The Thistle and the Rose

The Reckless Marriage

The Queen had shut herself in that turret of Linlithgow Palace which was known as Queen Margaret’s Bower. She sat alone on the stone bench which surrounded it and looked out of the window hoping and praying for the coming of the messenger.

When she had heard that James was dallying at Ford Castle with Lady Heron her anger was greater than her fear. Each night she was tormented by vague dreams; each day she came to her bower to watch and wait.

There she relived so much of her life with James. This very bower itself had been created by him for her pleasure. It was reached from his dressing room by means of a staircase, and James had had a stone table erected in the center. She remembered so well the day he had shown it to her. How charming he was, how tender! And how difficult it was to remind oneself that he had been as charming and tender to other women perhaps the day before he was showing so much solicitude to her.

News was brought to her frequently. She had learned of all the successes, until they had come to Ford Castle. She knew that Old Bell-the-Cat had left the army in disgust; and she trembled. But then she remembered James, the Wild Knight at the joust. He could not fail. Yet his success would mean disaster for her brother, and she had not known until this time how strong were the ties of blood.

What did she want? Peace, she answered. That is what I want. Peace between our two countries, and my husband at my side.

She had known before the messenger spoke that he had brought disastrous news; and as she had listened to his words a numbness took possession of her body. Dead! On Flodden Field.

She thought: So I shall never seen his handsome face again, never listen to his voice; never again shall I ask myself with what woman he is spending his time now. His beauty has gone; his virile body is but a corpse; and I, his wife, have become his widow.

She went to the nursery, where her little son, who was riding on David Lindsay’s shoulders, shouted with joy to see her.

David Lindsay lifted the boy from his shoulders and stood him down; he saw from the Queen’s expression that she had had bad news and, because he knew that the messenger had come from Flodden Field, he guessed the nature of that news. He was filled with horror and his first thoughts were of what this would mean to his young charge.

“Davie,” said Margaret, “this is a woeful day for Scotland.”

“Your Grace… Your Grace… ”

She knelt down and with tears in her eyes embraced her son.

“He is now your King, Davie.”

“This cannot be!”

“Alas, it is so. James IV has died at Flodden and now this little one is King of Scotland and the Isles.”

“So young… and tender,” murmured David.

“I trust all will remember it,” Margaret answered bitterly. “David,” she went on, “in a few months’ time he will have a brother or sister.”

David nodded slowly.

Young James was impatient of this solemnity. He wanted to play.

“Carry me, David,” he cried imperiously.

And solemnly David Lindsay lifted the King of Scotland onto his shoulder.

The whole of Scotland mourned the King. Nor did it mourn him only, for the flower of Scottish manhood had fallen at Flodden and there was scarcely a noble family in the land which was not touched with sorrow. James had won the hearts of his people as few kings had ever done before him. His handsome looks, his great charm, his sympathy with the troubles of all, his chivalry and brilliant performances at the jousts had made of him a public hero. It was forgotten that he was to blame for this terrible defeat against which so many of his advisers had warned him, that it had been unnecessary to fight at all and, having embarked upon the campaign, it had been criminally negligent to jeopardize the lives of so many and the cause of Scotland while he tarried with Lady Heron. They remembered only the hero who had delighted them with the entertainments he had given and in which they had had their share; they remembered only that he whom they had loved was dead.

Old Bell-the-Cat was a brokenhearted man. He had lost two sons at Flodden — his eldest, George, Master of Douglas, and Sir William of Glenbervie; with them had fallen two hundred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. There could rarely have been a disaster to Scotland and the Douglases to compare with that of Flodden. He no longer had the heart to join in public affairs; he was too old, too sad. All his vast possessions would now go to his grandson Archibald, son of George; and Bell-the-Cat retired to his Priory of Whitehorn in Wigtownshire to set his affairs in order, for he did not think he had long to live — nor did he wish it otherwise.

But there was no time to waste. Scotland was defeated; and she had left the flower of her army rotting on Flodden Field. What next? asked those who were left.

The days following the defeat were some of the most anxious the country had ever passed through, until it was realized that Surrey was in no position to march on Scotland; the main army of England was abroad with the King, and the battle of Flodden had been one of defense for England. The Regent, Queen Katharine, was very loath to conduct a war against her husband’s sister; all she wished to do was preserve England from invasion during her husband’s absence. This had been magnificently done; and Katharine was ready to offer Margaret a truce.

