The Thistle and the Rose

The Thistle and the Rose

On a sunny June day, four months after the death of her mother, Margaret, Queen of Scots, set out from Richmond Palace accompanied by her father. Crowds had gathered in the countryside through which the cavalcade was expected to pass, and Margaret could not hide her delight to find herself the center of such pageantry.

She was young and beautiful. She still mourned her gentle mother, but she had seen little of her during her lifetime and it seemed to her quite a long time ago that Elizabeth of York had died. So much had happened in between; there had been all the excitement of preparing her wardrobe — and how she loved those silks and damasks, those purple and crimson velvets! How she enjoyed the homage which was paid to her! Life was too good for mourning.

Let young Henry purse his little mouth and tell her she was frivolous; she could not care. He would have been equally excited if all the pother was for him.

She had heard stories of her husband and she liked what she had heard. She was longing to be with him. He was handsome and fearless; he loved hunting and the tournament; he was devoted to music.

“He has everything that I would ask of a husband,” she told her friends.

Riding out of Richmond, she did not look back once, nor did she ask herself when she would see those towers and turrets again. She was certain that life in Scotland was going to please her, and that she was going to feel no regrets for the past.

She was a charming figure in her riding dress of green velvet edged with purple tinsel; and when the people saw her on her white palfrey they cheered heartily for their lovely young Princess who was already a queen and whose marriage was going to bring peace to the country. Margaret smiled, acknowledging the cheers. Like Henry she was never bashful but delighted to hear the applause of the people.

There was a litter for her when she should tire of riding; it was magnificent, being covered with cloth of gold and trimmed with gold fringe; on it were embroidered the royal arms of England. She also had a chariot which brought gasps of admiration from all who saw it. It was lined with bearskins and painted with the arms of England, and the trappings of the horses and the hammer-cloths were of black and crimson velvet. Her litter-men wore the Tudor colors, green and white, and painted on them were the combined arms of England and Scotland.

They came by easy stages to Colleweston in Northamptonshire where the King planned to take leave of his daughter. This was the seat of Margaret’s grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, after whom she had been named.

The Countess had prepared a great banquet to celebrate the arrival of her beloved son and granddaughter; and here there was revelry for over a week.

But it was soon time to continue the journey and there, in the hall of Colleweston, Margaret bade farewell to her father and grandmother. All the nobility who had accompanied them, and those who had assembled for the occasion, watched the ceremony of farewell.

The King embraced his daughter and gave her words of advice; he also gave her an illuminated book of prayers in which he wrote: “Remember your kind and loving father in your good prayers. Henry R.”

Margaret was moved by this gesture, and in that moment she remembered that she was leaving her home and, in spite of all the pomp and pageantry which surrounded her and the fineness of her wardrobe, she felt apprehensive.

How could she know what this new land to which she was going would be like? Her father and family would be far away and she would be at the mercy of her Scottish husband.

But when they had left Colleweston and the journey began again she found that, now that her father was not present, she was treated with even more respect, and, her fears being dispersed, her spirits quickly rose.

All through England she was given homage. In every town and village the bells rang out as she approached. The lords of the districts greeted her and bade her welcome, and everywhere she went she was treated as a queen.

All marveled at her beauty and her charm, her brilliant Tudor coloring, her vitality, good health and high spirits. On through Lincolnshire to Yorkshire, here to be greeted by the High Sheriff, Sir William Conyers, by Sir Edward Savage, Sir Ralph Rider, Sir John Milton, Sir John Savile and Lord Scrope — all the worthies of the district who must come and pay homage to the daughter of their King. When she reached the City of York the gates were thrown open and the Lord Mayor marched at the head of the citizens to greet her, while the Earl of Northumberland magnificently attired in crimson velvet, with jewels glistening at his collar and on his sleeves, led the nobility. The trumpets sounded and minstrels sang to welcome her.

She reveled in the ceremonies which awaited her in that ancient city. In cloth of gold, wearing a girdle encrusted with precious stones, not only encircling her waist but falling to the hem of her gown, she visited the Archbishop of York in his palace where she heard mass; and afterward the nobility was presented to her. She would have liked to linger in the beautiful city, but she had to remember that her bridegroom was waiting for her.

It was a wonderful journey with homage all the way; a perfect horsewoman, she could ride for hours without feeling the least tired; and if she wished for a change there was her splendid litter or her even more sumptuous carriage ready for her.

And at last they reached the Border.

This was an important moment. The people here cheered more wildly than anywhere else, for it was comforting to see sparkling processions instead of ravaging hordes of savage men determined on destruction.

“Peace forevermore!” That was the cry. And this beautiful girl — no more than a child — with her round, rosy face and her glittering, golden hair, was the reason for it.

“Long live the Princess Margaret,” they cried. “Long live Margaret, Queen of Scots!”

She had learned how to receive the acclamation of the crowd, for she was a gracious lady now, not a shy young princess.

Lady Darcy, whose husband was the Captain of Berwick, received her at the gates; she was feted and flattered and a banquet was prepared for her. There was music and dancing for her entertainment; there was sport, and wild dogs were brought out to fight great bears. Later Margaret prepared herself for her entry into her husband’s country.

