The Thistle and the Rose

Margaret and Albany

James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, was on his way to see the Queen. Arran was a proud man; through his mother, Princess Mary, the daughter of James II, he had royal blood in his veins and he never forgot it. It was for this reason that he had been so angered to see the rise of the Douglases through the Queen’s marriage with Angus. That he, Arran, who might become a claimant to the throne of Scotland, should have to take second place to that pretty boy was unendurable. There was one person in Scotland whom Arran hated above all others, and that was Angus.

Thus when he heard of the friction between the Queen and her husband he hastened to plead for an interview with Margaret, that he might place himself and his power at her disposal. He was ready to stake his future on this; and he was determined that if she wanted a divorce from Angus she should know that all the influence of the Hamiltons was behind her.

Margaret received the Earl who wasted no time in opening up the subject which was of such importance to them both.

“I come to commiserate with Your Grace,” he told her, “and to place myself at your service.”

“I thank you, my lord.”

She signed for him to be seated and she marveled that a man who was an enemy one day seemed to become a friend the next.

“It is a matter for rejoicing among those who are Your Grace’s friends that you should have decided to cast off the Douglas. Madam, we have long been aware of his unworthiness.

“I alas have remained blind too long,” answered Margaret; at which Arran bowed his head in assent.

“But now,” went on Margaret, “I see him for what he is and, believe me, my lord, I shall not rest until I can no longer call myself his wife.”

“A divorce should be arranged with all speed. The Douglases should be stripped of the power which came to them through this marriage.”

Margaret looked at him and smiled wryly, thinking: That it may be bestowed on the Hamiltons?

Hamiltons, Douglases, Hepburns, Homes — they were all ambitious men, all seeking favors which would strengthen their families and make their clans the strongest in the land. Still, she must try to look to her own advantage as they did to theirs. The Hamiltons were certainly one of the most powerful families in Scotland, and Arran stood at their head. She must use them as they would, if they had the opportunity, use her.

She, who could love fiercely, could hate with the same passion; and now, almost as great as her desire to have the care of her son, was that to rid herself of the husband who had put her in the difficult position she now occupied, and then had rewarded her with his infidelity.

“There is little opposition in the land against the suggested divorce?” she asked.

“There is great rejoicing, Your Grace.”

Yes, she thought, among the Douglases’ enemies. She could imagine the consternation the matter would have brought about in her husband’s family.

“Why, Your Grace,” went on Arran, “when you are free of the Douglases, I doubt not that your friends will wish to see you restored to that position which was yours before the unfortunate marriage. I have discussed the matter with the Earl of Lennox who is of my mind; and the Bishops of Galloway and Argyle are as eager to see the bond between you and Angus severed. Your Grace would find yourself supported by many powerful friends.”

“I find that reassuring,” answered Margaret.

“Have no fear, Your Grace. This is the best step you have taken since you entered into that marriage; and in truth I come on behalf of your friends to tell you of the pleasure this has given them.”

They talked awhile of the affairs of Scotland, and Arran asked after the health of the little Lady Margaret Douglas.

Margaret, who could never resist showing her pride in her children, sent for the child that Arran might see for himself what a bonny creature she was.

Arran confessed himself delighted and charmed; and when little Margaret had left them he began to talk of his son with deep affection — and Margaret sensed the implication behind his words. He was telling her that his James, who would one day be Earl of Arran, had the blood of Royal Stuart in his veins; and since one day it would be necessary to find a husband for the Lady Margaret Douglas, the son of Arran should not be considered unworthy.

Margaret allowed him to see that she had grasped his point and was not displeased by it.

When Arran left her Margaret congratulated herself that with the influential lords to back her she stood a very good chance of regaining the Regency, which would mean control of her son; as for Arran, he saw in this the downfall of his enemy Angus.

There were two factions in Scotland now, one under Arran, the other under Angus. The Douglases rallied to the support of the head of their House, and among them were men made influential by the honors Margaret herself had showered on them at the time of her infatuation with her husband.

It was believed by many that the return of Albany was imperative to restore order; and news was carried to him of the trouble between two of the most powerful families in the land and of the Queen’s determination to divorce her husband; moreover the suggestion of a betrothal of Margaret’s daughter and Arran’s son was alarming, for it could unite Douglases and Hamiltons against him.

But the political position had changed, because there was now a rapprochement between France and England. François and Henry had decided to meet and were making preparations for the Field of the Cloth of Gold; and Henry’s daughter, the Princess Mary, had been betrothed to the Dauphin. Although François wished Albany to return to Scotland in order to safeguard French interests, he knew that Henry was eager that the Duke should remain in France. It was not the moment to antagonize Henry.

Meanwhile the news of Margaret’s intentions to divorce Angus reached the English Court.

Henry grew scarlet when he read his sister’s letter.

He could not believe it. He went to his wife’s apartment, his eyes ablaze, and signed to her women to depart. Katharine, terrified at his appearance, hurried to him and begged him to tell her what ill news he brought.

“T-That a sister of mine,” he stuttered, “could so far forget her duty… her honor… to suggest such an action!”

“Your Grace, Mary… ”

“Nay, not Mary. Margaret. Listen to this: ‘I am sore troubled with my lord Angus, since my last coming into Scotland, and every day more and more so. We have not been together these last months… ’” Henry stopped; it was as though the words choked him.

Katharine said gently: “Alas, so she is not happy in her marriage. Poor Margaret! I am sorry for her.”