As her numbness left her, Margaret realized that she was now in possession of a certain power — and power was something she had always wished for. James had made her Regent and guardian of their son before he went away, and the nobles of Scotland were anxious to respect his wishes.

First she removed the little King to the strong fortress of Stirling Castle; then she called Parliament, that the will of James IV might be read. There was some murmuring concerning the passing of the Regency into the Queen’s hands, for the tradition of Scotland was that this should be a masculine prerogative, yet because the King was so recently dead, none raised a voice against his wishes. A Council was to assist her, and this was made up of old Bell-the-Cat, the Earls of Arran, Huntley, Glencairn, Argyle, Lennox, Eglington, Drummond and Morton; with Beaton, the Archbishop of Glasgow and Elphinstone, Bishop of Aberdeen.

Only twenty days after the death of his father, little James was taken to Scone where, what was called throughout the land, the Mourning Coronation took place. Over the brow of the child was held the crown of Scotland and he was solemnly declared King.

It was the most extraordinary coronation ever witnessed for, as the trumpets sounded, those about the young King burst into loud lamentations; and James was proclaimed King of Scotland and the Isles to the accompaniment of tears and sobbing.

Thus the power for which Margaret had longed was to some extent hers. Jealousy, the most persistent emotion of her life, had been removed. What did all those women who had tempted James from her side matter now? She had heard that Anne of Brittany, who had roused her anger as much as any, had died a few days after the defeat at Flodden. So, thought Margaret, she did not live long to gloat over what she had persuaded him to do.

Margaret herself was now twenty-four years old; she had had many years’ experience of Scotland and of the Scottish, and as the weeks following her son’s coronation began to pass, her grief passed with them. She forced herself to remember the unhappiness rather than the happiness James had caused her; and once she had given birth to his child she would be free.

She began to think with increasing excitement of freedom.

She was not at this time aware of the feelings of certain members of the Council toward her. They could not forget, first that she was a woman and second that she was English. It was true her nationality meant that the King of England was more likely to show leniency to the Scots while his sister was their Queen; but in spite of the lack of funds in the exchequer and the terrible loss of manpower at Flodden, Scotland was still not eager for friendship with England.

The pro-French party was strong and there was continual and secret correspondence between this party and the French.

There came that day when the Bishop of Aberdeen suggested to the Council that the Queen’s task was too much for her strength. It seemed to him that she needed help in her task of Regent; and he proposed that they should invite the Duke of Albany — who, after Margaret’s son, was next in the line of succession — to come to Scotland and share the Regency with her.

This was agreed to be an excellent suggestion. Albany, uncle of James IV, should be told of their decision, and they would invite him to tell them what his inclinations were.

Meanwhile the Queen was pregnant and in no fit state to conduct affairs, so first they would approach Albany in secret.

John Stuart, Duke of Albany, was riding round his estates with his friend Anthony d’Arcy de la Bastie when the messenger from Scotland arrived at the château.

John — always known as Jehan — had almost forgotten that he was a Scotsman, although de la Bastie, who had visited Scotland, often talked of his stay there and did his best to arouse Albany’s interest in that country. But Albany had been brought up in France by a French mother; French was his native language; he had been in the service of the King of France; and he had married a Frenchwoman. He was now just past thirty and he had been four years old when his father had died, and that had severed, so he thought, all links with Scotland. He was on excellent terms with the French Court; he had been made a knight of St. Michael and Admiral of France for services to the King. He was happily married to his cousin, Anne de la Tour, a rich heiress who had brought him these Auvergne estates. He passed the time pleasantly between Court and the country; so he was perfectly content with his life.

It was natural at such a time that they should be talking of Scotland. The news of Flodden was fresh and de la Bastie could not forget what it meant.

He was saying: “Had you met him you would have felt this as deeply as I. He was so vital; so charming to look at and pleasant to be with. I remember his masquerading as the Wild Knight, and then seeming loath to take the glory he had won. And now… he is dead.”

“A fate which must overtake us all,” mused Albany philosophically.

“But not in the prime of our lives, let us hope.”

Albany was silent for a while, then he said: “They are a wild clan, these Stuarts.”

“All of them?” asked de la Bastie with a smile.

“My Stuart blood has been tempered by that of the French. I boast that I inherited logic and sweet reason from my French mother.”

“And nothing from your father?”

“Heaven help me, not his genius for falling into trouble, I trust.”

“None could say you had inherited that. Here you are, a friend of the King, a brilliant courtier and a happy countryman. What more could you ask?”

