The Thistle and the Rose

The Deserted Queen

Margaret was as happy as she had been during the first weeks of her marriage to James. Angus gave no sign that he was not as deeply enamored of her as she was of him. He was caught up in the wave of her sensuality; she was more experienced than he, having lived for so many years with that expert lover, James IV; there was much she could teach him and he was lusty enough to be a ready pupil. It was too uncomfortable to think about Jane Stuart during those weeks, so he did his best to forget her. He discovered that he was growing up; he was no longer a romantic boy, and he began to realize how wise his grandfather and uncles had been in urging him to this marriage.

Margaret was so deeply in love that she was only happy when she was with him; she promised him all that he could wish. She showered presents on him. “I want to give you everything you could desire in exchange for all the pleasure you have given me,” she told him.

He replied that the pleasure he had given her could not compare with that which she had given him; and only occasionally did he feel a twinge of conscience on Jane’s account.

She would understand, he soothed himself. The Queen had commanded him to be her husband and none could disobey a royal command.

The secrecy which attended their marriage gave it an additional spice. Margaret believed that she had found lasting happiness; but it was foolish to suppose such a secret could be kept for long.

It was in October that the opportunity arose to bestow the Primacy of Scotland on Gavin Douglas, and Margaret carelessly threw the office to the uncle of her beloved husband.

There was an immediate outcry among the nobles. Why should the Queen select this hitherto somewhat insignificant prelate for such a great honor. Only recently she had bestowed on him the Bishopric of Dunkeld. What had he done to deserve it? Old Bell-the-Cat had headed many a revolt in his time. Were they going to stand by and see the Douglas clan leap into power again?

There was clearly some reason why the Douglas clan had come into sudden favor.

It did not take long for the secret to be discovered, and a Council meeting was hastily called. The lords assembled, their feelings outraged by the discovery. It was an insult to them and Scotland that the Queen had married without consulting them; and that she should have married Angus added to the injury. Who did this Tudor woman think she was? they asked themselves. Her only right to the crown was through Scottish James, and before he had been dead a year she had shamelessly remarried.

Lord Home addressed the assembly.

“Hitherto,” he said, “we have shown our willingness to honor the Queen, although it is against the custom of our country that women should rule. But because our beloved King and Sovereign, James IV, created her Regent, we have allowed her to remain so. All well and good while she retained her widowhood; but she is no longer a widow. I put forward the motion that we depose the Queen from the Regency, and once more ask the Duke of Albany to come to Scotland to act as Regent; and that we summon the Queen to our presence that we may acquaint her of our displeasure.”

This was agreed, and Sir William Comyn, Lyon King, was sent to deliver the Council’s message.

Margaret refused to be shaken out of her idyll. This, she told herself, was what she had longed for in the early days of her marriage to James. It had been denied her, but she did not care now; for now she was happily married; her husband was the most beautiful man in Scotland and she was fast teaching him to be the most erotic. She was completely satisfied with her private life and was prepared to forget, for as long as she would be allowed to do so, that there was another side to a queen’s existence.

She was at Stobhall, Lord Drummond’s mansion, shut away from the Court, with her husband, feeling young and joyous, trying to make each glorious day and night last for as long as she could.

Lord Drummond looked on well content and made sure that the lovers had every opportunity for solitude. He doubted Margaret had ever before known what it meant to live a private life. Each day she became more and more enamored of his grandson. They were indeed a handsome couple. Drummond believed that there must by now be a Douglas heir on the way — his great grandson. This was a time of glory for the Douglases, and for the first time since the tragedy he ceased to mourn the loss of his daughter Margaret.

When rumors came to Stobhall, Drummond did not allow them to disturb the lovers. Of course it was absurd to imagine that the secret could be kept forever, but let them go on believing themselves safe from controversy.

Then news was brought to him that Lyon King was on his way to Stobhall, and he realized immediately that he could not keep from the young couple the news that their marriage was no longer a secret.

He went to them and told them what was happening.

“Lyon King is on his way to bring a message to Your Grace,” he said. “He will summon you to appear before the Council.”

“For what purpose?” asked Margaret.

“To discuss Your Grace’s marriage.”

“My marriage is my own affair,” retorted Margaret, knowing that it was not.

Angus, who had ceased to be a somewhat timid boy in the last weeks, took her hand and kissed it. “It is our affair,” he said. “I’ll not allow them to insult you.”

She gave him a loving glance and turned to Drummond who added: “It will be necessary to receive Lyon King when he arrives, and I think we should make of it a ceremonial occasion to remind him that he is in the presence of the Queen of Scotland. Your Grace should wear the crown; and your husband should be beside you. I ask your gracious permission to be present also.”

“My dear Lord Drummond,” said Margaret, “it shall be as you advise, for I am sure you are right, now as always.”

Thus it was that when Sir William Comyn arrived he found the Queen with Angus and Drummond waiting to receive him.

Comyn came into their presence clad in the insignia of his office, almost as grand a figure as Margaret in her crown and robes of ermine.

