I look at him quizzically. “Knowing he is ill?”
He shrugs. “Double the purse and I will keep him busy as long as you wish.”
After we have eaten, I find him the clothes of a page and smuggle him back to Anthony Standen, pushing down my guilt with a payment of three times what I gave him the previous night. Requiring a new disguise, I borrow an outfit of the lad’s own clothing myself. A wig and a moustache glued to my upper lip complete the illusion that I am a French actor. When even La Flamina does not recognize me in the corridor, I feel safer.
I must ask the Queen for my reward and tell her I will leave at the end of the baptism celebrations. But she is busy every moment and I cannot catch her alone. By the time evening falls, I am so agitated that I can barely stand still. Knowing that the Queen likes to watch the sunset from the castle wall with only her closest companions, I wait in the garden to meet her.
She emerges from the castle with Seton and La Flamina. They climb the wall to watch the last moments of sunset and then, with the night chill already setting in, they return to the castle. I follow.
They halt at the entrance to the courtyard and the Queen says something. I see Seton frown a little, then bob her head and step into the door, followed by La Flamina. I am about to come closer when the Queen suddenly turns to the side and hurries down the pathway.
I stand still for a moment. It is not my concern, what she does when she thinks herself alone. But I have long had the habit of spying. I follow.
She takes a twisting path into the garden with hurried purpose. When a figure looms out of the dusk, she quickens her step to meet him and I stop.
It is Bothwell. I recognize the timbre of his voice, though not the words as they murmur together. I dare not go closer lest they hear me. I recall, suddenly, walking into Bothwell’s sickroom while the Queen was present and the odd expressions on their faces.
It’s no use; I must hear them. I inch my way along the grass, keeping in the shadows of the shrubs. When I am close enough to hear their voices, I crouch down.
“You must pardon every one of them,” he says. “It is time he was afraid. Then he will not dare to snub you thus!”
“He fears they will kill him.” She speaks so softly I can hardly hear.
“Perhaps his behavior will improve if he feels himself threatened.”
“They are murderers, my Lord!”
“Your husband refused to come to his own son’s baptism. Something must be done about him.”
“I do not know what else to do.”
“Pardon his enemies,” he says. “Let the King feel fear.”
“Very well. But not Fawdonside, after he held a pistol to my belly. Nor Ruthven.”
“Ruthven is near death. He won’t trouble you again.”
The plotters who murdered Rizzio and then were betrayed by Darnley and forced to flee. If I am hearing right, they will be brought home to Scotland. More than seventy murderous enemies for our King, set on revenge. He should tremble this night.
As I am trembling now. If it is not enough to have the Hume clan planning my death, now I am hearing words not meant for my ears. I slow my breath until I am scarcely inhaling at all.
“I’m afraid,” she whispers. “It all hangs by a thread.”
“We shall find a way through this,” he says, his voice low.
The bushes rustle. “I must go,” she says. “I will be missed.”
“Must you?”
Two words and I know that intimate tone in his voice. The hair rises on my neck. Surely not this, not for our married Catholic Queen and her married Protestant nobleman? Are they mad, to court such danger?
They separate without another word, their footsteps leading off in different directions. I wait until the cold has reached right through my bones before I creep back to the castle. I go straight to Bothwell’s chambers to speak to William. I must persuade him to flee with me. No good can come of this.
≈ ≈ ≈
My palms are sweating as I raise my hand to knock.
Edmund Blackadder answers, all black teeth and crushed nose, a thousand fights laid out on his body. I pull off my wig and he looks me up and down.
“You,” he says. He pulls open the door and lets me in, closing it quickly behind me.
Edmund’s brother Jock is next to William. William looks up and even across the room his rage hits me like a blow, smiting the adult so that I am seven years old again, standing before him as a child.
William leaps to his feet. “Some oaf of Hume’s threatened me out in the grounds tonight. Told me if I didn’t sign the bond he’d be back to visit again. What’s he talking about?”
I drop my eyes. “It is an agreement with the Hume family guaranteeing our safety.”
“For what price?” William’s voice is low and dangerous.
“Relinquishing our claim.” My voice is hardly above a whisper.
“Damn you!” He strides across the room, his hand raised and suddenly I’m no longer a child. My dagger is pointed at him, though I have no memory of drawing it. He stops. Jock and Edmund both draw their dirks.
“The Humes found out the Queen was to give us the castle.” I keep the blade steady. “It is lost anyway, William. If we sign a bond relinquishing our claim, we can live without fear.”
His face has gone a deep purple. “I would rather die.”
“If you will not sign it, then come with me to France. We can ride this very night and sail tomorrow or the next day. I beg you, Father. There is nothing in Scotland but danger. Let’s make our life in France, or on the sea again.”
“Run away to France,” he says, his lip curling. “I will not sell my soul and my birthright for some illusion of safety.”
There is a weapon between us, or I do not think I could speak the words. “They say it is not your birthright. They say you are not Alison’s son, but the bastard child of one of the Blackadders from the Glasgow church. They say they have proof.”