“Very little. I was not complaining. I have no wish to live as my father did.” He smiled. “I don’t remember him; but my mother talked of him continually. The last years of his life were almost too fantastically adventurous to bear the stamp of truth.”

“He was indeed a strange man, and an unhappy one — I should think — to quarrel with his brother.”

“Oh, he was ambitious, and when you are ambitious it is not good to be born the second son of a king. It was natural that such a man should long for the crown, and when his brother became James III the trouble started. I would rather live in peace than in the center of revolution. I tell you, I follow my mother rather than my father.”

They had turned their horses toward the château when de la Bastie said: “Look, there are visitors.”

“You are right.” Albany spurred his horse and the two men broke into a gallop which soon brought them to the gates of the château.

Several of the servants had seen their approach, for they had been watching for it; and grooms ran forward to take their horses and to gabble that foreigners had arrived.

Inside the great hall Albany’s wife, who had been the Comtesse de la Tour before she married, was graciously acting as hostess to the foreigners and as Albany went forward, with de la Bastie a few paces behind, he felt a slight apprehension because he saw that the visitors came from Scotland. Moreover they came on an important mission, for the man who faced him was the Lyon King.

He knew, almost before he heard, what the visitor had to say. It was the logical outcome of recent events. An infant king; a woman regent; and he a grandson of King James II.

Never! he thought. Why should I? Here I am at peace. Here I am happy. Why should I leave all this for the strife which would naturally be mine in that strife-ridden country?

But he listened courteously to the Lyon King and gave no hint of his distaste for the mission.

His guests must be royally entertained; Anne would see that they were. She too was looking uneasy. She need not fear. Their life together was not going to be disrupted.

He sat thoughtfully in his private chamber remembering the stories he had heard his mother tell him.

His father had lived a colorful life, but surely happiness, peaceful pleasure, were more to be desired than adventure which had ambition as the spur.

His father, Alexander Stuart, Duke of Albany, had always been in the thick of intrigue, so it was natural that when his elder brother James came to the throne, he, Alexander, and his younger brother, the Earl of Mar, should begin seeking honors and glory. Scotland had been tortured by revolution, due to them; and when Albany and Mar had come into conflict with those Border barons, Home and Hepburn, James III had seized the opportunity to imprison his troublesome brothers. Mar had died mysteriously in prison; some said as the result of an accident when a physician had bled him; others that the King had ordered his veins to be cut that he might bleed to death. In any case that was the end of Mar.

Albany had determined that no such misadventure should befall him, and as he had allies in France, he planned his escape. This took place with a drama that characterized all his adventures. It was arranged that two casks should be sent to him in his prison in Edinburgh Castle; these casks were presumed to contain Malmsey; one did, but the contents of the second were rope, which would make escape possible, and instruction as to where the French ship, which would carry him to France, was moored in the Forth.

Albany made plans with his chamber child, a young attendant who acted as valet during his imprisonment. First he invited the Captain of the Castle to come to his apartment and share the wine which had so generously been sent to him.

The Captain arrived and when he had taken rather more than he was accustomed to, Albany drew his sword and ran it through his body. Then he sent his chamber child to tell one of the guards that the Captain of the Castle was drunk and needed help; and as soon as the guard came into the apartment, Albany killed him. This was repeated twice and in a short time there were four dead men in Albany’s apartment.

Albany then commanded the chamber child to descend by the rope, and he himself would follow immediately. The boy was lowered over the walls of the castle, but the rope was too short and he fell, breaking his thigh. Realizing what had happened, Albany drew in the rope, lengthened it and himself descended. Although in imminent danger of discovery he picked up the child, carried him to a house nearby, commanded the people there to have his wounds attended to, telling them that if any ill befell the child they would have to answer to Albany, and then made his way to the French ship which was waiting to carry him to France. His treatment of the child aroused the sympathy of the people and he was fast becoming a legend throughout the land. He made his way to the French ship and when he arrived in Paris was treated with respect by the King of France, given estates and a bride — a French heiress, Anne, daughter of the Comte d’Auvergne et de Boulogne.

He had had no wish to settle down in peace, and before long had returned to England where he had entered into an intrigue with Edward IV to oust his brother James III from the throne of Scotland and take the crown himself. The price Edward asked for his help was that Albany should, on gaining the throne, put away his wife and marry Edward’s daughter Cecilia. Albany was not one to trouble himself with such details. He had already been married before he left Scotland to his cousin, Catharine Sinclair, by whom he had had three sons and a daughter. He had divorced her on the grounds of propinquity, so legally the present Duke, his son by Anne de la Tour, was his heir.