“Whether she be happy or not, it is not for her to talk of… divorce!”

“Divorce!” cried Katharine, and she began to tremble with horror.

“I said divorce. Angus does not please her so, look you, she plans to divorce him. She will dishonor her marriage vows. She will disgrace us all. A sister of mine to talk of divorce!”

“Oh, Henry, we must persuade her how wrong this is.”

“Persuade her! I shall forbid her. I shall make her see her duty to her family — if she has so far forgotten her duty to God and the Church. I’ll not have divorce in my family, I do assure you. No, Kate, you will sit down and write to her at once. And so shall I. You will tell her how she has wounded you, shocked you beyond belief. While I… I will remind her that I am the King of a great country, and not only that, the head of a great House. There shall be no divorce in my family. I’ll not stomach the disgrace.”

“Henry, how right you are… as always. Divorce! It is too dishonorable to be thought of.”

“Go to, Kate. Write to her, and I will do the same. Then our letters shall be sent by special messenger, that she may profit from them and put an end to this disgraceful plan before it goes too far.”

When Margaret read the letters from her brother and sister-in-law she shrugged aside their advice. It was all very well for them to be so self-righteous; they did not know what it meant to be entangled in an undesirable alliance.

She was surprised that she could hate anyone as fiercely as she now hated Angus. There was anger against herself in that hatred. How could she have been so foolish as to lose all sense of proportion merely because of a momentary infatuation for a handsome boy?

How different had been her first marriage. James had at times humiliated her, but in public he had constantly shown her respect. She remembered how he had always uncovered his head in her presence. He only asked that she accept his infidelities which, being the sensual man he was, he could not curb. He would never have deserted her when she was dying. And he had conducted his love affairs with a certain dignity. He had tried to make up for his shortcomings by giving her extra pleasure; Angus had stolen her rents.

She hated Angus and, even if she had to admit that this was largely because he was a living reminder of her own folly and the source of all her troubles, that did not make her hate him less.

There was one who reminded her a little of her first husband; that was Albany. They had some quality, these Stuarts, which was unique. No, she had never seen others with quite the same charm of manner. James had had it to a large degree; Albany slightly less; but he was certainly a charming, courteous man.

If one were a queen it was necessary to marry wisely. Suppose she and Albany were free to marry — there could not be a wiser match in Scotland, for marriages were often the links which bound countries together, and made friends of enemies. A marriage between herself and Albany — and there would have been no conflict in Scotland; she would never have been cut off from her son; she and Albany would have been joint guardians of the young King. What a happy state of affairs compared with what now confronted her!

And was not too late to put matters right.

She was determined to divorce Angus no matter what difficulties were put in her way; and she was sure there would be difficulties. She could imagine her brother Henry sending off deputations to the Pope, asking him not to grant a divorce to his erring sister, for the sake of the honor of the Tudors. She would have to fight for her divorce; but she would get it in the end. And then if Albany’s wife died — for how could she live long; the poor woman had been ailing for some time — he would be free too.

She closed her eyes and pictured him. Black eyes alive with passion. Poor man, married to a woman who for so long had been an invalid.

Arran was persuading her to join with those who were urging Albany to return, because Arran had long decided that when the Duke came to Scotland he would favor the Hamiltons and become the enemy of the Douglases.

She had listened thoughtfully to what Arran had to say; she had nodded when he enumerated the reasons why the return of Albany would be good for Scotland. And all the time she had been thinking of him — black-eyed, black-bearded, the courteous knight with all the charm of his Stuart ancestors.

She said: “I will write to Albany and join my pleas to yours. I think that he might be willing to help me in my divorce. He should stand well with Rome, as I believe his master does. Yes, my lord, I am convinced that you are right. Scotland needs Albany at this time.”

She thought: And it may be that Scotland’s Queen does too.

It was not easy to obtain a divorce. There were too many people of influence who were against it. Time passed and still Margaret remained unsatisfactorily married to Angus.

Henry and Katharine had crossed the Channel and had had a meeting with the King of France in circumstances of most reckless extravagance, with each King trying to outdazzle the other.

François, mischievous in the extreme, using every means at his disposal to disconcert the King of England, having in his possession at this time the letter which Margaret had written to Albany, thought it would be amusing to show Henry how his sister was working against his wishes and was warmly inviting Albany back to Scotland.

Henry read the letter and quietly handed it back to the King, but when he was alone his choleric anger broke forth.

By God, he thought, this shall be the end of the help she gets from me. What has become of my sister! She shows herself to the world as a wanton. Divorce indeed! She disgraces the name of Tudor and then… she deceives her own brother by inviting his enemy to Scotland!

The Scottish matter rankled in his mind during all the balls and banquets, jousts and wrestling matches of that brilliant excursion.

He confided to his wife: “When we return to England, you shall send a priest to Scotland. Choose him with care for I want him to impress upon my sister that if she persists in attempting to obtain this divorce from her lawful husband, she places her immortal soul in danger.”

Katharine replied that Henry as usual was right. There were few matters which could be so dishonorable, so lamentable as divorce.

It was a summer’s day when Father Bonaventura arrived in Scotland.

Margaret was then in Perth, and he traveled to her there. He was a gentle priest who had lived away from the world, and Margaret received him kindly when she heard that he had come from her sister-in-law, Queen Katharine.

“It is good of you to have made this long journey,” she told him. And when they were alone together she tried to impress on him that though she appreciated his good services, he was wasting his time if he thought to divert her from her purpose.