Sparkling with jewels, her eyes as brilliant as any gems, her cheeks scarlet with excitement, she was a lovely sight on her white palfrey; and the ceremonial moment had come; the gates were flung wide and Margaret passed out of England into Scotland.

She looked about her eagerly. The country of which I am Queen! she told herself. It was exciting to see it for the first time. This was the scene of many a bitter fight. How wonderful to contemplate that now it was a scene of rejoicing.

The first halt was at Lammermuir, and the curious people came out to look at their Queen and gasp with admiration at her youth, beauty and finery.

She was greeted at Lammermuir by the nobles of the district and although they could not have been more loyal she noticed that their clothes lacked that magnificence which had been a feature of those of the English lords. There was no gold or tinsel on their doublets, although the material of which they were made was of a good quality velvet or camlet.

Here she received a present from her husband — fruits which he believed she would find refreshing during her journey. Margaret, who was young enough to be hungry in any circumstances, devoured them with pleasure; and although it was now necessary to say goodbye to the English nobles who had escorted her from their Northern domains across the Border, she did so without regret; and her journey continued to Fastcastle. This meant passing through wild scenery such as Margaret had never before seen; and from her apartments at Fastcastle she could look down on the bay below to St. Abb’s Head, from the jagged rocks, black and unscalable, to the Wolf-Craig rising high and forbidding above the castle. It had been a slow journey, for the crossing of Lammermuir had been dangerous; Margaret had been warned of the bogs which lurked on the rough heath, and special guides had been hired to get them safely across.

Margaret felt that night that she was indeed in a strange new land in spite of the warm welcome she had received from Lord and Lady Home who lived at Fastcastle.

She spent only one night under that roof and the next morning took the road to Haddington; and before nightfall she and her cavalcade had reached the convent of Haddington where the Abbess was waiting to welcome her. Here she stayed for the night with her women, chief among whom were Lady Lyle, Lady Stanley, Lady Guildford and the Countess of Surrey; the men of the party could not, of course, stay at the convent so they were conducted to the Gray Friars.

The people of Haddington came out to watch the procession leave, and now there was an added excitement in the Queen’s suite; the meeting with the King must be close at hand and, although Margaret did not believe for one moment that he would be displeased with her, she was eager to look her best for the meeting.

They were to reach the Castle of Dalkeith by midday and as this was only seven miles from Edinburgh it seemed certain that on this day the meeting of the royal bride and groom would take place.

They were within half a mile of Dalkeith Palace when Margaret suddenly felt displeased with her appearance. She brought her palfrey close to that of Lady Guildford, who was known as her ladymistress, and said: “How do I look?”

Lady Guildford answered that she must have been aware of the admiration which she had aroused; it was well deserved.

“But I think I should look my very best, and I am not pleased with this gown. Who knows what will be waiting for us at Dalkeith?”

Lady Guildford saw the point of this. The first meeting was a great occasion, and it was just possible that the King would have ridden the seven miles from Edinburgh to meet his bride informally before he must do so in public.

“What does Your Grace propose to do?” Lady Guildford asked.

“Change here into my best gown and ride the rest of the way in the litter.”

“Change here on the road!”

“Why not?”

“Whoever heard of a queen changing her gown in her litter by the roadside!”

“They will after today,” said Margaret, “for that is what I propose to do, and I’ll have no interference.”

Lady Guildford pressed her lips firmly together. She had seen signs of obstinacy in her young mistress since they had begun this journey. Margaret resembled her brother Henry more than ever. Like him, she had a will of her own and had only been waiting until authority was hers to use it.

There was no gainsaying her; the procession was halted; the gown was brought from her baggage and her ladies surrounded her litter while she changed her traveling gown for one of dazzling magnificence.

Thus she rode into Dalkeith in velvet and tinsel, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, the flush of health and excitement on her rounded cheeks.

The Earl and Countess of Morton, castellan and castellaine of Dalkeith, were waiting for her and, as she passed through the gateway the Earl bowed low and presented her with the keys of the castle.

Lady Morton led her to her apartments and, when Margaret had expressed her pleasure in them and the loyalty of the Countess and her husband, she was left with her ladies to prepare herself for the banquet which was to follow.

While Lady Morton was receiving Margaret’s thanks there was a commotion in the courtyard below. Lady Morton turned pale and, forgetting she was in the presence of the Queen, ran to the window. Then she turned to Margaret and said: “The King is here.”

“The King… my husband!”

Margaret’s eyes were wide and she trembled a little. Then she thought of the magnificent sight she must present in her dazzling gown, and she could not resist throwing a look of triumph at Lady Guildford. There! Was I not right! she seemed to be saying.

She ran to the window, but he had already entered the castle.

“He will come straight to Your Grace,” murmured Lady Morton.

Margaret smoothed the folds of her gown; she put up a hand to touch her shining hair. There was no time to ask for reassurance that she looked her best, but she did not need it because she knew she did.

