He bows low. “I shall guard him with my life, Your Grace.”
We wind down the steep streets of Stirling. The people come out to watch, but their cheering is ragged and falls silent quickly behind us.
The Queen rides tall, but after some hours on the road she begins to sway in the saddle and clutch at her side. Her pain becomes so bad that we must stop in a small cottage and take comfort from a wide-eyed landholder and his family before she can ride again.
We spend the night at Linlithgow and the following morning is sunny again. I wish to let the horse run as we did in days of old, to let my imprisoned body stretch and be free. But there is no galloping over the hills in these days, not when an armed guard accompanies her at all times.
We ride through the day and by the afternoon we have all been lulled into a peaceful state. The sun is warm and the horses are plodding, half asleep, heads down. We cross the New Bridge at Cramond and come round a bend to see them.
Our horses throw up their heads and our party halts. Row upon row of horsemen, in ranks, face us in silence. We are outnumbered tenfold, nay twentyfold at least.
Then I see Bothwell at the head of this army and my breathing begins again. For a moment I thought we were being attacked. He brings his horse forward at a slow canter, his face grim. He rides straight to the Queen, dismounts, and puts his hand on her bridle.
“Your Grace, there is a citizens’ uprising in Edinburgh. I come to convey you to Dunbar for safety.”
She stares down at him. “I thank you, Lord Bothwell, but if there is an uprising I must go to Edinburgh and face it down. I cannot flee.”
Maitland and Huntly both ride up to her side and our guards jostle and press in closer.
“With your protection we can reach Holyrood in safety,” Huntly says.
Bothwell ignores him. “Your Grace, the whole of your party will accompany us to Dunbar.”
There is something in his voice that chills me. The way he has his hand on the bridle of the Queen’s mount is heavy with menace. There is silence for a few moments and then Huntly draws his sword with a loud clang.
“Do you think to stop us?” he asks.
Bothwell glances back and his men raise their swords. The effect is a ripple of steel.
“Hold, Lord Huntly.” The Queen puts up her hand. “We shall go with Bothwell, for I do not want bloodshed in this matter.” She looks around at our guards. “Stand aside,” she says. Then she turns back to Bothwell. “I trust you will allow my men to return to the city.”
“Your retinue shall come to Dunbar and from there we shall assess the situation.” He turns to the men in the front row. “Bring the Queen’s party.”
It’s then I see William. He rides forward, shoulder to shoulder with the others, and grasps the bridle of Maitland’s horse. In a moment we have all been similarly seized.
“One escapes,” a man calls out. James Borthwick, a horseman of the Queen’s who was riding at the rear of our party, has managed to slip away and has pressed his horse into a gallop in the direction of the city.
“Leave him,” Bothwell says.
We set out at an uncomfortable trot. To reach Dunbar, we must skirt Edinburgh to the south of the Flodden Wall. As the city comes into sight, the boom of cannon fire from the castle echoes down from the battlements.
Bothwell gives the Queen a triumphant look and she stares up at the castle, her face afraid. What has happened in the city?
≈ ≈ ≈
Darkness falls and still we ride, shivering in our day clothes, pressing on toward the sea. I am close behind Maitland, watching William’s back, but he never turns to meet my gaze.
We ride up to the fortress of Dunbar close on midnight, the moon obscured by scudding clouds and the wind tasting of salt. I am shivering and my legs ache from so many hours in the saddle. Seton has been sagging and sobbing occasionally in front of me. How much worse will the Queen be?
As our party is led into the courtyard, the wind moans over the battlements and the soldiers make fast the great gates behind us. Maitland did not speak the truth when he called Stirling the greatest royal stronghold in Scotland. Dunbar, with its stout defenses and armaments, gifted to Bothwell by the Queen, could vie for that title.
Bothwell tries to help her dismount but she refuses to take his hand and climbs down herself, her spine erect, her head high, her mouth set. Seton and I dismount and in moments we have been hustled away from the rest of the party. They take the three of us inside the castle, hurrying us down the stone corridors and into a chamber in which a fire crackles fitfully.
