The Memoirs of Mary Queen of Scots Read Online Free PDF Page B

meant another hare had gotten away.
    Escape was much on my mind in those days. For had Michel de Notredame not told me that my entire life was an escape from a dark fate? And were not my mother and my husband seeking to escape death?
    Riding at full tilt across the sun-drenched fields on that morning, feeling Bravane’s strong muscles moving rhythmically under me, taking risks as I rode—for I have never been one for prudent coursing—I felt that escape from dark premonitions was indeed possible, and I laughed aloud as I went.
    Suddenly I heard strengthening hoofbeats and felt Bravane shudder as another horse passed her, nearly colliding with her in its mad gallop.
    “You there! Watch out!” I shouted. But the swift rider did not pull up, or even turn to acknowledge me, he merely raised one gloved hand and shouted, “All for risk, woman! Arise and away!”
    I looked more closely at his back. It was the earl! The burgundy doublet and feathered cap, the dark jennet, surely there could not be another member of our party that resembled him so closely.
    The sun was nearly overhead, and I was both hungry and thirsty. I could tell from the cries of the dogs and the way their heads drooped and their tongues lolled that they too needed rest and refreshment. We came to a brook and I stopped to let Bravane drink her fill, standing in the long grass that grew at the water’s edge. Up ahead there was a patch of shade where a grove of beech slanted down a sloping hillside. The grooms were there before us, spreading linen cloths and laying out the contents of hampers.
    “There are snakes in that grass,” came a low warm voice. I looked around, and saw the earl, approaching on his weary, sweaty-flanked horse, which moved up to stand beside Bravane at the edge of the brook, drinking from the swiftly flowing water.
    “You nearly knocked us over,” I said irritably. “Your jennet owes my Bravane the courtesy of an apology.”
    The earl removed his cap, revealing tousled light-brown curling hair.
    “We beg your royal pardon. We were chasing the fastest hare ever born.”
    “And did you catch him?”
    “Alas, no.” He looked down into the water. “I fear I am not at my best. The tavern last night was well stocked, the drink flowing, the company—”
    “Yes, I can imagine the rest.”
    He chortled. “I am short of sleep. But not too drowsy to offer tobring Your Highness some food.” He dismounted, letting the reins of his horse go slack across its broad back, and strolled off in the direction of the grooms in the beech grove.
    I dismounted and stretched my stiff limbs. Leaving Bravane to drink, I took a few steps along the water’s edge. It felt good to move, to feel the breeze on my cheeks, to loosen, slightly, the tight lacing of my bodice (after all, Margaret was not there to notice and tell me I looked disheveled). I took off my cap and let down the braids of my high-piled hair, feeling the coolness of the wind and closing my eyes for the sheer pleasure of it.
    I walked back to where the horse waited and secured her to a tree trunk. The earl had returned with a groom who carried a basket of food and a cloth, which he laid out for us to sit on. When the plate and cutlery had been arranged, the metal trenchers and goblets, I thanked the groom and told him he did not need to stay to serve us. He bowed and, jumping across the brook at a bound, departed.
    I noticed the earl watching him, with what I thought was a look of envy.
    “He is younger, after all,” I said.
    “Hah! Am I old? I am not yet twenty-six.”
    “I imagine my groom is all of, perhaps, sixteen. He plays tennis well. I have played with him, when no one was watching. It is not thought proper for a queen to compete against men—or boys,” I added by way of explanation. “Especially servant boys.”
    “And did you win?”
    “Once. I think he let me win. But win or lose, I was good competition.”
    “I notice you ride well too.”
    “You noticed?”
    “Of