Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean. Страница 83

But she would find other ways to make him suffer for what he had done. She would find some way of banishing him from the Court, for his presence there would be a constant reminder.

Even now she could not prevent her thoughts from going over and over what had happened on that night.

He found an opportunity to speak to her. She was tense as he stood beside her. She could almost feel again his hands tearing her clothes, forcing her on to the bed.

He said: “Now that we are such friends, Madam, I wish to ask a favour. Do not grant Maitland permission to return to Court.”

She turned her back. But that, in the presence of the others, was too pointed a rebuff. He had been in such high favour before to-day. If her manner towards him so obviously changed people would wonder why. They might even guess. That secret must be kept.

She said in a low strained voice: “You are no friend of mine and never shall be. You need never again make a request to me, for it shall not be granted. You shall lose your head for what you have done. Do not think that because it is still on your shoulders it shall remain there.” It was difficult to put the vehemence she felt into those words, for she must keep her voice very low in case it should be overheard.

“A pity,” he said. “I fancied you thought my person rather pleasant when we last met.”

“You fancy, my lord,” she answered, and she forced herself to smile, “that you have behaved in a clever way. You know that I cannot denounce your conduct because of the great shame it has brought me. But do not imagine that will save you.”

“Madam, do not pretend that last nights encounter brought any less pleasure to you than to me. It was startling… unexpected. I myself had not planned it, but how happy I am that it happened. There shall now be no holding back of all the joy we shall bring to each other.”

“I have never heard such insolence.”

“You have never had a lover worthy of you before, Madam. Startling, is it not? It would be easier to explain if we were alone.”

“I shall see to it that I am never again alone with you. Moreover I shall require you to swear friendship with Lord Maitland when he returns to Court—which he will very soon do.”

He bowed. “Madam,” he said, “your wish is law.”

A FEW DAYS LATER she returned to the Exchequer House. It was necessary that she should do so for there was much to prepare for the Princes christening, and as she had undertaken the work, she told herself that she must finish it. She had thought on that never-to-be-forgotten night that she could never bear to be in that room again, that she could never bear to lie on that bed. Oddly enough that was just what she now wished to do.

She could not settle down to her task. She could not decide what clothes must be bought for her servants. She could not decide what she herself should wear. She could only think of Bothwell. I did the only thing possible, she kept telling herself. There was nothing else I could do. How could I have told anyone what occurred?

On the first day of her return to the Exchequer House Lady Reres came to announce that Lord Bothwell was below and wished to see her.

She turned away that Lady Reres might not see her face. “No, Reres,” she said shortly. “I’m busy.”

“He said it was a most important matter of state, Madam. He begs you to see him.”

She did not answer, but she thought: I must show him that I have no fear of him. But this time there shall be no locking of the door.

She told Lady Reres that he might come up and state his business if he could do so with brevity.

He stood before her, insolent as ever, towering above her, reminding her of his strength.

“It is a marvelous thing to me,” she said, “that you dare come to this room again.”

“Madam, I have a fondness for this room. I shall always remember it as the four walls within which I enjoyed the greatest experience of your life.”

“You are unbearably insolent.”

“I but seek to speak the truth, Madam.”

“Lord Bothwell, I will not endure your insolence. I have decided that you shall not escape punishment for what you have done. I cannot proclaim your latest misdeeds to the world since I myself was forced to play such an unhappy part in them.”

“Unhappy! You do not know yourself. You have a great capacity for loving, Madam. You have not realized how great. But I have. Would Your Majesty cast back your thoughts to that night and be entirely honest with yourself? Will you ask yourself whether, when you ceased to fight and began to relax, you found that what I so ardently desired was not Your Majesty’s own desire?”

She stared at him. She put out her hands as though to ward him off. He came toward her, ignoring her outstretched hands. There was nothing of the courier about him. He caught her to him and laughed. Then he bent her backward and kissed her. Knowledge of the truth came to her then. There was something in herself which called to that in him which was primitive and barbaric.

“Why did you come back to this house?” he whispered. “Tell me that! Why… why?”

She did not answer. She was breathless with agitation and expectation, for it was clear to her now why she had come back. It was to offer this challenge to him. It was to bring him back here again.

He knew her even better than she knew herself.

She had come back because he had set a torch to that desire in her which had been lying dormant. He had provoked a mighty conflagration. She desired him now with an intensity which equaled his. And when two such as they recognized their needs, nothing could restrain them.

She felt herself lifted in his arms. It was happening again… not in her imagination, but in reality.

THEY WERE lovers now. She could think of little else but Bothwell—the last meeting, the next meeting. The periods between were irksome times of waiting.

Flem had become Lady Maitland of Lethington; Beaton had married Alexander Ogilvie; of the Queen’s four Marys there was only Seton left. Yet it did not seem important; no one was important but Bothwell.

Some already knew of the relationship between them. It was impossible to keep it entirely secret; Bastian, her French servant, knew, and so, of course, did Lady Reres. Seton knew. Others whispered that Lord Both-well seemed to be in high favor with the Queen and it appeared that he would soon be taking the place, in her counsels, of David Rizzio. David’s brother, Joseph, was now at Court and Mary had given him a high place. Yet she was scarcely aware of the young man; she was aware of little but Bothwell.

Darnley watched her. He would stay away from Court, sulking in his father’s castle; then he would return, coming to her apartments, demanding his rights. He was more despicable to Mary than he had ever been; he seemed quite repulsive. How could I ever have thought I was in love with such a man? she asked herself again and again. It was inexplicable, especially as Lord Bothwell had so often been there for her to see. She had been blind—blind to life, blind to passion, blind to love.

Now she had miraculously lost her blindness. This was living. This was what she had been born for.

DARNLEY WAS frightened. Maitland was back at Court, and Maitland was one of those lords who had felt it necessary to leave Court after the murder of Rizzio. This was but a beginning, thought Darnley. He knew that Moray and Maitland would now urge the Queen to pardon Morton, young Ruthven and the rest of them, restore their estates and bring them back to Court. And when they came, what would be their first action?

Darnley was a fool, but any fool would know the answer.

He had been present at the murder of Rizzio; he had given his support to the murderers; the murder had been done in his name—out of his jealousy of the Queen. Yet he had turned traitor. He had changed sides at the crucial moment, so the plot had failed in some way. Rizzio had died, it was true, but the Queen had escaped. She had gathered her followers about her and, with Huntley and Bothwell, had returned to Edinburgh triumphant; the murderers, in spite of all their elaborate plans, had been defeated and forced into exile. And who was to blame? Darnley!