“We have much to discuss,” Bothwell says, leading the Queen to a chair.
“Then I am sure you will not want me to faint away from cold and lack of sustenance,” she says.
He bows his head, but it is only a shallow bow. “Indeed, my apologies, Madam. I shall call for food and drink at once. I have a chamber where your ladies will be comfortable.”
“I insist they remain with me.” I can hear the fear in her voice.
A servant brings food and drink and heavy cloaks that go some way to staving off the cold. Seton and I are still shivering but the Queen has herself under tight control and it is only the bluish tinge at her lips that shows how she suffers.
Bothwell lays a parchment down on the small table in front of her.
“We have discussed this matter,” she says.
“You don’t understand the danger you’re in. The country is on the brink of rebellion. All of Europe is in an uproar. Your own safety and that of the throne is threatened.”
“Indeed, Lord Bothwell, I have had fear for my safety this day.”
“I have brought you here for safety, I swear, but also out of love,” he says. “I have been bold to you today because the strength of my love has forced aside the reverence I naturally bear you. I live only to serve you, Madam, and the best way I might serve you at this time is as your husband.”
“I do not wish to discuss it any further tonight,” she says. “I order you to send my guards to Edinburgh to find out what has happened there, and to return with an adequate force to escort me back.”
“It is too dangerous to return to Edinburgh.”
The Queen is defied all the time by omission and deceit, but rarely to her face and I watch him, fascinated. Something has happened to Lord Bothwell. Since the King’s murder perhaps he has seen that a monarch is only flesh and blood, vulnerable like any other person. It seems the monarchy holds no fear for him now.
The Queen is white-faced with exhaustion but he continues trying to persuade her. She remains firm, periodically asking for Maitland or Huntly or for messages to be sent, all of which he refuses.
At last she gets to her feet. Seton and I stand too.
“Lord Bothwell, you have put your case most forcefully and I shall give it consideration and discuss it with my advisers,” she says. “We have ridden more than forty miles this day, much of it in the dark, and I am weary. I wish to retire for the night.”
He stands too and bows. “Allow me to escort you.” He holds out his arm to her. She stares at him a long moment before taking it coldly.
There are guards ahead of us and behind us as we walk down the corridor.
“What about our belongings?” asks Seton, as we hurry to keep up with Bothwell and the Queen. “The Queen requires her trunk.”
“They have been sent up,” says Bothwell, not looking back. “Here we are, Madam.”
It happens in a flash. At one moment he is bowing by the open door of a bedchamber, allowing the Queen to step past him. The next moment the guards have blocked our way and Bothwell has stepped into the room behind her.
Seton’s scream of “No!” comes a heartbeat before the door crashes shut and the sound of the bolts sliding home echoes down the corridor.
Seton rushes to the door and pounds on it, but a guard drags her off.
“You ladies will sleep elsewhere,” he says roughly.
When Seton struggles he twis
ts her arm until she stops. Another guard behind us pushes me away. From inside the room, muffled by the door, I hear the Queen’s cry of fear.
Sixty
When we are allowed to see her the following morning, her lip trembles and her gaze slides away from me. I can see the beginning of a bruise where her nightgown comes down to show her cleavage.
She whispers that I must try to send secret word to the Governor in the town of Dunbar to come and rescue her. I whisper back that James Borthwick will have arrived in Edinburgh and will even now be gathering forces. Today, surely, rescue will come.
Bothwell comes into the chamber and he has the walk of a man who would be King. The Queen flinches at the sound of his step. When he crosses the room and lays his hand on her bare flesh where neck meets shoulder, she shudders.
“Your men, Huntly and Melville, return to Edinburgh today with the rest of your guard,” he says. “Maitland shall stay here with you and me.”
She does not lift her eyes. “How long do you intend to keep me here?”
“Just until it is safe to return to the capital.” He squeezes her shoulder. “Enough time that you are reconciled to me. You are still Queen here. This is your house, you are free to command as you please.”