The door of the apartment was opened and there he stood. Her heart began to beat fast and a sudden joy came to her, for he was so handsome in his velvet hunting clothes, although there was nothing ornate about them, for he had come straight from the hunt, without ceremony, perhaps to let her know that this was an informal visit.

He is beautiful, she thought; and she believed that she loved him, so happy was she to be in Scotland and already his wife.

He was flushed from the chase and perhaps he shared in her excitement, for after all, was he not meeting his wife for the first time even as she was meeting her husband? His eyes were hazel, his hair dark auburn, and she now believed all those who had told her that he was the handsomest King in the world.

He was smiling — and it was the kindest and most tender of smiles — as he came toward here. She made a low curtsy and he raised her with both his hands, and drawing her to him, kissed her.

She could not take her eyes from him. He appealed to her senses in a way which was entirely new to her; it did not occur to her that there was scarcely a woman who came into contact with him who did not share her feeling in greater or less degree. She was inexperienced and had received so much adulation that she believed he shared every emotion she herself felt. She did not stop to ask herself whether a man past thirty — and such a man — might have had many adventures in love.

James, whose years of kingship had taught him that it was always wise outwardly to observe convention, turned from his bride to greet her attendants. He took all the ladies by the hand and kissed them and then accepted the greetings of the men with the utmost courtesy.

And all the time he was thinking: She is but a child. Poor little girl! So eager. So determined to do her duty. Little Margaret Tudor! Oh, why could it not have been that other Margaret? My Margaret!

Having greeted the company, it was now fitting for him to give his attention to his bride, and he returned to her, took her hand and drew her apart. Seeing his desire to talk with her, the rest of the company kept their distance, and James, smiling down at her, said: “But you are beautiful… more beautiful than I dared hope.”

“And all they said of you is true.”

“What did they say of me?”

“That you were the handsomest King in the world.”

He laughed. “I should have been afraid, had I known, that after such a glowing description I might disappoint you.”

“You do not disappoint me.”

Her eyes were glowing, her lips slightly parted. James — connoisseur of women — knew the signs. She would be no prude. It would be no hardship to do his duty. He was glad to discover in her a sensuality which might match his own.

“I trust,” he said, “that you will be happy in Scotland.”

“I know I shall… now that I have met my lord.”

“Do you always make up your mind on such a short acquaintance?”

“Always.”

“Is that wise?”

“I can only trust my inclinations, which rarely betray me,” she answered.

He took her hand and kissed it.

By sweet Saint Ninian! he thought. We must join the others, lest we come to the lovemaking before we have time to get abed.

He compared her with that other Margaret. This one would never be serene. He was uneasily reminded of Janet Kennedy, for he sensed a certain wild passion in this young girl — although it was not yet full awakened — which might equal Janet’s. That made him think of his Margaret, sitting down to her last breakfast with her sisters. Was it possible that Janet had had a hand in that? If he really believed that, he would never see her again. But this was not the time to think of that — nor was any time, for it was past and done with. But he did feel a little uneasy to be reminded of Janet by this little Tudor girl whom he had been obliged to marry for the sake of his country’s peace.

“Come,” he said, “we must not neglect our friends. And I’ll swear there is food and wine waiting for us.”

She sat beside him at the table, which was laden with good food and wine, and all the time she was conscious of him beside her.

“I must return to Edinburgh for the night,” he said, “and you must retire early to prepare yourself for the ceremonial entry into our capital.”

“I am sorry you must return to Edinburgh without me.”

He laughed and touched her hand lightly. This was in the nature of a caress. His hazel eyes were bright with tenderness; she did not know that this expression was invariably in his eyes when he looked at a woman — even though she were a fishwife in the market or a tavern girl.

“It was a little unseemly of me to come in this way,” he told her, “but I was so eager to see my bride. I wanted to assure her that she had nothing to fear.”

“I should never be afraid of you,” she told him. “You are kind and good, and the happiest woman in Scotland is the Queen.”

He smiled again and said: “You make prettier speeches in England than we do in Scotland. I trust our rough manners will not offend you.”

“You… rough?”

“You will see,” he warned her, but there was mockery in his gaze, and she was more deeply in love than ever.

She danced for him, taking Lady Surrey as her partner; she was eager to show him how accomplished she was. She remembered the occasion when she and Henry had danced together at the marriage of their brother Arthur and Katharine of Aragon, and how all present had said none danced in such a sprightly manner as they did. She remembered how her father and mother had watched them, with smiles of contentment on their faces, so grateful were they for their good health and spirits.

But then she had danced as a child, trying to outleap Henry; now she danced as a woman, gracefully, seductively.

The King applauded her and, when she returned to his side, told her he was charmed with his bride.

“But the hour grows late,” he said, “and I must return to Edinburgh; for remember we have not yet sworn our marriage vows to each other except by proxy. Until we have done so, alas, we must part.”

“Soon,” she answered, “we shall make those vows.”

“I am glad that you look forward to that occasion even as I do,” he replied.

When he said farewell, Lady Guildford wanted to warn her charge that she should not show her feelings so frankly, but that lady realized that it was not so easy to advise the Queen of Scotland as the Princess of England.