“I have come to pray with you,” he told her. “Your Grace will find the answer to your problem in prayer.”

Margaret, who had never been deeply religious, was a little impatient; but she was courteous to the priest and told him gently that her mind was already made up.

Father Bonaventura tried to reason with her and she continued to listen patiently, but he realized that he was making no headway and eventually, disappointed and reluctant, he prepared to leave.

Father Bonaventura had no sooner returned to London than Henry decided to send a man of his choosing. No gentle priest this, but a man whose preaching had often set sinners shivering with fear.

Henry Chadworth, Minister General of the Friar’s Minor, was summoned to Henry’s presence.

“You will go to the Queen of Scotland,” Henry told him, “and not return until you have wrought in her a change of mind. Tell her that I shall not look on in silence and see a sister of mine lose her immortal soul. Tell her too that I shall hinder her cause in Rome and I shall let all know that those who help the Queen of Scotland to her divorce, help themselves to the enmity of the King of England. Now away with you, and… as you value my friendship, let nothing stand between you and your duty.”

Henry Chadworth set out for Scotland, fiery phrases revolving in his mind, determined that he would return in triumph to the English Court. Indeed, how dare he do otherwise?

How the man ranted! Yet Margaret dared not further incense her brother by sending him away. There was a certain magnetism about him; perhaps this was because he appeared fervently to believe in the horrors which he said awaited the damned.

He stood before her, his eyes burning with fanaticism. “Your immortal soul is in peril. Repent before it is too late. Take this step, and you have bought eternal damnation. It is the Devil himself who is whispering in your ear.”

At first she closed her ears and thought of other things while he ranted on; but his picturesque descriptions of the fires of hell caught her imagination and she found herself involuntarily giving him her attention.

“Life on Earth is short,” he thundered. “It is the trial through which we all must pass to show ourselves worthy of eternal bliss or eternal damnation. Madam, your reputation is in danger; your soul is in danger. Think on these things before you are past redemption.”

She dreamed of the friar; his words haunted her nights. “I come to warn you,” he had told her. “For the sake of your comfort in this life and the next, pay heed to my words.”

And she found that she was paying heed to his words.

She dreaded his coming and yet found herself looking forward to it. She dreaded hearing his account of the torments which had been devised for the punishment of sinners; and she could not resist listening.

A month passed and still Henry Chadworth visited her each day; indeed his visits grew longer; and she did not seek to curtail them.

Two months after Henry Chadworth had come to Scotland he had achieved his end. Margaret agreed to return to Angus.

The Douglases were triumphant, the Hamiltons furious.

The Bishops of Galloway and Argyle came to Margaret accompanied by the Earls of Arran and Lennox.

“Your Grace cannot mean that you will so demean yourself by returning to Angus,” cried Arran.

“I have been persuaded that it is my duty to return to him,” answered Margaret.

It was difficult for Arran to restrain his wrath.

“Madam, this is the most foolish thing you ever did. Depend upon it, if you return to Angus you will never gain the guardianship of the King.”

“He is my husband,” was Margaret’s retort. “My duty lies with him. I must try to bear my troubles; and I have sent word to him that if he will give up his light behavior and be a good husband to me, I will return to him.”

She appeared to be as fanatical as her brother’s priest, who had already returned in triumph to his master.

Arran and his friends left her presence, cursing the folly of women and the power a priest could have over them. They would wage even fiercer warfare against the Douglases who, they knew, were now chortling with glee while Angus wrote to his dear brother-in-law thanking him for his timely intervention in his matrimonial affairs.

As Margaret was riding toward Edinburgh, which was in the possession of the Douglas faction, the words of Henry Chadworth were still ringing through her mind. She must be reconciled with the man she had married because, whatever he had done, he was still her husband and they were bound together until death parted them. She was apprehensive, wondering how they would greet each other, what their life could be together after all the wrong he had done her, after the abuse she had flung at him.

He met her, riding at the head of four hundred horses, and never had he looked so handsome. He had changed since she had seen him on the loch before Linlithgow Palace and had been struck by his beauty. He had become a man; and he was still the most handsome man in Scotland.

With him rode the Archbishop of St. Andrews and the Bishops of Dunkeld, Aberdeen and Murray. The Earls Argyle, Huntley, Ruthven, Morton and Glencairn were also there with Lord Glamis who was Earl Marshal. A distinguished assembly, and she had to admit that none bore himself so well nor looked so fine a man as Angus.

He rode ahead of the party and she did the same. When they met he took her hand and kissed it.

“So, Margaret, we are to have another chance.”

“I have decided that we should make an effort to live happily together, since we are man and wife,” she answered.

“It shall be so,” he replied; and their two parties joined and followed them into the city.

For a week she believed she had recaptured to some extent the ecstasy of the honeymoon which they spent at Stobhall. How wrong she was, how easily deluded! Then she had believed in an ideal; there had been no doubts in her mind. She had believed then that his devotion to her had been as undivided as hers to him. After the first passionate days of reunion she began to picture him, indulging in similar passion with Jane Stuart. When their daughter was with them she pictured him with Jane and her little Jean. No, it was not possible to go back. She quickly began to realize that.

She soon discovered that he did not intend to alter his way of life, and was as devoted to Jane Stuart as he had ever been. He was not going to be denied her company. The inevitable scenes followed.