“I would speak to Huntly and Melville before they leave.”
He bows. “Of course, my dear. I shall bring them directly.” He leaves and I hate the swing in his step.
“Make me presentable,” she says.
Seton and I do our best, draping her with a light cloak to cover the bruise on her clavicle and the rip in the edge of her nightgown. I lay my finger on it as I cover her. Without looking up she says, “Don’t.”
When Melville and Huntly are led into the chamber by guards, they both fall to their knees. Huntly sports a bruise under one eye.
“I do not know where to turn for help,” she says to them and my heart aches to hear her voice.
“We shall raise assistance, Your Grace,” says Huntly.
“I fear you may be too late.” She gives a ghastly smile. “My brother is tarrying in France, my most trusted lord has abducted me against my will. Maitland has advised me I must marry Bothwell. A document says that the majority of my lords and bishops agree with him. You can see the manner of Bothwell’s persuasion. What do you advise?”
Melville gets to his feet. “Those who advise you to marry him have betrayed your honor for their own ends. He is commonly judged to have murdered your husband and the people will never forgive you if you join with him.”
She is silent a long moment. “Yet I find myself in a situation where marrying him may be the only choice. If my lords truly believe this is the best way forward, I may have to succumb to it.”
“We will send men to free you,” Huntly says. “Do not give in, Your Grace. You are the Queen.”
≈ ≈ ≈
But Scotland has abandoned its Queen.
Two more days and nights pass and no assistance comes from any quarter and no word comes from lord or bishop. Bothwell rarely leaves the Queen’s side and each night he locks himself into her bedchamber. There are armed guards with us always. At night they wait outside the door of the bedchamber where Bothwell lies with the Queen.
I have nothing to do but help the Queen with her dressing and remain in her presence, a prisoner. Though we are but twenty-five miles from Edinburgh, we could be at the other end of the earth.
“I shall marry him,” she says, when we come to dress her on the third morning, her hair in wild disarray, the bedclothes looking as if a battle has been fought within them.
Seton lowers her head and I see a tear fall, shining, through the air to the flagstones. The Queen sees it also, and reaches out to take her hand.
“I have no other choice. No one has come to take me from here. My lords obviously agree that such a rough wooing is acceptable. The country must have a ruler and while ever I am trapped here, rebellion threatens. If anyone may keep this unruly land under control, it is Bothwell.”
She holds her other hand out. I take it. “He has lain with me. I could be with child, and if I do not marry him I would bear a bastard out of wedlock. What could be worse than that?”
I squeeze her hand. “He is a brute.”
“Yes,” she says. “But you must not speak of him thus if he is to be my consort.”
We dress her finely, for she says they will walk outside for the first time since we have been imprisoned and perhaps play croquet. When Bothwell comes into the chamber he strides across the room. Instead of bowing, he bends down and kisses her cheek.
“How does my love this morning?”
“I am adequate,” she says.
“Why, more than adequate, beloved.” He draws back to look at her. “Have you told your ladies that you have reconciled yourself to my affections?” He looks from Seton to me. “That is good news, is it not? We must bring your mistress to Edinburgh, so that all the preparations may be made for our marriage.”
“I trust you have sufficient funds to pay for such a swift divorce,” I say before I can stop myself.
Bothwell stiffens and straightens, his cold gaze on me. He comes around to my side and takes my arm.
“I would speak to you a moment.” With a jerk which makes me stumble he pulls me to the door.
“James,” I hear the Queen say as he takes me into the corridor.
It is only a few steps to the chamber where Seton and I sleep. As he closes the door behind him, he gives me a shove that sends me sprawling to the floor. I remember I am dealing with the man who has ravished a queen.
“Listen well,” he says. “The country is on the brink of ruin while the Queen weeps and laments and rides around at her pleasure. Is that what you want to see? The nobles slaughtering each other’s armies for a chance at the throne? Or Elizabeth invading and grasping the throne herself?”
