Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (88 page)

He responded like the twenty-one-year-old he was, blood surging. She
lay back and allowed him to make love to her, willing herself to think
of something else ... of the hawks soaring overhead today, of the black
pool of water between the boulders where she and Bothwell had stopped
today.. ..

At the thought of him, all her muscles tensed and gave Darnley a jolt.
He cried out, interrupted, but she soothed him. He subsided.

Think of the sky, so blue beneath all those chasing clouds .. . think
of the cottage, a hut, really .. . those people .. . they looked so
much older than they probably were .. . will they give Bothwell the
dogs? The dogs were odd-looking, but they said they were hunters .. .
how can they run with all that long hair .. . ?

Darnley cried out and clutched her. Was it over, then? She kissed his
forehead. It was beaded with sweat. Yes, he was done.

Thank God, and all the saints, especially the virgin ones! I got
through it! she almost wept to herself.

"Mary, Mary," he was murmuring. "Ah, my Mary!"

"Sleep now," she said. "Sleep here beside me."

Contented, he curled up and fell instantly asleep on her shoulder.

In a few moments she slid out from under him and reached for her gown
that was lying on the floor. Drawing it over herself, she made her way
over to the window and looked out over the grounds. The clouds had
parted and broken up. They lay in opalescent clumps all across the
sky.

Not far away, the River Tweed sparkled as it ran past in the full
moonlight. If she had been nearer it, she could have heard the murmur
and tumble of its shallow waters over the rocks. What was the rhyme
that Bothwell had taught her about the Tweed?

Tweed said to Till

What gars you run so still?

Till said to Tweed

Though you run with speed

And I run slow,

Where you drown one man, I drown two.

So the Tweed was dangerous, though it might look tame here, near the
house. They had dined on salmon and trout from its cold waters on many
evenings, and it had seemed a benign river.

The moon shone in the courtyard, touching each of the rounded
cobblestones with light. The trees dipped and swayed slightly in the
wind, waving their fat August leaves like fans.

The entire house was dark. Even BothwelPs rooms, which she had made a
point of noting.

The next morning they all gathered on the stone forecourt, where Sir
John had set out chairs and tables. The sun was already dappling the
leaves and promising fine weather for another day; the pale, drained
moon was just setting in the west.

"Pray help yourself," said Sir John in a jovial tone, as the servitors
passed the heated ale in small tankards, and plates with eggs in
mustard sauce and cold mutton.

Bothwell took a platter and sat down easily. He threw one arm over the
back of his chair and drank some ale, his throat rising and falling as
he did so, then he ran his tongue over his lips and set the tankard
down.

"You had a long ride yesterday," said Sir John, as if it were not a
question.

"Indeed," Bothwell replied, chewing his mutton and swallowing it before
answering. He smiled, showing white, even teeth. "In distance not so
great, but in time, what with the steep and winding paths, many hours.
But I saw what I needed to see." He picked up the tankard again.

As did I, thought Mary.

Her feelings for him had not gone away; indeed they had intensified, as
if by magic, in the hours when she had not seen him. The interlude
with Darnley had not affected them.

In France, her tutor had once taught her that to truly fix an image in
the mind, to fasten it down completely so that it remained forever
captive and vivid, she should carefully name each aspect of the thing
to herself, as though she were describing it to a blind person.

"For, ma petite, such is the fickleness of the human mind that it soon
lets go of whatever it sees; if you would keep it, you must tack it
down with words." She had tried it and found that it worked on
flowers, rooms, faces, ceremonies.

Now, when she wanted to keep Bothwell forever as he was at this moment,
sitting near the entrance to an old hunting lodge on this fine August
day, in his thirty-first year, she began silently to name his
features.

Behind him are the soft, cream-coloured walls, and they have ivy
growing part of the way up them, above the rectangular windows. The
sun is hitting the walls, but Bothwell is still shaded by the long
shadows of the trees guarding the house.

His head is round and rather large for his body. His hair is almost
red but not quite; it has enough brown in it to soften it. It is
cropped short like a soldier's, and his ears show. They are
beautifully shaped ears, and they hug his head. He has wide
earlobes.

His skin is taut and tanned and clean-shaven, and his jawbone shows
prominently. His lips are wide and curved, and faintly pink.

His neck is thick and sun-browned like his face, and his shoulders are
broad. He is wearing a rust-coloured leather hunting shirt, but even
though the sleeves are full I can see the muscles which make his arms
so large. His hands are big, with blunt fingers and no rings.

She looked farther down at his muscular legs, well outlined in his
riding breeches, and at his sturdy wide feet in their low-heeled
boots.

Then she looked back up at his eyes.

There is a scar above his left eye from the fight he had with Cockburn
of Ormiston. But he has no other injury and even has long eyelashes.
His eyes are a green-brown, the colour of winter moss.