“I dare swear you have been visiting your mistress,” she taunted him, after one of his absences which hurt her the more because they reminded her of the deficiencies of her first husband.

“And if I have?” He was insolent, believing himself to be in command of her. He knew how the hellfire preacher had played upon her superstitions. She had returned to him because she was afraid of jeopardizing her soul if she continued with her plan to divorce him.

“I came back to you on condition that you gave up your light living,” she answered.

He smiled. “You came back because you feared to put your soul in danger by not doing so.”

“I could change my mind.”

“Your brother would not forgive you if you did.”

“I do not have to obey my brother.”

“You do not have to, but your wisdom tells you that it would be folly not to.”

“So you will not give up this woman?”

“Come, you take these matters too seriously. How many men in Scotland do you think there are who have a mistress or two besides a wife?”

“That may be so, but they are not married to the Queen of Scotland.”

“Should a man be penalized for marrying the Queen of Scotland?”

She saw that he had grown cynical.

She did not answer him, but she thought; I was a fool to take him back, and we cannot go on like this.

There were spies from the Arran faction in the Queen’s household who watched how matters went, who listened at keyholes and secreted themselves in the Queen’s apartment to discover how the reunion of Margaret and her husband was shaping. They had good news to send to their masters.

Arran laughed to himself. The reconciliation would not last. He knew Margaret well enough to realize that; she had been momentarily alarmed by the prophecies of the preacher, but she had never been superstitious, at heart, and she was tired of Angus.

One of the women said to the Queen when she was helping her dress: “Your Grace, I heard from my brother who is with my Lord Arran, that his lordship is sorely grieved that he can no longer serve you.”

The woman had spoken so low that no one else in the apartment heard, and Margaret looked at her swiftly. She had not been long in her service and indeed had joined at that time when Margaret had been friendly with the Arran faction. Margaret wondered if this woman was a servant of Arran, as she admitted her brother was.

“He could serve if he wished,” she retorted. “Alas, I fear he is my enemy.”

“He is ready to be your friend.”

“He has not always been a loyal servant,” Margaret retorted, turning away.

Margaret wondered how many of her servants carried news of her affairs to her enemies, and later that day she sent for the woman and made sure that when she came no one else was in the apartment but the two of them.

“Have you a message for me?” asked Margaret.

The woman looked surprised. “Your Grace?”

“You spoke of a brother in the service of my Lord Arran.”

The woman flushed and murmured: “Nay, Your Grace, I have no message.”

“Yet you brought one to me, this day.”

“I, Your Grace?”

“From your brother who is with the Earl of Arran.”

“Oh… ’twas naught, Your Grace. It was merely that… ”

“Pray continue.”

“That I have seen the manner in which Your Grace is treated by my Lord Angus, and methought it was no way in which to treat a queen.”

Margaret’s lips tightened a little and her eyes hardened. She was angry, but not with the woman. It was true; she was humiliated again and again. There was not a servant at her Court who did not know of her husband’s intrigue with Jane Stuart, of the manner in which he ignored her wish that it should be discontinued.

She said impulsively: “You have a brother in the service of the Earl of Arran. Doubtless you could pass a message to him which he in his turn could place in the Earl’s hands.”

The woman caught her breath. “I could do that, Your Grace.”

“Very well.” She went to her desk and wrote.

It was suppertime in Edinburgh Castle and Margaret sat with the lords of the Douglas faction while they were served, and the minstrels played softly as they ate.

She was trying to appear serene, but she felt far from that, as she looked about the table at those ambitious men. They were smug because they believed they had triumphed over their enemies, led by the Hamiltons; they were going to have a rude shock before the night was out.

But as yet they must suspect nothing; though it was difficult to act as though she was not all impatience to rise from the table.

There were six people besides herself in the secret… three men and three women; all her attendants. They too were alert, waiting for the signal.

Yet she must sit there as she would at any suppertime, listening to the music of the lute and the songs of the favorite singers.

At length she yawned and rose, and when one by one the lords took their leave of her, some of her women accompanied her to her bedchamber.

Seeming sleepy, she bade them good night; but no sooner had the door shut and their footsteps died away than she called to those three of her women — one of them that woman who had a brother in Arran’s service — and said: “Now. The time is come. Bring my riding gown and cloak; and we will escape.”

Her eyes were shining and she looked very young, for a plan such as this could always delight her and give life a new zest.

She had made up her mind that she had been a fool to come back to Angus, to place herself in the position of a deceived wife who must accept the vagaries of a husband. Master Chadworth could go to hell — a place with which he considered himself well acquainted by his accounts of it — for all she cared.

She had changed her mind. She would not stay with Angus; she was going to let the whole world know that she had too much pride to remain with an unfaithful husband who had gained his power through her. She had been forced to endure the unfaithfulness of James IV; but Angus was no Scottish King.

She was in her riding clothes and ready.

“Come,” she whispered. “By the spiral stairway… down to the courtyard.”

One of her women led the way; she followed; the other two came behind.

In the courtyard the three men were waiting.

They led the way cautiously, to where, about a quarter of a mile from the castle, dark shapes were waiting under a clump of trees; Margaret heard the neighing of horses.

Then a voice: “Your Grace, the Queen?”

“I am here,” she answered.

A man had ridden forward; he was leading a horse.

He dismounted, and taking her hand kissed it.

“James Hamilton,” he said, “at Your Grace’s service… now as ever.”

