“And this may mean that any day . . . perhaps tomorrow, I shall look for you in vain and be told that you have gone away.”

“That could well be.”

She took a pearl drop earring from her ear.

“Take this, George,” she said. “You shall have one and I the other. If you send a messenger to me with that earring I shall know that the messenger truly comes from you.”

He took the earring and held it reverently in the palm of his hand. For some seconds he seemed bemused; then he said: “Your Majesty, I believe that young Willie Douglas yearns to be made use of in your service.”

“The little freckled-faced boy? I often find him watching me.”

“He is a strange boy, Your Majesty, but is a friend of mine . . . and of yours.”

“I need all the friends I can muster . . . and more so when the most trustworthy of them all is taken from me. Then I could send Willie Douglas with a message to you . . . if the need should arise?”

“I know he would bring it to me, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, George,” she cried, “I am going to miss you so much.”

He knelt and kissed her right hand while she laid her left on his head; stooping suddenly, she kissed it, and when he raised his wondering face to hers impulsively she bent and kissed his lips.

He looked dazed, and then his face was illuminated. “I never thought . . . ” he began. “I never hoped . . . ” And then he went on hurriedly: “Your Majesty, have I your leave to retire?”

For one moment she thought to detain him, then she nodded and turned her head so that she could not see his perplexed face.

It was the moment for him to go. If he had stayed she might have been tempted to change the relationship between them. It must not be so. A short while ago she might have kept him with her; but she had changed since Carberry Hill. She was a wiser woman; never again would she allow her emotions to lead her to disaster. At least she would make some attempt to curb her sensual longings that they might never again control her destiny.

Perhaps, she thought when she was alone, I was never loved before, as George Douglas loves me.

She would remember that through the dreary months which lay ahead.

WILLIE DOUGLAS HAD always freely roamed about the castle and its grounds; when the boat went from the castle to the mainland he often went with them. He performed his duties now and then and if he were missing for several hours no one took much notice. Willie had always been in a specially privileged position and, although Sir William appeared not to notice the boy, instinctively the servants knew that he would not welcome complaints against the urchin.

So Willie went his own way. When the Queen took her walks in the castle grounds he was often seen with her. She seemed to be amused by his mischievous ways. As for Willie he showed no awe of her and behaved as though there was little difference between queens and scullions in his opinion.

George had left Lochleven, for even Lady Douglas could not arrange that he should stay. Moray might descend upon them any day, and, moreover, there were always tradesmen and such-like coming and going between island and the mainland so that the news would soon have spread that George had remained at Lochleven.

Both Lady Douglas and Sir William knew that George was not far off; they knew also that somewhere in the Kinross area many of Mary’s supporters were lodging in the house of loyal townfolk, waiting for the day when an attempt would be made to free the Queen from captivity. That must not happen, of course, for Sir William would be blamed if she escaped; he did not believe any attempt would be made until the coming of spring, but then he would have to be more vigilant, if that were possible. He believed—and so did Lady Douglas—that George had joined forces with Lord Seton and his friends, and they were not many miles away.

Young Willie Douglas’s shrill whistle could be heard through the courtyards; he swaggered a little, which seemed all part of the business of growing up. Now and then he enticed the guards into a gambling game, for Willie had a coin or two to jingle in his pocket. Nobody asked where he procured the money. Willie would have had his answer ready if they had. He had been given it for some service rendered to some merchant on the mainland. Willie was never at a loss.

While he played with the guards he watched the arrival of the boats and the supplies for the castle being unloaded.

“Keeping a sharp watch-out, laddie,” said one of the guards. “They might make you do a bit of work for a change and you wouldna like that at all.”

“Oh ay,” said Willie, absently staring at the laundresses, who were going into the castle to collect the soiled linen which they would take away and bring back clean.

March had come and the first signs of spring were on the countryside. The winds were still strong, but now and again they would drop, and when the sun shone there was real warmth in the air.

One day Willie was helping to unload food from a boat which was moored on the shore, and his industry pleased those he was helping. When the unloading was done he leaped into the boat and sat there waiting.