What strife had been caused in Scotland by Albany’s actions! There had been many nobles who were dissatisfied with the King, and they only needed Albany’s banner to join in the revolt against James. Bell-the-Cat was at the head of this revolutionary faction and there had been perpetual strife.

Eventually Albany had found it necessary to escape from Scotland and once more sought refuge in France, where his death was as dramatic and unexpected as his life had been. Attending a tournament he was accidentally killed by a splinter from a lance when he was not even engaged in the joust but merely a spectator.

A life of adventure. Had he found it as satisfying as his son found his?

Perhaps it had contented him, for it was the life he had chosen.

“But this,” said his son, “is the life for me.”

De la Bastie was going to be disappointed in him. He knew what his friend wanted. He would like to accompany the new Regent to Scotland because he had undoubtedly become enamored of that strange, dour land.

Why not send de la Bastie to act as his proxy? It was a good idea. He would go at once to his friend and lay the proposition before him. It would be better than a blunt refusal. He would say: “My affairs make it impossible for me to leave France at this time, so I send you my friend who is also a friend of yours, to act for me until such time as I may come to you.”

Until such time as I may come to you?

He was faintly apprehensive and excited.

Was there something of his father in him? Did the thought of ruling a country excite him after all?

He had made up his mind. Not yet… but there might come a time when he would wish to go.

How different was that Christmas, spent within the Palace of Holyrood, compared with the last! Margaret had always suffered during her pregnancies, and this one was no exception; and eager as she was to give her little James a brother, she wished that at such a time she could have felt energetic enough to deal with state affairs. She was well aware that there were many noblemen who looked askance at her Regency; she knew that letters had been sent to France and that, since Albany was there, it was logical to suppose certain of her counselors would wish to see him take over the Regency, or if not completely, to govern with her.

Her fears that this was the case were confirmed by letters from her brother Henry, who had now returned from France.

He was not pleased with the way matters were going in Scotland. There was a truce between the two countries, but he would have her and the Scots know that he agreed to this mainly because he did not wish to make war on a country of which his own sister was Regent. He knew that those about her were putting out feelers to France, and contemplating bringing Albany over. Why, the fellow was a Frenchman at heart and called the King of France his master. Therefore Henry of England would frown on such a man’s holding the post of Regent in cooperation with his sister. It must be avoided at all costs. They might seek to marry her to the fellow. It was true he had a wife living, but Henry had heard that she was not strong and might not live long; in any case she was his cousin, so it would not be difficult to dissolve the marriage. He wanted this avoided at all cost.

Margaret sat down and wrote to “her dearest brother, the King.” She implored him to suppress his hostile feelings toward Scotland and begged him not to harm her little King, his nephew who was very small and tender, being only one year and five months old. She reminded him that she was soon to become the mother of a posthumous child. She could only be happy if she had his goodwill.

Henry replied that if the Scots wanted peace they should have it, and if they wanted war they should have it. As for Margaret’s husband, he had fallen by his own indiscretion and rashness and foolish kindness to France. He added that, even so, as a relative, he regretted his death. He went on to say that he liked not to see French influence in Scotland and that if this should be strengthened he would be greatly displeased. He warned his sister of plans to marry her to Albany, repeating that she must avoid this at all costs.

Margaret brooded on this and when she saw young Archibald Douglas among the courtiers at the Palace an idea occurred to her — a wild idea. But was it so wild?

She sent for him and, when he arrived, she told him that she wanted to give him her sympathy, for she had heard that his young wife had recently died in childbed.

He thanked her and said it was a marvelous thing that his Queen, who had suffered so many sorrows, should remember those of her humble subjects.

“Nay,” she answered, “we have both been bereaved and in a similar manner. It would seem that we should sympathize with each other.”

Archibald bowed his head and she felt a surge of jealousy wondering how deeply he grieved for his young wife.

And when he had passed on, she thought: It might be possible for us to comfort each other.

But I must wait until after my child is born.

There was gloom in the priory of Whitehorn in Wigtownshire where the Douglas clan had assembled at the summons of the head of their house.

Old Bell-the-Cat lay on his deathbed; he had never recovered from the disaster of Flodden Field, that battle which, before it had begun, he had declared was foolish, unnecessary, and doomed to disaster.

He had lost two sons on that field with some of the bravest members of his clan. When it was over he had retired from public life and found that he had no longer any great wish to live. Now he knew that the end was near and he did not shrink from it.