His first words were enough to show her and Drummond the intentions of the Council, for instead of addressing her as his sovereign, Comyn began: “My Lady Queen, the mother of His Grace the King… ”

Drummond, whose temper, always fiery, was more easily aroused when he knew himself to be in a desperate position, was seized with sudden fury. He had married his grandson to the Queen Regent; how dared Lyon-King-at-Arms address her merely as the mother of the young King!

Impetuously he boxed the ears of the Lyon King.

There was absolute silence which lasted for several seconds. Comyn had been solemnly crowned Lyon-King-at-Arms by King James IV and, since he represented the crown and state, his rank was as sacred as that of a royal person. Never in the history of Scotland had Lyon-King-at-Arms been treated, during the course of his duty, with anything but the greatest respect.

Comyn, startled into silence, was in those ominous seconds uncertain how to act. Then bowing to the Queen he turned slowly and walked from the room.

The silence continued. All three knew that this was an insult which would never be forgotten.

This was the signal for revolt, for it was hardly likely that the nobles of Scotland would accept such a state of affairs. The Queen Regent married in secret, to satisfy her lust, before her husband had been dead a year! The hated Douglases, to climb to the highest positions through young Angus! Lyon King himself insulted by the arrogant Drummond!

The first act must be to set before Albany the urgency of his immediate return; and the best person to convey the need for his presence in Scotland was the insulted Lyon King. He should set out for France immediately.

The Lord Chancellor, Beaton, Archbishop of Glasgow, gave expression to his disapproval of the marriage which had taken place when their beloved sovereign was scarcely cold; and Margaret, urged on by Drummond and Angus, decided that she would deprive Beaton of his office immediately. There were Douglases ready to take over all the most important posts in Scotland. So she sent Angus to Perth to arrest Beaton and take the Seal of Office from him.

The warlike lords lost no time in rousing trouble. The Queen’s supporters — mostly members of the Douglas clan and their hangers-on — were besieged in their castles by the anti-Queen-and-Douglas party. Gavin Douglas was one of those to suffer, and Drummond was in imminent danger of arrest. The Parliament stood against the Queen and it seemed that there were two rulers in Scotland; the Parliament in Edinburgh, and the Queen in Stirling or Perth.

Margaret was growing shrewd. She had immediately written to her brother Henry, telling him of her marriage to Angus and implying that the reason she had married with such speed was because she believed it was the plan of Parliament to bring Albany over and marry her to him. It was true he had a wife living, but she was not enjoying good health and moreover, as she was his cousin, Margaret believed a divorce was planned. She had realized how much against such an alliance her dear brother would be, for Albany was entirely French in sympathy and if he were ruler of Scotland he would never rest until he had brought war into her brother’s kingdom.

The reply from Henry was as Margaret had expected. The last thing he wanted was to see Albany in Scotland, so he gave his approval to the match with Angus and stated that he was happy to accept him as a brother-in-law.

Lyon-King-at-Arms was shipwrecked on his way to France, which caused great hilarity among the Douglases.

“God is clearly of our party!” Margaret said gleefully, and of course the Douglases shared her opinion.

But that did not mean that other messengers were not arriving in France and that Albany was being made aware of his duty to Scotland.

This was the waiting period. The trouble was confined to small skirmishes and had not erupted into civil war. The main reason for this was that Margaret was the sister of Henry VIII who would naturally be watching for any weakness in the Scottish defenses.

Scotland was in no state to withstand invasion from England.

The Duke of Albany had received a communication that the King would be hunting near his estates and proposed staying a night at his château, which threw his household into a state of tension only produced by a royal visit. François Premier, King of a few months, was a man who had already caught the imagination of his people, even as Henry VIII of England had his. Both these Kings were young, handsome, and lusty; and they had succeeded misers. Everywhere they went their dazzling magnificence delighted their subjects; and their reigns had as yet not been long enough for the people to ask themselves whither such kingly extravagances led.

Albany himself had been a friend of François for many years, all during that time when as Duc d’Angoulême the latter had lived in constant fear that Louis XII would produce a son who would oust him from the succession.

But there had been no son and now François was firmly on the throne; and he was honoring his old friend with a visit, which Albany knew meant that the King was going to give him some command.

Albany was eager to serve François, for the friendship between them was a true one; he enjoyed the witty conversation of the young King — the discussions on art, literature, and architecture, for François, lecherous and a keen sportsman though he was, prided himself first of all on his intellectual leanings.

He arrived at the château and was greeted with respectful affection by his friend. The banquet was almost comparable with those served in François’s own palaces and châteaux; and it was the next day, when they hunted together, that Albany learned the purpose of the King’s visit.

When they were riding side by side, François said: “My dear friend, I am afraid I am going to ask you to do something for France which may not be to your taste.”

“My liege, whatever was asked of me by François and France would immediately become to my taste.”

“Spoken like a Frenchman,” answered François with a light laugh. “You are more Frenchman than Scotsman, my dear Jehan. That is why it grieves me to ask this of you.”