Margaret lay dreaming of the future. She was dancing before him with Lady Surrey, and suddenly he rose and partnered her himself, holding her tightly. His handsome eyes were ardent; he was telling her that he had never dreamed she could be so beautiful. Willingly she submitted herself to his embrace; she was growing very warm; she felt that she was suffocating.

Then she was awakened by a flickering light in her apartment and she was coughing because of the smoke.

She hurried out of bed as Lady Guildford ran into the room.

“Your Grace! Rise quickly. There is not a moment to lose.”

“Is the castle on fire?”

“I fear so.”

She was hurried into a gown and out of the apartment; there she was joined by her ladies, and she saw the Countess of Morton was with them.

“Come quickly down to the hall, Your Grace,” said the Countess. “Something terrible has happened. The castle is in danger.”

As they hurried down to the hall they heard shouts from without. Now the angry glow seemed all about them and they could hear the crackle of flames.

They were joined by the Earl and some of his men.

“It started in the stables,” he said. “I’m afraid they’re completely burned. But I believe we have saved the castle. There is no need to fear. We can remain here. The fire is under control.”

It was a wretched night, for although she returned to her apartment she did not sleep; she stood for a long time with her ladies at the window watching the smoldering remains of the stables, and when news was brought to her that her two white palfreys had been burned to death, Margaret threw herself onto her bed and wept like a child.

Her dear palfreys whom she had loved so much, who had carried her so far!

“I shall never have palfreys that I love so much,” she mourned.

But in the morning there came a tender message from the King. He had heard of the disaster which had befallen his bride and was much concerned. He was coming to see her that very day but first he suggested that, as Dalkeith had been unlucky for her and she could not be as comfortable there as it was his desire she should be, he wanted her to leave at once for Newbattle Castle which was not far off; and there she would stay until her entry into Edinburgh and their true marriage. “Only a few days it will be, long enough for me to court you in a fitting manner.”

She brightened up when she heard that message and immediately she and her train set out for Newbattle.

She was so far composed as to have settled into the new residence and was playing cards — which she loved to do — in her apartments when a visitor was announced.

She started up and cried out in delight to see him. Now he looked more like a king, in black velvet jacket with a crimson velvet border and an edge of white fur.

Margaret returned his kiss, and he sat down with her and commiserated with her over last night’s unfortunate occurrence.

She told him about her white palfreys and wept. “For they were dear beasts,” she said, “and I loved them.”

“My Margaret has a tender heart,” said the King. “But do not weep, for it grieves me to see you do so. There will be other palfreys and we should rejoice that you are safe.”

She blinked away her tears and said that he made her happy.

“Why,” he answered, “you know nothing of happiness yet. Only wait until we are married in the sight of my people.” He clapped his hands. “Could we not have a little music? I fancy, my love, that you like it, even as I do.”

The minstrels began to play and the King asked Margaret to dance for him with Lady Surrey as she had at Dalkeith, which Margaret was happy to do; and watching her radiant face, which such a short while before had been so sad, the King told himself that she was only a child after all.

Being a lover of music, he himself must perform, and this he did with great skill on the clavichord. Margaret clapped her hands and declared that she had never heard such playing. Then he took a lute and played to her so sweetly that she was completely charmed.

“I am sure,” said James, “that there are others in the company who can amuse us.” And Margaret signed to Sir Edward Stanley to play the clavichord and sing.

“A wonderful English ballad,” commented the King, and called one of the gentlemen who had accompanied him from Edinburgh to Newbattle. “The two of you sing together,” he commanded.

And they did so, harmonizing so perfectly that everyone present applauded with enthusiasm — not only for the singing but because that was a symbol of the new friendship between the two countries.

But once again James must take his leave. As he left he whispered to Margaret: “Would I could stay this night with you.” He almost meant it. She was so young and fresh, and he was tiring of the mistress he had taken since the death of Margaret Drummond. “Alas, kings and queens must conform to the rules laid down for them… much as they would wish otherwise.”

Margaret’s flushed cheeks and shining eyes told him that she shared his wish.

“A few more days… ,” he murmured.

And she repeated: “A few more days.”

She insisted on accompanying him out to his horse, and he with his followers and she with hers left the apartment together.

He embraced her once more and then leaped onto his horse without putting his foot into the stirrup — a feat which everyone applauded. He turned, pulling off his hat, and bowed his head to Margaret before he galloped away.

These pleasant days of courtship were the happiest Margaret had ever known. The King would ride out to Newbattle; she would play for him on the lute and clavichord as he had for her; and everyone noticed how attentive he was, and how he always remained with his head uncovered in her presence.

Always there was conversation and music, and at last came that August day when she was to make her ceremonial entry into Edinburgh.

Her women were dressing Margaret in a gown of cloth of gold edged with black velvet; they were placing about her neck pearls and precious stones, when the Countess of Surrey came in to tell her that a gift from the King had arrived. This was two palfreys to replace those which she had lost in the Dalkeith fire.

Margaret clasped her hands in pleasure.

