‘Yes, yes,’ says the Queen; ‘I am ready. Where is the King?’
‘The King is gone, madam,’ said Stewart of Traquair; ‘and I think your Majesty will do well to be after him.’
This was true. Arthur Erskine, holding the horses outside the town wall, told her that the King had ridden forward at once, at a gallop, with his man Standen. She was therefore left with but two—himself and Traquair—for escort; but he assured her that every step had been taken, she would be in no sort of danger.
‘Danger!’ she said, laughing lightly. ‘No, no, Erskine, I do not fear it. Ruthven’s dagger seeks not my back.’
They lifted her up, the rest mounted after her; they walked their horses clear of the suburb. After some half-mile or more of steady trotting the Queen reined up and stopped the party. She listened; they all did. Far away you could hear the regular galloping of a horse, pulsing in the dark like some muffled pendulum. Now and again another’s broke into it and confused the rhythm.
‘There rides in haste our sovereign lord,’ said the Queen. ‘Come, we must follow him.’
By Niddry House—under the lee of the wall—she found the Earls of Huntly and Bothwell, Lord Seton, and a company of twenty horsemen waiting. The hour had gone five.
‘God save Scotland!’ had called Traquair, and Bothwell’s strident voice had countercried, ‘God save the Queen of Scotland!’
‘That voice hath blithe assurance,’ said she when she heard it. She joyed in adventure and adventurers.