The Wild Queen (34 page)

I shook my head, too frightened and distraught to say a word. Of course he was right. I would not be rescued. I would have to try to understand my situation and use my wits to survive it as well as I could. On we rode, mile after mile. It was an unusually clear night, and we made our way by moonlight. I was so wearied that I could scarcely keep my seat.

We arrived at Dunbar Castle after midnight. The great iron gates clanged shut behind us and the bolts were thrown, loud as gunshots. Servants of the castle were ordered to escort me to my bedchamber in the royal apartments, and I understood that Lord Bothwell's own chamber was close by My maidservants, who had been forced to accompany us, were brought to me, carrying my belongings. They were as exhausted and terrified as I was. I threw myself on my bed, too weary even to allow my maids to undress me.

There was a knock on the door, which swung open before I could say aye or nay Lord Bothwell strode in, smiling broadly. “Will you be comfortable here, madam?” he asked. “Is there anything you need?”

I said there was not.
What will happen now?
I wondered fearfully.
Has he gone mad?

“Then I bid you a good night's rest,” he said, and closed the door as he left. I fell into a troubled sleep, still in my clothes, forgetting even to recite my evening prayers.

***

The next morning Lord Bothwell again knocked on my door. I was awake but little refreshed and I had not yet changed my gown. “Shall we go walking?” he asked, as though I were a guest here for a brief visit and not a virtual prisoner.

I agreed, feeling I had little choice. We strolled near the cliff's edge, overlooking a dark sea laced with whitecaps. The sun floated in a gauzy mist. The path was uneven and strewn with rocks, and I stumbled, turning my ankle, and nearly lost my balance. Lord Bothwell, who had kept a respectful distance, moved quickly to steady me. He drew me to him, not roughly but with unexpected gentleness.

“Mary,” he said, “I am asking again that you marry me.”

I shook my head and tried to pull away, but he held me close—again not roughly but certainly firmly, so that I could not free myself. He kissed me passionately, though I resisted. It was awkward, for I was a very tall woman and he was a man of only middling height.

“I am again telling you that I will not,” I said with a gasp when he released me.

“Then I will keep you here until you change your mind and consent to be my wife,” he said, as gaily as though he had just suggested we dance a galliard.

I tried to think of someone to summon for help but knew of no one. Maitland and Huntly had reached Edinburgh and sounded the alarm, and the castle guns had been fired, to no effect. Would help arrive? Lord Bothwell invited me to dine with him; I refused, and then I realized I would not dine at all if I did not accept his invitation. Reluctantly I joined him, and we dined graciously. Afterward he played the lute and then passed it to me. I played poorly, finding no pleasure in the music.

“Have you changed your mind, my lady?” he asked.

“I have not,” I said. “And I will not.”

That night I again slept restlessly, fearing intrusion, though I was allowed to sleep undisturbed. The next day we again went walking, this time on a different path, and again we had the same conversation, with the same outcome. How long would this continue?

On the third day Lord Bothwell left with several of his horsemen. I had no idea where he had gone or when he would return. In his absence I searched for a way to leave the castle, but the gates were firmly locked and heavily guarded. That evening as I supped alone, I heard noises and a loud voice in the courtyard. Lord Bothwell had returned, but he did not come to the hall. When I had finished my supper, I returned to my bedchamber. I found an unfinished piece of embroidery among my belongings, and I decided to work on it to calm myself. I was quietly stitching when the door opened—there was no knock this time—and Lord Bothwell entered. He dismissed my maidservants, who scurried away like frightened mice.

“Well, Mary,” he said, removing his jerkin and doublet and tossing them aside, “are you ready to accept my proposal to wed?”

“No, James, I am not.” Did he hear the irony in the way I spoke his name?

“Then I shall have to find another way to persuade you.”

Against my will he lifted me and carried me to my bed, ignoring my protests. I fought hard against him, but he was strong as a young bull, and my struggles were useless. “You are a wild one, Mary Stuart,” he muttered, and then his mouth was hard on mine, his hands found their way beneath my petticoats, and his body joined mine.

