by Mary Daheim
At that moment Mary Stuart and Darnley stepped out through the great west entrance into the cemetery. Fraser and Simpson watched as the royal couple paused for just a moment, staring down at a freshly turned mound of earth.
“Rizzio,” they heard Darnley say and then saw the Queen shudder.
Close by, four other figures moved quietly in the darkness. Stuart of Traquair, Arthur Erskine, Anthony Standen and another loyal member of the Queen’s household had arrived with the horses just as the church bells pealed midnight.
Fraser was the first to reach the Queen. “Thank God you made it safely!” He grinned and grasped the Queen’s hand. “Quickly, you’ll ride with Erskine.”
“Iain,” Mary Stuart began, “I’m so grateful ....”
He signaled for her to be quiet. “Later, we’ve no time.” Fraser had pointedly ignored Darnley, who was looking hopelessly ineffectual. Anthony Standen indicated a mount for the consort and within seconds, the little party was moving quietly away from the chapel and out of Edinburgh.
After the city lay behind them, they rode at breakneck speed, sparing neither horses nor riders. They stopped once, at Seton, to permit George Gordon and Lord Bothwell to join them.
Despite her advancing pregnancy, the Queen made no pleas to slow down. Darnley, in fact, urged them all to ride even faster. “Come on, come on! By God’s blood, they will murder both you and me if they catch us!”
“We’re not being followed,” Mary shouted back. “If Erskine rides any harder, we’ll damage the babe.”
“Never mind!” Darnley yelled frantically. “If this one dies, we’ll make more!”
Appalled, the Queen could not reply but clung all the tighter to Erskine. Fraser, however, had pulled Barvas up alongside Darnley. “Have a care, man,” he said mildly. “You speak to a mother and a Queen.”
Darnley threw Fraser a look of sheer malevolence. “You! The Queen may be grateful, but expect no fawning praise from me!”
The contempt in Fraser’s eyes made Darnley look away. “Don’t worry, Your Grace,” Fraser said, spurring Barvas to move ahead, “I’ve never expected anything from you yet.”
Dawn was spreading across the horizon when they reached Dunbar Castle. Pale shafts of light trailed above the North Sea as the morning mists hovered over the water. In a clatter of horses’ hooves and booted feet, the party dismounted at the castle entrance.
Some hours later, after the Queen had eaten and rested, she asked to see Iain Fraser alone. Their old intimacy was badly strained and the interview was one of those rare occasions when Mary Stuart’s poise deserted her.
“Your plan worked wonderfully well,” she told him, twisting at a plain linen kerchief. “If it hadn’t been for your help, I might be a prisoner in Stirling Castle by now.”
“You behaved with great flair and daring,” he said, thinking how vigorous she looked in spite of her recent ordeal. “Winning Darnley over was vital to the plan and you managed that alone.”
She looked at him squarely for the first time since he’d entered the room. “He bends like a sapling in the breeze. I was a fool, swept away like a milkmaid mooning for her sheepherd.” The amber eyes grew overbright. “But in spite of all that, I can’t reinstate you, Iain. I’m sorry.”
Fraser propped one booted leg on the opposite knee. He regarded the Queen with compassion, sensing the genuine misery she was experiencing in her rejection of him. “If it’s not Darnley, it must be James. Correct, lass?”
The auburn lashes dipped against her cheeks. “Yes, he’s adamant. I don’t understand why he hates you so, Iain, but he does. Why, he’s even willing to reconcile with Bothwell! Yet when I mention your name, he becomes intransigent.”
Fraser thoughtfully rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t make much sense, does it? James and I were put to the horn at the same time—yet he did more than merely criticize Darnley, he fomented a rebellion. Now you’ll pardon him and retain the charges against me. I ask you, is that just?”
Mary Stuart swept out of her chair and moved agitatedly around the room. “Of course not! Nay, don’t get up!” She gestured nervously at Fraser. “It makes no sense, but what does in this world of madness? I need James more than ever if I’m to keep my crown. Oh,” she went on in a voice tinged with tears, “I need you, too, but I have to choose—and James is my brother.”
