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They were continually thinking of ways to pass the time. Gambling was a favorite occupation; another was rough horseplay; and one of the favorite games was what they called “liberating the Queen.” In order to play this they divided themselves into two sides and had a mock battle, using lumps of turf, for ammunition, with which they pelted each other.

This game caused great amusement, not only to themselves but to watchers in the castle. Serving men and maids would call from the windows urging on this side or that, and sometimes they would even take part in the mock battle.

Even Will Drysdale, the commander of the garrison, found the game irresistible, and one day to make the battle more realistic he fired a hackbut, which mistakenly he believed to be loaded with powder only, into a group of the “enemy.”

The result was that two of the men were wounded in their thighs, so what had begun as a game turned out to be a serious matter.

Mary, who had been watching from her window, immediately sent her French apothecary down to see what he could do to help.

The two wounded men were carried into the castle and their wounds dressed; but when the apothecary returned to his mistress he was thoughtful.

“A sorry end to their play,” the Queen remarked.

The apothecary grunted.

“It would seem you do not agree with me?” went on the Queen, astonished.

“Your Majesty,” answered the apothecary, “I noticed that one of these men is he who is in charge of the boats.”

“He is badly wounded?”

The man lifted his shoulders. “His wound will incapacitate him for some time, Your Majesty.”

Mary understood his meaning and she sighed. It might have been important when George and Willie had been in the castle. They might have devised some plan. But now, who was there to help her? Sir William had redoubled his precautions. There were always soldiers on guard except at meal times when she was locked in her apartment and the castle gates were also kept locked; and Sir William never let the keys out of his sight.

That accident to the boatman might have been significant and advantageous when George and Willie were in the castle.

A few day later Willie returned to Lochleven.

IT WAS THE FIRST of May. This should be a joyous time of the year. In the past Mary had ridden out with her courtiers dressed in green to go a-maying. Such occasions only served to bring home more bitterly the plight to which she had been reduced.

The sun shone into her room and, rising from her bed, slipping on her robe, Mary went to her prie-Dieu and there knelt, with her hair streaming about her shoulders while she prayed for what now would seem like a miracle.

When she rose she felt exhilarated and, as those members of the Douglas family who shared her bedchamber were still sleeping, she went into the small ante-room and, cautiously taking out her writing materials from where she had hidden them, began to write.

This letter was addressed to Elizabeth of England, and she was making an appeal for help.

From Lochleven the first of May, [she wrote] Madame, my good sister, the length of my weary imprisonment and the wrongs I have received from those on whom I conferred so many benefits are less annoying to me than not having it in my power to acquaint you with the reality of my calamities and the injuries which have been done to me in various ways. Therefore, I have found means to send you a line by a faithful servant . . . .

She paused and listened. There was no sound from the adjoining chamber. She thought of those days at the Court of France when she had heard that Mary of England was dead and when her uncles, the Guises, and her father-in-law Henri Deux had insisted that she claim the title of Queen of England. Elizabeth would not be very pleased about that. Yet she could not hold it against her now. She must understand that it had been no wish of Mary’s to claim a title which was not hers.

. . . I implore you, on receiving this letter, to have compassion on your good sister and cousin, and believe that you have not a more affectionate relative in the world . . . .

When she had finished the letter she signed it “Your obliged and affectionate good sister and cousin, Mary R.”

She sealed it and, carefully putting away her writing materials, went quietly back to her bed, noticing that her jailors were still sleeping.

When Christian came to her she would give her the letter, and Christian had promised that it should be smuggled across to the mainland and given to a trustworthy messenger.

Would the English Queen be so incensed by the indignity done to royalty that she would offer help? Or would she smile and say: This was the woman who once called herself the Queen of England!

Mary, who quickly forgot grudges she had once borne, gave Elizabeth the credit for sharing her forgiving nature. So she was hopeful on that sunny May morning.

Later in the day when she walked with Seton down to the lake’s edge she saw a boy near the boats, and as she approached he looked up giving her a frank grin.

Mary cried in sudden pleasure: “Why, it’s Willie Douglas.”

“Back now in the castle, Your Majesty,” said Willie, looking about him searchingly. He went on: “Walk on, Your Majesty, and don’t appear to be talking to me. But I have something to say and I’ve been waiting the opportunity. But pass on, please, and come back. When you do, I’ll be lying in this boat and no one will see me. Stop close by and listen to what I have to say.”

The Queen and Seton walked on. Willie watched for a second or two and then busied himself with the boat. After five minutes or so the Queen and Seton came back to the spot. Willie was now lying in the boat and out of sight from the castle.

“Is there anyone within earshot?” he asked.

“No,” answered Seton.

The Queen sat down on the grass and Seton sat with her.

“Listen,” said Willie. “We’re going to free you any hour now. You must be prepared for when I come for you. Lord Seton and Lord Semphill are on the other side of the lake . . . . and George is with them. All I have to do is to get you out of the castle.”

Mary said: “Now . . . ?”

“No, no. If you as much as stepped into a boat you’d have the garrison out. You’re being watched at this moment. You’re never out of their sight. We wouldn’t stand a chance. You must not stay here too long or they’ll be suspicious. Rise now and stand for a few minutes looking at the mainland while I tell you the plan. It’ll be tomorrow. I shall try to get the keys while they’re at supper. You will be dressed as one of your maids . . . . I shall come to you. The boat will be ready . . . I can arrange that, now that the boatman is injured. You will follow me out of the castle. I shall lock the gates behind us. I will give you the word. Be prepared.”

“But how can it be done, Willie?” demanded Mary desperately.

“Only while they are at supper. It is the only time they are not on guard. I must find some means of getting the keys from Sir William. If I could do that we could be out of the castle before they realize it. And once on the mainland, your friends will be waiting with fleet horses. They are waiting now. I have come back to do this. I have sworn I can do it, and I will.”

“If only you can!”

“I must do it soon . . . while the boatman is sick. If only Drysdale were sick too! He is the one I fear. Do not linger here any longer. Walk on now. It would be the end of the plan if they began to watch me too closely now.”

“Come, Seton,” said Mary. “Bless you, Willie. I will be watchful . . . and ready when you come.”

When they had left Willie lying in the boat, he stared up at the blue sky, his light eyes screwed up in concentration. He must do it. He had boasted to George and all those grown-up lords that he would. But how was he going to spirit those key away from Sir William?