“There,” he said when he had finished, “now you belong to me. I have possessed you, and you have no choice but to marry me.”

He arranged his clothes and left quickly, and I lay weeping and wishing for death.

***

The next morning I lay abed until late, too wretched and broken in spirit to rise. When at last I did, I found a servant and made a timid inquiry as to Lord Bothwell's whereabouts. “Gone to Edinburgh on his fastest horse, madam.”

I would have given much to have the Four Maries with me, especially devout Seton, the only one of the four not married and still vowing she would not. I wondered if the others had found satisfaction in marriage, as I surely had not in my first two. Now it seemed I would be coerced into a third. My friends' presence would have comforted and strengthened me.

The iron gates were again locked and guarded. I considered ordering the guards to open them for me. I was their queen. They could not refuse me. I could order the stable master to saddle a horse for me, command several guards to accompany me, and set out for Edinburgh alone. It was already late in the day; it would be long after midnight before we reached Holyrood. I was ill, with a weary and aching body—could I withstand such a long, hard ride? And what was in store for me in Edinburgh? Lord Bothwell had said there was an uprising against me. What if those who had plotted the murder of the king were now planning my death as well?

I managed a weak smile and a greeting for the guards at the gate, and then I returned to my bedchamber to await the return of Lord Bothwell.

W
HEN DID MY LIFE BEGIN
to spiral dangerously out of control? Was it when I married Henry? Or later, after he was murdered? I wonder now what accommodations I might have made had he lived to bring us some peace and concord. I had already begun to lose the love and loyalty of my people. Perhaps, given the proper guidance, Henry would have grown into his role as king of Scotland. If he had not, would I have been strong enough, wise enough, to rule effectively in spite of him? And what of my brother? What role would he play? As it is, I made a disastrous decision that has brought me to ruin.

L
ORD
B
OTHWELL KEPT ME
at Dunbar Castle for twelve days. Each day he asked the same question: “Are you ready to marry me, Mary?” And each day he received the same answer. “No, James. Not now. Not later. Never.”

He did not pretend to love me. That was not the issue. He did not offer me love, nor did I ask for it. He offered me protection. He offered me his loyalty Not the loyalty of the marriage bed—he was incapable of that. Gradually, during those days at Dunbar, I came to see that I needed his strong hand to keep the rebellious Scottish lords in check and help me regain control of my realm. I could not do it alone. These men would run roughshod over any woman who tried to rule without a man at her side.

We talked at length about what steps needed to be taken to restore order. We talked as we rode together near Dunbar, as we walked along the lonely path overlooking the sea, and as we supped together in the evenings. At night he came to my bed, though I pleaded with him not to. When I resisted, it seemed only to inflame his ardor.

“I like a woman who fights,” he said approvingly as I wept and struggled. “You are indeed my wild queen!”

“You will get me with child,” I cried. “My reputation will be ruined. And I am committing a grievous sin by lying with a married man.”

“Aha!” he crowed triumphantly. “I can absolve you of that sin, for I am no longer a married man! Lady Jean has accepted my terms, and the judge has issued a divorce decree. I am a free man again! You have no more excuses for refusing my suit, Mary, and many reasons for accepting it. You have no choice but to make me your husband.”

And so, God help me, I agreed to marry him.

***

Early in the morning of the sixth of May, we left Dunbar Castle accompanied by a large contingent of musketeers and rode straight to Edinburgh, keeping up a hard pace. Bothwell sent a messenger on ahead to the castle to order the great guns fired in salute as we arrived. Late in the day we entered the city by the West Port.

He dismounted and took the reins from me. “I will lead your horse,” he said.

Up the hill we went toward the castle. The boom of the cannon summoned huge crowds—crowds that in the past had always turned out to cheer for their queen. But this time there was no cheering. Only silence and grim stares greeted us.