Now Fraser did stand to gently place his hands on the Queen’s forearms. “Enough, don’t upset yourself, you’ve been a brave lassie so far. I don’t like it, I won’t pretend I do, but I appreciate your dilemma. You must do what is right, not just for yourself, but for Scotland.”
Mary looked up at him through misty eyes. “You realize that if James weren’t my blood relation, I’d choose you?”
Fraser gazed at her for a long moment, the half-grin twisting his wide mouth. Then he held the Queen close and felt her lean limply against him. “Don’t cry, you’ll upset the bairn.” But Mary didn’t cry, she just stayed for a long time in the sanctuary of his arms. Fraser was glad the Queen couldn’t see his ironic expression. Dammit, he thought, the lassie needs me, she cares for me, she ought not be torn so. As always, she was more than just a lovely woman in distress; to Fraser, she was Scotland.
At last, she eased out of his arms. “The hardest part is that I have a favor to ask,” she said with a wry little smile. “If you refuse, I’ll understand.”
Fraser folded his arms across his chest. “Well?”
The Queen resumed her long-legged walk about the room. “I’ve told you how I feel about Darnley. I know he was up to his silly neck in Davie’s murder. I can’t endure him much longer, I haven’t been able to let him touch me for months ....” She swallowed hard at the revelation but plunged onward: “I can’t act officially until after the babe is born, I mustn’t put the child’s legitimacy in jeopardy. But in the meantime, I want you to go to Rome and start proceedings for my divorce.”
Fraser appeared to be contemplating the room’s furnishings. Indeed, some corner of his mind registered the slightly shabby wall hangings, the worn chairs, the rushes which needed their annual spring replacement. Dunbar Castle was a far cry from the Queen’s usual residences. Its very tawdriness reinforced Mary’s desperate situation.
“I’ll go,” he said simply. “I can’t remain in Scotland for long.”
Mary put her hands on his shoulders. “Oh, Iain, you are too good to me! I promise, your lands won’t be confiscated! When you return, your properties will be waiting for you!”
Fraser felt little confidence in Mary’s declarations, but he held his tongue. Slipping his arms around the Queen’s waist, he stared into the amber eyes. “One other thing you must promise, lassie. You’ll see that no harm befalls my wife or my children. Fair enough?”
“Certainly, of course, I’ve not done right by Dallas. I’ll make amends, I swear!” The Queen was flushed, smiling, grateful, and seemingly submissive. Fraser leaned down, brushed her cheek with his lips, and wished to God he could put more faith in her promises.
Chapter 26
If the Richezza had been anchored at Dunbar, Fraser would have sailed immediately for the Continent. But since the ship was up north, off the Isle of Lewes, he would have to travel overland to join his crew. The temptation to see Dallas and his children was too much; he would risk stopping in Edinburgh.
Dallas, meanwhile, had left Holyrood for the town house. When the royal couple’s escape had been discovered Tuesday morning, a great hue and cry went up all over the palace. More frightened by James Stuart’s threat than she would admit, Dallas decided to take refuge in her own home. Tarrill could protest all she liked, but the mile ride in a litter to Gosford’s Close was hardly hazardous. And in the ensuing consternation over the Queen’s flight, nobody was much interested in Lady Fraser’s departure with her new babe, her sister, a wet nurse and a minor member of the royal almoner’s staff.
Once out of Holyrood, Tarrill was as relieved as Dallas. The note from Will Ruthven had upset her
at first. Under any other circumstances, she would have ignored it, but she knew his presence at the Chapel Royal would wreck the entire escape plan. She had to get him away from the cemetery—and then had to listen to his self-deluding excuses for participating in Rizzio’s murder. She had been polite but cool. In fact, as he spoke she felt she was seeing him for the first time—ambitious, easily manipulated, hypocritical and concerned not so much for her opinion but only her approval. She had no opportunity to offer either, however, for their meeting was interrupted as the news of the Queen’s escape spread through the palace. When Will left he had attempted to take her hand, but Tarrill had merely stood in the doorway and bade him an aloof goodnight. For the first time in many years, Tarrill could honestly tell herself that she did not care if she ever laid eyes on Will Ruthven again.
