XXVI    

BOTHWELL watched the rain fall outside the bars of his cell. It had not stopped for days—dousing the daylight and making each gloomy hour darker than the last. It seemed so long since he had returned from France, his days full of vigour and hope, his nights a riot of joyous carousing with his friends on the streets of Edinburgh. And now he found himself incarcerated in the grim dungeons of Edinburgh Castle, only a few hundred yards from the scenes of his former, carefree life.

Desperate to regain that freedom, he had managed to send the Queen a message, and a reply was successfully smuggled back, but it gave him little comfort, saying that she was unable, for the time being, to give him any help. The message left him with the distinct impression that he was on his own.

Bothwell realised that he would have to rely on his true friends, like the Duke of Glasgow. By devious means, he managed to contact Gavin McNaughton with details of a plan, informing him that he intended to escape—by breaking one of the bars of his cell, and climbing down the face of the castle rock.

The message ended with the words ‘Have a horse waiting for me, and, God willing, before the night is over we will enjoy many a tankard of ale together.’

Knowing his friend, Gavin believed that if anyone could succeed in such a daring and dangerous feat, Bothwell could.

At considerable risk, the Duke did as he was asked, and at the appointed time he was waiting in the darkness at the foot of the castle rock. As he strained his eyes towards the sheer rock face, he struggled to see by the faint light of the moon any sign of movement. But the moon kept slipping behind clouds, leaving only blackness.

This same blackness engulfed Bothwell as he managed to force his body through the gap in the bars. Once out, he clung to the window ledge, his feet scrabbling along the rock face below. Even though he couldn’t see, he could sense, with terrifying clarity, the height at which he was so precariously perched. He loosened one hand from the window and searched for a lower hold. Finding a rough protuberance at the same time as his feet, strong as a gorilla’s, clamped on to a sharp ridge, he slid his other hand down, his nails digging and breaking against the icy rock. Now that he had left the comparative safety of the ledge, he was conscious of his total vulnerability, the slightest gust of the wind could now toss him into eternity. His saturnine features hardened in defiance. He would not be destroyed by either wind or rock. He had always thrived on danger and he grimly accepted the challenge now before him.

‘Bothwell!’ McNaughton cried out in astonishment at the apparition before him. ‘I can hardly credit it. You have my undying admiration, sir.’

Bothwell shrugged aside the compliment and mounted the horse McNaughton had brought him.

‘And you have mine. It takes more courage to be a friend of Bothwell than it takes to scale a rock face! I swear, McNaughton, I will never forget your part in this adventure. And now let us be gone from this place, for my thirst is great and that tankard of ale awaits us!’

Later, in a tavern in one of the wynds, Bothwell looked very much at ease and in no hurry to take his leave of Edinburgh. When Gavin remarked on this, Bothwell replied,

‘I doubt if there will be any great zeal to renew my confinement. Anyway, I have business to do here. My troubles have emptied my purse.’

‘I have business too,’ McNaughton said, ‘but of a more pleasant nature. If, that is, I succeed in getting past the guard at Holyrood—Lord James is there, and any friend of yours would doubtless receive a more than warm welcome at the hands of his men.’

Bothwell’s dark, weather-beaten features relaxed into a grin.

‘Ah, you are going to see the beautiful Marie Hepburn! She’s worth a risk or two, I’ll wager.’

‘I’d risk my life for her.’

‘That is perhaps what you will do, my friend, if you venture near Holyrood.’

‘You advise me against it?’ McNaughton laughed. ‘After the risks you have taken yourself this very night?’

‘Not at all.’ Bothwell raised his tankard. ‘Here’s to success in all our ventures.’

They arranged where next to meet, planning to go first to Crichton Castle and then to the Hermitage. Bothwell had a powerful force stationed there.

After they parted, Gavin gave some thought to how he could get into the palace of Holyrood. He was prepared to do anything that was necessary, no matter how dangerous. But the obvious thing to try first was to bribe the guard.