“Sire, you are asking me to go to Scotland?”

Francois nodded mournfully. “I have received a plea from the Scottish Parliament. Your presence is needed there.”

Albany was silent, looking at the country about him which he loved, thinking of his wife whom he would have to leave behind, for her health was giving cause for great anxiety, and the rigors of the Scottish climate would surely kill her. He thought of the pleasures of his visits to Court which, now that François was on the throne, would be more enchanting than ever.

“My dear fellow,” went on François, “this is my sorrow as well as yours. I shall miss you. But see what is happening in your barbarous Scotland. The Regent Queen will be her brother’s vassal shortly. She has alienated the majority of the noblemen, but they dare not rise against her for fear of that young coxcomb below the Border. He is an irritant, that young cockerel. We can never be sure when he is going to strike, and the last thing we can afford is a harmonious relationship between England and Scotland; so it is necessary that Henry be in perpetual fear of attack from the North. Scotland must therefore be the friend of France and, if you were Regent, my dear friend, I could happily believe that you would never forget that half of you belongs to us. It is for this reason that I ask you to leave at once for Scotland, to take the Regency.”

“Sire, you have spoken. It is enough.”

“Thank you, my friend. I knew I could rely on you. The English Margaret must be stripped of her power, and the best way of doing this is to take the young King out of her charge. Let that be your first duty. Then, when you are the guardian of the little Princes, when you are Regent of Scotland, Henry’s sister will be powerless to move against us; and the friendship between France and Scotland will be firm.”

“I shall endeavor to obey my master’s wishes.”

“Faith of a gentleman!” cried François. “This might have been a most happy day but for this sad necessity. Would I could prolong my visit. But I must not delay you. You will have some preparations to make for your journey. This day I shall return to Paris and you will be making your way to Scotland. But we shall meet again… erelong.”

So now there would be no avoiding this unpleasant duty. Now he would not be able to send a deputy.

Within three days John Stuart, Duke of Albany, set out for Scotland.

It was on May 18 of that year, 1515, when Albany landed at Dumbarton.

Margaret had been forced to agree to his coming because, apart from the Douglases, she had scarcely any supporters in Scotland; and there was one great fear that had come to her, which was that when Albany took over the Regency he would attempt to take her children from her.

Margaret loved her sons devotedly and the thought of losing control of them terrified her. The Parliament had pointed out to her that, although James IV had appointed her Regent and tutrix of James V, he had not known that she would so insult his memory by marrying again before he had been dead a year.

In her anxiety for the future of her children she forgot her desire to cling to power. She was an emotional woman before she was a ruler. Her love for Angus had put her into this difficult position; her love for her children was now making her frantic.

One of her greatest enemies was that Border baron, Lord Home, and when Albany arrived it was Home who set out to welcome him accompanied by ten thousand horsemen of his clan.

Home was magnificently dressed in green velvet, and he believed that by greeting Albany thus immediately as he came ashore, he would find himself highly favored by the new Regent.

But before the meeting between Albany and Home, the Regent had received his old friend de la Bastie, for he was anxious, before committing himself to any promises or friendships, to hear what his deputy had to report of affairs in Scotland.

De la Bastie told him of the conflict which was raging throughout the land and suggested that he be particularly wary of Lord Home who was now eager to greet him, for like most Border barons he was capable of changing his coat at the first opportunity. It was whispered that Home had not supported the King as he might have done at Flodden; and it was because Margaret had voiced a suspicion of this that he had set himself up as the chief enemy of her and the Douglases. Albany would do well to beware of Home.

Thus, when the two men came face-to-face, Albany did not extend that cordiality which Home was expecting, and as Home rode forward with a smile of welcome, Albany’s gaze was cool.

“I’m Lord Home, Your Grace,” explained Home. “I have most humbly come to place myself and my men at your disposal.”

“Lord Home?” said the Regent. “I thought one so handsomely attired must be a king. Such a band of followers, such fine raiment, are scarcely suitable for a subject who wishes to display his humble desire to serve.”

With that he turned away, leaving Home discomfited.

Not that Home would accept such an insult. He rode back to his men, savage anger showing on his face.

He had made up his mind. In those few moments he had ceased to be the friend of Albany; and since he was Albany’s enemy he must be Margaret’s friend.

Margaret, in Edinburgh Castle, knew that she must make a pretense of greeting the Regent. She had agreed that he should come, albeit she had been forced to do so; but she must hide her rancor and pretend to welcome him. She wondered what kind of man he was. He was a royal Stuart — that much she knew — and they were notorious for their fascination.

She was faintly disappointed, though she would not admit this, in her handsome Angus. While they were enjoying their secret honeymoon he had been all that was wonderful; but now that he saw the strife their marriage had made all about them, he was beginning to be afraid, and instead of the conquering young husband there were times when he betrayed himself as a frightened boy.

He was vain enough and ambitious enough to enjoy being the Queen’s husband; but he did not enjoy finding himself at the mercy of powerful enemies such as Arran who quite clearly hated him because of his new position.