Magnus was delighted to see his mother but less enthused about his new brother. The red fringe of hair made him hoot with derision; the intermittent crying elicited threats; and whenever Dallas picked Robert up, Magnus suddenly revealed he’d hurt himself or wasn’t feeling well.
“He’ll get over it,” Ellen asserted. “What he needs is a father’s strong hand. I fear the child is a bit spoiled.”
Nodding distractedly, Dallas couldn’t help but agree. If their life continued at the present rate, her boys would grow up with a father they scarcely ever saw. But if Fraser had succeeded in spiriting the Queen away, no doubt he would be forgiven and restored to his place at court. Rumor said Mary Stuart had reached Dunbar safely and Dallas prayed that this was so.
The following night, at least part of Dallas’s prayers were answered. Fraser returned home, slipping into the town house under the cover of darkness. But the very stealth of his arrival let Dallas know that all was not well.
They sat up late as Fraser recounted the events of the past two days. When he told her of the Queen’s decision, she flared up, denouncing Mary Stuart as a capricious jade. Fraser did his best to soothe her, trying to divert her wrath from the Queen to Lord James. Dallas then told him about her encounter with the Queen’s half-brother. But she kept James’s threat to herself.
“That bogus bond is worthless,” Fraser declared. “The Queen would never believe I connived at Rizzio’s death. But you’re right, I’ll wager that James encouraged Morton and the others all along.”
“I’d like to prove it, by heaven,” Dallas declared, beginning to simmer down. “Oh, Iain, I am so tired of you being away! I know, I agreed you should go to sea, but you’re just never here!”
Fraser propped his feet up on the bed. Dallas was lying under a goose-down comforter; she was being very careful about making a full recovery. “Lassie, you know my absences aren’t entirely my fault,” he pointed out reasonably. “It’s not my choice to be away so much.”
Dallas shifted her body under the comforter. So many hours in bed were making her back ache. “I know, I know. But Magnus looked at you tonight as if he wasn’t sure who you were. Sometimes I believe he thinks Cummings is his father.”
Her husband didn’t respond for a few moments but stared uncomfortably at his signet ring, which winked in the candlelight. At last, he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her lips very gently. “You know,” he said, the hazel eyes as serious as she’d ever seen them, “I wondered the other day when I talked to Queen Mary if I’d ever be free to come back to Scotland. But I will, and when I do, I’m staying.”
Dallas’s first reaction was to disparage such a vow. Her restless husband could never remain in one place for long. Besides, he enjoyed plying his trade as a pirate, it made him wealthy, it satisfied his urge for adventure, his love of the sea. But something in his expression made her pause; he means what he says, she thought with wonder. So she made no comment, just nestled against him and felt the comfort of his body against her own.
Fraser was gone before the week’s end. He had spent three days inside the house while Cummings and the other servants kept a constant watch on the street outside to make sure no one came to seek out their master. Meanwhile, Fraser got reacquainted with his elder son, played cards with Dallas and Tarrill, marked his charts for the journey to Genoa, and wished he could make love at least once to his wife before he left Edinburgh.
A week after his departure, Mary Stuart rode into her capital at the head of eight thousand men. Radiant with triumph, she acknowledged the cheers of the citizenry and knew that she was the ultimate victor in the miserable Rizzio affair.
In early April the Queen moved her court to Edinburgh Castle. The great fortress loomed above the town like a brooding eagle perched on a rock. It was not a homey site for the royal babe’s birth, but it was considered secure.
Tarrill and Donald rejoined the Queen’s household a few days later. At first, Dallas was lonely without them, but slowly adjusted to passing the days with her children, checking over the household supplies, establishing a routine for her family and trying to do something about Meg.
The youthful wet nurse had plenty of milk for Robert and performed her task efficiently. One of twelve children, Meg had been barely fourteen when she was seduced by the chapman who lived on the floor below her family in the crowded tenement off Horse Wynd. Cast out by her irate parents, the months spent with her sister had been difficult. When her bairn was born dead, Meg was torn between sorrow and relief. Donald’s invitation to Holyrood had terrified her, and the events which had ensued during her first few days of service with Lord and Lady Fraser had overwhelmed her. But once settled into the town house, Meg began to relax. Eventually, she overcame her shyness enough to tell Dallas about her background.