He was surprised at how easily his ploy succeeded, and he proceeded swiftly on his way to Marie’s bedchamber. It was very late and she was already in bed. The curtains of the four-poster were closed against the cold nocturnal draughts.

‘Marie,’ he whispered, not wanting to startle her. ‘I had to see you. I am forced to leave the town to escape the wrath of Lord James. …’

The curtain was drawn aside by a shapely white hand. Emerald eyes widened when she saw him.

‘I know all about your troubles, Gavin. But I had begun to think that you had only been toying with me and did not truly care. …’

‘My love,’ he came over to her, pulling the bedclothes back so that he could lie beside her, ‘how could you think so after I told you of the depth of—’ He stopped when he noticed the changed shape of her body. ‘You are with child?’

She nodded.

‘I hope you are pleased.’

‘Of course! I am delighted and proud. When I return, we will be married and I will take you to Glasgow. In the meantime, you must try to obtain the Queen’s permission.’

‘The Queen is already softening towards you.’

‘Good. Then we have nothing to worry about. Naughton Castle will have its Duchess, and I will have not only my heart’s desire, but a son and heir.’

She gazed up at him and he cupped her face in his hands.

‘Smile! As your future husband, I command it.’

He was rewarded by a quiver of her lips which he immediately stilled with a kiss. He made love to her gently, tenderly. Then he left, assuring her that he would return as soon as possible.

‘I will speak to Bothwell. I have promised to accompany him as far as the Hermitage. Once there, my services will no longer be needed, and I will return to you with all haste. I give you my word.’

The fugitives rode through the night, and by morning they had passed Hawick on the road to the south. Away from Edinburgh and his enemies, Bothwell now seemed more relaxed, as the massive hills of Cauldcleuch and Greatmoor towered above them, and their horses’ hooves splashed through the clear waters of mountain streams. As they cantered on, Gavin began to whistle a familiar tune.

‘You are in happy mood today,’ Bothwell remarked.

‘I have good reason to be happy, my friend. Although you have no good reason that I can see to be at ease with the world.’

Bothwell smiled knowingly.

‘Do I take it that the meeting with your lady was successful?’

‘We plan to wed. She is with child.’

‘I see! If you wish, I can release you from your word now. I can go on alone from here.’

‘No, my word is my bond. I’ll not break it. I could not live with myself if you perished for the want of another sword-arm. And while I’m away, Marie will put in a good word with the Queen—for both of us, Bothwell. She is close to the Queen. Let us hope she has influence enough.’

The Hermitage was a huge and gloomy fortress, dominating its windswept moorland vantage point. It could hold more than six hundred men, horse and foot, within its towering walls, and almost fifteen hundred moss troopers could be raised from the surrounding countryside. Its reputation, however, was dark and unsavoury. It had been built over two hundred and fifty years before by the family of Nicholas de Soulis. It was said that De Soulis dabbled in sorcery and kept a familiar spirit in one of the dungeons. Finally the King had become weary of his notorious and bizarre behaviour, and cried out in exasperation, ‘Oh boil him. But let me be plagued with him no more.’ His courtiers had taken the King literally and, in the words of a song Bothwell was fond of singing,

‘They rolled him in a sheet of lead,

A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;

They plunged him in the cauldron red

And melted him—lead, bones and all!’

The dungeons were still said to be haunted, but this did not appear to concern anyone unduly. Certainly not the sentries or any of the occupants, and now that Bothwell had returned, the castle buzzed with military activity.

‘I know only too well,’ Bothwell said, as Gavin prepared to take his leave, ‘that my chances of a full pardon depend greatly on the Queen’s good-will. Without it, I am at the mercy of my deadly enemy, Lord James Stewart. But enough of my troubles, my friend. You have business of your own to attend to.’

Gavin set off for the return journey to Edinburgh with a happy heart. For the moment all his troubles—all his debts and the ever-present threat of ruin—were forgotten. If all went well, he would soon be married to one of the most beautiful ladies of the Court.