The silence in the room is so profound that I can hear the blood singing in my veins. He attacks me then; dagger or not, he must know I will never use it on him. He strikes me a blow to the side of the head that almost knocks me from my feet and then he has me by the arm, has it wrenched and twisted behind my back, my bones and tendons screaming. My feet scrabble on the floor as he takes me out the door and along the corridor.
“For once in your cursed life, obey me,” he hisses. He shoves me so hard out of Bothwell’s chambers that I go sprawling on the flagstones and the guards jump and raise their weapons.
He stares down at me from the doorway, his face working. “You are some devil’s spawn. You are not my child. Never show me your face again.”
Forty-nine
Bothwell is the only one who can compel William to sign the document. I wait until he is breakfasting with the Queen in the great hall, then send in a servant with the promise of an urgent message from Captain Blackadder.
He arrives in the courtyard wiping his mouth. There are deep lines etched around his eyes, as if the wound he took in the Borders has sucked his vitality. I come close to him. “It is I,” I say softly. “Alison. William is in grave danger.”
He gestures with his head and I follow him around the chapel and into a clear area in the garden. “There are ears everywhere. What is it?”
“He will hate me telling you this. My Lord, I relinquished the castle because the Humes have proof he is not the heir, but only a bastard born to a lowly Blackadder cleric. I did not want to shame him with it, so I told him I had made the decision myself.”
Bothwell stares at me, thunderstruck. “Did you see their proof?”
“I saw the grave of Alison’s son William in the churchyard,” I say. “They swear there is a king’s charter in the church records in Glasgow setting out William’s lineage. The Queen would not grant me the time to go there. I had a moment only to make my choice.”
“I understand a little better now,” he says. “But you should seek the proof. Likely
it is simply another ploy of Hume’s to keep what he has stolen.”
“It’s too late. Now the Humes are after us again.” I draw out the creased parchment from under my jerkin. “I had to tell William that he was a bastard. They want him and me to sign a bond that we are not the heirs and will never seek the castle again. They have given us a week to sign it in front of a legal witness. But he says he would rather die.”
“As he should,” Bothwell says. “How can he live with honor if he signs such a thing without knowing the truth?”
I spread out my hands. “We have lost the castle. I am leaving for France. With a signature, William may live in safety. You are the only one who can make him. If he will not sign it, then order him to come with me.”
“The castle is not lost,” Bothwell says.
I stare at him. “What?”
Bothwell walks a few paces and pauses with his back to me. At last he swings around. “This is a matter for men now. Give me the bond. I will take care of it. William is under my protection and I will make sure he is safe. Go to France. You are better off there.”
I go to pass the parchment to him, but something in his eyes stops me. I cannot rid myself of the memory of his whispered words to the Queen. I draw my hand back.
“We both must sign. All you need to do is order William. It can be done today in front of a legal witness. Then I must return it.”
“You can sign it now, in front of me,” he says. “I will arrange for William to sign it and have it returned to Hume.”
“Why do you say the castle is not lost?”
He shrugs. “The castle has nothing to do with you any longer.”
He reaches out his hand and I step back from him. “Please, Lord Bothwell. William will not live long enough to be of any service to you if this is not signed.”
He lunges forward suddenly and grabs for the parchment and in a heartbeat I remember how he trained me in sword fighting on the voyage from France. I dodge him, ducking under his arm, swinging around, and breaking into a run, the parchment crumpled at my breast.
When I am out of his sight, I look around quickly for somewhere to hide. Servants are streaming in and out of the kitchen, ensuring the flow of food and the return of plates from the great hall. I cut across the courtyard and join them carrying plates down the stone steps into the kitchen. In a moment I am hidden in the greasy dark.
≈ ≈ ≈
“You have been having adventures,” the Queen says when I come to her chambers and we are alone. “Look at you! You even smell like a servant. How I wish I could run around the castle at will with no one to recognize me.”
She is in her bed. With one day of celebrations to go, she is almost at breaking point. She is pale and keeps clutching at her side.
“Your Grace, please release me,” I say. “I have fulfilled my promise to serve you until the Prince was baptised. I must urgently attend to family matters. I wish to go to France at once.”
“As do I,” she says. “Seeing you dressed thus puts me in mind of when you lived as Robert. Do you think, my dearest, we may don a disguise together and ride out to Leith? We could be merchants in search of new markets and set sail for the new world.”
She laughs, but there is no humor in it.
“I hope you may be able to arrange my payment so I can sail for France on the next boat,” I say, looking at the floor.
“France,” she says, and fingers her goblet of ruby red wine. “Do you know, when I sip this, sometimes I think I can taste the sunlight in France striking the grapes? We have so little sunlight here in winter; it seems darkness is all around.”
I wait.
“It is hard to get gold at Christmas,” she says at last. “Especially after I needed so much for the christening. My coffers are empty.”
My heart is pounding and even in the winter cold I am sweating. I make my voice as soft and undemanding as possible. “Perhaps you could give me an authority to get the gold from one of your agents in Edinburgh?”