“The people are loyal to her,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Accusations that she is a murderer are posted on Edinburgh’s walls in the dead of night. She has lost their respect.”
“Do you truly think this will win it again?”
“I have taken the only chance to save Scotland,” he says. “The people know she was kidnapped and forced. They will think less of me, but that matters not. There is no one else who can take control. I compelled the lords to agree. I can pull the country out of disaster once the Queen is with me.”
“It’s one thing to force the lords, but you cannot force the Queen,” I blurt.
He reaches down, grabs me under the armpit, and pulls me to my feet in a single motion. He presses me to the wall, his face close to mine. “I hold your life and your father’s life in my palm and I could crush you. I can have you imprisoned in a moment and you will spend your days in a rock cell under Edinburgh Castle. Do you understand?”
I nod.
He gives one last wrench to my arm that makes me gasp. “It’s time you were not so close to my wife.”
He pulls me to the door and thrusts it open. I stumble by his side back into the Queen’s chamber. He lets go of me so I enter the room freely and walk unsupported across the floor to the Queen and Seton. All three of us adopt blank expressions.
“It is sunny. Are you ready for croquet, my love?” he asks.
“It will be most pleasant for all of us to have fresh air.” The Queen smiles at him, ignoring me.
“Indeed,” he says. “And you shall have some more company to enliven your court. My sister comes to join us this day, with Lady Margaret Reres and Janet Beaton. They are all three good riders and, if it pleases you, tomorrow we will take some exercise on horseback.”
Janet Beaton was Bothwell’s mistress years ago and rumored to be a witch. Perhaps he has called her to bind the Queen to him with charms and witchcraft.
Seton finishes dressing the Queen’s hair while Bothwell waits, tapping his foot.
“My sister knows the latest French fashion for the fixing of a woman’s hair,” he says.
“Set
on has done my hair since I came to Scotland, my Lord.”
“Then it is high time for a change. Lady Reres and my sister shall attend to you from tomorrow.” He watches me, lacing up her dress with trembling hands.
“I do not like the way you touch the Queen,” he says. “It is too familiar.”
“Whatever do you mean?” the Queen asks.
He laughs. “It has pleased you to keep a companion who is thought to be an androgyne or hermaphrodite or worse.” He crouches in front of her. “You allow her to be overly familiar with you. It is not good for your reputation. She shall not dress you any longer. Lady Reres and my sister shall attend upon you from now on.”
My hands fall to my side. “You shall dress as a boy again, to remind you not to touch the Queen in such a manner,” he says to me. “You are not to be with her alone; it is not seemly.”
I cannot bring myself to bow to him but I bob my head and step back from her.
The Queen smiles up at him. “My dear, I have some womanly matters that I must attend to in finishing my dressing. We will come out to the croquet field shortly.”
He turns without bowing and leaves the room. The Queen holds out her hand. I go forward and take it.
“Sometimes a prince must do dreadful things for the good of the people,” she whispers, lacing her fingers into mine. “Nothing is safe or certain.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” I whisper back.
“You see what’s become of my power.”
Seton’s eyes are filling with tears. “He is evil,” she says.
“Hush,” the Queen chides her. She squeezes my fingers. “I will miss you, dear one.”
“I will still be close by.”
“I think not,” her voice is trembling. “You are a true soul, Alison. I bless you.” She pulls me into a quick embrace and then drops her arms and adjusts her necklace.
“Come, Seton. I’d best not keep Lord Bothwell waiting,” she says.
Sixty-one
Twelve days after the Queen’s kidnap, when Bothwell is assured of his success, he brings her back to Edinburgh.
Perhaps Mistress Beaton has used witchcraft to help him, for by the time he leads the Queen into the city by the bridle of her horse, to the sound of the castle’s cannons booming out in salute, he has won her. She no longer shudders from his touch. She no longer resists her bedchamber. She sends instructions before her to Edinburgh to speed the divorce so that she may marry him.
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