The Memoirs of Mary Queen of Scots by Carolly Erickson Read Free Book Online

elbow and a broad smile of triumph on his face.
    I noticed this—and tried to put it out of my mind. But for some reason my knowledge of his gambling, and especially of the odd foreign woman, nagged at me, until in the end I summoned Adrien again.
    “I want to see for myself this woman you described,” I told him. “I need you to escort me to the tavern where the earl and Lord Ricarton go.”
    “But Your Highness cannot visit a low tavern! There are thieves and spies there, and women of the streets—and murderers!”
    “I shall not go as the queen, but as—as your sister. Are there no mothers or sisters in taverns?”
    Adrien thought a moment. “I have seen travelers take their womenfolk now and then.”
    “So we shall be brother and sister, traveling together. Bring two horses into the stableyard tonight. If anyone asks, say you are being sent on an errand for the king. What time shall I meet you there?”
    “Ten o’clock.”
    “Very well.”
    As afternoon wore into evening I could not wait to meet Adrien. I listened eagerly for the chiming of the clock, I could hardly sit still. At nine o’clock I retired to my room, telling my bedchamber women that I felt unwell and asking them not to disturb me. Once again, Margaret was offended—and aggrieved. As a rule she slept on a trundle bed at the foot of my own large high four-poster bed. I could tell that my request to be left alone puzzled her. I had never excluded her from my room at night before, though etiquette demanded that whenever Francis came into my room after dark my women left us alone together.
    Waiting for the hour of ten to arrive, wearing a borrowed plain gown of homespun stuff, a patched cape with an ample hood enveloping me, I trembled with excitement. Adventure! It was something I had had very little of since my marriage. And now, tonight, I would surely have my fill.



NINE
    Adrien knew an unfrequented way out of the least used castle gate, a way favored by peddlers and servants, and as I kept the hood of my cape low over my face, no one we passed recognized me as we guided our horses out onto the road that led to the nearby village.
    The moon had risen, but dark clouds soon came up to obscure it, and we had not gone far when it began to rain.
    It was hard rain that came down in sheets, and I was soon drenched.
    “Shall we turn back, Your Highness?” Adrien asked, shouting over the noise of the downpour.
    I shook my head and we continued. I could not have said why, except that my blood was pounding in my veins and after all the anticipation of the afternoon and evening I did not want to be disappointed of my adventure.
    I did not give a thought to whether or not my absence from the palace would be noticed, I merely assumed that for the next few hours I would be free. And for those precious hours I would not be Mary, wife of the king but someone else entirely: I would be merely the sister of one of the Scots Guards.
    By the time we arrived at the Inn of the Three Barrels and Adrienhelped me down from my horse I was completely soaked from head to foot. My gown clung to my body in wet lumps, my cloak hung dripping from my shoulders, the hood so low over my face that it covered even my wet untidy hair that drooped in wet ringlets across my cheeks.
    Our entry into the noisy, candlelit tavern was inconspicuous, so engrossed were the drunken men inside in their goblets of wine and their raucous singing and laughing. There were a few women among them, and I glanced at the women, though I did not see anyone who looked like a foreigner wearing what had once been costly clothing. I did see the Earl of Bothwell and Lord Ricarton, however. They sat with four others, playing cards.
    At first I was all but overcome by the reek of liquor and sweat, damp unwashed clothes and unwashed bodies. Only once before, when entering a soldiers’ barracks, had I encountered such a strong odor. I restrained myself from holding my nose and, keeping my head lowered,