“Do you know,” she said, “I believe I have the best husband in the world.”

The ladies exchanged glances. It was true James was handsome, charming, courteous and kind; but they had heard certain scandalous gossip and they were inclined to believe it was true; and they did wonder how their high-spirited and headstrong little princess would act if and when she discovered there was truth in this gossip.

In the meantime it was well that she should enjoy her ignorance.

Riding in her litter, Margaret was met by James on the road to the capital. She was filled with delight when she saw him approaching, because he looked magnificent. His jacket was made of cloth of gold, and it opened to show that it was lined with purple velvet; about it was a border of black otter fur; his waistcoat was of purple satin and there were pearls and precious stones about his person, while his scarlet hose added an extra touch of color; and he looked very fine on a horse whose saddle and harness were of gold, and bridle and headgear of shining silver.

As he approached he sprang from his horse, and coming up to the litter, kissed Margaret. Then leaping onto his horse, he turned and rode beside the litter, while his gentleman-usher took out the sword of state from its scabbard of purple velvet and carried it before the King.

James was smiling at Margaret. “Are you prepared to enter your capital city?” he asked.

“I am longing to do so.”

“I am going to take you in on my horse,” he told her. “It is meet and fitting that I should do so!”

“You mean I shall ride pillion?”

“Why not? It is what I wish, and it is what the people will wish. Will you be afraid on such a fiery horse as mine?”

“I would never be afraid if you were there.”

“Ah, Margaret,” he told her “you are too trusting.”

He was frowning. “I would never forgive myself if you were thrown,” he went on. Then he shouted to one of his men to mount behind him pillion fashion to see how the horse reacted to the extra weight.

When it was clear that the horse was not pleased with the arrangement, the King said: “Nay, I’ll not risk this. Bring one of the Queen’s palfreys.”

The palfrey was brought and when the King had mounted and Margaret had been placed on the pillion, they prepared to journey into Edinburgh.

But there was much to be seen before they reached the city, for the King had determined that his people should show his bride a royal welcome. In a meadow about half a mile from the city they must pause and watch a joust between two knights, which had been staged for their benefit; when this was over a tame deer was released and a greyhound set to chase it.

It seemed that all the citizens of Edinburgh had come out to see the fun, for the roads were lined with people who cheered the King and Queen.

They were met by the Gray Friars who carried with them the cross and some holy but grisly relics which the King and the Queen kissed. Then as they approached the entrance to the city the trumpeters, whom Margaret had brought with her, blew a fanfare and the Scottish minstrels and trumpeters joined in with the triumphal music.

An “angel” appeared and presented the keys of the city to the new Queen; Margaret took these with a smile and turned to see that the precious relic, the arm of St. Giles, was being presented to her to kiss.

When this was done they entered the city where more pageantry awaited them; Margaret felt dazzled and found the quiet of the church of Holyrood, to which James had led her, rather pleasant. Here she knelt with James at the altar and afterward was presented to the great nobles of Scotland, among whom were such famous people as Huntley, Argyle and Lennox.

The ceremony was almost over and the King had brought his bride to his Palace of Holyrood.

They did not dine together, but later the King came to her apartments to see if she were comfortable, and there was music and dancing.

Margaret heard the city bells ringing; she knew that the streets were hung with tapestry and that all the nobility of Scotland were in Edinburgh because the following day she, Margaret Tudor, would be married to the King in the church of Holyrood.

This was her wedding day.

Margaret stood by the font, in the church of Holyrood, a dazzling figure in a gown of gold and white damask, the border of which was crimson velvet; on her head was a glittering crown, and her rippling golden hair on which she could sit with ease hung loose. About her neck was a collar of pearls. Her ladies who accompanied her were almost as richly dressed; on her right stood the Archbishop of York and on her left the Earl of Surrey.

The King was approaching, slowly, ceremoniously, accompanied by nobles in brilliant costume. He looked so handsome that Margaret could not resist the temptation to gaze at him. The white damask and gold suited his tawny coloring; and the black velvet border of his jacket and the crimson satin slashes on his sleeves, matching his scarlet hose, gave a touch of startling color. When he saw Margaret he removed his black velvet bonnet, in which glowed a great ruby, that his head might not be covered in her presence and all could therefore see the respect in which he held her.

His eyes, as they rested on her, were above all reassuring. And she thought: This is the happiest moment of my life. I am to be married to him in very truth at last, and I know this to be but the beginning of all my joy.

They stood together before the Archbishops of York and Glasgow, and the ceremony of marriage was performed. Then the bulls from the Pope, consenting to the union, were read aloud; and when this was done the trumpets blared forth in triumph.

Margaret and James were married.

They sat side by side at the banquet and the King commanded that the Queen should be served before he was.

In spite of her ecstasy Margaret could still feel hungry, and she tackled the boar’s head, brawn and ham and all the other delicacies with a zest which seemed to amuse her husband.

When the banquet was over the company left the dining hall for another room that was hung with tapestries and cloth of gold, and here the King and Queen led the company in the dance.

And so the evening passed until it was time for the King and Queen to retire together.

Margaret was happy; the King was well content.