But Margaret refused to face this aspect of her husband’s character for she was still deeply in love with his handsome body.

At the same time she allowed the women who were doing her hair to chatter about Albany.

“They say he is a great hero in France, a friend of the King and noted for his bravery in battle. And there’s something else they say. He is furious because of Your Grace’s marriage.”

“My marriage is no concern of his,” declared Margaret.

The women laughed. “Oh, but he has seen Your Grace’s picture. And it has been said that he fell in love with it and hoped that there would be a marriage waiting for him in Scotland.”

“What nonsense! He has a wife. I have a husband.”

“But, Your Grace, he did not know of your marriage… and they say his wife is ill and cannot live long.”

“Well, even if he had such plans, they must come to naught.”

Margaret smiled at her reflection in the burnished metal of the mirror. She placed her hands on her stomach and reveled in the slight swelling there. His child, she thought, and mine.

She hoped for a boy who would look exactly like her handsome husband, but she could not but be sorry that with all this trouble rising around her she must also suffer the inconvenience of a pregnancy.

It was time for her now to ride out to greet Albany; and she had decided that she would be gracious, for he was her late husband’s uncle and a Royal Stuart; but she would be wary, and if he attempted to take her babies from her she would fight with everything she had.

When she saw him she was struck by his handsome looks. There was no doubt of the Stuart blood; that indefinable charm which seemed to be their birthright was there in the broad face with the humorous eyes; his hair and beard were dark, as were his eyes, and his manners were more courteous than those she had come to expect from the Scottish lords. He appeared to be in his midthirties, the prime of life, she thought.

“Welcome to Scotland,” she said; and he answered: “I thank my gracious Queen.”

Then they rode to Holyrood House where the Regent was to have his lodging; and later that day Margaret went back to the Castle.

For all his charm the Regent acted with sternness and speed. His first victim was Lord Drummond who was called before the Council and sentenced to imprisonment in Blackness Castle for his conduct toward Lyon-King-at-Arms. Gavin Douglas was also imprisoned for aspiring to the Primacy; and in fear Margaret awaited the next blow which she was certain would be the removal of her children from her care.

Those Scottish lords who saw the beginning of the downfall of the Douglases, deserted her, and the only supporters she now had were her husband, Angus, and the disgruntled Lord Home who might so easily desert her for the other side if she were to offend him in any way. Still, she must make the best of what she had, and if Home was untrustworthy he was also powerful.

Margaret herself went from the Castle to Holyrood House to plead for the release of Lord Drummond, an old man, she explained, who had acted impulsively when he had struck the Lyon King. Albany, eager not to alienate Margaret too strongly, at length agreed to pardon Drummond; this was done, and his estates were restored to him.

But Margaret was growing more and more uneasy because, when his powerful grandfather and uncle had been imprisoned, Angus had become really perturbed. He often thought with remorse of the way in which he had treated Jane Stuart; and he longed to see her, to explain how he had been carried away by his powerful family and the Queen’s insistence. Margaret sensed his lack of ease, and although not aware of his thoughts about Jane, she wondered how strong he would be in a dire emergency. She excused him on account of his youth — the very quality which so appealed to her. She comforted him and told him that all would be well for them if they were loyal to each other.

“As I shall always be to you,” she told him tenderly.

But the Regent and his Council were determined to take her sons from her care, and it was arranged in the Tolbooth that four peers should be chosen to go to the Castle and demand that the children be handed to them.

Margaret’s castle spy brought this information to her and, being warned, she was determined not to let the children go without a struggle.

She went to the nursery where young James was being amused by David Lindsay who was singing one of the old Scotch ballads known as “Ginkerton.” The young Duke of Ross was sleeping in his cot in a nearby room.

“My son,” she cried, “come here to me.”

“But Davie’s singing,” James told her.

“I know, my darling, but we’re going to play a game… you and I and your little brother. So David shall stop singing now.”

“I like ‘Ginkerton’ best.”

“Your Grace,” began David, who could see that she was in a state of tension, “is there aught I can do?”

“Yes, David. Go and tell the nurse to bring little Alexander from his cot.”

“It is his hour for sleep.”

“I know. I know. But this is important.” She drew him aside and whispered: “Albany is sending certain peers to the Castle for the children.”

David turned pale. “Your Grace… ”

“Go and tell the child’s nurse to bring him to me. I am going to try to hold them off.”

“Why cannot Davie sing ‘Ginkerton’?” demanded three-yearold James.

“Because it is not part of this game.”

“I like ‘Ginkerton’ better than this game.”

“Never mind that now, my darling. We are going down to the portcullis. You will see a lot of people. You like seeing the people.”

James nodded and began to hum “Ginkerton.”

When the nurse had appeared, carrying the little Duke of Ross in her arms, Margaret said: “Follow me.” And she took James’s hand in hers and led the way down to the Castle gates.