She saw his eyes gleam in the moonlight. He was tall, handsome and so like Arran that she guessed this was the son of the Earl — the natural son of whom she had heard and who was known as the Bastard of Arran.

He helped her mount and then, swinging himself into his saddle, brought his horse beside hers.

“Now,” he cried. “Away!”

It was a glorious experience to be riding through the night, a handsome man beside her, whose every look and gesture assured her of his respect for the Queen, and his admiration for a beautiful woman.

“My father is waiting for you at Stirling,” he told her. “I begged for the honor of taking you to him.”

“’Twas well planned,” she told him.

“I have thought of nothing else since I knew you would come.”

“Then you are indeed my friend.”

“So much so, Your Grace, that I would willingly do murder for you.”

“Nay, do not talk of murder.”

“Thoughts of murder will enter the mind when rumors of the ill treatment of our Queen disturb it.”

“Ah… that is over.”

“Nay, I shall never forgive it, even if Your Grace does.”

She would not discuss her husband, and she was silent. Being quick to sense her mood, he too was silent and there was no sound but the padding of their horses’ hoofs as they rode on to Stirling.

Yet memories of that night stayed with her. Arran’s bastard during that ride made her feel young again, desirable, so that the wounds which she had suffered from the treatment of Angus — and perhaps that of her first husband — were soothed; and she began to think that perhaps one day she might find someone who would love her as a woman, not as a queen.

That person was not James Hamilton of course; but she would always be grateful to him for reminding her that such a person might exist.

With the desertion of Margaret, Angus’s position deteriorated, and Arran persuaded the Queen that the way in which she could best obtain her divorce was by joining her pleas to those of the lords who wished Albany to return to Scotland.

Margaret had her own reasons for wishing to see Albany in Scotland and she fell in with Arran’s proposal, so that in the letters sent to Albany were some from her, and they were very cordial.

Angus, furious at the manner in which she had left him, and realizing that now any number of priests preaching hellfire would not be able to bring her back to him, wrote to Henry, telling him of Margaret’s friendship with Albany and that she had again gone so far as to join with those who were urging him to return.

Henry was furious; he was all for disowning a sister who was not only a friend of the French but planning to divorce her husband, but Cardinal Wolsey managed to persuade him to more diplomatic action.

Why not offer to support her with an army so that she might regain the Regency and the care of her son? For that was clearly what she wanted. Offer her this on condition that she returned to Angus and gave up all plans for a divorce.

When Margaret read Wolsey’s letter and understood all it contained she shut herself up alone in her apartments and thought about it.

To be the guardian of young James. That was what she deeply desired. To regain the Regency, which would mean that she would be in a position to guide James and teach him to rule wisely. What more could she ask?

But the price was high. Return to Angus! Accept his infidelity! To feel again the desire for him which she had never been able to curb. It was too humiliating. It was asking too much.

But how she longed to have young James living with her!

The offer was tempting; but the price was too humiliating.

“Nay,” she said aloud, “I shall not demean myself by returning to a husband whom I despise. And I shall go on fighting for my son.”

In the château of Auvergne, Albany sat at the bedside of his sick wife. She could not live many more weeks, he told himself, yet he had been saying that for a long time. She had grown frail in her infirmity and it was astonishing that a woman in her condition could go on living.

“Jehan,” she murmured, and stretched out a hand. He took the hand and looked down at it. It was like the hand of a skeleton.

Poor Anne! It was long since she had been a wife to him and on the rare occasions when he had been unfaithful to her it had grieved him. He had had a happy life with her until this sickness had come upon her, this lingering sickness which would not let her live the life of a normal woman, yet would not release her from a life grown irksome.

She was gentle and patient in sickness as she had been in health; and he would sit with her each day and tell her where he had hunted that day and what game he had brought home.

But she knew that he could not stay with her forever. He was a man of action with duties at Court and perhaps far away across the sea.

Scotland! It was never far from her mind, nor from his. They were importuning him now to return, and Margaret the Queen was now adding her pleas to those of the lords who had been his supporters; and that was an astonishing thing, because previously they had been enemies, rivals for the Regency.

He often thought of her — a fine woman, handsome, perhaps overproud, too much like that brother of hers who caused so much trouble in Europe.

He would not tell Anne, but he guessed that erelong a summons would come from François; then he could delay no longer. There had been a time when François had not wished him to go to Scotland, but that was when he was feigning a certain friendship with England, when the Kings had had that uneasy meeting, which had proved both costly and meaningless to them both, when the Princess Mary was betrothed to the Dauphin. But the political scene had changed. The new Emperor, Charles V, had visited his aunt Katharine in England, and England was inclined to friendship with the Emperor; which must mean that the brief amity Henry had professed with France was at an end. Wolsey was responsible for English foreign policy, and he undoubtedly had his eye on the Papal crown; doubtless he believed that the Emperor would now have more influence in that quarter than François. Thus France would need to court Scotland again.

Anne turned to him and said: “Jehan, are you thinking of Scotland?”

He nodded. “Every time I hear the sound of a horse’s hooves in the courtyard I wonder whether it it a summons.”

“And you will go?”

“I fear François will command it.”

She was silent, thinking of herself, a helpless invalid, and of him — tall, strong, vital. We have become an incongruous pair, she thought. He is not a man who should spend his time at a sickbed. Nor would he for long. The messenger would come; she was certain of it.

She was right. Within a week the summons came from the Court of France. Albany’s presence was needed in Scotland. He should prepare to leave without delay.