She was young and beautiful and, as he had guessed, had been an apt pupil in those arts in which he had long excelled. It was pleasant to find a sensuality which matched his own, and if he had not continued secretly to mourn for Margaret Drummond he could have been a happy man.

Margaret with all her Tudor egoism, never doubted for one moment that the King was as delighted with her as she was with him. He had given her on the morning after the wedding night the domains of Kilmarnock as a morrowing gift.

During the weeks which followed she devoted herself to pleasure with an energy which those who had followed her from England had only seen surpassed by her royal brother. Each day she held a council of her ladies to discuss what she should wear; she danced and sang, she hunted, practiced archery; and always she was eager for those hours when she could be alone with her bridegroom.

After some weeks of this merrymaking James intimated that the celebrations should come to an end and it was time he showed the people of Scotland their Queen. Then began the royal tour. From Edinburgh to Linlithgow and from Linlithgow to Stirling, to Falkland, Perth, Aberdeen and Elgin. Each night they would come to rest in some mansion, convent or abbey where there would be dancing, music, card-playing or religious ceremonies.

One of the greatest difficulties was the transport of Margaret’s wardrobe, for the purpose of which special carters had to be employed.

“Do you need so much?” asked James gently.

“Indeed I do,” Margaret firmly told him.

Many would have been exasperated; not so James. He merely shrugged tolerant shoulders and the carters were engaged.

By Christmas they were back in Holyrood Palace where Margaret threw herself into arrangements for Christmas festivities with all her youthful enthusiasm. Holyrood should see festivities such as it had never seen before. There should be pageantry and dancing such as she and Henry had often longed for during the Christmas celebrations which had taken place in their father’s Court. It was wonderful to escape from that miserly caution which had been a part of her early life. Margaret was determined to have gaiety, no matter what the cost. Harpers and luters, fiddlers and pipers, trumpeters and dancers filled the state apartments with their music.

And when the Christmas feasting was over, there was the New Year.

James’s present to his wife on the first day of the New Year was a heavy ducat of gold weighing an ounce, with two sapphire rings; and the second day of the New Year he gave her two crosses studded with pearls.

To Margaret’s chagrin the New Year festivities were brought to an abrupt end by the death of James’s brother, the Duke of Ross; and when the burial ceremonies were over, James told his bride that he must leave her for a while. She must understand that as King he had certain duties to his country. He would write to her and she must write to him, but for a few weeks they must be parted.

Margaret embraced him tearfully and implored him not to stay long from her side. He assured her that he would return as soon as it was possible for him to do so. The first of the King’s absences had begun.

During the periods when he was absent from his Queen, James sent her letters and gifts. He deplored the fact that they could not be together, and Margaret occupied herself in hunting and archery and sometimes in the woods she would run races with her attendants. The days passed pleasantly enough but she yearned for James.

When he returned he was as affectionate and charming as ever, but during a visit to Stirling Castle, Margaret made a discovery.

James was always eager to go to Stirling, and she had said to him: “I believe this to be the favorite of all your palaces, and this surprises me since you spent so much of your childhood there. So your memories cannot be unhappy ones.”

“Do I love Stirling best?” he mused. “I wonder. At this time I do. Next week I may love Linlithgow or Holyrood House or the castle of Edinburgh. I fear I am a fickle man.”

“As long as your fickleness is only for your castles I care not,” laughed Margaret.

She did not notice that he looked momentarily melancholy.

The next day she saw a little girl in the hall of the castle. The child was beautiful and in the charge of a highborn lady. Margaret called the little girl to her and asked who she was.

Her lady guardian seemed confused and said that she was lodged in the castle temporarily.

“My name is Margaret,” the child told the Queen.

“Margaret! How strange. So is mine.”

“You are Margaret too! What else? I am the Lady Margaret Stuart.”

“That is a name which arouses my interest,” answered the Queen.

“She is such a prattler, I fear, Your Grace,” said her guardian. “And, I fear, a little spoiled.”

“I am not,” answered the child. “My father says I am not.”

“And who is your father, my child?”

“My father is the King,” was the disconcerting answer.

Margaret knitted her brows and looked at the woman, who lifted her shoulders and murmured: “She is but a child, Your Grace. You know how children prattle on… without sense.”

“Then if your father is the King, who is your mother?” asked Margaret suddenly, ignoring the woman and addressing the child.

“She was Margaret too,” the child told her. “I am named for her.”

“Is the child’s mother here?” asked Margaret.

“No, Your Grace. Her mother is dead.”

“She is not,” declared the child. “My father says she is not dead, and will never die.”

“Oh come… come… you weary Her Grace.”

Margaret did not seek to detain them; she watched the woman take the child’s hand and lead her away.

She went immediately to the King, who was in his own apartments playing his lute. Imperiously she said: “James, I wish to speak to you… privately.”

James regarded her somewhat lazily and, seeing that she was truly agitated, signed to his friends to leave him.

“Well?” he said when they were alone.

“There is a child here — Margaret — who says she is your daughter. I know that this is not so, but I like not that she should proclaim herself to be. I want you to stop this.”

