Right across that narrow path was drawn up the imposing line of a thousand horsemen in close array, all sheathed in armour, with the points of their uplifted lances, their breastplates, and conical helmets, glittering in the setting sun. Their flanks, which extended into the fields on each side, were well thrown forward, so as completely to encircle the terrified queen and her little retinue. A few yards in front were two knights with their visors up; one bore a standard displaying two Scottish lions rending a red rose, and by his sable armour, his negro-like visage, and colossal frame, all recognised Hob of Ormiston; but in the other, whose light suit of mail, engrained with gold, was white as winter frost, and reached only to the knees of his scarlet hose, they knew the Earl of Bothwell. He leaped from his horse, and, drawing off his right gauntlet, advanced reverentially towards the queen on foot.
"What foul treason is meditated here?" asked Huntly sternly, as the Earl passed him.
"None; but thou shalt see," replied the other with a smile, "that I will now wed the queen—yea, _whether she will or not_!"[*]
"Now by my father’s soul!" began Huntly furiously.
"How!" said Secretary Lethington, with one of his cold and placid smiles; "has your lordship already forgotten the supper, and the bond?"
"Jesu Maria!" muttered Huntly; "I foresaw not this!"
"Your grace will hold me excused," said the Earl of Bothwell, grasping the bridle of Mary’s palfrey; "but your own safety and the commonweal require that I should, without a moment’s delay, lead you to my castle of Dunbar."
"Mother of God! How—why?" asked Mary in an agitated voice, as she gazed on the face of the Earl, which was pale as death; for the magnitude of the crime he contemplated, had for a moment appalled even himself. "With what am I menaced? Is there a raid among the Lennox men—an invasion of the English—or what? Who is my enemy?"
"James of Bothwell, as this sword shall prove!" exclaimed the young Earl of Huntly, making a furious blow at the noble’s tempered helmet—a blow that must have cloven him to the chin, had not Bolton and Hob Ormiston crossed their lances, and interfered with the speed of light; but Hob’s tough ash standard pole was cut in two.