The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean (читать книги онлайн бесплатно без сокращение бесплатно txt) 📗

Why? she asked herself. He was far away. He could do no harm to her. Did she believe that the presence of one so vital could never be completely eradicated and must linger on in spirit when the man himself had departed?

Why was it that she could not endure to enter a place which must be full of reminders of him, where she would be afraid of encountering something which would bring back memories that were too bitter to be borne? Did it mean that she longed for him still?

She was not sure. But she believed that her abhorrence of Earlston meant that she no longer cared to be reminded; that memories brought back too much that was shameful; that there was a superstition in her mind that he it was who had brought her to disaster, and that some evil force within him could harm her still.

No, she could not be entirely sure. She only knew that, exhausted as she was, she would rather ride on than enter a house in which he had once lived.

So on they rode until at length they came to Kenmure, an estate belonging to the Laird of Lochinvar.

THE LAIRD of Lochinvar had bad news for her. Her pursuers had discovered the direction in which she was traveling, and were not many miles away. It could be fatal if she tarried; so, pausing just long enough to take refreshment, she and her faithful band were on their way again. On they rode through miles of wild and beautiful country; and eventually they came to a bridge which crossed the River Dee.

Here Herries, calling a halt, said they would cross the bridge and then break it down so that when their pursuers reached this spot they would be delayed in their crossing of the river.

Lord Livingstone looked with compassion at the Queen. “Your Majesty,” he said, “rest here while we demolish the bridge. At least it will be a small respite.”

So Mary dismounted and Willie Douglas tied her horse to a tree and she stretched herself out on the grass and closed her eyes. She was thirsty and, realizing how hungry she was, she called Willie to her.

“I would give a great deal for some food and wine,” she said.

Willie grinned and laid his hand on the sword, which he would not give up although it impeded him considerably. Willie felt that he was no longer a boy since he had left Lochleven; he was ready to work like a man and fight like a man for his sovereign.

“I’ll go and forage,” he told her.

George, who was busy at work on the bridge, called after Willie: “Where are you going? If you’re not here when we’re ready to go, you’ll be left behind.”

Willie answered: “Dinna fach yourself, Geordie Douglas.” He drew out his word and brandished it as though to show what he would do to any who stood in his way.

Mary could not help smiling, and when the men’s attention was on the bridge she rose and followed Willie.

“Willie,” she called.

He stopped and she came up beside him.

“Why dinna you rest?” he demanded, “you’re weary.”

“So are we all,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“There’s smoke in yon trees,” said Willie. “It means there’s a cottage there. I’m going to ask for food for you.”

“I shall come with you.”

Willie looked dubious, but she smiled and said: “I wish it, Willie; and I am your Queen, remember, although I sometimes think you forget it.”

“Oh ay,” said Willie, “Your Majesty’s such a bonny lassie that it slips the mind ye’re a Queen as well.”

It was impossible not to be amused by Willie. He was so loyal and so frank. She trusted him to work for her as she could never trust some who overwhelmed her with their flattery.

So she and Willie came to the cottage, and when Willie knocked on the door a woman opened it.

“What is it you want?” she asked.

“We’re travelers in sore need of food,” Willie told her. “This lady needs to rest and eat if we are to continue our journey.”

The woman peered at the Queen.

“Oh you poor creatures!” she said. “Come you in and you shall have some of that that’s in my cupboard.”

Into the small room stepped the Queen with Willie, and the woman bade them sit at her table.

“Have ye come far?” she asked, turning to the cupboard.

“Very far,” answered Mary.

“Ah . . . these are troublous times.”

“You live alone?” Mary asked.

“Nay, there’s my good man who works up at Culdoach Farm.”

“Is that far?”

“Oh no. We’re on the farm land now.”

The woman had brought oatmeal and sour milk from her cupboard. She had scarcely enough for herself but her heart was touched by the plight of the travelers and she was willing to share with them all she had. At any other time Mary would have been unable to eat such fare, but so great was her hunger that it tasted good.

The woman was looking at the Queen’s hands and had noticed the dainty way in which she ate.

“If I had more and better fare,” she said, “you should have it.”

“What you have given us was good indeed,” said the Queen. “I shall always remember you with gratitude.”

The woman started up. She had heard the sound of galloping horses and, running to her window, she saw that her cottage was surrounded.

“Mercy on us!” she cried. “What does this mean?”

The Queen went to the window, Willie beside her, his sword drawn. Then he laughed suddenly because he had seen that those who surrounded the cottage were Herries, Fleming, and Livingstone and the rest.

“All is well,” he said. “You have nothing to fear, good woman. These are our friends.”

“Your friends!” she cried. “Then who are you?”

Mary said: “I am the Queen.”

The woman stared at her disbelievingly and then her eyes went to the table on which the empty bowl now stood.

“The Queen!” said the woman. “Sitting at my table . . . eating my oats!”

Mary laid her hand on her shoulder. Then she turned to Willie: “Go out and tell our friends that all is well, and ask Lord Herries to come here.”

“Lord Herries!” cried the woman, for in her eyes he was as grand a personage as the Queen, more to be feared perhaps because he was the laird of the land on which her cottage stood—whereas the Queen was merely a name to her.

“If you could ask for something,” said Mary, “what would it be?”

“Ask for something?” stammered the woman.

“Some gift. Tell me what you would rather have than anything in the world.”

The woman looked about the walls of her cottage; lovingly she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I’d ask that this cottage was my very own,” she said.

Mary was about to say, It is yours, when she remembered that she was a Queen flying for her life, that she had been robbed of most of her possessions, including her crown. Was she in a position to say: This is yours?

She felt disconsolate. It was characteristic that she was more hurt now by the loss of her power to grant this woman her small wish than she had been by the confiscation of her precious jewels.

Lord Herries was at the door and the woman made a deep curtsy.

“I have enjoyed hospitality under this roof,” said Mary, “and I should like to show my gratitude. I should like to give this woman the cottage in which she lives and for which she now pays rent. It is on your land, Lord Herries.”

“The cottage is hers, Your Majesty.”

The woman stared from one to the other and in the emotion of the moment tears gushed from her eyes.

“My lord Herries . . . ” she began.

“Your thanks are due to Her Majesty,” Herries told her.

The woman cried: “But I only gave her that which I would give any hungry traveler. Oatmeal and sour milk . . . and for that . . . this cottage is mine.”

“Not for the oatmeal,” answered Mary gently, “but for your kindness to a weary traveler. Kindness is not always easy to come by and I value it highly.”

Herries said: “What is the name of your cottage, that I may know which one it is?”

“It is Dunn’s Wa’s, my lord.”