The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 23

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“And have you thought what your other son might have to say if he knew George had come back after he had banished him?”

“Jamie need never know,” retorted Lady Douglas complacently. “Or if he does, it will then be too late for him to protest, for George will be in France by that time. It is a sad thing when a mother must plead to be allowed to say goodbye to her son.”

At length William gave way and replied to George’s letter that they would see him at the castle.

George arrived half an hour before supper and was received with tearful embraces by his mother, and even William was not unmoved. There had always been deep family feeling among the Douglases; and William, being really fond of his young brother, sincerely deplored the fact that he had made what he called a fool of himself over a woman—not that William could not understand that.

“Come along in, my dear son,” cried Lady Douglas. “Come to my own private chamber. I have much to say to you. You come also, William.”

When they were alone, Lady Douglas looked in consternation at her younger son. He was thin, she declared. How had he been living since he left the castle? She had suffered many a sleepless night on his account.

George told her she was not to worry. He was well able to take care of himself, for he was not a boy any longer.

“I suppose,” said William, “you have been with Seton and Semphill on the mainland?”

George nodded.

“And you’ve been within a stone’s throw of the island, I swear.”

“Where else did you expect me to be?”

“And you were in that plot to smuggle her out as a laundress, I’m certain.”

“You should not feel so disgruntled about it, brother. It failed.”

“And might so easily have succeeded,” growled William.

“Don’t you see,” said George, “the matter is hopeless. That is why I want to get away to France.”

Sir William was pensive. He was thinking: Out of sight, out of mind. He is no longer so enamored of his Queen. He is weary of the plots and subterfuge. Well, he was but a boy suffering from the pangs of calf-love.

“Look here,” he said, “your mother does not wish you to leave Scotland.”

“Oh, George,” cried Lady Douglas, “stay in Scotland. I am sure that Jamie would give you some position with him . . . if you could only assure him that you would serve him faithfully.”

“He is, after all, your brother,” added Sir William.

“I do not think Moray will ever be my friend again,” said George. “No, it is better for me to get right away. Perhaps in a year or so I shall return and by that time Moray may have forgiven me. But I think it best now that I go to France.”

Lady Douglas continued to persuade and Sir William joined with her; but George shook his head and at length they realized that he had made up his mind.

As it was supper time, Lady Douglas said that George must take the meal with them. George said he would be delighted to join them, and so once more he took his place at the supper table.

He noticed the keys beside William’s plate, and William followed his gaze.

“We have been doubly careful since the attempted escape,” he told his brother. “As all the guards are off duty during mealtime, when they come to table I lock the castle gates and the Queen’s apartments, and during that time the keys are never out of my sight.”

“Ah,” said George, “you had a good warning, brother. You were nearly caught once. I’ll warrant you will not be so easily caught again.”

Sir William drank freely of the wine which the page had poured into his goblet. He was feeling sad, partly because he was wearying of his commission to guard the Queen, and partly because he was saying goodbye to his young brother.

“No,” he said firmly, “it shall not happen again. We’re determined on that. We watch her night and day. She would not now be able to slip out of the castle in the guise of a laundress. Everyone who leaves is closely scrutinized.”

“William,” said George, “there is one request I would make to you before I go. I trust you will grant it.”

“I will if it is in my power to do so.”

“It concerns young Willie.”

“That young rogue!”

“Oh, not such a rogue, William. I admit he worked with me. I gave him money . . . and he was always my friend, as you know. We were like brothers.”

Sir William nodded.

“You cannot blame him for doing what I asked him to.”

“So you admit you asked him to help you.”

“I do. You should blame me for what happened . . . not Willie.”

“You might have caused God knows what damage between you. You weren’t rescuing a lady in distress, brother. You were freeing a Queen and preparing to start a civil war.”

“I know. I know. I was young . . . so was Willie. It was my fault. But I ask you not to blame Willie. He has been with me since he left the castle. What will happen to him, think you, when I go to France?”

“You’re taking him with you?”

“That was not my plan. I am going to ask you to take him back into the castle. He can do no harm; I shall be in France, so there’ll be no temptation to. He’s sharp but he’s too young to roam the country by himself. He’d starve to death or fall in with robbers. William, will you take young Willie back?”

Sir William hesitated. He would not have admitted it, but he had often thought of the engaging lad, and he was secretly pleased to have an opportunity of bringing him back.

He pulled at his beard. “Well . . . ” he began, and tried to make excuses for his leniency. “’Tis true the fellow who now serves me at table is a clumsy loon.”

“So you will? I thank you, William. Now I can go with an easy mind.”

George did justice to the food on the table. Not at all, as Lady Douglas said afterward to Sir William, like a lovesick young man.

Afterward they conducted him to the boat, for in spite of his seeming indifference Sir William could not run the risk of his seeing the Queen.

No harm had been done. He had been with George all the time he had been in the castle, and even Moray could not take exception to that.

He stood with Lady Douglas beside him watching until the boat reached the mainland.

“Did you notice,” he said to his mother, “that George did not once look up to the keep?”

“I did. Jamie was right to banish him for a while for the trick has worked. But how I wish that he could now come back to Lochleven.”

THE SOLDIERS WHOSE duty it was to guard the Queen found the days somewhat monotonous. The importance of their task was continually being pointed out to them, but that did not alter the dullness of their duties which consisted of standing in one spot for a number of hours, or pacing back and forth a few paces each way.

They were continually thinking of ways to pass the time. Gambling was a favorite occupation; another was rough horseplay; and one of the favorite games was what they called “liberating the Queen.” In order to play this they divided themselves into two sides and had a mock battle, using lumps of turf, for ammunition, with which they pelted each other.

This game caused great amusement, not only to themselves but to watchers in the castle. Serving men and maids would call from the windows urging on this side or that, and sometimes they would even take part in the mock battle.

Even Will Drysdale, the commander of the garrison, found the game irresistible, and one day to make the battle more realistic he fired a hackbut, which mistakenly he believed to be loaded with powder only, into a group of the “enemy.”

The result was that two of the men were wounded in their thighs, so what had begun as a game turned out to be a serious matter.

Mary, who had been watching from her window, immediately sent her French apothecary down to see what he could do to help.

The two wounded men were carried into the castle and their wounds dressed; but when the apothecary returned to his mistress he was thoughtful.

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