When Albany rode toward Stirling the people had come out of their houses to line the roadside and cheer him. They looked to him to put an end to the petty strife between the Douglas and the Hamilton factions which continually threatened to break into civil war. Only the Douglases and their friends had no welcome to offer. They feared the great soldier and his men, for they knew that not only had he come at Arran’s invitation but the Queen’s.

Margaret was waiting to greet him at Stirling Castle, dressed in her state robes of purple velvet lined with ermine, and she wore her golden hair loose, because in that way it was most becoming.

Albany bowed over her hand and his eyes told her that she was beautiful.

What a man! she thought. Why was I ever impressed by the looks of Angus? He is like a pretty boy compared with Albany.

This was a man who had been victorious in battle; a strong man, a man who was born to govern. He had the blood of kings in his veins even as she herself had. He was a king in all but name — a fitting mate for a queen.

The banquet she had ordered to be prepared was sumptuous; he sat at her right hand at the table on the dais, with his feet resting on the carpet. She noticed his gracious manners, his courteous smiles, the way in which he took his meat from the carvers, eating with a delicacy never seen in Scotland, so that he spilt no fat on his garments and only his fingers were greasy. These he delicately washed in the bowl halfway through the meal instead of waiting until the end.

French manners! thought Margaret. And I like them well when they are combined with manly strength.

He gave her his full attention; he behaved as though she and only she was of real importance to him. He told her that he had indeed been happy to come to Scotland when he received her letters of invitation.

“My lord,” she answered, “I see full well that since you are come we shall have peace in the land.”

“My one desire is to keep the King secure and happy.”

“Then we share the same desire.”

Margaret’s eyes were shining. He would allow her to be with her son; he would understand how important a mother could be to a growing boy. Oh, how glad she was that he had come! His proximity excited her.

She said in a low voice which was faintly hoarse with emotion: “I see that there will be friendship between us.”

“It is my earnest hope,” he answered.

The musicians played and they talked of music; they discovered similar tastes. Later he and she led the dancers and, although they talked no more of the purpose of his visit but gave themselves up to the joys of the dance and the masque, she believed that a bond had been established between them.

And when she retired that night she found it difficult to sleep. She was like a young girl who had been to her first ball.

What has happened to me? she asked herself. And she knew that she felt thus because hope had come back into her life.

They left Stirling together and set out for Linlithgow. Here Albany was entertained royally; there was more feasting, more dancing, and Margaret was like a young girl in her newly found happiness.

Albany was thinking: Why not? It would be a solution. Yet he was glad that as yet no decision could be reached. Neither of them was free. He had a wife who was sick and could certainly not live much longer; she had a husband from whom she was trying to obtain a divorce.

She was a beautiful woman; Albany was a lusty man. None would blame him for a little dalliance. He was fond of his wife, but he was far from home and even Anne was realist enough not to expect complete fidelity in the circumstances. All that she would ask was that he should never desert her while she lived; and that he would never do.

So he allowed himself to follow whither Margaret beckoned and if people were watching them and spies were taking an account of their conduct to the English Court, what did that matter? It was his duty to sow discord between the Scottish and English Courts.

As they danced in the hall of Linlithgow Palace he said to her: “We will go together to visit the King at Edinburgh. If I come with his mother he will know I come as his friend.”

“That will give me great pleasure.”

“Then I shall fulfill two desired objects at the same time… See the King and please his mother.”

She lowered her eyes that he might not see the desire for him which she could not hide. It was long since she had been so happy.

The next day they set out for Edinburgh and, as they rode into the city to the cheers of the people, their eyes fixed on the Castle rising ahead of them, Margaret said: “I wonder if James is at a window watching for us. He will be so excited, but not more so than I.”

“He must be yearning to see his mother.”

“I believe he is, but not more so than she is to see him.”

As they rode up to the Castle gates the Captain of the Castle came out and kneeling presented the keys to Albany.

He took them, and turning to Margaret, gave them to her.

This was a moment of great triumph because it was tantamount to saying: The freedom of the Castle is yours.

She did not know how to thank him; she wanted to tell him what a difference his coming had made to her; so she made the gesture which could imply her full trust in him. She shook her head and answered: “Nay, it is you who should hold the keys of the Castle.”

He took them and they entered.

Margaret stood by with tears in her eyes while Albany paid homage to her little son. Then she knelt down and embraced James and he put his arms about her hugging her, telling her that he had long waited for her coming.

“This is indeed a happy day,” said Margaret.

They danced late into the night.

Margaret said to him: “I fear we cause some comment.”

“There will always be comments directed against people who are placed as we are.”

“You understand that I cannot live with Angus.”

“I understand full well.”

“He has not been a good husband to me, and in some ways a traitor to Scotland.”

“We have a way of dealing with traitors. He is already under arrest.”

Margaret caught her breath. For an instant she had a picture of Angus going to his death. She shuddered; she would be haunted forevermore by his beautiful body stark and dead. There had been times, following Flodden, when she had had bad dreams of James. It was a divorce from Angus she wanted; not his death. She had always hated the thought of death, and she hoped never to have the death of any man or woman on her conscience.

She explained this to Albany who listened thoughtfully.

“I see you have a tender heart,” he said.

“I loved him once,” she answered. “He is a foolish, reckless boy… nothing more. He does not deserve death. I long to be free from him, but I should never rest in peace if I thought I had a hand in causing his death. Help me to divorce him and you will make me a happy woman.”