He had summoned to his bedside his two remaining sons, the priest, Gavin Douglas and Sir Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie; there was also his grandson and heir, son of the Master of Douglas who had been killed at Flodden: the Archibald Douglas who had caught the Queen’s fancy and who, when the old man died, would be Earl of Angus and head of the House of Douglas.

“Sons, grandson,” muttered the old Earl, “my time is running out. It is a sad time to go when the affairs of Scotland are in such confusion. There’ll be work for you to do and I trust you’ll do it in the manner of the Douglases. Grandson, you’ll shortly inherit a great title. How old are you now?”

“Nineteen, Grandfather.”

“Alas, ’tis over-young. You will need to heed the counsel of your uncles. My sons, look to your nephew, for very soon he will be the head of your clan. And you, Grandson, are recently widowed. You must marry again and soon. Now it is your duty to get sons for the House of Douglas.”

Young Archibald bent over the old man. “Be at peace, Grandfather,” he said. “I am courting a lady whom I hope to marry.”

“Who is this?” asked Bell-the-Cat.

“Lady Jane Stuart, daughter of the Lord of Traquair. She is young, beautiful, and of good birth. I knew I should have your approval of the match.”

“I know her well. A fitting bride, and I rejoice. Marry her soon, Grandson. Life is too short to spend overmuch time in mourning.”

“Give me your blessing, Grandfather.”

The old hand was laid on the young head, and the dying man looked to his sons.

“Let there be no strife in our house. Care for your nephew, as though he were your son.”

“We will, Father,” his sons answered.

“My blessing on you all. Long life and prosperity to the Douglases.”

He lay back on his pillows, exhausted, and the men exchanged glances. It could not be long now.

They were right. In a few days old Bell-the-Cat was dead and young Archibald had become Earl of Angus.

The new Earl of Angus lost no time in going to Traquair with the news, where Lady Jane was eagerly awaiting him for she guessed that his grandfather could not live long, and she knew what a change this would make in the fortunes of her lover.

They walked beside the Quair Water together and talked of the future.

“I have his blessing, Jane,” Angus told her. “He said that it was folly to waste time. We should marry without delay. Are you ready to do so?”

“I am ready,” answered Jane.

“As soon as a few more months have passed then. It would be a scandal to marry so soon after the death of my poor Margaret and my grandfather. It is useless to expect people to understand how I loved you from the moment I saw you. If we married now they would say we had intrigued during Margaret’s lifetime. Who knows what else they might say? They are ready enough to blacken a man’s character… and a woman’s. I’d not care to subject you to that, Jane.”

“We can wait a few more months,” said Jane serenely. “The time will seem long, but I know that you will long for it to be over, even as I shall.”

“Oh, Jane… how long the waiting will be! We’ll not make it too long.”

“No,” she answered. “When you have done mourning for your grandfather… when the summer comes perhaps.”

“Oh, how I sigh for the summer!”

From Traquair Angus went to Stobhall, as his maternal grandfather, Lord Drummond, had sent for him.

Lord Drummond, who had once hoped to take a large share in the government of Scotland when he had believed his daughter Margaret was going to marry James IV, had been deprived of his dearest ambition. He still mourned the death of his daughter — not so much for the loss of her person, but for the honors she might have brought her family had she become Queen of Scotland.

He had hoped for much from his family. His daughters had been recognized as among the most beautiful women in Scotland. But that fateful breakfast had carried off three of them — Margaret, Eupheme, and Sibylla. Elizabeth, who fortunately had not sat down to that meal with her sisters, had lived to marry the heir of Angus, eldest son of old Bell-the-Cat; she had had numerous children and the eldest was young Archibald, who as Earl of Angus would be a powerful man in Scotland, and because he was so young he would need advice. Who better to give that advice than his grandfather? Now that old Bell-the-Cat was out of the way, that other grandfather, himself, Lord Drummond, should be the one to guide the head of the Douglas clan.

So he sent for the boy in order to impress on him the sudden importance of his rank.

As soon as Angus came into his presence, Drummond was struck by his resemblance to his mother and aunts. His was a family with more than its share of good looks. Angus ought to go far.

“Now, my boy,” said Drummond, “I trust you are aware of the great importance of your new position.”

“Yes, Grandfather. I have had it impressed upon me, I do assure you.”

