Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (читать книги полностью без сокращений .txt) 📗

Bothwell banged on the door. “Open!” he cried.

“Who is there?” came the instant request. Bothwell turned to his friend and grinned, for the voice was that of Alison Craig.

“It is one who loves you,” said Bothwell, “come to tell you of his love.”

“My lord Bothwell…”

“You remember me? I thought you would.”

“What… what do you want of me?”

Still grinning at his companions, Bothwell answered: “That which I always want of you.”

It was easier to force an entry into Alison’s room than it had been into the house. Soon all three of them were in the room, where Alison, half clothed, cowered against the wall. The open window told its own story.

Lord John ran to the window.

“What… do you want here?” demanded Alison.

“Where is Arran?” asked Bothwell.

“I… do not understand you. I do not understand why you come here… force your way into my room …”

“He has made good his escape,” said Lord John turning from the window.

Elboeuf had placed his arm about Alison. She screamed and struck out at him.

“How dare you… you… you French devil!” she cried.

Lord John said: “Madam, you would prefer me, would you not? See, I am young and handsome, and a Scot… a bold brave Scotsman whom you will find very different from the dastard who has just left you. Do not trust Frenchmen, for as the good people of Edinburgh will tell you, the French have tails.”

“Go away… you brutes… you loathsome …”

Elboeuf interrupted: “Dear Madam, can you tolerate these savage Scots? He who has deserted you at the first sign of trouble is a disgrace to his nation. I will show you what you may expect from one who comes from a race that is well skilled in the arts of love.”

Alison tried to shut out the sight of those three brutal faces. She had had lovers, but this was a different affair. In vain she tried to appeal to some streak of honor in those three. Perhaps in Lord John, she thought. He was so young. Perhaps the Frenchman whose superficial manners were graceful. Never… never, she feared, in Bothwell.

He had pushed the others aside. He said: “Arran is my enemy and it is meet and fitting that I should be the first.”

Feeling his hands upon her, Alison gave out a piercing scream. She slipped from his grip and ran to the window.

“Help!” she cried. “Good people…. Help! Save me from brutes and ruffians …”

Bothwell picked her up effortlessly. He had played a similar role in many a scene in his Border raids. He threw the terrified woman onto the bed.

“Harken!” cried Lord John.

Elboeuf’s hand went to his sword.

The servants had not been idle. They had lost no time in making it known that Bothwell and his friends had broken into the house of Arran’s mistress. The Hamilton men were rushing up the stairs.

It was a very different matter, attacking a defenseless woman, from facing many armed men, and all three realized that they would be in danger of losing their lives if they hesitated. Already it was necessary to fight their way through those men who were on the staircase. Bothwell led the way, his sword flashing. As for Lord John and Elboeuf—no one cared to wound the Queen’s uncle or her brother—and in a short time the three men were clear of the house.

They separated and ran to safety before the streets were filled with the gathering Hamilton clan.

The matter did not end there. The Hamiltons continued to throng the streets, swearing they would do to death their enemy Bothwell. The followers of Elboeuf and Lord John were gathering about them; and it seemed as though a great battle might shortly take place in the streets of Edinburgh.

The Queen, hearing of this, was terrified and uncertain how to deal with the trouble. Once more she was thankful for her resourceful brother, for James acted promptly, and with the Cock o’ the North and himself riding at its head led an armed force to disperse the quarreling clans.

“Every man shall clear the streets on pain of death!” was Lord James’s proclamation.

It had the desired effect.

But Bothwell felt the little adventure had not entirely failed. All Edinburgh now knew that, for all his piety, Arran had a mistress, and that was just what he had wished to proclaim.

THE LORD JAMES and Maitland were closeted together discussing the affair of Bothwell and Arran.

“Arran,” said Maitland, “being little more than half-witted, may be the more easily dismissed. It is the other who gives me anxious thoughts.”

Lord James stroked his sparse beard and nodded. “You’re right. Bothwell is a troublemaker. I would like to see him back in his place on the Border. It may well be a matter for rejoicing that our Queen has been brought up in the French Court. I fancy she finds us all a little lacking in grace. What she must think of that ruffian Bothwell I can well imagine.”

“Yet he received part of his education in France, remember.”

“It touched him not. He is all Borderer. I think the Queen would be pleased to have him removed from Court.”

“None could be more pleased at that than I. If we can marry the Queen into Spain …”

There was no need to say more. Both men understood. Marry the Queen into Spain … or somewhere abroad. Leave Scotland for Lord James and Maitland. It was a twin ambition.

“Bothwell would try to prevent such a marriage,” said Maitland. “He would wish to see the Queen married to a Scot.”

“We will advise the Queen to banish him from Court.”

“What of the others who were equally guilty?”

“Her brother! Her uncle! Let us satisfy ourselves with ridding the Court of Bothwell. He is our man.”

They sought audience with the Queen. She was angry about this brutal outrage which had taken place in the midst of the Christmas celebrations. She was preparing for her brother Robert’s marriage to Jane Kennedy, the daughter of the Earl of Cassillis; she had grown fond of Jane and was delighted to do special honor to her. And after that marriage there was to be another: Lord Johns to Janet Hepburn. There could be so much gaiety and pleasure, yet these barbarians could not be content to enjoy it—nor would they let others enjoy it in peace.

“Madam,” said Lord James, “this is a monstrous affair. Such outrageous conduct is a disgrace to our country.”

“Yet it would seem that I am powerless to prevent it.”

“No, no, Your Majesty,” said Maitland. “The miscreants can be punished—and should be, as a warning to others.”

“How can I punish my uncle Elboeuf?”

“You can only warn him. It will be said that, as a Frenchman from an immoral land, his sins are not to be taken as seriously as those of honorable Scotsmen. Soon he will be leaving our country. A warning will suffice for Elboeuf. As for our brother, he is but a boy—not yet twenty—and I think led astray by more practiced ruffians. He can be forgiven on account of his youth. But there is one, the ringleader, who is not so young and should not be forgiven. Bothwell is the instigator of all the trouble, Madam, and as such should be severely dealt with.”

“I have no doubt that you are right,” said Mary. “But it seems to me wrong to punish one and let the others go free.”

“While Bothwell remains at Court there will be trouble,” said Lord James.

Mary replied: “I had thought to give them a severe warning, to threaten them with stern punishment if they offend again, and then forget the matter. It is Christmastide …”

“Madam,” said Maitland “these matters cannot be put right by being thrust aside. The Hamiltons were gravely insulted, and for the sake of peace, Bothwell should at least be exiled.”

“Summon him to your presence, dearest sister,” said James. “Tell him he must leave the Court. I assure you, it is safer so.”

Mary was resigned. “I suppose you are right,” she said. “Have him brought here.”