Des-Essars writes: ‘She believed she had won the entry of the heart; she read in the castle guns, bells of steeples, and hoarse outcry of the crowd, assurance of what she hoped for. I was glad, for my part, and disposed to thank God heartily, that we reached Holyroodhouse without injury to her person or insult to cut her to the soul.’
I think Des-Essars too sensitive: she was fully as shrewd an observer as he could have been. At least, she returned in good spirits. If any were tired, she was not; but danced all night with her Frenchmen. Monsieur de Châtelard was a happy man when he had her in his arms.
‘Miséricorde—O Queen of Love! Thus I would go through the world, though I burned in hell for it after.’
‘Thus would not I,’ quoth she. ‘You are hurting me. Take care.’
They brought her news in the midst that the Earl of Bothwell was in town with a great company, and would kiss her hands in the morning if he might.
‘Let him come to me now while I am happy,’ she said. ‘Who knows what to-morrow may do for me?’
She sent away Châtelard, and waited. Soon enough she saw the Earl’s broad shoulders making a way, the daring eyes, the hardy mouth. ‘You are welcome, my lord, to Scotland.’
‘But am I welcome to your Majesty?’
‘You have been slow to seek my welcome, sir.’