“And rightly so. You are now the head of one of the most important clans in Scotland, and it is no good thing that you should have been thrust into such a position so young. Alas for Flodden! Would that your father had lived to pass on the title to you in good time. But what is, must be. While you are here I want to talk to you on Court matters and then I shall wish you to accompany me to Court. There I hope to bring you to the notice of the Queen, and I have little doubt that if you are wise you will do well there. You have good looks and a great name.”

“Thank you, Grandfather. I am ready to go when you wish.”

“That is well.”

“There is one matter of which I would wish to speak to you. My paternal grandfather advised me that I should marry soon, and that I wish to do.”

“Whom have you in mind?”

“Lady Jane Stuart.”

“Daughter of the Traquair,” mused Drummond. “Hmm. If you are wise you will shelve that little matter for a while. There are affairs of more pressing urgency afoot, I do assure you.”

Angus felt faintly alarmed. He had a notion that his ambitious grandfather was not quite sure whether Jane was a worthy enough match for the Earl of Angus.

Not that I shall be influenced! Angus told himself. I shall choose my own wife, and that will be Jane.

It was April when Margaret’s baby was born. She christened him Alexander, and he was given the title of Duke of Ross. He was a beautiful baby, promising to be as healthy as her little James, and she was delighted with him.

Although she felt weak after his birth, this pregnancy had been slightly less arduous than those she had previously suffered; she was glad of this for she was uncomfortably aware of the strife which was going on about her. There were certain members of the nobility who were determined to bring Albany over from France. His deputy, de la Bastie, had already arrived; and her brother Henry was urging that on no account must Albany be brought to Scotland, for he would not tolerate a French influence there. There was another scheme forming in the minds of the pro-French party and that was to marry her to Louis XII of France. Margaret shuddered at the prospect. Aging Louis did not appeal to her as a husband; but there was a grim amusement in thinking of marrying the widower of that Anne of Brittany who had once caused her so much jealousy.

When I marry, thought Margaret, it will be someone young and handsome, someone like young Archibald Douglas. He was the Earl of Angus now — quite a considerable title. Perhaps it would be less incongruous for the Queen to marry the Earl of Angus than young Archibald Douglas.

Lord Drummond, who held the office of Lord-Justiciary of Scotland, had written to her begging leave to present himself. He wished to bring his young grandson to her notice. The boy had recently acquired the title of Earl of Angus; he was still in mourning for his grandfather — and alas, he had been doubly stricken, for he had not long since become a widower — but he was a young man of spirit and yearned to be at Court that he might more assiduously serve his Queen.

Margaret replied graciously. Lord Drummond must come to Court at once. She had heard of the sorrows of the young Earl and the new responsibilities which had been thrust upon him. She wished to give him her personal sympathy.

Lord Drummond had not felt so excited since those days when he had believed his daughter Margaret had so enslaved the King of Scotland that he would marry her. He was certain that he had discovered a passion as intense, and for another member of his family.

Why did the Queen keep young Angus at her side? Why did she unsuccessfully endeavor to hide the pleasure his company gave her? Why did her eyes gleam with excitement when he stood beside her? Lord Drummond knew the answers to all these questions.

What a handsome pair they were! Margaret a young and lusty widow. Angus even younger, a widower in need of a new wife. The trouble was that Angus seemed to be willfully blind to the portents. That was because he was mooning about Traquair’s daughter.

By all the saints, Drummond said to himself, what this could mean to our family!

He smiled. Life was ironical. Once it had offered him a similar opportunity. A daughter of his to marry a king. That had failed, through some foul murderer; but now his grandson might be the husband of the Queen.

He considered the matter. Should he talk to Angus? The boy was only nineteen and foolish without doubt, imagining himself in love with Jane Stuart. This had to be handled with the utmost care.

He invited the boy’s uncles to call on him, letting them know that he had vital family matters to discuss with them; and when Gavin Douglas, the poet and priest, came to Drummond’s apartments accompanied by his brother, Sir Archibald of Kilspindie, Drummond lost no time in telling them what he suspected.

“The Queen is enamored of young Angus, and this is no surprise to me. I believe him to be the most handsome man at Court.”

“You mean she is his mistress?” asked Sir Archibald.

“Nay, nay. You go too fast. She is deeply conscious of her royalty. The pride of these Tudors is greater than that of the Stuarts, my friends. She is in love with him but I doubt she would be his mistress. Nor do we wish her to. But I see no reason why she should not become his wife.”

The Douglases were too startled to speak. “Why not? Angus has a great title. Why should not a Douglas share the throne? Have you two so little regard for your family’s honor that you would raise objections to this?”