She could hear the noises in the streets, for the four peers had set out from the Tolbooth and the townsfolk, guessing what was afoot, had followed them. On the way she was joined by Angus, looking very pale, and some of the ladies and gentlemen of her household. When they reached the portcullis Margaret demanded that it be raised, and when this was done, the four peers and all the people who had followed them saw the Queen holding the little King by the hand. A few paces behind her was the nurse holding the baby, while Angus and the members of her household formed a semicircle about her.

It was a charming and startling picture, and for a few seconds there was a breathless silence before the people of Edinburgh began to cheer wildly.

Margaret, her eyes seeming more brilliant than usual because of her high color, looked completely regal — but a mother as well; and as such she had on her side every woman in that crowd which had assembled, and almost every man. It was what she had hoped for.

The four peers were approaching, and she called to them to halt.

“I command you to state the cause of your coming before you take one step nearer to your sovereign,” she cried in a loud voice.

“Your Grace,” replied the spokesman of the four, “we come in the name of the Parliament to receive the King and his infant brother.”

There was absolute silence in the crowd as it watched the conflict of wills, as it speculated as to who would win this first round of a mighty battle — the Queen or the new Regent and his Parliament.

Margaret commanded: “Drop the portcullis.”

The great iron gate rumbled down between the royal group and the parliamentary representatives.

“The King, my husband, made me governess of this castle,” she cried in a ringing voice, “and I shall not yield it. But the Parliament of this country I must respect, and I ask that I be given six days in which to consider what they ask of me.”

Then turning, with her train following her, she walked back into the castle.

Angus was alarmed. The scene had been effective in the eyes of the spectators, but he was sure it had been an empty victory. When his grandfather and uncles had persuaded him to marry the Queen he had not visualized such alarming events. He had thought it was going to be all Court pleasures with himself at the Queen’s right hand.

He thought of the power which was massed against them, for it seemed to him that the only supporters the Queen had were the Douglases and the unreliable Lord Home. His grandfather seemed broken by what had happened to him, and well he might be, for he had come very near to losing all he possessed.

The thought of losing all his possessions alarmed Angus, so on an impulse he wrote to Albany telling him that it had not been his wish to take part in that affecting scene at the portcullis. He had wished to obey the Parliament’s mandate, and indeed had advised his wife to do so.

Sweating with fear, he called for a messenger and ordered him to take the letter to the Regent Albany with all speed.

Margaret could not rest. Her thoughts kept going back to an event in her family which suggested a parallel with the position in which she now found herself.

When Edward IV had died his widow, Elizabeth Woodville, had been asked to surrender the young King and his brother. This she had most reluctantly done and they had been lodged in the Tower of London. In that tower of many secrets they had disappeared, and none knew what their fate had been.

How could she give up her little James and Alexander? They were so young and tender. If they died, Albany could claim the throne. She had seen this man; his looks were noble, his manner chivalrous. Yet whom could one trust?

Six days to keep them while she pretended to consider handing them over. During those six days she forgot everything but the desire to keep her children with her.

On the fifth day she wrote to the Parliament telling them that if they would allow her to keep the little King and his brother in her care she would maintain them on her dowry, and that she would allow certain noblemen to share in their guardianship. She guessed of course that the Parliament would not agree to this and, on the fifth day, she told Angus that she dared remain in Edinburgh Castle no longer. “For they will come and take the children,” she said. “I know they will not accept my conditions.”

“Then there is only one thing you can do,” Angus insisted. “Give up the children.”

“Give up the children! I remember what happened in the case of other princes lodged in the Tower of London.”

“I believe Albany to be an honorable man.”

“I trust no man,” retorted Margaret, and she looked at him appealingly as though imploring him to allow her at least to keep her trust in him.

“You daren’t go against the wishes of the Parliament.”

“I dare!” said Margaret firmly. “We are going to leave for Stirling Castle tonight.”

Angus was now really alarmed. “What good will that do?”

“I do not know, except that I shall have a little respite in which to think. I have told my attendants to make ready. We should leave soon after dusk.”

“W-we… ?” stammered Angus. “I would not come.”

“Would you not?” replied Margaret, her disappointment wounding her so bitterly that it subdued the fire of her anger.

“Nay,” said Angus, “’twill do no good and only anger the Parliament. I shall return to my estates until this trouble has blown over. I’d rather hear the lark sing in the open country than the mouse cheep in prison walls.”

“I see,” said Margaret, “that I must go without you.”

“’Tis better so,” answered Angus with a sigh of relief. “You have no chance against Albany, mark my words. He has the backing of the Parliament. He’ll be less harsh with a woman — being a Frenchman — than he’d be toward me. Do as you wish, but it would not be well if he thought I had any part in this.”

“Then goodbye… till we meet again,” replied Margaret.

That evening she and her attendants, with the children, came stealthily out of Edinburgh Castle; and as she rode through the night she was a frightened woman. What will become of my little ones? she asked herself. And she tried to forget that, in this desperate need, the man who should have stood beside her had deserted her lest through remaining with her he might hear the cheep of a mouse within prison walls.

