The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 9

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“Mary,” he cried breathlessly, “do not bring them here. That would spoil our plans. If it were known that you and I were lovers . . . ”

With a great effort she held him off and, although he still kept his arms about her, their faces were no longer close. “You insolent fool!” she said. “Do you think that I would take you for my lover? Do you think you merely have to break into my room and insult me, to have me begging for your favors? You must be mad, Lord Ruthven. And if you do not take your arms from about me I shall shout for help. I shall tell Master Lindsay what you have done . . . what you have said to me.”

He would not release her; he had caught her against him once more, and she felt his face hard against hers. She tried to catch at his hair but he only laughed wildly.

“Is it too much to ask?” he whispered. “I will make you free. All I ask is a little affection.”

“My affection would never be yours, Lord Ruthven.”

She tore herself from his arms and ran to the door. He was there before her, barring her way.

“You act like a coy virgin,” he complained. “All Scotland knows you are not that.”

Her face was very pale and she was shaking with anger.

“I have loved men,” she said quietly, “and men have loved me. I never offered myself for profit, my lord Ruthven. You are mistaken. You have invaded the privacy of your Queen, not any man’s harlot. Go now. It would be well if I never saw your face again. Then I might find it easier to forget your conduct on this night. It would go hard with you if I, escaping from this prison, remembered it.”

She looked so regal standing there that Ruthven was overcome by dismay at what he had done.

He stammered: “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I fear my love for you was greater than my good sense.”

“Go,” she said. “And if you would please me, keep from my sight.”

He bowed and went out, and she leaned against the door; her heart was beating madly and she was still trembling. She stumbled over to her bed and lay there.

She was thinking: At any time he could come in to me. So could others. I have subdued him on this occasion, but will there be others?

Jane and Marie must in future sleep in her apartments. Otherwise she would never feel safe from the lechery of those who were supposed to be guarding her.

I must escape, she told herself. There must be some who would help me . . . without conditions such as Ruthven’s.

MARY LAY DOZING in her bed. Jane slept at the foot of it and Marie on a pallet on the floor. She had not told them the reason why she had insisted on this arrangement, but they guessed that she had been disturbed by the attention of some male member of the household, for they looked upon this as inevitable now that she was regaining her health and with it her beauty.

A sudden explosion split the silence. Jane and Marie were on their feet exclaiming with surprise because there was a reddish glow in the room.

The Queen sat up in her bed, shaking back her luxuriant hair.

“The Highlanders have come to rescue Your Majesty!” cried Jane.

“Is it so?” said Mary excitedly; and as she rose from her bed and Jane ran to help her on with her robe another explosion was heard.

Mary was at the window. In the sky was a glow and there was a smell of smoke in the air. Near the lake a great bonfire was blazing and she could see men about it—soldiers with pikes and halberds.

Then again came a shattering explosion.

“They are firing the ordnance of the castle,” she said.

“What does this mean?”

“It would seem, Your Majesty,” suggested Marie, “that they are celebrating some great event.”

“I must know what,” insisted Mary.

She went to the door of her chamber; a guard, who was standing outside her door, immediately turned to her and she asked: “It would seem some great event is being celebrated. I would know what.”

The man let his eyes wander from her head to her feet in their velvet slippers which showed beneath her loose robe. There was insolence in his manner which he scarcely troubled to hide.

“The coronation of the King of Scotland,” he answered her.

He was resentful because he was not outside, taking his part in the celebrations; he had to remain at this door and guard the prisoner. And who was she? he asked himself. Nothing but a whore if rumor was true—a whore and a murderess. And there was he, denied the pleasure his fellows were enjoying—because of her.

It was true that he had drunk rather freely of the wine which had been brought to him by one of his comrades; and since drinking it he had felt a fine fellow, which made it all the more irritating that he should have been left to guard the woman.

“Coronation of the King of Scotland!” repeated Mary, aghast.

“That’s what I said,” the soldier gruffly answered.

Mary did not hear the step on the stair; and when a voice said: “You forget you address the Queen!” she was startled. And looking up she saw the young Douglas—the one with the earnest eyes and frank, open face.

The soldier’s attitude changed slightly and the young Douglas went on: “Stand to attention when the Queen addresses you.”

The soldier obeyed.

The young man came forward and bowed. “Your Majesty, I trust you have not been subjected to a lack of respect.”

“It is something to which I have become accustomed since entering this place,” she answered.

“Then I ask forgiveness for all who have failed to treat Your Majesty with the homage due to you.”

She smiled, and the young man said to the soldier: “You may join your friends outside. I will take your place.”

“Sir,” began the soldier, “my orders were . . . ”

“I give you orders now. Go and join the revels.”

“If you’ll take responsibility . . . .”

“I will.”

The soldier saluted and went away.

Mary looked at the young man and again she smiled. He did not step nearer to her; he stood looking at her as though he were not quite sure whether he was dreaming. The authoritative manner which he had used toward the soldier had disappeared. He now looked extremely young.

“Thank you,” said Mary. “I feel less like a prisoner now.”

“Oh . . . my most gracious Queen . . . if I could only do something to help!”

“You have already done something.”

He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of frustration. “I would I could show Your Majesty . . . .”

“Please tell me what is happening.”

“They are celebrating the coronation of your son at Stirling. They are calling him James VI of Scotland.”

“It is to be expected. I signed my Abdication . . . with a sword at my throat.”

“How dared they!” he whispered.

“They dare much when they believe they have little to fear. I am friendless, alone and in their power.”

“Not friendless, Your Majesty.”

“Who are you?”

“George Douglas . . . at your service now . . . and for as long as I shall live.”

“Thank you, George Douglas. I shall sleep happier tonight knowing that I have such a friend within these walls.”

He came to her then and, kneeling before her, lifted the hem of her robe and kissed it.

“You had better rise, George Douglas,” she said. “If any knew that you were my friend they would be watchful. They do not wish me to have friends.”

“In me you have a friend who is ready to die in your cause.”

“It is strange that I can believe you on such a short acquaintance. I have lived my life among flatterers and sycophants. Men have said they would die in my cause but when my fortunes changed they have proved themselves to be anything but my friends. How old are you?”

“I am eighteen, Your Majesty.”

“I feel it is not very old. I am not yet twenty-five but I feel that to be very old indeed. It is experience which makes us old, and I have already passed through a lifetime of experience.”

“Your Majesty, ever since you were brought to the castle I have longed to serve you. If there is any commission . . . ”

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