Page 54 of The Changeling

Bothwell looked contemptuously after the king. ‘Where does he go? Fetch him back!’

One of his men galloped after Henry, caught the rein of his horse, and led him back, struggling and protesting the whole way.

‘Did your horse run away with you, your Grace?’ Bothwell boomed. ‘Never mind. Sit tight and we’ll lead you to safety.’

His men all laughed, and Henry glared at him in futile hatred.

VII

Midnight in the Chapel

I stood at the window of my bare little room, right at the top of Edinburgh Castle. Far below, the horses drawing carts through the Grassmarket looked like the toys Sorcha used to whittle from knots of wood.

I had pushed the window open as far as I could, leaning out so I could see where the Royal Mile widened out into the great square before the castle gates. Carlin crouched at my feet, gazing up at me with puzzled amber eyes. She did not understand why we waited here in the cold when we could be down in the kitchen, resting by the fire.

‘He’s coming today,’ I told her. ‘Soon he’ll be here.’

Carlin beat her tail in response, then rested her head on her paws with a sigh. I shaded my eyes with my hand. Any moment now, and the king and his men would ride up the Royal Mile and through the castle gates, and I would see Robbie again.

It had been more than a month since the king had ridden off in a temper, and taken my love with him. In that time, the queen had ridden back into Edinburgh at the head of an army and the assassins had fled. It should have been a triumphant moment for her, but Mary had been so sick at heart and weary she could scarcely keep her seat on her horse. She did not want to return to Holyrood, where the floor of her presence chamber was still stained with Rizzio’s blood, despite all attempts to scrub it clean. So Mary stayed within the safety of the town walls, exiling the main conspirators of the plot and doing her best to reconcile with those lords who swore they had no part in it.

The court had moved into the royal apartments at Edinburgh Castle, untenanted for decades, and we had prepared a birthing room for her there, hung with heavy velvet curtains. There the queen rested, her belly growing ever larger, while she tried to think what to do about her ill-fated marriage. Mary could not forgive Henry for his part in Rizzio’s murder, and refused to admit him to her bed or give him the crown he wanted so desperately. However, she could not risk feeding the rumours that he was not the father of her unborn child. No-one must believe her baby to be illegitimate. At last Mary sent a messenger to Henry, asking him to return and stand by her. Sulkily Henry had agreed, and soon he would be here, and Robbie with him.

My longing to see him was as fierce as my trepidation. It was almost a year and a day since Robbie and I had lain together under the hawthorn tree, and sworn to be true to each other. What would happen when our time was up? Would we agree to part and pretend we had never been lovers? Would we handfast ourselves again, and have another year of secret meetings and furtive, hurried couplings?

I wanted more. I wanted us to be together for always. I dreamed of the house he had described to me so vividly, with its tall glittering windows that let in the light and made it seem as if we lived amidst flowers and trees, of waking in the morning with Robbie in my bed, of making love without fear of discovery.

If only his parents would permit us to marry! We would be so happy.

But such a marriage was impossible. The only way we could be together was if we ran away, leaving behind everything we knew and loved. I remembered the ballad of the lassie who had dressed herself in rags and followed her bonny laddie far and wide. I’d do that to be with Robbie; I’d give up everything for him. Would he give up everything for me?

And could I ask him to forsake everything for me without telling him the truth about myself? The thought filled me with cold terror. He might reject me, he might think me a fiend from hell and betray me to the Kirk. I could not risk it. I had to keep my secret, and do my best to keep my faery nature hidden.

But I was racked with guilt and contrition. One moment I decided I must tell him, the next moment I swore I’d never tell, that it was a secret I’d take to my grave.

At last I saw the standard bearers ride into the square, followed by long lines of horsemen wearing the king’s colours.

‘He’s here!’ I told Carlin.

She got up slowly and bowed low, stretching her back. She was getting old now, and stiff in her joints. I was already at the door, wrapping my plaid about me. ‘Come on, lass!’

She trotted to join me, and together we went down to the courtyard, lurking in the passageway that led to the well. I had to be careful. Lord George had seen the way I had run into Robbie’s arms on the night of the murder. I could not risk him seeing me again.

The clatter of iron-shod hooves on the cobblestones, then the party rode in with banners flying, the horses steaming in the cold. King Henry sat huddled in furs, his face disfigured by a strange red rash that he had tried to disguise with white lead powder. He dismounted painfully, complaining about the cold, the slowness and clumsiness of his squires, the grimness of the towering castle walls.

I scanned the faces of the men trotting behind him. When Robbie rode in, I leaned forward out of the shadows, pulling back the hood of my cloak so he could see me. His face lit up, and he glanced about. His brother and father were close by, but deep in conversation with another lord. He motioned to me to step back, into the shadow of the wall, then he leapt down, thrust the reins into the hand of a waiting groom, and slipped down the passageway. He caught my hand, and we ran together to the end of the passageway, which opened out onto a garden where the well bored down hundreds of feet into the rock on which the castle was built. He whirled me about, then my back was against the wall and his mouth was on mine.

At last he drew away, his body still pinning me against the wall, one finger tracing the shape of my mouth.

‘Caiti,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, God, I love you so much.’

I clung to him, shaken to my core. It was the first time he had said such words to me.

‘I love you too,’ I whispered.

‘Where can we meet? It’s been so hard, Caiti, being away from you. I yearn for you.’

Over his shoulder, I saw the old chapel that crowned the summit of the hill. I gestured to it, murmuring, ‘It’s a storeroom now, no-one goes there.’