He had been right, of course. What chance had she against a great military leader such as Albany? The flight to Stirling had been the one move left open to a desperate woman, and it could only mean delaying the inevitable climax for a few days — at best a few weeks.

On receiving Angus’s communication, Albany had been disgusted.

Poor woman, he thought, and a brave one too. How did she come to choose such a spouse, so childishly young, so ready to desert her side at the first sign of danger?

But for all his sympathy he had his duty to do; while Margaret kept the custody of the King she would be a formidable power; without him hers would be an empty title. Moreover he had to keep his word to the King of France whom he looked upon as his sovereign.

So he prepared to march to Stirling and slyly sent word to Angus that, as he wished to serve the Parliament, he should accompany the army which was about to leave for Stirling, its object being to secure the persons of the young King and his brother.

He felt a little less contemptuous when he received Angus’s reply that, although he wished to serve the Parliament, he could not join an army which was marching against his wife.

So Angus stayed on his estates while Albany marched on Stirling.

Margaret, deserted by her husband, knowing that she could not withstand a siege, decided that the only thing she could do was surrender to Albany; and then trust to her wits to bring her children back to her.

Thus, when Albany and his army arrived at the castle, Margaret ordered that the gates be thrown open, and she was revealed standing there with James beside her.

In his little hand he held the big keys of the castle and, walking up to the Regent Albany, as he had been told to do, he solemnly presented them to him.

Margaret’s sense of showmanship was superb; and as before the portcullis of Edinburgh Castle, all the spectators were moved to tears at the sight of that small and handsome boy, handing over the keys of the castle.

Albany knelt and took the keys, then he kissed the boy’s hand; and as though overcome by emotion he took him into his arms and embraced him while the watchers cheered.

James extricated himself and studied Albany intently. Then he said in his high, piping voice: “Can you sing ‘Ginkerton’?”

“I doubt that,” answered Albany with a smile.

“Davie can and so can I,” answered the young James, with the faintest sign of contempt; but he evidently liked the look of Albany, for he allowed his hand to remain in his as they walked to the Queen, when Albany bowed with all the respect that she could wish for.

Margaret was smiling, but she was thinking: I have surrendered my children. Shall I ever take them away from him?

Margaret had handed her children over to Albany in August, and she was expecting Angus’s child in October. As always during such times she suffered a great deal, and she was impatient with herself because she felt so weak.

While she planned for the arrival of the new baby she yearned for her sons and at times, frustrated as she was, she cried hysterically for them.

Again and again she recalled the fate of the Princes who had disappeared while in the Tower of London.

“How do I know that a similar fate does not await my own darlings!” she demanded. “Why has Albany come to Scotland? It is because he wants the throne. He is another Richard III. My little ones are in imminent danger.”

Spies flourished in such a situation, and there were many to report her words to Albany.

“She is accusing you of intending to murder the King and his brother,” he was told.

“Nay,” answered Albany, “do not blame her; she is a woman crying for her children. It grieves me that we must take them from her, but when she married young Angus she brought this on herself. Would that I could do aught to relieve her anxiety, but I cannot.”

In her calmer moments Margaret began to plan; and at last she made up her mind what she would do.

She was going to make a desperate attempt to recover her children and, when she had done so, to take them over the Border into her brother’s country where she would ask for refuge.

Angus had proved himself to be overweak; but there was Lord Home whose hatred for Albany was so intense that he was prepared to undertake any action against him. So she sent for Home and laid her plan before him.

“As you know, my lord,” she explained, “my time is coming near and my pregnancies have always caused me great suffering. I am therefore going into retirement at Linlithgow where I shall observe all the rules laid out by my grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, and thereby hope for an easy labor. At least that is what I wish everyone to believe; and I shall write to my brother telling him, for I know full well all the letters I write to him are seen by my enemies. While I am in Linlithgow I shall arrange for the abduction of my children and our escape across the border, and in this you shall help me.”

This was a project which appealed to Lord Home, for if he could bring about the rescue of the royal children it would be clear to Albany how foolish he had been not to cultivate his friendship.

He therefore threw himself wholeheartedly into the plan, and it was decided that Margaret should escape to Tantallan, the Douglas home near the Border, while Home’s Borderers should set fire to a small town near Stirling. Albany would then surely release some of the guards from Stirling Castle, where the royal children were, in order that they might defend the town. Home would then seize the opportunity to kidnap them and carry them to Tantallan where the Queen would be waiting to leave for England.

Now that she had a definite plan, Margaret’s spirits rose and she ceased to mourn, because she was certain that in a short time she, with her husband and children and the newborn little one, would be in the protection of her great brother Henry, where none would dare molest them.

She wrote to her brother the letter which she knew would be intercepted and shown to Albany and his ministers.

My dearest brother,

I write to you at this time to tell you that I propose to take to my chamber and lie in at my Palace of Linlithgow within this twelve days, for there are but eight weeks to my time. Matters go well here in Scotland under the new Regent and that is a great comfort to me at this time. I pray Jesus to send me a safe delivery and to have you, my dearest brother, in his good keeping…

She was smiling to herself, imagining Albany reading the letter, and his comments as he did so. He would congratulate himself that she had overcome her hysterical desire to keep her children with her; doubtless he would call her a woman of sound good sense.