“These fools will pay for their insolence,” Bothwell muttered angrily.

His first item of business was to order the preacher at the High Kirk of St. Giles to proclaim the marriage banns on the next Sunday, the eleventh of May. The minister, an assistant to John Knox, refused. James threatened to have him hanged. When I stepped in and ordered the minister to read the banns, he obeyed but delivered a long harangue from the pulpit condemning the marriage.

I felt as though I were wading upstream through waist-deep, rapidly flowing water, moving slowly against the current while everything else sped past me in a blur. If someone asked a question, I was hard put to answer. Bothwell made all the decisions for me. Once again I suspected him of using the black arts to control me, but I had not the strength to stop him.

On Monday, May twelfth, I officially pardoned him for my abduction, and later that day I created him duke of Orkney and lord of Shetland, ranks that made him suitable to marry a queen. But even as we were enacting this ritual, with the newly proclaimed duke swirling his ermine-trimmed robes while I sat on my gilded throne, I was much aware of growing opposition to my coming marriage. All those men who had signed the bond at Ainslee Tavern urging me to marry the earl of Bothwell were now changing their position. Not just the lords of Scotland opposed it but the foreign emissaries who learned of it. And my dearest friends, the Four Maries, each in turn had warned me in the strongest terms:
Do not marry this man.

Livingston—Lusty, the outspoken one—added, “I once wagered a set of combs that this would come about. I said he would get himself out of the Tower of London and set himself to wed the richest and most beautiful lady in all of Scotland. Do you remember? My lady Mary, if you marry him, you will surely live to regret it.”

I would hear none of this. “But I recognize his good qualities, and they are many,” I protested. “I have truly come to care for him and to trust that he will be my protector!” I could not bring myself to confess the shame I felt at having lain with him.

The Four Maries had stared at me in disbelief.

I stopped my ears to it all as I lifted the golden coronet of a duke and placed it on his brow. It seemed I could hear only his voice and no others, and I saw in him only what I wished to see.

***

I married James Hepburn in the great hall of Holyrood Palace on the fifteenth of May At ten o'clock in the morning I entered the hall wearing the long white
deuil
of a widow. There was not time to have a new gown made for the occasion, but my seamstresses stitched gold braid to a black gown of cut velvet, and underneath it I wore a black taffeta petticoat that had been given a new lining of red silk. The bridegroom strutted about in a handsome suit of silk and velvet, a suit that had been one of Henry's favorites. The ceremony was the Protestant rite, which pained me, but James was Protestant and would not hear of a Catholic sacrament.

Following the ceremony, I removed my widow's veil and changed into a yellow silk gown for the wedding dinner, to which many had been invited but which few had chosen to attend. My husband had decided to forgo the masques and dancing that I so enjoyed.

“A dinner is enough,” he said. “No need for more than that.”

I acquiesced silently.

We sat at a long table in the great hall, I at one end and James at the other, far enough apart that he could not see the tears that rolled slowly down my cheeks and dropped, one by one, onto my uneaten food.

Later that night a placard appeared outside the palace with a quote from the Roman poet Ovid.
This is what the people say: Harlots marry in the month of May.

My people held that I was a fallen woman. King Henry had been dead only three months, and I had just married the man they were convinced had murdered him.

***

I was miserable. I had begun to believe that I loved my new husband. Despite his sometimes rough behavior, his words to me had been kind, and I thought that gentle manner signified his growing affection for me. But within a single day of our wedding we had begun to argue, sometimes bitterly. He had me in tears almost constantly with his suspicions and accusations. I tried hard to please him, but nothing I did satisfied him. I felt I could not endure more.

“If someone will only bring me a knife, I shall kill myself!” I cried, and I truly meant it.

In public I did my best to give the impression that I had made a wise and considered decision to marry James. In his turn, he behaved courteously and showed me great respect as a queen, though in private he treated me with little respect as a woman. I was his to be used as he wished. I could not hide that from my friends, who witnessed much of his abuse and could do nothing to help.