"Is there something amiss?" Bothwell was speaking to her. "You are
staring at me as if there were an insect crawling on me."

"There was one," said Mary, horribly embarrassed, "but he flew away. He
was on your your "

Everyone laughed, and Mary blushed.

"So that is why your eyes were riveted to his his what!" said Darnley
snidely.

"Nothing," snapped Mary.

"Well, well," said Sir John hastily, "what is your pleasure today?
Shall we try to hunt in the Ettrick Forest, and hope the poachers have
not been there first? I am mortified about what happened yesterday."

"I fear I must depart," said Bothwell. "This is a pleasant interlude,
but duty, in the form of the Elliots, is calling. They are by no means
broken yet, and time grows short." He stood up and took one last
draught of the ale. "I mean to have them all at our mercy by
October."

"Then shall we hunt together?" Darnley asked Mary. "That is, if you
think you can sit a saddle after last night."

"She is a fine horsewoman; the ride yesterday did not even begin to
test her limits," said Bothwell.

"No, I mean after our ride in the bed last night," said Darnley, almost
cackling with pride.

Mary gasped in hideous embarrassment. Not at Damley's repulsive
bragging, but and this realization embarrassed her even more in shame
that Bothwell should know that she had given herself to Darnley, in
this very hunting lodge, a few rooms away. She hated him knowing.

"Come, perhaps you are with child!" yelled Darnley. "And, good
people" he winked lasciviously at Sir John and Bothwell "ought we not
to work a mare when she is in foal? Come, let us ride, and ride, and
ride!" He laughed and reeled around and around, spilling out the
contents of his tankard.

"Drunk!" cried Mary, shocked at the revelation. "It's true, then,
what they told me, your drinking has become worse, your constant,
foulmouthed drunkenness! It is only nine in the morning, and how many
of these have you had?" She kicked the tankard and sent it rolling
down the cobblestones and onto the grass. "You drunken, stupid fool!
You'll never touch me again!" She slapped him on the face so hard it
sent him spinning around even faster. His legs tangled and he fell in
a heap.

The servitors, hovering near the steps, froze in position.

Suddenly she felt strong, wide hands on her shoulders and a commanding
voice in one ear. Bothwell was bent so close to her his lips almost
touched her cheek. "Quiet. Let him lie there. Do not demean
yourself." He let her go and stepped back.

"Sir John, I must take my leave." He looked disdainfully at Damley,
sprawled out on the ground. "May I suggest fresh cider or perhaps milk
with your future breakfasts, Your Majesty? Good day." He turned and
walked across the forecourt and into the house to collect his
belongings and make a speedy retreat.

Once he was gone, Mary threw her head in her lap and began to sob. She
was more miserable than she had ever believed it possible to be. Then
she wiped away her tears and commanded herself to cease crying.

She left Darnley still lying in a huddle on the ground, shaking and
whining.

I will leave here, too, she thought. I will take the little Prince and
bring him directly to Stirling and give him into the care of the
Erskines.

Within her chamber, she lifted the sleeping infant from his elaborately
carved rocking cradle, a gift of her host. It was of dark wood, lined
with padded velvet. The two-month-old baby, his face now filled out
and his plump cheeks flushed, stirred and opened his deep blue eyes.

A rush of fierce love and pride shook her as she looked down at him. It
was all worth it, then, so that this child could have been created?
Hearing his breathing, holding his warm body, the answer felt like
yes.

"Dress him for travelling," she told Lady Reres. "And pack all his
things." She turned to Sir John, who had followed her. "It is
necessary that he be transferred to the safety of Stirling Castle, as I
once was," she said. "It is customary for the heir to the throne. And
it is almost the appointed time .. . what matter a few weeks one way or
the other? Gather your men and make me an escort within the hour."

"Your Majesty, do not do this in haste or anger "

They could hear Darnley stumbling into the hall and then climbing the
stairs toward them.

"And lock him up!" she cried.

Sir John looked in genuine pain. "Your Majesty, I am not allowed to
lay hands on him. He is the King .. . have you forgotten?"

"Yea, wife, have you forgotten?" Darnley's slurred voice sounded from
the doorway.

Mary clutched the baby more tightly.

"I have not forgotten that I granted you the title of King. But you
have not been anointed or crowned, or recognized by Parliament. Nor
will you ever be! Now" she raised her voice and called for the chamber
guards "I give orders, as the only anointed sovereign in the realm,
that you restrain the Earl of Ross and Duke of Albany here. Confine
him to his chambers until he recovers from his temper-fit. Should he
become violent, bind him."

The guards looked to Sir John, to Darnley, and then back again to Mary,
then reluctantly stepped forward and grabbed Darnley's arms. He
attempted to throw them off, but could not.