“You must learn to read,” Dallas had said as Meg stammered in astonishment. Girls didn’t read, she had protested, it was sufficient to know the rudiments of household chores and birthing bairns. “Twaddle,” Dallas had snapped. “I could read and write before I could wield a broom.”
So she began to tutor Meg, a difficult task at best, but finally the girl demonstrated progress. Meanwhile, Dallas drummed into her the necessity of bathing at least once a week and remembering to wash her hair, too. After two months of pushing, nagging and prodding, Meg began to blossom out of her drab cocoon. Dallas was proud of herself, and even prouder of Meg.
By that time, Dallas was getting outside, visiting Walter and Glennie, going on shopping jaunts, walking with Ellen and the children in the soft spring air. It was all very peaceful, reassuring and dull. Dallas burned for Iain Fraser.
On the first day of June, a message arrived from the Queen, asking Dallas to come to court for the royal birth. It was the third invitation Dallas had received, and though she was still angry with Mary Stuart for not reinstating Fraser, she softened a little and decided to go up to the castle.
The Queen received Dallas with genuine pleasure. She apologized for the way she’d behaved the night of Rizzio’s murder, expressed regret for failing to grant Dallas an audience, and lamented the fact that Fraser was still outlawed. Had the Queen not been so far gone in pregnancy, Dallas would have dared to give a bold reprimand. But having so recently borne a child herself, she curbed her tongue and politely answered the Queen’s questions about giving birth.
Mary Stuart was already lying-in, looking as if she were floating on the great sea of a bed hung with blue velvet and taffeta. The child would actually be delivered in a smaller chamber, but for purposes of state, the Queen would wait in the larger, more elegant room until her labor commenced.
For two weeks nothing happened. Court life was so curtailed that Dallas decided her existence in the town house had been exciting by comparison. Still, there was the castle to explore, and while Dallas had been raised just a few hundred yards from its massive bulk, she’d never been inside until now. Consequently, she took every opportunity to visit the many rooms, the tiny chapel erected by St. Margaret, the small but well-supplied library, even the esplanade which led up Castle Hill from the Lawnmarket.
The Queen had done her best to make the great fortress habitable. Tapestries,
furnishings, carpets and other finely crafted household accoutrements had been transported from Holyrood or purchased specially for the period of residency. Naturally, Dallas was more intrigued by the library than any other room. Most of the books were Mary’s own and in French. Dallas spent several hours in the library, working diligently on translating some of the histories.
One afternoon after struggling over a particularly difficult passage for half an hour, she was forced to give up. The syntax just didn’t make sense. Annoyed, she slammed the book back into place on the shelf, only to hear an odd scrunching noise. Curious, Dallas pulled the book back out again. She could see nothing unusual but extracted the adjoining volumes to make sure. Then she noticed about a square foot of masonry which had sunk into the wall almost a full inch, apparently from the force she’d used to put the history volume away. Carefully, she prodded at the stone with her fingers; it swung about, revealing an opening some six inches deep. Dallas reached inside and felt something solid. Whatever it was, it had an irregular surface and wasn’t secured to the rest of the wall. She lifted experimentally, felt the object move free, and eased it out into the open.
It was a jewel case, layered with dust and speckled with bits of loosened masonry. Dallas tried lifting the lid but it was locked. Overcome with curiosity, she searched through the desk to find something with which she could pry the case open. No useful tool was to be found. Dallas was wondering what to do next when she heard footsteps outside the door. Quickly, she shoved the case into a drawer, then replaced the books on the shelf just as James Stuart entered the library.
“Ah, Lady Fraser,” he said coolly. “I’ve not seen you since your child was born. I assume you’ve recovered?”
Dallas recognized the double meaning at once. She also hoped her skirts were covering the debris on the floor. For some reason, she decided it was imperative that James not know about her discovery. Submissiveness seemed her best hope of getting him out of the library as fast as possible.