‘Good, cousin, good. I take your meaning. It is a fair intent, for which I am much beholden to you.’ Adonis, the proud rider, was chastened just now.
They met, therefore, at Linlithgow, heard mass together, made their offerings, and to all the world were friends again. The Crown-Matrimonial lay hidden until the spring of the year. Not even the new coinage—Maria et Henricus, ‘the dam before the sire’—tempted it out; but there were reasons for that. A week after the Epiphany, as they were in the Queen’s closet with a small company, she took his hand and said: ‘My lord, you shall hereafter give me what worship you can; for now I know of a certainty that I have deserved well of you and Scotland.’ Her pride in the fact and something of pity for herself made her voice quiver.
He started and flushed quickly. ‘Is it true, madam? Is that the case? Oh, I thank God for it!’
He would not let go of her hand, but waited impatiently until those present took the hint and retired; then took her, kissed her, and called her his Mary again.
She cried contentedly enough, her cheek against his heart; and he, at once triumphant and generous, father and lover, stayed by her for a whole day and night.
There was much talk, as you may suppose. The maids went about with their heads in the air, as if they had achieved something. But apart from them, all the talk was not of this complacent kind. Mr. Randolph, for instance, wrote to his patron, Mr. Cecil, of England: ‘The Queen is with child beyond a doubt. She informed the King in my hearing. Now, woe is me for you when David’s son shall be King in England!’ And there is no doubt that what Mr. Randolph took leave to report was no news to the late revellers of Inchkeith.
CHAPTER III
DIVERS USES OF A HARDY MAN
In all her late perplexities of disordered mind, unsteady hand, chagrin, disenchantment, and what not, it is strange to observe with what tenacity the Queen kept a daily glance of her eyes for one private affair. It was an affair of the heart, however.