Виктория Холт - Royal Road to Fotheringhay

It was all very easy to arrange. He went through the door in the wall and asked Bastian to bring Lady Reres to him and to keep his coming a secret. Lady Reres soon appeared. She was heartily glad—and very amused—to see him.

She wanted to know what devilment he planned.

“Merely to see the Queen. A matter of some importance. What I want is a secret interview and do not think I can get it when she is living in state. So I chose this time when she is living here in seclusion for a few days. Margaret, could you take me to her?”

“I will ask if she will see you.”

“That will not do. She will say no. She will send for her ministers or her courtiers or someone. This is a secret matter, and I wish none to hear it but herself.”

“My lord, you ask too much.”

“Not from you, Margaret.” He pushed her playfully against the wall. “Remember the good times we had?”

“Well, they are over,” said plump Lady Reres with a laugh.

“Never to be forgotten by either of us.”

“Why should you choose to remember me out of the six thousand… or have I been niggardly in the counting?”

“I have not kept the score, but you are one I remember well.”

Lady Reres laughed again. “I would, of course, help you all I could. But how can I let you into her apartment? I tell you she is alone here, apart from myself and Bastian. What will she say to me when she knows I have allowed you to come in?”

“She need not know. You need not let me in. But leave her alone after supper this evening and leave the door open. I will slip up by the back stairs. You will be discussing next day’s supper with Bastian in the lower part of the house and thus not hear me.”

“We are responsible for the safety of the Queen.”

“Do you think I would hurt the Queen? I tell you it is a matter of great importance … a state matter. It is imperative that I see her … for her sake as well as mine. Now, will you keep my secret? Say nothing to her, leave her after supper, and see that the way is clear for me.”

“I don’t like it.”

“But you will do it for an old friend?”

“I know nothing of it, remember.”

“Why, bless you, Meggie, you know nothing of it. The fault will all be due to my boldness.”

He gave her a loud kiss of gratitude, and she went away thinking of him nostalgically as he used to be in the old days when he came to see Janet. He had changed, she supposed. He was more interested in state matters. His marriage had mayhap sobered him. Ah! They had been good times. She felt young again thinking of them.

THE QUEEN had supped in her small bedchamber and the remains of the meal were still on the table. She was very tired and glad to be alone, free from ceremony for a few days.

She was wearing a velvet robe—loose-fitting—and her chestnut hair hung loose for the weather was warm. It was a comfort to be able to dress thus.

Suddenly she heard a step on the stair. It must be Margaret returning. She was thinking: We shall be leaving here perhaps the day after tomorrow, but there is still another day in which to live quietly.

The door opened and she started up in amazement, for Lord Bothwell was standing on the threshold.

“Lord Bothwell!” she cried.

“Yes, Madam.” He bowed.

“How did you get in here? Why did you not give notice of your coming?”

“I will explain,” he said.

She was angry because now in this small room in this small house his arrogance seemed more in evidence than ever.

“I wish to hear no explanations,” she said. “I will call Bastian to show you out.”

He did not move. He stood by the door as though barring her way.

“Lord Bothwell,” she said, “what is the meaning of this?”

He did not speak. He was looking at her flushed face, her disordered hair. He was looking at her as he had never looked before. In that moment she was afraid of him. She would have pushed past him, but he caught her. His grip hurt her and she cried out, trying to twist her arm free.

She stammered: “This… this unwarranted… insolence…. How… how dare you! You shall suffer for this.”

He had gripped her by the shoulders and bent her backward.

“Shall I?” he said. His eyes were glazed; they looked dazzling in his sunburned weather-beaten face. “Then there shall be something worth suffering for.”

“You come here,” she panted. “You come in… unannounced…. Release me at once. You shall pay dearly for this.”

Bothwell was the Borderer now; the statesman had fled. He had forgotten that he had come to talk about Maitland. He had been in situations of a similar nature before. He had felt this wild excitement, this demand for satisfaction at all costs. But this was different; this was piquant; this was more exciting than those other occasions. Many women had partnered Bothwell in such scenes, but never a queen before this.

He cared for nothing now but the surrender of the woman. If it meant death, it must go on now. It was the first time he had seen her, stripped of her royalty. It was the first time he had discovered what a very desirable woman she was.

He pulled her toward him and roughly caressed her body. Mary was trembling with rage and sobbing with terror. She knew that this encounter had cast its warning over her many a time. It was the meaning of those insolent looks. He would treat her now as he would any peasant over the Border. He cared nothing for the fact that she was the Queen. There was only one thing that was of importance to him; the satisfaction of his vile nature.

She kicked and tried to bite. It was all she could do for she was pinioned. He had turned and, holding her firmly with one arm, locked the door.

She stammered: “This… this… outrage…. It is the most monstrous thing that ever happened to me.”

“It will also be the most enjoyable,” he said.

“You will lose your head for this.”

“No,” he said. “You have never had a lover yet, my Queen. Wait… have patience…. Don’t fight… and then the sooner will you come to pleasure.”

He had torn her robe from her shoulder. She was conscious of her weakness compared with his great strength. He lifted her in his arms then as though he read her thoughts and would stress the fact that she was impotent to resist him.

“It is no use screaming,” he said. “No one will hear. They’ll not break the door down if they do. How could they? Poor Bastian! That feeble Frenchman? Fat Margaret? Have no fear. None shall disturb us.”

“You have gone mad,” she said.

“It is a temporary madness, they say.”

“You forget… I am the Queen.”

“Let us both forget it. Queens should not bring their royalty to the bedchamber.”

“Put me down. I command you. I beg you.”

“I mean to… here on your bed.”

He put her onto it. She tried to scramble up but he had forced her down. She struggled until she was exhausted. The room was spinning round her. She thought afterward that she fainted for a while. She was not sure. She was aware of his heart and hers beating together… heavy, ominous beating.

She had no strength left to hold him off. She lay passive without resistance, without resentment or anger. There was nothing but this extraordinary, overwhelming emotion—this mingling of fury and pleasure, of a terrible shame and an unaccountable joy.

SHE LAY ON her bed long after he had gone.

What has happened to me? she asked herself. Why do I not send for Moray? Why do I not order the immediate arrest of Lord Bothwell? On what charge? The rape of the Queen?

She remembered that she would present a strange sight if Lady Reres came to the room. She got up from her bed. She gazed at her torn clothes which he had thrown onto the floor. How explain them? But they would be part of the evidence she would need to bring him to the scaffold. The rape of the Queen! She could hear the words now. She could hear John Knox thundering them from his pulpit. He would say that she had encouraged Bothwell. “No,” she said aloud as if in answer to his imagined accusation. “It is not true. I always disliked him. Now I hate him. How dared he? The shame of it… the shame of it!”