Page 53 of The Changeling

I frowned. ‘But he knew of the plot, madam, he was one of the conspirators.’

‘They promised him he would be king in truth, not just in name. They tricked him. Once I am gone and they realise all is lost, they will kill him. I cannot have his death on my conscience. He will have to flee with us.’

I was most reluctant. ‘He’ll tell them! He’ll betray us.’

‘Not if I tell him his life is at risk.’

‘Then he’ll do something stupid and betray us by mistake.’

She sighed. ‘Quite possibly. But he is my husband. I cannot leave him knowing he’d be murdered. Please, Caitlín.’

I nodded unwillingly, and Mary began to cry and clutch at her stomach. While a doctor was sent for, I quietly delivered her note to Lord George, who bid Rory and Robbie to wait till it was dark, then clamber out a window and escape over the back wall. They were to send a messenger to Dunbar Castle to rouse Lord Bothwell and his men, then find horses for the queen and the king to escape on.

‘Be careful,’ I begged Robbie. ‘Go through the ruined abbey – it hides the garden from the palace windows and there’s an old yew tree you can hide behind as you scale the wall.’

‘You be careful,’ Robbie said back to me. ‘These are desperate men, Caiti! Do not put yourself in danger.’

‘It’s a wee bit late for that!’

He smiled and drew me closer, as if to kiss me, only to check himself and move away, his fair skin reddening. I had to curtsey and back out of the room as if he was a lord’s son and not my lover.

When I returned to the queen, it was to find her so pale, and moaning so convincingly, that the doctor had told her captors she was too weak to be a risk to them, and they must take care she did not die. They allowed me to bring her food, and told the guards to leave her to sleep. The day dragged past, but at last midnight came. Mary crept down the secret staircase to Henry’s room, then I led them through the servants’ back passages through the dark palace and out the scullery door which I had unlocked.

Mist drifted across the garden. In my hand I held the knotted nettle string; in my mind I chanted the spell of concealment. Gently now, I told myself. No need for blizzards and storms. A wee smirr was all that was needed. The mist swirled higher, hiding us as we crept past the old abbey.

In the darkness, the queen almost tripped over a mound of freshly turned dirt.

‘That is where they buried him,’ Henry told her.

‘Sssh,’ Mary whispered. ‘Make no sound.’

But she looked back at the mound as we crept past, and swiftly crossed herself, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

I had managed to filch the key to the garden gate, and unlocked it as quietly as I could. Robbie and Rory were waiting with horses on the far side of the palace wall. Henry was trembling so much with fear, he had to be hoisted onto his gelding, then Robbie lifted the queen so she could sit sideways on a pillion pad behind Rory. Robbie mounted, then pulled me up and set me on the saddle before him, nestled within the safety of his arms. He stole a quick kiss under the cover of darkness, and whispered, ‘Thank God you are safe! I hated leaving you there.’

‘I hated being left,’ I whispered back, and he kissed me again before urging his horse to follow the others away from the palace. Quietly as possible, we rode through the dark streets of Edinburgh, Carlin running close behind. At last the road led into open country and we could canter. I looked back often to be sure Carlin was following us. She was always there, fleet as any horse.

We rode towards Dunbar Castle, one of the strongest fortresses in Scotland. It was a long way, and the sky was beginning to lighten to the east by the time we saw the great stone fortress on its high, stern rock above the harbour. Our pace quickened, but then a group of horsemen rode out of the shadows of a wood and blocked the road. We could not see if they were friend or foe in the half-light. Rory and Robbie drew up their mounts, calling for the men to identify themselves, but the king panicked, dragging his horse’s head about and whipping it cruelly so that it plunged through the hedgerow.

‘Mary, come on!’ he screamed. ‘By God’s teeth, they will murder us if they catch us. Come on!’

‘Henry, wait!’ she panted, clinging tightly to Rory’s waist. ‘You must see I cannot …’

‘Are you not the queen? Order your lackey to spur his slug of a horse on.’

‘But Henry … I cannot gallop! Do not forget about my condition!’

‘Ride!’ he shouted, spurring his horse on over the dark field. ‘If this baby dies, we can always make another.’

Mary called after him again, but he did not wait for her, galloping ahead, intent only on saving himself.

‘Your Grace, is that you?’ a deep voice cried out from the crowd of men barring the road.

‘Lord Bothwell,’ Mary cried in relief. ‘Thank God it is you!’

‘You are safe now,’ he said, and rode forward to take her rein. ‘It is not far now. Can you manage to ride just a little further?’

‘I can,’ she answered, straightening her back.