“Have I made it clear that I would do all in my power to make you a happy woman?”

She lifted her eyes to his. “I have longed to hear you say that.”

He realized that she was taking his compliments with the utmost seriousness. He shrugged his shoulders. Why not? The wine and the dance had excited him; she was a very beautiful woman, and who could say what the future held for them? When they were free, as he doubted not they must be erelong, a match between them would be a good political move, one which he knew would delight his master, François, and probably put her brother Henry in such a rage as he had rarely known before.

“We will send him to France as an exile,” he said. “Never fear. I will give orders that he is well treated there, but go he shall.”

“And you will help me in Rome?”

“You may depend upon it; I shall do all in my power to help you in that direction.”

“Oh, how I long to be free of that man!”

“You soon will be. I am sure of this. As for myself… ”

She moved nearer to him. “Soon we shall both be free,” she whispered. “But there is now… ”

It was an invitation which it would be churlish to refuse.

That night they were lovers.

Those were happy months. There was scandal concerning them, but she did not care. She wrote glowingly to her brother; she wanted to make peace between Henry and Albany, as she had once tried to reconcile the two countries during the lifetime of James.

Henry was furious when he read the letters. He growled that she was shameless and that it mortified him because he had a sister who could so forget all decent behavior.

He wanted to write to her, ordering her to abandon the Regent and return to Angus. Angus was his protégé and he was ready to make that young man the head of a faction working for England in Scotland. He was even more angry concerning the divorce than he had been when he had first heard of it. He was beginning to believe that he would never get sons from Katharine and that there was a curse on their marriage. As he could not imagine how he could have offended God, he looked for some fault in his Queen and was reminded that she had been his brother’s wife before she had been his. His conscience concerning his marriage began to worry him and he too was thinking of divorce.

A pretty state of affairs, he thought, for a brother and a sister to be asking Rome for a divorce at the same time. Therefore Margaret must stop her importuning; she must return to Angus.

That was the very thing Margaret was determined not to do.

Since her friendship with Albany had begun to bloom she was permitted to see a great deal of her son. James was affectionate by nature and fascinated by his lively mother; as she understood that he was as contented with their reunion as she was, her happiness was complete.

So each day she saw James; soon she would be divorced from Angus and she was constantly in Albany’s company. When she and Albany were free their union would be legalized to the glory of Scotland and the delight of its Queen.

Angus, having made his promise to leave for exile, was granted freedom to do so; but once free he snapped his fingers at Albany and continued to stay in Edinburgh.

There could be no peace while Angus was in Scotland, and Albany was certainly not the man to see his orders disobeyed.

When he was told that Angus still lingered in Edinburgh he took off his bonnet and threw it into the fire — a habit of his when enraged. No one ever made any attempt to withdraw the bonnet from the fire and Albany would stand glaring at it, watching flames curl about fine velvet. It was thus that he managed to curb his anger against those who offended him; and by the time the bonnet was consumed he was his equable self again. His friends had seen many a good bonnet destroyed in this way.

All the same he had no intention of allowing Angus to flout his authority.

Knowing that Angus frequented a certain wine shop, he sent for the owner of the shop, and said to him: “My Lord Angus is a patron of your shop, I believe.”

“That is so, my lord. When his lordship is in Edinburgh he often comes in with a member of his clan. They’re fond of the wine, my lord.”

“Hmm,” said Albany. “Now listen carefully. When next he comes in, I want you to send a message to my guards. Then you are to slip a potion which will be given to you into the wine of my Lord Angus and any companions he may have with him. Is that clear?”

The man said he understood full well and the Regent’s orders should be carried out.

It was some nights later when Angus entered the wine shop in the company of his brother George, and called imperiously for wine which was immediately brought to him — but not before the potion had been slipped into it and a message sent to the guards.

While Angus and George sat drinking, Angus was boasting that neither his wife nor the Regent would get him to leave Edinburgh. He had as much right in Edinburgh as they had — and more so, for Albany was half French and Margaret was an Englishwoman.

George applauded his brother. George was faithful, although the more sober members of the family had deplored the conduct of the head of their House. Gavin Douglas had called him “a witless fool, running on his own mischief by the persuasion of wily and subtle men.”

Their uncle, who had died of the plague in London, had been an old man, Angus told George now. Such men were well enough in their day, but times changed and it was young men who knew how best to live in modern times.

George agreed with his brother, as always; and they drank freely of the drugged wine.

“Why, George,” said Angus at length, “you seem to have grown witless indeed. I declare you have drunk too well.”

George nodded slowly as he slumped forward over the table.

Angus tried to rise, but his legs had become woolly.

“Landlord,” he began, “this wine of yours is potent stuff… ” Then he too fell back.

It was time for the guards to enter the wine shop. This they did and, with the ropes which they had brought with them, they bound the Douglases and carried them away.

Outside the shop, horses were waiting and the bodies of the two men were slung across these; the guards mounted and, taking the drugged men with them, they made off with as much speed as possible to Leith.

When Angus and his brother opened their eyes, they were on a boat, bound for France.

When he heard how Angus had been banished from Scotland and that his sister continued to live in the utmost amity with Albany, Henry was furious. His own marriage was causing him great concern, and that affair which was becoming known as the King’s Secret Matter was already being whispered about, not only in England but abroad.

It seemed to him an act of unfriendliness on Margaret’s part to allow Angus to be banished and to continue to sue for a divorce, a relief which he himself now craved.