Good sense indeed! she thought.

She had had the chamber at Linlithgow hung with tapestry and even the windows were covered with it, because her grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, who had had more influence with her son than any other person, had laid down a law as to how royal ladies should be treated in childbed, and one of the first rules was that all light and air should be excluded from the chamber; but the tapestry covering one window, however, might be placed so that it could be easily drawn aside, for in pregnancy women often had strange fancies which it was unwise to deny; and if a fancy for light and air should overtake an expectant mother, unwelcome as it was, she should be humored. All those who waited on her during her confinement must be women; therefore the tasks of chamberlains, pantlers, ushers, and sewers, which might at other times be allotted to men, must be done by women. Only in the case of dire need must a man be allowed into the chamber.

Such an atmosphere suited Margaret’s purpose. In her shrouded chamber in Linlithgow Palace she would work out her plan.

She was ready for the escape, but there was one matter which disturbed her. How could she leave Angus whom she sorely missed? She had already forgiven him his disaffection. He is so young, she told herself. It must have been a great shock to him to see his grandfather imprisoned. I doubt not that he is ashamed of his action by now; and he at least would not march against me.

She longed to see him; but she was supposed to be surrounded only by females, so how could she summon Angus to her? There was one way. If she were very ill and asked to see her husband no one would be very surprised if he came.

Very soon the people of Scotland were talking of the poor Queen’s sickness and the trouble which always attended her pregnancies. Poor lady, they said, she came near to death with the others even when she lived at ease. How will she fare now that she is in such sad state?

And they hourly expected to hear that the Queen was dead.

Angus came riding to Linlithgow in answer to her summons.

She received him in the tapestry-hung lying-in chamber. He was a little shamefaced, but she quickly set him at ease by embracing him, telling him how sadly she had missed him and how happy she was to see his dear face again.

Realizing that there were to be no reproaches, Angus’s relief was apparent. He returned her embrace and told her that he was happy now they were together again.

“And you will stay with me until our child is born,” she announced.

“Can that be so?” he asked. “Do you not wish to be surrounded only by women?”

She laughed. “That was my grandmother’s law. I make my own laws. I doubt not that our child will be born in England.”

Angus was aghast. “But how so?”

“Because, my love, tonight we are going to steal out of Linlithgow. We are going to Tantallan and there make our way across the Border.”

“But the Parliament… ”

“Do you think I care for the Parliament? I am tired of the Parliament. I am the Queen of Scotland, whatever they decree. And I shall have my say.”

Angus was wishing that he had not come to Linlithgow, but now that he was in her presence he felt the force of her character. Her enthusiasms were always so great that he was caught up in them. Thus it had been when she had made him aware of her desire to marry him. He had wanted to refuse then and had been unable to; it was the same now.

She put her arms about his neck and brought her glowing face close to his. “It will be pleasant to spend a night together at Tantallan. As soon as we have escaped I shall send a message to my brother imploring him for sanctuary. I long to be at the English Court. I have heard it has become truly magnificent since my father’s death.”

“You cannot leave your sons in Scotland!”

“Nay, nay. They shall be with us.” She was laughing wildly because she was so happy to see his handsome face again; and she could tell herself that she loved him all the more because of his very bewilderment. She had the same tenderness for him as she had for her little James and Alexander. He was but a boy really. Younger than she was in years… and so much younger in experience.

“I will take care of you,” she said. “I will make you happy.”

“I-I had expected to find you ill,” he stammered.

“It was the only way to get you here without suspicion. I am not ill. The thought of outwitting my enemies makes me feel full of health and vigor. How I should love to see their faces when they discover that we have gone!”

She then told him of Home’s plan to make a diversion while he kidnapped the boys.

“This time tomorrow we shall all be at Tantallan,” she told him. “And then… on to the Border.”

“You are in no condition to travel. I cannot allow you… ”

She patted his cheek. “My loved one, I shall be well enough for the journey. Our son will be born before we reach London mayhap. But we shall be together… my husband and my boys… as we were meant to be.”

Angus could see that nothing he could say would dissuade her. He would have to go forward, for there was no way back.

That night, when it was dark, cloaked figures slipped out of Linlithgow Palace to where saddled horses awaited them.

How exhilarating, thought Margaret, to ride through the night, her husband beside her, his child in her womb. And all the time she was thinking of Home in Stirling Castle, snatching up her beloved boys and riding through the night with them, as she rode with Angus.

Then she knew that, much as she longed for power, there was one thing that meant more to her than anything in the world: her own family. That must be so, for her greatest ambition at that moment was to have them all safely under her care even though she never saw Scotland again.

Margaret was exhausted when they arrived at Tantallan for the journey had been strenuous on account of her condition, but she did not realize this until they arrived, and she was impatiently awaiting the coming of Lord Home with her children.

