But the daring ambition of the man now roused even his old accomplices to conspire against him, for the safety of the young prince and Government. Morton, Argyll, Atholl, and Kirkaldy of Grange were at the head of this plot; and they wrote to Bedford the day after the supper at Ansley's, saying it was high time that his dangerous career was checked, and engaging by Elizabeth's aid to avenge the murder of the king. Kirkaldy, who was the scribe, added, that the queen had been heard to say that "she cared not to lose France, England, and her own country for him, and would go with him to the world's end in a white petticoat, before she would leave him."
An anonymous letter, but undoubtedly from some of this party, soon followed, declaring that the queen had concerted with Bothwell the seizure of her person. "This is to advertise you," it says, "that the Earl Bothwell's wife is going to part with her husband; and a great part of our lords have subscribed the marriage between the queen and him. The queen rode to Stirling this last Monday, and returns this Thursday. I doubt not but you have heard how the Earl of Bothwell has gathered many of his friends, and, as some say, to ride into Liddesdale, but I believe it is not, for he is minded to meet the queen this day, called Thursday, and to take her by the way, and to bring her to Dunbar. Judge you if it be with her will or no?"
The correctness of this information was immediately proved. On Monday, the 21st of April, the very day foretold, Mary rode to Stirling to visit her son, where the Earl of Mar, entertaining strong suspicions of her intentions, refused to allow her access to him with more than two attendants, to her great indignation. On her return, as had been foreseen in the letter quoted, Bothwell met her at the head of 1,000 horse, at Almond Bridge, six miles from Edinburgh; and, according to Melville, who was in the queen's train, taking the queen's bridle, he boasted that "he would marry the queen, who could or who would not; yea, whether she would herself or not." He says that Captain Blackadder, one of Bothwell's men, told him that it was with the queen's own consent. Whether this were so or not, has been argued eagerly on both sides, but it is probable from what we have seen that Mary really was a consenting party. The Royal retinue was suffered to continue its journey with the exception of Melville, Maitland, and Huntley, who were conducted along with the queen to the castle of Dunbar, the recent present of Mary to Bothwell. The queen seems to have made no loud outcries against the apparently forcible abduction, and the country was so convinced of the real nature of the affair, that there was no attempt to rescue her.
The divorce of Bothwell from his wife was now hastened, and after detaining the queen five days at the castle of Dunbar, he conducted her to Edinburgh, and led her to the castle, where she was received with a salute of artillery, Bothwell holding her train as she dismounted. Melville and Kirkaldy of Grange had not only informed Elizabeth of all that would take place, but when it had occurred, entreated her to aid the coalition of nobles, now become anxious to avenge the king's murder and rescue the queen. But Elizabeth, who was no doubt pleased with the degradation of the Queen of Scots, and with the destruction of her authority, so far from acceding, blamed them for using such language regarding their queen.
The ministers of the Church were ordered to proclaim the banns of marriage betwixt the queen and Bothwell, but they declined; and Craig, the colleague of Knox, who was absent, declared that he had no command from her Majesty, who was held in disgraceful constraint by Bothwell. This brought to him the justice-clerk with a letter under the queen's own hand, declaring that the assertions he had made were false, and commanding him to obey. Craig still refused till he had seen the queen herself; and, before the Privy Council, charged Bothwell with murder, rape, and adultery. No punishment followed so daring a charge, and the preacher having done his duty, obeyed the Royal mandate, and published the banns, at the same time exclaiming, "I take heaven and earth to witness that I abhor and detest this marriage, as odious and slanderous to the world; and I would exhort the faithful to pray earnestly that a union against all reason and good conscience may yet be overruled by God to the conform of this unhappy realm."
Nothing moved by these public expressions of censure and disgust, the queen appeared, on the 12th of May, at the high court of Edinburgh, and informed the chancellor, the judges, and the nobility that, though she was at first incensed against the Earl of Bothwell for the forcible detention of her person, she had now quite forgiven him for his subsequent good conduct. That day she created Bothwell Duke of Orkney and Shetland, and with her own hand placed the coronet on his head. On the 15th they were married, at four o'clock in the morning, in the Presence-Chamber of Holyrood. The ceremony was performed by the Bishop of Orkney, according to the Protestant form, Craig being present; and afterwards, privately, according to the Romish rite. Mary, strangely enough, was married in her widow's weeds. Melville describes Bothwell that day, as seen by him, drinking after supper, and using very vile language, his companions being the justice-clerk, and Huntley, the Chancellor, and brother of Bothwell's divorced wife.
But the misery of such a marriage was swift in showing itself. The queen herself appeared unhappy. De Croc, soon after the marriage, relates that the queen sent for him; and on his perceiving something strange in her behaviour, he writes, "She attempted to excuse it, and said, 'If you see me melancholy it is because I do not choose to be cheerful—because I never will be so, and wish for nothing but death.'" In fact, though Bothwell studied to appear respectful, and refused to be covered in her presence—which she would playfully resent, and, snatching his cap, place it on his head—yet his nature was so brutal and overbearing, that she must soon have felt that she was fallen under a vulgar and intolerable tyranny, for which she had forfeited the respect of her people and of the whole world. Still, amidst it all, she made an appearance of contentment, put off her mourning, assumed a gay dress, and rode abroad with Bothwell. But this was only assumed.
Bothwell could not rest till he had the young prince in his hands; and though Mary had resigned her own life and honour to him, she refused to put that of her child into his power. The paroxysms of agony into which his importunity wrought Mary were such that she was
