Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (151 page)

Mary rose and went to the window. Willie was bent down between two
boats beached on the shore. He must be disabling them, as he had said
he would. There was a hiatus in the celebration before he was expected
in the great hall.

"That boy!" the Laird cried. "Always some foolishness!" He started
to motion to a guard outside to investigate.

"Oh!" Mary put her hand up to her forehead and groaned. She swayed
and fell to her knees.

Confused, the Laird bent down to her, abandoning the window. "What is
it?"

"I feel so dizzy. It comes upon me sometimes like this!" She slumped
against him. "I pray you, help me to my couch."

The Laird sighed and put his arm under her shoulder, and helped her to
walk feebly to the couch. "There," he said, straightening up and
looking back toward the window.

"Would you please be so kind?" she said in a small voice. "Sweet wine
from Sicily or Cyprus helps me when I have these attacks. Would you
happen to have could you bring me ooh, I will try not to faint!" She
rolled her head from side to side.

Disgruntled, the Laird had to go fetch it himself, as there were no
attendants. By the time he returned, Willie had gone from the boats.

At the May Day feast, the Laird insisted on being seated where he could
have an unobstructed view out the window to the shore, just in case
there was something amiss on the mainland. Willie was presiding over
the table, pouring wine with abandon. Everyone was getting
befuddled.

In front of the Laird, beside his plate, lay the keys to the gate and
castle, as they did every night after the gates were locked. There
were five of them, linked on a chain.

Willie was at his shoulder, a huge bottle of wine braced on his arm.

"Wine, sir?" he said.

"No no more." Things were starting to fuzz. "Uh what kind is that?"

"This is the Rhenish, sir. Best we have. Better than the stuff you
were drinking earlier."

"Umm. All right." The Laird held up his goblet, and his hand swayed a
bit.

"Oh, this is heavy! Pardon me!" Willie groaned and threw his napkin
down on the table while he shouldered the bottle in a different way, as
he poured the liquid out. It gurgled like a happy spring toad in
love.

The Laird did not notice that when Willie picked up his discarded
napkin, the keys disappeared.

Mary, watching anxiously at the window, saw Willie emerge from the hall
and walk quickly across the green. He raised his hand and nodded.

Mary removed her own skirt, revealing the maid's skirt underneath, put
on her servant's cloak, and descended. Her hood was raised.

"I have the keys," said Willie. "Hurry! But do not run."

They walked together briskly. Mary was sure that her dark, billowing
cloak, so out of place on this May evening, was going to attract
attention. Her heart was beating so hard she now felt truly faint.

Willie pulled the keys out of his sleeve and stuck one into the gate
lock. It did not fit. He tried another. It seemed to fit, but then
did not turn. Mary did not dare even look behind them to see if anyone
was following, lest someone see her face.

Willie tried another, trying to keep his nervous hands steady. It slid
in and then she heard the sound of the bolt releasing. Willie
extracted the keys, then pulled the door open, only wide enough for
them to slide through. Then he closed the gate as quietly as possible
and locked it from the outside.

"There! Now they are prisoners!"

For a moment they hid in the shadow of the wall, to see if anyone was
following. But all was silent. They stole over to one of the boats.
Mary lay down on the bottom.

"The rest are disabled?" she whispered.

"Yes. I pegged them."

"I think the Laird may have seen you. But I tried to distract him."

Willie pushed the boat off, wading into the water up to his waist, then
climbed in. He grabbed the oars and began rowing. The boat cleared
the weeds near the shore, and floated out into open water.

Willie's arm flashed as he flung the keys into the water. They hit
some reeds and then sank with very little sound. "Let them dive for
them!" he said.

Mary cautiously sat up. The shore was already being left behind. But
she had been farther than this when the men had discovered her that
other time. Impulsively she took the second set of oars and began
rowing. Anything to get them farther away!

Willie laughed. "That is not necessary," he said.

"Oh, but it is!" she said. "I must participate in my own escape! I
am not old, sick, or helpless I have never felt stronger!" As she said
it, she realized that the food and rest on Lochleven, forcibly imposed
though they were, had restored her to her old level of energy and
well-being. Once again she was the athletic, active Queen of the
Chaseabout Raid. She pulled on the oars, straining against them.

Darkness was falling. There seemed to be a movement on the shore. Who
was waiting? Was it George? She could hardly see in the blue-grey
mist rising from the loch. She fumbled for the veil she had brought,
the prearranged signal: she was to wave her white veil.

It fluttered in the air, its red tassels snapping. Up and down, up and
down. George and his men saw it; and so did the Laird and the company
in the castle, watching helplessly from behind the imprisoning walls.
Suddenly she could hear angry shouting from the island.

They reached the landing at Kinross, and there was George, looking pale
and intense. He held out his arms to her and she alighted. She draped
the veil around his shoulders and said softly, "Thank you."