James was silent for a while; then he strummed a few notes on his lute. The time had come. He would have to explain.

“The child speaks the truth,” he said. “She is my daughter.”

“Your daughter! But… ”

“I was to have married her mother, but she… died. She was poisoned with her two sisters when at breakfast.”

Margaret’s blue eyes opened wide and the color flamed into her cheeks. He noted that the fact that his mistress had been poisoned did not shock her so much as that she had existed.

“So… you had a mistress!”

“My dear Margaret! What do you expect? Not one… but many.”

“And… a child!”

“Children,” he corrected her.

She was angry. She had been hoping for signs of her own pregnancy and there had been none. And now he… her own husband… admitted not only to having had mistresses… but children.

“I am glad you know,” he said. “I visit them often. They are after all my own flesh and blood and I have always promised myself that my children should never be treated by their father as I was by mine — perhaps in the hope that they will never have to suffer the remorse I did for the part I played in my father’s end.”

Margaret stood up and went to the door. She was so angry that she knew she must escape because she had a great desire to fly at him and fight him with all her strength. She had been cheated. She saw that she had been young and foolish and that her naïveté must have been apparent to him. She felt insulted and her Tudor pride was in revolt. She had loved him too deeply, too trustingly.

He did not attempt to detain her. He shrugged his shoulders and turned idly to his lute. He strummed without hearing; the recent scene had made him think of that other Margaret and the longing for her was almost too great to be borne.

Margaret could not rest until she discovered more about her husband’s premarital love affairs. She insisted on her Scottish ladies’ telling her all they knew. So the King had been so enamored of Margaret Drummond that he had wanted to marry her against the advice of his ministers; and she had borne him a daughter, that child, Lady Margaret Stuart, who was so petted and pampered at the King’s command. And there were two children by a certain Marian Boyd: Catherine and Alexander; and the young Earl of Moray — who had been given this title when he was scarcely two — was the King’s son by Janet Kennedy.

What a family! And he so proud of them — sneaking off to visit them on the pretense that he was engaged on state affairs! And what was worse, leaving his wife in order to do so!

All her amour propre — which was very strong in the young Tudors — was in revolt.

She now saw her husband in a new light. He was not the person who in her girlish imagination she had believed him to be. This marriage of theirs could well be one of convenience to him. She had been cheated.

Yet when he came to her again — tender and kind, yet not repentant — her wounded pride was submerged by her need of him. He had aroused in her that latent sensuality which must be appeased no matter how hurt her pride.

She was passionate in her demands; and there was a new determination within her; she must have a child; and her child must be more important to him than any of his others, for the son she bore would be the future King of Scotland.

James was sorry that his wife was hurt by her discovery of his illegitimate family, and he blamed himself for not having broken the news more gently to her. He could not be sorry that he had these children, for he doted on them and it was a matter of great disappointment to him that, so far, Margaret had shown no signs of pregnancy. When she did, he assured himself, she would be more serene.

One of his greatest pleasures was to visit his children, and he planned to have them all together in one nursery, acknowledged as his, so that he could supervise their education and give them honors which as royal Stuarts he believed should be theirs.

Meanwhile he decided to compensate Margaret for the shock she had suffered and, since she was such a child and there was nothing that pleased her more than balls, plays and ballets, there should be more of these entertainments.

He brought a gift of jewels — that could always delight her — and told her that he was arranging a ball in her honor and asked how she would like that.

She clasped her hands in ecstasy and her young face lighted with pleasure.

“And you will be there, James?” she asked eagerly.

“Indeed I shall be there.”

“For it would be no pleasure to me if you were not.”

He embraced her and thought happily: She has recovered from the shock. She accepts the children as natural.

At the same time he wondered what she would say if she knew of those lapses from fidelity which had occurred since his marriage. She was so naive in many ways. Probably it was due to the fact that her father had been a faithful husband; it was said that Henry VII was a cold man — well, James IV was not. Women were as necessary to his comfort as money was to Henry VII’s.

Margaret would have to learn this, but he trusted she would not have to make the discovery until she was ready to. In a few years’ time she would become accustomed to the fact that he must have his mistresses. He would try to explain that they in no way affected his feelings for her. She was his wife and it was their duty to get children. But ever since he had been a very young man he had made no effort to curb his sexual desires; and he could not begin now. He was gentle and tolerant with her and would remain so as long as she did not attempt to restrain him.

Then they began to plan the entertainment. There should be masked dancers because it was always such fun to watch disguised performers. And there should be a play. There was one of the Queen’s attendants who was a past master at coaching players. This boy, who had come with Margaret from England, was called English Cuddy by the Scots.

“I shall command English Cuddy to begin making arrangements at once,” declared Margaret.

“So much energy you have, my little one,” said James. “But it is such fun to play for a masque.”

“When you have children you will think of other things.”

He looked at her searchingly. Was there no sign? Her face darkened because she was thinking of those other children and how she would like to banish the Lady Margaret Stuart from the Court.

“I intend to have many children,” she said. “And when my son is born I am going to ask a favor of you. Will you grant it?”

