There was one thing she intended to do before all else and that was legalize her union with her lover. Scandal was rife concerning her; it was more malignant than it had ever been, for Moray, who had previously endeavoured to quash it, now sought to foster it. He had set going a rumor that the Queen was a lewd woman and that David Rizzio and Darnley were both her lovers. He revived the Chastelard scandal. Knox was his ardent supporter in all this.


ON HER WEDDING DAY Mary walked from her apartments to the chapel at Holyrood dressed in the mourning gown of black with a large mourning hood, the costume of a sorrowing widow. She made a somber bride. It was necessary however for her to observe the strict royal etiquette which demanded that until she was another man’s wife she must, on all state occasions, appear as the widow of her first husband.

The Earls of Lennox and Atholl led her to the chapel and then went to fetch Darnley.

What a contrast he made in his glittering costume! Marys heart leaped with pride as she contemplated him. This was to be the happiest marriage that had ever been.

The Dean of Restalrig performed the ceremony with his priests to help him. Mary’s hand lay in that of Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, and they were indeed husband and wife.

The bridegroom left the chapel in advance, in order that he might retire to her chamber, where she would join him when her women led her there.

“Come!” he cried when he saw her. “I like not this black deuil. You must be a dazzling bride. Cast aside these sorrowful garments and dispose yourself to a pleasanter life.”

Mary feigned reluctance to do this, remembering what would be expected of her, but it was difficult to hide her elation and her desire to be done with reminders of her widowhood.

At last she was persuaded to wear the brilliant wedding garments which had been prepared for her, and her women lost no time in dressing her.

“The most beautiful bride in the world!” whispered Flem; and Mary had a sudden memory of hearing those words before. Then François had been her husband. She fleetingly remembered his adoration. How different was little François from the handsome Darnley!

There followed feasting and revelry. The bridegroom drank more freely than previously, and was inclined to be peevish, but he smiled with pleasure when he heard the proclamation which made it known to the people that he, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, was also Lord Ardmarnock, Earl of Ross, Duke of Albany, and should be called, by the express wish of Her Majesty the Queen of Scotland and the Isles, King of this kingdom.

At last they were alone. This was bliss for which Mary had long yearned. Now she was free to indulge her passion with a good conscience. There need be no hurried partings before the dawn, no furtive whisperings.

But to her surprise and chagrin it was not the same Henry Darnley who now made love to her. It was true that he was a little drunk; it was understandable that the great honors which had come to him this day had turned his head a little. He was fiercely demanding; he was arrogant; it was as though he said: “I am the master now.”

She submitted to this new lover, willingly and happily. But in the morning she began to see that the character he had worn as a mask when he first came to Court had been cast aside. With apprehension Mary began to understand anew the man whom to marry she had risked civil war.


THE TURN OF EVENTS forced Mary to concern herself with matters other than this partial disappointment in her husband. There came a chance to subdue Knox, and Mary took it boldly.

Darnley, at her request and on the advice of Rizzio, went to the Kirk of St. Giles to hear Knox preach. Mary knew that many of the warriors, who had rallied to her and were now encamped about the capital, were firm upholders of the Protestant Faith. She wished to show them that—Catholic though she was—she still intended to follow the policy of toleration which she had promised when she first came to Scotland.

Darnley had gone rather sullenly, and the sight of him, sprawling in the pew, sumptuously dressed and glittering with jewels, put Knox into a frenzy of rage against the Queen and her husband. He could not resist preaching at the young man.

“‘O Lord, our God,’” he cried, quoting from the book of Isaiah, “‘other lords besides Thee have had dominion over us; but by Thee only will we make mention of Thy name.’”

He went on to declare that for the sins of the people tyrants were sent to scourge them. Boys and women were sent to rule over them.

There was nothing that annoyed Darnley more than a reference to his youth. He folded his arms and glared at Knox; but Knox was not the man to be intimidated by a glare in his own kirk.

God justly punished Ahab, he declared, because he would not take order with the harlot Jezebel. In these evil days Ahab joined Jezebel in idolatry.

