Виктория Холт - Royal Road to Fotheringhay

The Earl and Countess of Mar, who were the guardians of the little Prince, greeted the Queen with suspicion. News had traveled and they knew of the paper Bothwell had more or less forced the lords to sign. It occurred to Mar that it might be the plan of the Queen and her lover to kidnap the Prince. Mar was not going to lose his precious charge, and he made that quite clear.

Mary held the baby in her arms. He was ten months old, a solemn-faced, wise-looking little boy. He gazed with wonderment at his mother and she, smiling, let his little hand curl about her finger. He was placidly curious as she covered his face with kisses.

If she could take him away with her, live quietly in a nunnery with him, perhaps she would in time forget that she had any desire but to care for him. But such would never be allowed. Already the Earl of Mar was watching her suspiciously; insistent hands were stretched forward to take the baby from her. She was not allowed to be alone in the nursery.

“I am sorry, Madam,” said the Earl. “The Prince has been accorded to my care and I have sworn to watch over him, night and day.”

“Even when he is with his mother?”

“At all times, Madam.”

So this was the state to which she was reduced—a mother who might not be alone with her child! She told herself fiercely: Soon it will be different. When I marry, my husband will stand beside me and there shall not be a lord in Scotland who dares treat me thus.

They left Stirling on the third day. Her spirits were high, for she had always been happy in the saddle and she knew what was waiting for her on the road.

It was arranged between them. He would be there… towering above all men, striking terror into her escort, seizing her person, taking her as his prisoner to Dunbar, and there boldly—as the world would think—forcing her to submit to him. All would be well, for her future was in his hands.

But as they came nearer to Edinburgh she grew uneasy. He should have appeared before this. They were within a mile of Edinburgh Castle itself and unless he arrived almost immediately their plan would miscarry. But he did not disappoint her. She heard the sound of horses’ hoofs pounding on the quiet earth as she rode into Foulbriggs, the small hamlet between Coltbridge and West Port; and as she was about to cross the foul stream—from which the place took its name and which was swollen with the filth from the city—Bothwell’s strong force came into view. Blades gleaming, pikes aloft, they surrounded the Queen’s small company. Bothwell rode up to her.

“What means this?” she asked.

“Madam,” said her lover. “I must ask you to turn your horse and ride with me to Dunbar. You are my prisoner; but have no fear. No harm shall come to you if you obey.”

A young captain rode forward and prepared to do battle with Bothwell for the sake of the Queen.

“Put your sword away, my friend,” said the Queen. “I command you to do so.”

“I’ll take care of the young fool,” growled Bothwell.

“There shall be no bloodshed,” said the Queen.

The young soldier turned to Mary, his eyes alight with that devoted admiration which she so often inspired. “Madam, I would die to save you.”

She smiled, and her smile was her answer. The young man knew that she was by no means disturbed by this adventure, that she was Bothwell’s very willing prisoner.

Maitland cried: “What means this?”

Bothwell flashed a brilliant smile in his direction. “Patience, my lord Maitland. Soon you will know.”

He then dismissed most of her retinue, but kept Lord Maitland, Lord Huntley and Sir James Melville with him; and the journey to Dunbar began.

The Queen rode ahead and Bothwell was beside her.

MARY WAITED in the apartment at Dunbar Castle which had been prepared for her.

Soon he would join her. She could close her eyes and imagine that she was in the Exchequer House on that evening before it all began. It would be just like that. They would enact that scene once again, and the whole world should believe that it was the first time it had taken place.

Bothwell would stand exposed to the world as the Queens ravisher, and as his innocent victim she would declare that she must marry him. As for the unborn child—that would have to be explained later. It was imperative that she marry hastily, that the whole world should not be too shocked by her marriage, and that suspicions that she had been an accomplice in her husbands murder should be allayed.

It was a desperate scheme but their position was desperate. When she had glanced at his stern profile as he rode beside her from Foulbriggs to Dunbar Castle, she had reveled in his strength, in that power within him. How willingly would she surrender! How happily she waited for her ravisher!

In a room below, Melville was remonstrating with Bothwell. Maitland stood aloof; he knew too much. He understood that the Queen and Both-well were already lovers. He knew that this was just another bridge which they had to cross together.

Melville said: “Bothwell, know you not that this is treason? You are unlawfully detaining the Queen. For what purpose?”

“I shall marry the Queen,” said Bothwell.

“She will never consent,” said Melville.

“I will marry her whether she will or not. And it may be that by the time I release her from this castle she will be willing enough.”

Melville was aghast at the implication of those words.

Bothwell laughed and went to the Queen’s apartment.

Melville turned to Maitland. How could Maitland appear so calm? Had he not heard Bothwell express his intention to ravish the Queen?

Maitland’s smile was cynical. Should they be perturbed, it implied, because what was about to take place would be but a repetition of what had been happening for several months?

Maitland shrugged his shoulders. He was concerned with preserving his own life. He was secretly convinced that if he could keep alive for a few more weeks, he need never fear Bothwell again… nor the Queen.

BOTHWELL came to the Queen’s apartment and he stood on the threshold of the room, smiling at her as he had smiled in the Exchequer House.

She cried out in feigned alarm: “My lord… what means this?”

He smiled. As though she did not know! But he enjoyed the masquerade as much as she did. Of late she had perhaps been overeager, and a certain amount of resistance had always appealed to him.

So she protested but her heart was not in the protest, and she was glad when she could surrender freely to his passion.

For twelve days he kept her at Dunbar Castle—his passionate mistress and his most willing slave.

AT THE END of that time the Queen was escorted back to Edinburgh. She rode into the city with Bothwell beside her, he holding her horse’s bridle that the city might know that she was his captive.

Maitland was with them, plans forming in his clever mind. They would marry—those two foolish people—and they would ruin themselves. Morton was already in secret touch with Moray. The country was going to be roused against the King’s murderers; and the hasty marriage, the threadbare plot of abduction and seduction would be seen through; the Queen would have none but Bothwell to stand beside her. When she took Bothwell she would lose all else.

Bothwell and Mary could think of little beyond their marriage which would make him King of Scotland and her the wife of her lover. Neither of them could look very far beyond their greatly desired goals.

There was one obstacle yet to be overcome. Bothwell was not free to marry; but he had already set in motion negotiations which would bring him a divorce on the grounds of consanguinity. The Archbishop of St. Andrews signed the nullity agreement, but Jean was not satisfied with this. She had been truly married to Lord Bothwell, she declared; and that marriage had been entirely legal. She would not have it said otherwise. She would be happy to be free of Bothwell who had been no good husband to her, but she herself would seek a divorce on the grounds of adultery.