“I think I should be ready to grant you any favor when you give me the heir to the throne.”

“I shall want him to have all that is best in Scotland.”

“That is easy. So he shall.”

“And I do not think he should have to meet the children of… harlots.”

James looked puzzled. “What mean you?”

“Margaret Stuart for one… and I know there are others who might try to force themselves into his company.”

James’s face was a dull red; for the first time in her life Margaret saw that he was angry.

“Do not dare to say that again,” he said. “The Lady Margaret Stuart’s mother was a great lady. She was possessed of many qualities which are lacking in the daughters of kings.”

Then he left her.

Margaret went into her bedchamber and threw herself onto her bed where she wept violently, for her emotions were invariably violent.

Her fit of sobbing did not last long; she roused herself and tried to remove the stains of weeping. Tears were futile; one day she would have her own way, but first she must learn how.

When next she was in the company of her husband, Margaret behaved as though the scene had not taken place. James was relieved and ready to meet her more than halfway. He reminded himself again and again that she was but a child and he expected too much of her.

He gave her more presents; rich damasks and velvets to make the clothes with which she enjoyed adorning her person — and the result was enchanting, he had to admit. He should congratulate himself on his good luck, for he had a beautiful young wife who was overflowing with love for him while so many kings had to marry plain and even deformed women for the sake of their kingdoms. He merely had to remind himself that she was a self-willed child and that he was some seventeen years older than she was, which should make him tolerant.

So those celebrations were particularly gay, James playing the clavichord with his wife and singing with her as they played their lutes. They led the dancing together; they laughed uproariously over English Cuddy’s play; and when at last they retired they made passionate love; and Margaret was so happy that she forgot to be jealous of those children.

Wait, she told herself. Surely soon I shall be pregnant. Then I shall not care how many illegitimate children he may have had in the past.

There was no reason why the fun should not continue. English Cuddy and Scotch Dog (a certain James Dog whose talents were similar to Cuddy’s) put their heads together and devised more original and brilliant entertainments.

It was during one of these days when entertainment followed entertainment that a messenger arrived at the Palace and asked to be taken to the King.

The man was brought to James when he was playing the lute to the Queen, and seeing how travel-stained and agitated the messenger was, James immediately laid aside his lute. One of his most endearing characteristics was his immediate sympathy with any in distress, however humble they were, and his concern to do all in his power to help them. It was this quality which had made him the most popular of the Stuart Kings.

He therefore made the man sit in his presence, and sent for wine to refresh him.

“And while it is being brought, tell me what brings you here.”

“I come from Darnaway, Sire,” said the messenger. “My mistress, the Lady Bothwell, commanded me to come and tell you that she is sick unto death and begs that you visit her on her death bed.”

James gasped with dismay. The Lady Bothwell was his fiery Janet Kennedy on whom the Bothwell estate had been bestowed in exchange for all the lands her lover Angus had given her. Janet… who had been so vital… sick unto death! It was unthinkable, and what of little James, their son?

“I shall go to her without delay,” said the King.

Margaret had risen and stood beside him. She laid her hand on his arm.

“Who is this Lady Bothwell?” she asked. “And why should she send for you in this way… as though she were a queen and you her subject?”

James looked at her coldly and said: “She may be dying.”

Then he turned and strode from the apartment.

Margaret had to shake the woman to get the truth from her. The foolish creature was trying to pretend she had no notion who this Lady Bothwell was.

All the Tudor fury was in flame.

“Who is she? Tell me that!”

“I… I… ”

“It will be the worse for you if you do not say.”

“Your Grace… Your Highness… she was Janet Kennedy.”

“Janet Kennedy? And what is she?”

“The daughter of Lord Kennedy, Your Grace.”

“What is she to the King? That is what I mean?”

Silence. But silence could tell so much.

“You know!” shrieked Margaret. “And how many sons did she bear him? Tell me that.”

“It was only the one, Your Grace… only the little Earl of Moray.”

Margaret slapped the woman’s face in fury.

“And he goes to see her now. He leaves me, to go to see her. The wanton creature. I hate her. I hate them both, I tell you!”

She turned and ran to her apartments.

And there once more she flung herself onto her bed and wept. Lady Guildford came to her. “Your Grace… Your Grace, this is not the way to behave.”

She did not answer. Instead she raised herself and clenched her fists, pummelled her pillows, with an expression which showed that was how she would have liked to beat Janet Kennedy.

“You must remember that you are a queen, Your Grace.”

“A queen… ah! And a woman. A woman deserted by her husband! Do you not think I understand the meaning of those absences? And all except me knowing… I alone in ignorance. I was not enough for him. He must have these sluts. I would kill them. I will not have him in my bed again.”

“Hush! Hush! There will be those to listen. There will be those to carry tales.”

“I care not.”

“But you must care. Remember, my dearest, you are the Queen of Scotland.”

Margaret’s face crumpled suddenly and she began to cry softly. Lady Guildford put her arms about her shaking shoulders and sought to soothe her.

“I loved him so much,” sobbed Margaret. “You could not understand how much.”