“Why no, indeed,” said Gavin quickly, “but is it possible?”

“Why not? Providing we act with discretion.”

“How so?” demanded Sir Archibald.

“The Queen is a young woman. She has been without a husband since Flodden. She sees our young Angus and is enflamed with desire for him. Can you wonder? He is a fine figure of a man. I have watched her. I have seen the signs.”

“The Council would never permit a marriage.”

Drummond snapped his fingers. “Who cares for the Council! If there was a marriage between these two it would have to be made first and the Council told afterward.”

“It is not a year since the death of the King.”

“We cannot afford to waste time, or they will find a husband for her. They tried to marry her to Louis XII.”

“They cannot do that now.”

“Assuredly not, since the King of England, determined to have no union between Scotland and France, has married his younger sister Mary to Louis.”

“That we know,” put in Drummond testily, “but the Council would find what they deem a suitable husband for the Queen… and that husband would not be Angus. Imagine Arran, for one, allowing a Douglas to be put above him. Nay, if there is to be a marriage it must be done with all speed, while the Queen’s feelings are hot toward our Angus, and before the Council can intervene.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“That we summon our handsome young man and impress upon him the need to do his duty by his family.”

“I believe the boy to have betrothed himself to Jane Stuart.”

“Then he must un-betroth himself,” cried Drummond. “Nothing must stand in the way of this match. Have you thought what it would mean to the family? A bishopric at least for you, Gavin Douglas, a fine place at Court for your brother here.”

“And for my Lord Drummond?” inquired Gavin not without sarcasm.

“My dear fellow, all the family could expect to prosper. I want your support when I explain to Angus where his duty lies. He must act with speed and caution. He must let the Queen know that he returns her passion.”

“Which he does not?” questioned Archibald.

“Then he must learn to,” retorted Angus’s ambitious grandfather. “I was once cheated of seeing my daughter share the throne of Scotland; I’ll not stand by and see my grandson kept from it.”

“What do you propose to do?” asked Gavin.

“Summon Angus and, with your support, tell him what he must do. Do you stand with me?”

The Douglases eyed each other. They were ambitious men.

“We’d be fools not to,” replied Gavin speaking for them both.

Drummond clapped them both on the back.

“I knew I could rely on you,” he said. “Now… for young Angus.”

Angus was bewildered. He looked in anguish from his uncles to his grandfather.

“You see,” he explained laboriously, “Jane and I have plighted our troth.”

“Plighted your fiddlesticks!” snapped Drummond. “I never heard such nonsense. Marry that girl and you are finished at Court, I tell you. Margaret will see that all you hope for is denied you.”

“All I hope for,” replied Angus, “is to live peacefully with Jane. I don’t mind not being at Court. We’ll be perfectly happy at Whitehorn or Tantallan.”

“Whitehorn and Tantallan! You forget you are the head of the house of Douglas, my boy, and whether you like it or not your clan looks to you to act accordingly. It is your solemn duty to put honors in the way of your family, and how could you do this better than by becoming the Queen’s husband?”

“But she has not said she would marry me.”

“What a young fool you are! It is for you to sigh and simper and show how you would if you dared. She’ll be ready and willing enough. If you were half a man you would have read the signs in her eyes.”

“B-But what of Jane?” stammered Angus.

“If she’s a sensible girl she’ll understand and call you a fool if you missed your opportunity.”

“I have sworn… ”

“As a Douglas you are pledged to your family, my boy. Now, no more nonsense. How many men do you think there are at Court who wouldn’t give ten years of their lives to be in your position? The Queen desiring you! Go to it. You’re not a simpering boy now, you know. You’re a man.”

“I will not… ”

“God help us,” murmured Drummond; then his voice rose in a crescendo. “We are cursed with a Douglas who’s naught but a simpering ninny!”

“Grandfather,” began Angus helplessly.

Drummond took him by the arm. “I see,” he said, “that your uncles and I have to talk to you very seriously.”

Angus believed himself to be the most unhappy man at Court. Why, he kept asking, did his grandfather have to die? Why was he thrust into this position? How much better it would have been to have remained plain Archibald Douglas than become Earl of Angus. Then everyone would have said the match with Jane was a good one. Why had the Queen picked him out!

If he went to Jane and married her he would be continually reproached by his family; if he obeyed his family he would be forever reproached by Jane.

All his life he had been brought up to recognize the importance of belonging to a great family. In his family’s mansions like Whitehorn and Tantallan there were the Douglas arms and emblems in every room. Old Bell-the-Cat had played a big part in the history of Scotland; as it was deemed fitting that every head of the House of Douglas should do.