“Let us be frank,” she says. “Bothwell has told me you are afraid of a plot against you and your father, hence your haste to leave for France. You did not think to mention this?”
“I would not add to your worries.”
“You are considerate. I have many cares. There are rumors of a plot against me too, and there is nothing I would like more than to sail on the next ship to France, out of harm’s way. Being a queen, of course, I may not.”
Her hand strays to her side and presses at her waist. “Although I have many cares, I have given some thought to this. It is a most delicate time. I have pardoned the exiled lords and they will return to Scotland. It would be most unwise for me to confront Lord Hume at this time. I need to count on all my lords now.”
She sips her wine, winces, and presses her side again. “La Flamina will marry Maitland on Twelfth Night, and another one of my companions is lost to me. My husband and I are estranged, and each day there are whispers of more plots against me. Yet Elizabeth has given a most lavish christening gift to my son and has sent word that she is ready to confer about my succession to the English throne. Scotland has a living male heir who has been the toast of all Europe these past weeks. If I tread my path with great care and wisdom, a new time will come when there is peace among the lords and in the country.”
She looks across and gives me a small smile. “You have served me with such loyalty,” she says, and her voice is honey. “I cannot send you from my side when there is such danger lurking. The plotters may find you before you sail, or they may follow you to France where I cannot protect you. I will not do it.”
She reaches out and puts a hand upon my wrist, her long fingers wrapping around it. “You will be under my highest protection. At my side, no harm will come to you. When it is safe, I shall send you to France myself. Until then, abide with me, Alison.”
≈ ≈ ≈
The celebrations finish, the nobles pack up and leave, and still the Queen shows no signs of returning to Edinburgh. The King has not emerged from his chambers since the baptism and Bothwell is ever by the Queen’s side.
William believes me evil and I cannot think of anything I can do to protect him. If I stay and share his fate, perhaps he will know in the end that I have loved him as a daughter should.
I count off the days as if they are my last. When Christmas Eve dawns dark and cold, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. The prospect of my death has been so constant that I am almost at peace with it now. I wonder what the manner of my death will be and how much it will hurt.
The Queen sends a servant for me at first light. Seton and La Flamina are already laying out her clothes and packing her trunk.
“We are spending Christmas at Drummond Castle,” she says. “Pray help with my packing. We leave by lunchtime.”
I bow at the terse tone of her voice. “Of course, Madam. What about the King?”
She shakes her head angrily. “I told him last night we were going. This morning he has stolen away by himself. He has left a note that he rides to Glasgow!”
“Do not think of him,” La Flamina says. “It is Christmas. Let’s celebrate.”
The Queen strides about in agitation. “There has been enough of celebration. I must think of him. He will be going to join his relatives and I fear they plot against me. There is no clan more powerful in southwest Scotland.”
I clear my throat. “There may be another reason. I have heard a rumor that the King has suffered another bout of illness. His body is badly marked.”
La Flamina crosses to the Queen’s side and takes her hand. “Stop it!” the Queen exclaims. “Do not treat me like a fool. My husband has syphilis, does he not?”
There is silence. She crosses to the window. “Perhaps I shall indeed be delivered from him,” she says softly. Then she turns to us.
“My loyal ones, I need your help. I fear I must go myself to retrieve the King from Glasgow and take him to Edinburgh, where I can keep him close by my side. I cannot leave him wi
th the Earl of Lennox and his kin, or they will bring him round to whatever evil plot they are hatching. They will ruin me and try to make their son the only ruler of Scotland.”
Seton recoils. “You cannot! The danger!”
“I must ride deep into the enemy’s lair and pluck out my husband to halt an even greater danger. I will take every precaution. I shall surround myself with protectors. If I may ask it, I wish you would accompany me.” She smiles at La Flamina. “Except you, my love. For you will be married at last to your Maitland and I would not take you from that.”
La Flamina shrugs helplessly. Seton crosses to the Queen and embraces her. “I would not be left behind,” she says.
“Of course I will come,” I say.
When she dismisses me, I hurry from her presence. At last I have a notion of how to ascertain the truth of William’s birth.
≈ ≈ ≈
The Stag’s Rack Inn is busy with men drinking away the cold of Christmas Eve. I arrive in another disguise and so does Isobel, but I pick her as soon as she walks in the door.
“Do you come alone?” I ask as she sits opposite me.
She nods.
“I have armed protectors hidden nearby if you are lying.”
“Do you have the bond?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I cannot convince William to sign it without proof of his illegitimacy.”
She goes to rise.
“Wait!” I gesture for her to sit again. “The Queen is riding to Glasgow to retrieve her husband in the next few weeks and I shall travel with her. I shall go to the cathedral myself and see the records. If what you say is true, he will sign. I promise it.”
“We have run out of patience.”
I lean over the table. “Your bond asks William to state he is a bastard. You cannot ask a man to deny who he is without evidence.”
“But it will take weeks,” she says.
“The Queen will be back in Edinburgh with the King before the Lenten Carnival. Surely your family intends to come to court for that? I give you my word I will have the bond for you then.”
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