His fury broke out and without consulting Wolsey he ordered that every Scotsman living in England was to have a white cross marked on his top garment and leave England on foot without delay. The distress this caused was terrible, particularly as the Border barons, who never needed much excuse, immediately engaged in savage warfare against each other.

To Margaret this seemed only a minor irritation. She was now in residence at Stirling Castle, and the young King was with her. She herself supervised his lessons and each day marveled at his intelligence, declaring again and again that here was his father all over again.

The Regent had matters of state to attend to but they spent much time together and, despite her brother’s efforts to prevent the divorce being granted, Margaret had great hopes that she would succeed.

It was pleasant to think that Angus was out of Scotland and that he was not being ill treated in France. Quite the contrary, Albany assured her, for he had given orders that Angus and his brother were to be given honors in accordance with their rank.

The coming of Albany and the banishment of Angus naturally restored internal peace to Scotland; and this, thought Margaret, is a foretaste of what life here would be like if he and I were married and ruled together until James is of an age to do so.

Then one day as she was passing from her apartments to the great dining hall, and noticing that one of the pages was lying on the stairs in a state of collapse, Margaret went to him and asked what ailed him. The poor boy was too ill to rise and Margaret laid a hand on his hot forehead.

“I will send some of your companions to take you to your apartments,” she told him.

Next day the alarming news was brought to her. There was smallpox in the castle.

Margaret’s one thought was for the King.

She was on her way to his apartment when she remembered that she had seen the page on the staircase, that she had touched his brow.

She stood still with horror. It might be so. How could she tell?

She went back to her apartments and summoned one of her women.

She gave orders that the King was to be removed to Dalkeith Palace without delay. She herself intended to follow but not until she knew it was safe to do so.

How glad she was a few days later that she had acted as she did.

The King was safe and well; but Margaret had fallen victim to the dread smallpox.

During the weeks which followed, once more she faced death, and those who cared for her were certain that this time she could not survive.

Margaret, tossing on her bed, often falling into unconsciousness, was not always aware of what was happening about her; when her mind was lucid she asked about her children. Reassuring voices told her that they were well and happy and she had nothing to fear. The King had escaped the smallpox; the Regent sent her friendly messages; and all she must do was concentrate on getting well again.

There were letters from Wolsey written on behalf of Henry, pointing out the desirability of bringing Angus back to Scotland, and there were hints of an almost threatening nature in these letters. Henry wanted her to know that in becoming Albany’s friend she had become her brother’s enemy.

She did not care. Henry was far away. Let him rule his own country and leave her alone. When she and Albany were married they would live happily together, and because Albany was a wise man, and a strong one, there would be peace in Scotland and the English would be obliged to look to their own affairs on the other side of the Border.

At last, she assured herself, I have come to peace and happiness; and this was the thought which was helping her to live through these terrible weeks. She had the love of her son; she had her dear little daughter; and when she married Albany there would be more children.

She was moving near to that for which she had always longed: the happy family life. The husband on whom she could lavish her passionate devotion; her children whom she could guide, comfort and love.

It has been long in coming, she thought. I had to live through two marriages to reach it. But it is waiting for me now. Albany’s life with Anne de la Tour is almost over; he has been devoted to her and would never cause her unhappiness by attempting to divorce her, and I honor him for that. But she cannot live long. As for Angus, the divorce cannot long be withheld and then… to contentment.

A letter came from Albany. He must return to France to collect men and ammunition, as Henry was becoming more and more aggressive and the Border warfare was threatening to break out more seriously than hitherto.

He asked for an audience before he left; he wanted to assure her that he would soon return.

She immediately felt better.

“Bring me a mirror,” she cried. “I must see how I look after this long illness.”

The woman whom she had asked looked at her in dismay; through her illness she had been too sick and feeble to care for her appearance.

“Why do you stand there?” demanded Margaret. “Did you not hear my command?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then go and fetch me a mirror.”

The woman stammered: “Y-Your Grace… I have received orders… ”

“What orders? Who gives orders here… ?”

“The physicians have said to wait until you were stronger.”

Fear touched Margaret then. She was to wait until she was stronger before she was allowed to look into a mirror. What can this mean? she asked herself. But she could guess.

She must know the truth… whatever it was.

“Bring me a mirror,” she again commanded. “I order you to do so, no matter what the physicians have told you.”

The woman went away and, in a short time, came back holding the mirror, which Margaret snatched from her hand.

“Oh… no!” The words escaped her as she stared in horror. That was not Margaret Tudor who looked back at her. The lovely skin, pitted, the eyelid drawn down over one eye. “It cannot be!” she whispered.

But there was no evading the truth. Gone were her glowing good looks. The face which looked back at her seemed hideous and repulsive.

The woman threw herself by the bed, her arms outstretched for the mirror, which Margaret would not relinquish.

“Your Grace, it is early yet. The physicians say you will recover… ”

Margaret did not answer; she continued to stare at the wreck of her beauty.

“The Queen is too ill to see the Duke of Albany before he leaves.”

That was the message she sent to him.

So he sailed away and she was almost glad that he had gone, because she could not have borne that he should see her as she was.

Her physicians assured her that when she recovered her health the effects of the pox would be less disfiguring; her women comforted her that she was growing more like her old self every day.

But in her heart she knew that she would never again be desired for her beauty; and she wondered apprehensively what would happen when Albany returned to Scotland.