Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean - Страница 42

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“I am sure,” he said, “that you can discourse most learnedly and charmingly on all subjects. It is one of the accomplishments they have taught you so well in France.”

“Jamie, Rome would be ready to offer you great honors if you would change your mind.”

“My mind is made up, dear sister; and it is firmly turned away from the Church of Rome.”

“Then there is nothing I can say to turn you back to it?”

“Nothing. And there are other and urgent matters to discuss.”

“It will be a comfort to know that you are at my side to help me.”

He took her hand and let his lips rest lightly on it. “I shall serve you faithfully while you serve Scotland,” he said.

She believed him; there was that about James which made her believe him. She felt a little happier for her interview with him. But when he had left she still made excuses to stay in France.

OFTEN MARY lay sleepless through the night thinking of the perilous journey across the seas. She would dream that the ships of the Queen of England captured hers; she dreamed that she stood before the redheaded virago, who swore she would have vengeance because Mary had denied her right to the crown of England.

Back in Scotland were the quarrelsome nobles. Her brother and Maitland had not been good friends to her mother, she remembered. The Catholic nobles, led by Huntley, the Cock o’ the North, were untrustworthy. Yet she must go amongst them; and to reach them she must brave the perils of the English seas.

Suddenly there came to her memory a man—an insolent man, yet a bold one. He was no friend of the Catholic nobles, and no friend of her brother and Maitland; rather, he had stood alone, a chieftain of the Border country, ruthless and despotic; yet her mother had said she would rely on his loyalty more readily than on that of any other man in Scotland.

Then Mary made a sudden decision. She would send a messenger to James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, instructing him, as Admiral, to arrange for her safe passage to Scotland.

She was surprised how much happier she could feel knowing that the arrangement for the voyage would be in the hands of a strong man.

BOTHWELL WAS delighted to receive the summons. He believed his fortunes were now on the rise. He would ingratiate himself with the Queen. Moreover the prospect of a battle with the English delighted him. He began to plan for immediate departure.

Anna Throndsen watched him with passionate eyes. Their life together was a battle. She would win one skirmish and lose the next. She was clever, but so was he, and he had all the advantages.

“I depart tomorrow,” he told her gleefully.

“But you have just arrived.”

So he had. She was living in one of his houses and he visited her now and then. He snapped his fingers at her. He would not marry her. But there were times when he liked to visit her; he enjoyed the battles between them and delighted to arouse her anger, to hear her swear that she hated him, that she wished never to see him again; and then have her sobbing out her passionate need of him, caught in one of those weak moments when quite effortlessly he could sweep away all her resistance and leave her quivering with passion. That was his special gift. He had no need to stress it; it was simply there, and his very indifference to it enhanced it.

“I come and go as I please,” he told her.

“And where shall you go this time?” she asked. “Back to that old hag Janet Beaton? Have you then such a fancy for the aged? Do you prefer grandmothers?”

“I shall not go to Janet this time, but to a young woman. She sends for me because none other will suit her purpose.”

Passion flamed in Anna’s face. She ran to him and slapped his cheek. To him the blow was no more than a tap. He laughed aloud and caught her hand.

“Why, Anna,” he said, “you almost tempt me to stay another night. I like you better in anger than in gentle love.”

“I wish I had never seen you.”

“It might have saved much inconvenience if I had never seen you”

“I thought you never allowed women to inconvenience you?”

“I do not… for long.”

“You are quite heartless. Have you no thought for the child?”

“I have so many children, they tell me. Were I to concern myself with all of them, I should have time for nothing else.”

“Who is the woman you are going to see, if it is not Janet?”

“She is very beautiful. I can tell you that.”

“Who, I asked.”

“Try to guess.”

She struggled in his grip while her eyes blazed. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “Her name is Mary and she is the Queen of Scotland.”

“The Queen!”

“She sends for me to bring her safely back to Scotland.”

“For you! So she too!”

He laughed. “Anna, you are a fool. You see passion everywhere. This is a command from a queen to a subject.”

“But why you… why you?”

“Because her mother knew she could trust me. She knew I hated the English. Mayhap this Queen knows that I shall serve her well for the reason that I am a Borderer and a natural enemy of those on the other side. There is hardly a man in Scotland of any standing who is not in the pay of the English. Lord James himself… Maitland… anyone you can name. But I have never taken a bribe from them. I have taken their cattle and I have taken their women. I am their enemy and they know it. The Queen knows it. So she now asks me to arrange her safe passage, and, my dear Anna, I go with all speed.”

“The Queen will reward you,” said Anna.

“Doubtless.”

“And when she does, you will do the right thing by our child? You will do the right thing by me?”

He sighed deeply. “Who knows, Anna? Who knows?”

Now her eyes began to blaze again with anger, and he laughed. As he had told her, he liked her thus; and it would be a long time before he saw her again.

IT WAS AUGUST. Through the French countryside passed a brilliant cavalcade at the head of which in a magnificent carriage decorated with cloth of gold and silver and bearing the arms of Guise and Lorraine rode the great Duke and his brother, the Cardinal. There followed in a beautiful chariot Mary Stuart; and behind her came her four Marys with a company of French noblemen, poets and musicians.

Mary knew that at Calais she would say good-bye to those two uncles who had been her guardians since she had set foot in France, but their three brothers, Mary’s uncles, Claude the Duc d’Aumale, Francois the Grand Prior of Lorraine, and Rene the Marquis d’Elboeuf, were to accompany her to Scotland. She was glad of this; her uncle Rene she liked particularly because he had a gay nature and it was a comfort to have him with her.

She was conscious all the time of Henri de Montmorency, the Sieur d’Amville, who made it his delight to be at her side and gratify her smallest wish. He had introduced to her notice a very personable young man who played the lute with charm and wrote verses which fell not far short of those of Ronsard. This was Pierre de Chastelard, and she had made up her mind that she would reward that young man with a good post when they reached Scotland. She liked him; he was so gay and charming; and she was fond of poets. Unfortunately he was a Huguenot, she had heard; but then, so was Henri de Montmorency, and she would not let a persons religious opinions interfere with the friendship she felt.

She was a little happier than she had feared she would be, and that was due to the people who were going with her. She looked around the company. There were many familiar faces.

She was glad to see Lord Bothwell’s among them. She was not sure of her feelings regarding him as a person; he was certainly rather crude but he gave such an impression of strength and power that when she contemplated the journey before her and all its perils, she was glad to know that he was with the expedition.

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