He was out the door and gone in an instant.
Darnley! His last words were of Darnley!
With a storm of weeping, she threw herself on the bed. The sound of
the rain drowned out her sobs, so that no one came to inquire about
her.
THIRTY-FOUR
After Bothwell returned to the Borders, he busied himself attacking his
hereditary enemies, the Kerrs. In addition, he took an entire band of
Armstrongs of Liddesdale; they were now imprisoned in the huge fortress
of Hermitage Castle, and would be tried, and probably executed, when
the Queen came to Jedburgh.
After three successful weeks in the field he returned to Crichton
Castle, where Lady Bothwell awaited him. He was strangely eager to
tell her of his exploits, perhaps because he wished to show her his
part of Scotland was as dangerous and exciting as her beloved
Highlands, and that her husband was more to be feared in the field than
any Gordon.
He found her seated on a giant cushion before the fire in an upstairs
chamber, drinking a goblet of wine and engaged in needlework. She
scarcely looked up when he came in, which incensed him. She was always
so calm, so self-possessed. It was all one to her whether he came or
not, whether he had been hurt or not. He wanted to say something, just
to see if she would pay attention to him, but stopped himself. He
turned on his heel and walked out, just as she looked up at him with
her pale, bulging eyes. As she saw him leaving the room, she smiled
and went back to her needlework.
Bothwell found himself standing on the upper landing of the staircase,
staring down two flights of stairs. He descended angrily, intent on
returning to the stables, when he caught sight of Bessie Crawford, one
of Lady Bothwell's young serving women, ascending with a tray. She
tossed her head and seemed to be talking to herself. She was almost
opposite Bothwell before she saw him and stopped talking,
embarrassed.
"Pray continue your conversation with yourself," he said. "I enjoy
eavesdropping."
"Oh! Sire! I I did not realize you had returned! Why was it not not
announced?" she stammered.
"I have spent the past three weeks sneaking up on people. It is a
difficult habit to break." He lifted the covers of the dishes. Stewed
hare. Scones. Cheese. He popped a wedge of cheese in his mouth, then
followed it with a scone, waiting for the girl to protest on behalf of
her mistress. "It can be gratifying to be a thief," he said.
"Especially if one is truly hungry."