"Your servant, sir," said Willie, bowing mockingly.

"Who else is here?" Mary asked.

Crowding toward her was John Beaton, from the faithful Beaton family.
He headed a company of about twenty horsemen. "Borrowed from the
Laird's stables here on shore," he said. Everyone laughed. Young John
Sempill, Mary Livingston's husband, was beside him.

"Lord Seton is waiting, hidden in the glen, with fifty men," said
George. "And the Laird Hepburn of Riccarton with him."

Laird Riccarton! Both well's friend and kinsman!

"Let us leave, and quickly. Can you ride?"

"Of course!" Mary mounted a muscular horse brought over to her.

The party galloped off.

The night was balmy. Somehow it felt different on land than out on the
island. The air, the scents, were different.

Free. I am free. The feeling was so odd she could barely understand
it.

They met up with Lord Seton and his men, and Laird Riccarton, at a
clearing just outside of town.

"Dear Lord Seton!" She was delirious to see all these people, friends
instead of enemies. She had not been among friends in so long! They
embraced.

Then the Laird of Riccarton. "Dear friend," she said. Just seeing him
made Bothwell real again. "Please get word to my husband that I am
free! He must join me!"

"I will ride for the coast," he said, "and be there by morning. There
are many ships to carry letters swiftly across the seas."

SIXTY-THREE

Mary and her party galloped around Kinross and then took the road
leading south. She was retracing the miserable route she had followed
when she was taken, a prisoner, to Lochleven with Lindsay and Ruthven.
Every turning of the path brought back a particular memory of that time
of terror for her: the overhanging branch that she had hoped would
knock Lindsay off his horse, the sharp turn where she had almost been
thrown herself. Now they just seemed like perfectly ordinary features
of any riding path, nothing she would even notice.

Ahead of her, Lord George Seton was keeping a good, steady pace. What
a friend he was! Always he had been there at her most precarious
moments, and had helped her in her escape from Holyrood as well. Back
at Lochleven, they were probably questioning his sister. With a
brother and sister so loyal to her, what a contrast to her own brother,
Lord James!

"Are we to stop at Seton House?" she asked him, when they stopped on
the road to refresh themselves with a little wine and bread.

"No," he said. "I think we should get farther than that. Lord Claud
Hamilton is to meet us at Queensferry after we cross the Forth. From
there we will rest at Niddry, my other castle." It was dark enough
that he could not see her face, but he could guess at her puzzled look.
"Your escape has been planned, and looked for. Many who had joined
your brother's cause have had time to rethink themselves. The Regency
has not pleased the nobles nearly as well as they'd hoped; now a number
of them have decided to come back to you. The Hamiltons are out in
force for you; the Earl of Argyll, unstable man, has come over to us.
So have Eglinton and Cassillis. You always had the west of Scotland's
loyalty, and the lords from there, Herries and Maxwell, are waiting in
their territories."

So people were turning against Lord James! Now he had seen how easy it
was to please people before you came to power, and how difficult after
wards. Even the best ruler was never more beloved than before he
ascended the throne.

They continued their journey, and made the crossing of the Forth in
several ferries provided for the purpose. At South Queensferry, Lord
Hamilton and fifty of his kinsmen, armed and mounted, greeted them.

"Your Majesty!" said Lord Hamilton. "It is with great joy that I see
you!" His men lifted their weapons in salute.

As they passed through little villages on their way to Niddry, the
people came out and cheered her. There was nothing but sweet welcome;
no spitting, no name-calling, no calls for her to be burnt. Had the
people forgiven her? She had not heard such acclaim since before
Darnley's death. Perhaps they had forgiven, perhaps even forgotten. If
only their hatred of her had been forgotten!

It was midnight when they reached Niddry, Seton's castle that lay
several miles south of the Forth. There they halted.

"Come, Your Majesty," said Lord Seton. They swept into the courtyard
and then into the prepared apartments. "All is ready," he said, and
Mary walked into a tidy, well-furnished room. It was no bigger than
the one at Lochleven, but the freedom made it seem ten times larger.

"With all my heart I thank you," said Mary, touching his shoulder.

Inside her room, alone at last, she looked around, dazed. It had been
a very long time since she had arisen in that tower chamber at
Lochleven. And her prayer had been answered; she did not ever have to
go to sleep in it again.

Too tired to do anything but remove her shabby shirt and bodice, and
grateful that she was completely alone, she climbed into the bed and
fell at once into a profound, deep sleep the best she had had in ten
months.

She awakened to a feeling that told her there had been a momentous
happening, but for an instant she could not remember exactly what it
was. This bed it was unfamiliar. The room's dark corners failed to
disclose its size. She got out of the high, carved bed and groped her
way over to a window that showed the east light. She was overlooking
land, land no water. No island. Nothing but this gentle green
surrounding her. Then it all rushed back upon her she was free! This
was Lord Seton's castle.