Darnley, deeply conscious of his new status, could not suffer insults lightly. He stood up and, calling to his attendants that he was going hawking, strode out of the kirk.

Mary was sympathetic when she heard what had happened, and laid no blame on her husband who, so far, could in her eyes do no wrong. Instead—in her new mood of bravado and deeply conscious of the brawny kilted men in their steel bonnets who paraded the town—she sent for Knox.

“Master Knox,” she cried as he stood before her, “this day you have insulted the King. I therefore forbid you to preach in Edinburgh whilst there are sovereigns in the capital.”

“I have spoken nothing but according to the text, Madam,” answered Knox. “The King, to pleasure you, has gone to the Mass and dishonored the Lord God, so shall God, in His justice, make you an instrument of his ruin.”

“How dare you make such wicked prophecies!” cried Mary in panic.

“I but speak as God commands me, Madam.”

“You will abstrain from preaching whilst there are sovereigns in the capital or suffer the rewards of treason.”

She dismissed him.

Knox began to harangue the Lords of the Congregation more vehemently than ever, urging them to rise against the Queen. Still Mary did not despair. There seemed little need to, as she surveyed the Highlanders who had pitched their tents about the city. Marching through the streets could be seen the kilted warriors, accompanied by the skirling of the pipes—big men, broad and strong; fierce men who did not know the meaning of fear were rallying to the cause of the Queen.

Bothwell was back in Edinburgh, eager to put his services at the command of the Queen—and there was a saying on the Border that Bothwell was worth an army. Huntley’s Highlanders and Bothwell’s Borderers made a formidable assemblage; and the Queen’s eyes glistened as she watched them.

Knox quailed before the display of might. He had found an adversary, who he had not believed existed, in the Queen herself. When John Knox took a look at the steel bonnets of the North he heard the voice of God advising discretion.

So Mary was now ready to place herself at the head of an army which, it was agreed, could not have a better commander than the Earl of Bothwell.

There was only one who opposed that command, and this was the Queen’s husband.

He was peevish, for although he was called King of Scotland, the Crown Matrimonial had not been bestowed upon him. He was furious when he thought he detected a lack of respect in those about him. He resented the arrogant Borderer; he had quarreled with many of the lords and was fast becoming unpopular even among those who had decided to give Mary their support.

He sulked and, when Mary tenderly asked the reason, he flashed at her: “Madam, it is a sad thing when rogues and adventurers are preferred to honest men.”

“My dearest, what do you mean?” asked Mary.

“That villain Bothwell… to command your army! Are you mad? The mans a brigand.”

“He’s the best general in Scotland with the exception of Kirkcaldy—and he is with our enemies.”

“The best general! What of my father?”

“But your father cannot be called a great general.”

“You insult my family and consequently me. Mayhap I had better remove myself from your presence. Mayhap I had better find other friends… true friends who love me.”

Mary smiled at the spoiled boy in indulgent exasperation. He was so pretty—even when he sulked—that she could not help softening toward him.

“Henry, come and sit beside me.”

He did so sullenly.

She stroked his golden hair back from his face, but he rudely shook her off. “What is the use of pretending you care for me, when you insult my family by putting that crude oaf above them?”

“My crown is in danger, dearest.”

“Your crown! Yes, that is how it is. Your crown which you will not share with me. You promised me all I could wish for, and now that we are married it is a different story.”

Mary sighed. “It is a different story now that we are married. Henry, what has happened to you? You were so modest… so gentle… before we married. Was it because you were deceiving me, pretending to be the man you were not… until we were married?”

A cunning look flickered across his face. He threw his arms about her and kissed her, forcing her back into her chair.

“Mary,” he breathed. “You do not love me, Mary.” He was smiling secretly. He had power over her through her sensual need of him. He could get what he wanted from his Queen. “Mary, forgive me….”

“My darling!”

“It is… these people about you… they do not pay proper respect to me. Mary is the Queen, they seem to say, but who is Darnley? Only her consort … of no importance at all.”