The Hidden Evil by Barbara Cartland

Author:Barbara Cartland
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788673969
Publisher: Barbara Cartland Ebooks ltd
Published: 2020-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sheena passed an unhappy and restless night.

She tried hard to close her mind to her thoughts and the thumping of her heart, but after a while she realised that sleep was impossible and that her violent hatred of the Duc precluded all else.

As the dawn broke, pale and golden, and the first rays of light shone through the sides of the heavy curtains covering her windows, she rose from her bed and walked across the room. She drew back the curtains and stood taking in deep breaths of warm air, wishing that instead she was being buffeted by the sharp strong winds blowing across the North Sea.

That was just what she needed, she thought, the stimulating austerity and positiveness of Scotland. France made her feel weak and at the mercy of emotions she had never experienced before.

Always until now her beliefs had been unchallenged.

Things were black or white, right or wrong, and she had no doubts and no uncertainties, either where her conscience was concerned or as to her line of conduct.

“You’re either for the Lord or against Him.”

She could hear the Minister thundering the words in the small grey Kirk that she attended regularly at her father’s side.

And now everything was so confused. Who was right and who was wrong? And where did she stand in it all? She could feel again the arms of the Marquis drawing her to him and his mouth fastening on hers. She felt again the inner revulsion, the shrinking and the dislike that made her struggle against him.

And then she could see the Duc’s face, his eyes aflame with anger as he shook her before he held her close and yet closer.

Sheena opened wider the diamond-paned casements. She could not breathe, the air, her memories and her emotions were suffocating her. She felt as if the great Palace was closing in on her.

‘I must get away,’ she thought. ‘I must get out into the countryside.’

She threw a wrap around her shoulders and, opening her bedroom door, summoned one of the pages who was always in attendance in the corridors both day and night.

“I wish to go riding,” she said.

“Your pardon, mam’selle,” the page replied, “but I have a message for you.”

“A message?” Sheena queried.

The page nodded.

“Oui, mam’selle. Her Majesty the Queen of Scotland wishes you to ride with her at half past eight. I was to have told you last night, but you had already retired.”

“Where am I to meet her?” Sheena asked.

“Her Majesty has ordered the horses to be at the South Gate,” the page replied.

Sheena nodded and went back into her room. She was used to receiving messages which were almost commands in such a manner.

Mary Stuart would often determine at midnight an escapade or outing for the following day and messages were sent by the pages to those she wished to be in attendance on her.

Riding, Sheena knew, had become a new enthusiasm simply because Mary Stuart wished to emulate anything that the Duchesse de Valentinois did.

The young Queen

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