What can I do? he asked himself again and again.

He was in private audience with the Queen. His grandfather had arranged it, telling the Queen that his grandson Angus had asked it.

It was untrue; but now that he was alone with her he looked at her with a new interest.

There was no denying that she was beautiful. She looked particularly so today… eager and expectant, her eyes brilliant, her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders in a careless fashion that was very becoming. It was so long that she could have sat on it, and he was fascinated by its shining splendor.

She did not seem like a queen; indeed he fancied that she was trying to cast aside her royalty that they might appear as equals.

“My lord,” she said, “I hear you have something to say to me.”

“Your Grace… ,” he murmured and did not look at her.

She held out her hand, which he took because there was nothing else he could have done; she drew him toward her so that he was standing close to her seductive body; he could see by the rise and fall of her breast that she was a little agitated.

“You are thinking that I am the Queen,” she said. “Pray, my lord, forget that.”

“It is impossible to forget,” he said quietly.

“Nay. I am a woman and you are a man.” She took his other hand and drew him closer. She lifted her face to his and there was nothing else to do but kiss her. The passion which he met overwhelmed him. She clung to him, her body pressed against his, her kisses fierce, demanding.

She was beautiful; she was desirable, and they were both young; it was not difficult to respond.

At last she withdrew herself, her eyes half closed; she looked as though she were fainting with ecstasy.

“Angus… ,” she murmured. “My dearest Angus. Nothing shall keep us apart, I swear it.”

“Your Grace… ”

She held up a hand. “I have sworn it. I have thought of this matter for a long time. They will attempt to stop us, of course, but we’ll not allow it. My dearest love, you must not think of me as your Queen. There shall be no formality between us two. How I long for you! The marriage must take place at once.”

“Your Grace, there is something I must tell you.”

“Not ‘Your Grace.’ Say ‘Margaret.’ I am Margaret to you now and henceforth. There will be opposition, but I have spoken to Lord Drummond who will arrange this matter for us. He is shrewd and wise. There is going to be no delay. Soon, my love, you and I shall be in each other’s arms.” She laughed. “How you deceived me! There were times when you convinced me that you did not care for me at all. Oh, how wretched you made me! But it is all over now.”

She threw herself into his arms again; the passionate embrace was repeated. And what could Angus do but respond? A man would have to be an eunuch not to, he told himself. She was so beautiful, so eager, and a queen withal! The situation had a piquancy to tempt any man’s fidelity.

She would not let him speak; she stopped his lips with her kisses; and who would dare explain his feeling for another woman when the Queen’s lips were on his? And afterward he dared not make an attempt. How could he tell her, when she had made such a confession of her own feelings, that he did not share them? How could he so insult a queen?

Margaret was grateful to the grandfather and uncles of her beloved. Lord Drummond had told her that he would arrange for the wedding ceremony to take place, and she could safely leave such matters to him. His nephew, Walter Drummond, was Dean of Dunblane and parson of Kinnoul, so the pair could be married in the utmost secrecy in his church at Kinnoul.

Margaret wanted to show her gratitude to these accommodating gentlemen, and she began by nominating Gavin Douglas as Bishop of Dunkeld. He overwhelmed her with thanks, and she replied that she would never forget his goodness and could wish to have bestowed an even greater reward. She hinted that when it was possible the Primacy of Scotland should be his.

The brothers and Lord Drummond consulted together. Drummond was triumphant. “You see,” he cried. “A bishopric already and a promise of the Primacy! I assure you, my friends, that in a short time the Douglases and their connections will be ruling Scotland. It is well that Angus is so young; he will be the more easily guided. But we must get this marriage made before our intentions become known. You are aware, as well as I am, that there are men in Scotland who would rise in civil war to prevent it if they knew what we planned.”

“Then… ,” began Sir Archibald nervously, but Drummond silenced him.

“Nay, Sir Chicken-heart. We play for big stakes. We’ll take a risk or two. And if we did not go forward now I doubt not our warm-blooded Queen would do so without our help.”

On a warm August day, not twelve months after the battle of Flodden Field, Margaret married the Earl of Angus in Kinnoul Church.

She did not stop to think of the consequences of this marriage. All that mattered was that this handsome boy who had long occupied her thoughts was now her husband.

Her one desire was to abandon herself to the passion which obsessed her.

Later she could consider how she would explain her conduct to her people.