Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean - Страница 17

“I must see you alone sometimes. Sometimes we must do that which is forbidden. Does not Your Majesty agree?”

“It is wrong to do that which is forbidden.”

“Can we be sure of that? I am happier now than I have been since I first set eyes on you.”

“But I do not think you should speak thus to me, Monsieur de Montmorency.”

“Forgive me. I speak thus out of desperation. I adore you. I must let you know of my feelings. Many love you, but none could do so with more passion, with more devotion and more hopelessness than your devoted servant Henri de Montmorency.”

He took her hands and kissed them with passion. She tried to withdraw them for she was conscious of emotion never before experienced, and she was afraid. She could not help comparing him with Francois. I am being disloyal to dear Francois! she thought in dismay.

“You are not indifferent to me!” cried Henri.

“We should return to the palace,” said Mary uneasily.

“Just a few more moments, I beg of you. I love you and I am wretched because shortly I must see you married to the Dauphin.”

“That must not make you miserable. It is my destiny, and doubtless you have yours.”

“My father, when he returns, will seek to marry me with the granddaughter of Madame de Valentinois. Oh, how wretched is this life! We are counters to be moved this way and that, and our loves and our desires go for naught. You will be married to the Dauphin. Your destiny is to be Queen of France and I… mine is a lesser one, but I am to ally my house with that of the King’s mistress. I wish we could run away from France … to some unknown island far away from here…. Would you were not a queen! Would I were not the son of my father! If you were a peasant girl and I a poor fisherman, how much happier we might be!”

Mary could not imagine herself stripped of her royalty. She would never forget that she was a queen, she believed. But she was moved by his words and the eager devotion she saw in his eyes.

He went on bitterly: “My father has five sons and seven daughters and all must be used to favor the fortunes of our house. My elder brother loved a girl—deeply he loved her. He thought he would die of love, and for a long time he stood out against our fathers wishes. But now you see he is married to the Kings bastard daughter, Diane of France, and our house is made greater by alliance with the royal one. Now if I marry the granddaughter of Madame de Valentinois, I shall strengthen the link. Not only shall we be allied to the royal house but with that of the King’s mistress. What strength will be ours! What greatness! And all brought about because we have been moved as counters into the right squares on the board. They are flesh and blood, those counters; they cry out in anguish; but that is unimportant. All that matters is that our house grows great.”

“What are you saying, Monsieur de Montmorency?”

“That I would run away with you … far away… where all are merely men and women and there is no policy to be served, no great house that is of more moment than our happiness. Dearest Mary, if only we could run away together, far away from the kingdom of France where they will make you a queen, far away from that land where you are already a queen. Mary, did you know that in your country many of the nobles have signed the Solemn League and Covenant to forsake and renounce what they call the Congregation of Satan? That means they follow the new religion; they have cut themselves off from Rome. Yours will soon be a land of heretics. Oh, Mary, I see trouble there for you. You … a good Catholic… and Queen of a heretic land!”

“I know nothing of this,” she said.

“Then I should not have spoken of it.”

“I made my mother Regent of Scotland. I signed the documents some years ago.”

“Oh, Mary, they tell you what to sign and what not to sign. They tell you to marry and you marry. Oh, dearest and most beautiful, let us dream just for a moment of the impossible. Do you love me … a little?”

She was excited by his charm and the wild words he spoke. She was happy in this scented garden. But she knew she should not listen to him and that she could never be happy if she were disloyal to Francois. She turned away frowning.

“I see,” he said bitterly, “that they have molded you as they wished. You will be their docile Queen. You will sign the documents they put before you; you will sign away your life’s happiness when they ask it.”

“When I am the wife of Francois,” she said angrily, “I shall be assured of a lifetimes happiness, Monsieur.”

She turned to leave him and as she did so she saw that two people had entered the garden. The rich red robes of the Cardinal of Lorraine were brilliant beside the more somber garments of Queen Catherine.

Mary heard the sudden burst of laughter which she had grown to hate over the years. Catherine’s amusement was, she believed, invariably provoked at someone else’s discomfiture.

“Ah, Cardinal, our birds are trapped,” the Queen was saying. “And what pleasant-looking birds, eh? We might say ‘birds of paradise.’ They look startled, do they not? As though they were about to be seized by the hawk.”

“Or by the serpent, Madame,” said the Cardinal.

“Poor creatures! What hope of escape would they have between the two!”

“Very little, Madame. Very little.”

Mary and Montmorency had hurried forward to pay their respects, first to the Queen, then to the Cardinal.

The Queen said: “So you two charming people are taking the air. I marvel, Monsieur de Montmorency, that you do not do so in the company of another young lady… not the Queen of Scotland. And I should have expected to see my son with her Scottish Majesty.”

“We met by chance, Madame,” said Mary quickly, but the color rose to her cheeks.

The Cardinal was looking at her quizzically. Because he had made her aware of those occasions when she caused him displeasure, she knew now that he was far from pleased at discovering her thus.

As for the Queen, she was delighted. Mary sometimes thought that the Queen did not wish her to marry the Dauphin, and that she would be very pleased if Mary had been seriously attracted by Montmorency.

The Cardinal said: “Her Majesty and I, as you no doubt did, found the afternoon too pleasant to be spent with walls about us.”

Before Mary could answer, Catherine said: “The Queen of Scots appears to be in a fever.” Her long slender fingers touched Mary’s cheek. “You are overheated, my dear.”

“I have a headache. I was about to return to the cool of the palace.”

“Ah yes, the cool of the palace. That is the place for you. The bed, eh… with the curtains drawn, and no one to disturb you—that is the best remedy for the sort of fever which possesses your Scottish Majesty.”

Hating the insinuation contained in the Queens words, conscious of the discomfort of Henri de Montmorency and the displeasure of the Cardinal, Mary said impulsively: “Your Majesty has vast knowledge of such things. It is due to your keen observation of the conditions of others, rather than your experience of such maladies. But I dare submit you are mistaken on this occasion. It is a slight headache from the heat of the sun.”

The white hand, laden with rings, came down heavily on Mary’s shoulder. Mary winced under her grip.

“I am rarely mistaken,” said Catherine. “You are right when you speak of the keenness of my observation. Little can be hid from me. Now, Monsieur de Montmorency will escort you to the palace.” Catherine released Mary’s shoulder. “And do not forget my remedy. Your bed… the curtains drawn… the door locked to keep out your women. That is what you need. Go along… now. The Cardinal and I will continue our walk in the sunshine.”

Mary curtsied, Montmorency bowed, and the two walked back to the palace. As soon as possible Mary took leave of him and went to her apartments.