recognized Bothwell, waiting for me, a safe castle behind him, a spare horse beside him, coming down the road to greet me, ready to fight anyone to take me to safety.
He, who was never gentle, lifted me gently down from my horse and carried me in his arms into the castle, up the stairs to a bedroom, and laid me on the bed. He, who was never tender, washed my face and my hands, and pulled off my riding boots. He, who was a known killer, untied the front of my gown and laid his ear to my rounded belly to listen for the heartbeat, smiled up at me, and said, “It is all right. I swear it. He is unhurt, I can hear him. I can feel him move. He is alive, a strong little king for Scotland.” And I, who never loved him, put my hand down to touch the thick black curls of his hair and said, “Thank God you are faithful.”
“Thank God you came to me,” he replied.
Better for me that I don’t think of him. Better for me that I never think of him at all.
But it is good that Howard is ambitious too.
Westmorland has other news to whisper on our ride. Philip of Spain stands my friend: he has declared that I must not be held any longer as a prisoner. My ambassador is in touch with the Spanish ambassador, who has a network of conspirators in England poised to free me if I do not go to Scotland this month. I will regain my Scottish throne by agreement, but Elizabeth should be warned. I have powerful friends, and half of England would rise for me if I summoned them, and Spain is building an armada of ships. Elizabeth dare not delay any longer. The Spanish will insist I am fairly treated. The Spanish intend that I shall be Queen of England and the heretic Elizabeth be thrown down altogether.
I wait till I am alone in my room to open my letters. The one from Bishop Lesley is in code, I shall work on it in the morning, but there is a note from Thomas Howard written in French, and a ring. The sweet man, the tenderhearted man! He has sent me a ring for our betrothal and I slip it on my hand and admire it. It is a diamond, a wonderful stone, cut square, and it shines with a fiery whiteness. It is good enough for a queen; it is good enough for me. I put it to my lips and kiss it for his sake. This man is going to save me, this man is going to restore me to my kingdom, this man is going to love me, and for the first time in my life I will have a lover who has the strength of a man and the breeding of an equal. Not a boy prince, not a half devil like Bothwell. I shall be loved by a husband who has spent his life at courts, who is kin to the monarchs of England, and who wants me and loves me as a woman as well as a queen.
I am glad that this has all been done by me, without even the smallest help from Elizabeth. She is a fool. If she had taken my part when I first came to England, she could have sponsored this marriage and restored me to my throne and I would have been forever in her debt. I would have loved her as her cousin twice over. We would have been friends for life. As it is, I will never forgive her. When I am on my throne again she will know that she has an enemy on her border, and that my friends are the Spanish who support me and the French who are my kin, the Northern lords who have been faithful and the Papists of England who wait for me to inherit and for the good days to come again. My new husband will come to see her as a reluctant friend and an unreliable cousin. I will prevail upon him to forget his loyalty to her and think only of himself and me. We will make a powerful royal couple and together we will free Scotland and make alliances with the great Papist powers. Then she will be sorry that she treated me with suspicion; then she will be sorry not to have treated me like a sister.