“Coming back with us, young Willie?” asked one of the boatmen.

“Oh ay . . . ” answered Willie nonchalantly.

“Come on then, lads, back to Kinross.”

Willie whistled as the boat carried him across the water. When it touched ground he jumped out, saluted the boatmen and ran off.

He skirted the town, now and then breaking into a run, sometimes leaping in a rush of high spirits. When he came to a small hillock he stood for a few moments and looked about him. He could see the roofs of the Kinross houses and a quarter of a mile or so away the woods. Assuring himself that no one was following him he made quickly for these woods and was soon on the narrow path which led through them.

He began to whistle, and after a few minutes his whistle was answered.

He stood still waiting, listening. Then he heard the rustle of twigs; George was coming through the trees.

“I thought you were never coming,” said George.

“It took so long to unload the boat.”

“Are you sure no one followed you?”

Willie looked exasperated. “Who d’ye think I am, Geordie Douglas?”

George smiled. Willie was a first-class agent, because not only was he alert and nimble but it was scarcely likely that anyone would suspect him.

“Let’s sit down . . . away from the path . . . here where the trees are thickest. Then we shall hear anyone approaching. And speak low. Voices carry.”

“Ye dinna need to tell me that!”

“No, Willie, but we have to be very careful. If the plan fails how can we say what they might do to her?”

“Oh ay,” Willie agreed.

When they were seated George said: “Listen carefully; we are going to send a large box to the Queen, purporting to come from Melville. We will load it with some heavy substances—perhaps stones—and we shall say it contains articles and documents for the Queen. You must tell her that this box is to arrive shortly, and when it comes she is to take out the contents and hide them, and after a few days we must ask for the box to be returned to Melville. When the box is taken out of the castle, she will be in it.”

Willie stared at George and his light eyes suddenly crinkled with amusement. Willie held his sides and began to shake, giving a display of uncontrollable mirth.

“What is it?” said George impatiently.

“It’s just that you make me laugh, Geordie Douglas.”

“This is no laughing matter.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It was one laughing matter when you planned escape by boat and then go sniffing around till Drysdale says: ‘Now why would wee Georgie be taking such interest in the boat?’ And this box is another.”

“It is not for you to laugh at your elders . . . and betters, Willie.”

“Oh ay,” said Willie mockingly disconsolate.

“All you have to do is to tell the Queen our intentions. I cannot say when the box will arrive, but you must come and tell me when it is to be sent back. Then I shall be ready for her . . . and I shall not be alone. We shall have horses waiting for her.”

Willie sat silently nodding. “You understand?” said George impatiently.

“Oh ay,” repeated Willie. “I understand. The box goes in . . . and Lady Douglas and Sir William watch it unloaded. ‘What lovely stones!’ cries my lady. ‘What is the Queen’s new pastime to be? Throwing stones from the keep windows on the sentinels?’”

“We have to arrange that the box arrives when Sir William is not there.”

“If Sir William is not there, someone else will be. Hoch, man, dinna ye know that our Queen is a prisoner and that everything that goes into her apartments is watched and ferreted over. Talk sense, Geordie Douglas. You wouldna get farther than the castle courtyard before they’d see through your game with boxes. Nay, Geordie Douglas, think again.”

George was silent. It was true that he had put forward one or two grandiose schemes which Lords Seton and Semphill had thought impracticable. The trouble with George was that he saw himself as a knight who was ready to die for his Queen; he would have preferred to go boldly to the castle and fight his way through to her. Lord Seton had said that it was subterfuge which was needed. Those who could best help the Queen would be crafty spies rather than bold knights.

And now even Willie was scorning his latest plan, and George had to admit that there was a great deal in what the boy said.

“I thought of something,” said Willie. “’Tis a better plan than yours, because it could work. It was when I watched the laundresses bringing out the dirty linen that I thought of it. You know the shawls they wear . . . some of them . . . over the head and gripped round the shoulders . . . and they carry the bundles of linen on one shoulder. Well, I thought to myself, Who counts them that goes in? Is it four or five? Who’d know if six came out?”