When he came she went down to the great hall to meet him and, seeing that the children were not with him, she almost fainted in her dismay.

“My lord,” she cried. “The King and his brother… ?”

“Alas, Your Grace, we were unable to carry out our plan. Albany must have guessed — or mayhap we were betrayed. We fired the town, but never a guard was called off from the castle, and it was impossible to have access to the apartments of the King and his brother.”

Angus put his arm about his wife to steady her. More than ever he wished himself out of this.

Margaret was speechless with misery and, now that her hopes were destroyed, all the discomforts of her condition returned.

Angus, with her women, helped her to her bedchamber where she lay on her bed in melancholy silence; he then dismissed all her attendants and sat by her bed, seeking words which would soothe her.

But she would not be comforted. She murmured: “My babies… my little sons… What will become of them?”

“They’ll be well enough,” Angus soothed her. “None will dare harm the King.”

“They dared harm Edward V when he was held in the Tower with his brother.”

“This is Scotland… ”

“Ten times more barbarous than England.”

“I am certain the King and his brother will be safe.”

“You but say that to comfort me. There is no comfort for me. How dare they part such babies from their mother. Oh, God, why have you deserted me? Why are they not with me here this night as I had planned?”

“It was a plan doomed to failure,” began Angus.

She raised herself on her elbow and gazed at him dispassionately.

“Yes,” she said, “you would never have attempted it, would you? You would have preferred to go cap in hand to Albany.”

“The Douglases never go cap in hand,” Angus retorted.

“I rejoice to see some spirit left in you,” she answered. “But perhaps it is only there when you are facing a helpless woman.”

Angus rose and haughtily left her.

It was the first time she had spoken thus to him, but she did not care.

She wanted only her babies, for she was beginning to fear that she might never see them again.

Silently she wept, and she continued so until exhausted she slept; then her dreams were disturbed by two little boys — not her own two; these were older; and they were not in the apartments of Stirling Castle; they played together within the gray walls of the Tower of London.

There was no time to be lost. Now that it would be known that an unsuccessful attempt had been made to kidnap the King and his brother, and that the Queen was sheltering in Tantallan, an army would be sent to capture her.

She must escape into England; but dared she enter that country without first receiving permission from her brother to do so?

She had written to him of her dire need, but so far had had no reply. But to stay at Tantallan would be folly.

So early next morning Margaret and her party set out for the Border. Now that she knew her sons would have to be left behind in Scotland all the joy had gone out of the adventure, and everyone exclaimed at the Queen’s look of exhaustion.

Angus rode beside her, his handsome face somewhat sullen; and the party’s progress was necessarily impeded, for the Queen could not endanger the child she carried by traveling at greater speed.

It soon became clear that they could not go on, and as they were in the neighborhood of Coldstream Priory they decided they must rest there; and the Lady Prioress, who was related to Margaret’s Comptroller of the Household, did all in her power to make the Queen’s stay comfortable.

Messages had been sent into England that Henry might be made aware of his sister’s predicament and send that much desired invitation to his Court.

It was long in coming and meanwhile Margaret waited at Coldstream Priory.

What anxious days they were which Margaret spent at the Priory! The Lady Prioress made her welcome, but what comfort was there when every moment she must wonder how near her enemies were to the Priory and whether her brother would send that invitation before it was too late.

At last help came from England. Henry had sent a command to Lord Dacre to go to Coldstream and from there to escort his sister to his Castle of Morpeth, where she should remain for her confinement.

When Lord Dacre arrived at the Priory the birth was clearly very near, and it was deliberated which was the more dangerous: to face the strenuous journey in her state, or to remain and risk capture by Albany’s forces.

Margaret herself made the decision. “I would rather put myself at my brother’s mercy than that of my enemies in Scotland,” she said.

So the tedious and dangerous journey began.

Lord Dacre, as one of the lords of the North of England who, so far from the Court often made their own laws, was an arrogant man with a profound distrust and hatred of the Scots. He implied that he was ready to serve the Queen because she was an Englishwoman, but he was going to be very wary of her Scottish companions.

He told the Queen that Queen Katharine had sent comforts for her — clothes and goods which she would need for her confinement — to Morpeth, and these were awaiting her there; there were also letters from her sister-in-law who, having herself suffered the rigors of childbearing, was anxious that Margaret should face the ordeal as comfortably as possible.

So Margaret set out from Coldstream but, before she had gone very far, it became clear that she would not be able to complete the journey to Morpeth.

Dacre made a quick decision. They were not far from the Border fortress of Harbottle, and he decided they must halt there. Harbottle, being one of the English fortresses immediately on the Border, Dacre was determined no Scotsman should enter it. Therefore the Queen must say goodbye to her husband and all her friends who had accompanied her while she stayed in the fortress.

Fainting with exhaustion and already beginning to feel the first pains, Margaret knew that for the sake of the child she must have immediate shelter; so she allowed herself to be taken in, there to be tended by strangers.

She was scarcely aware of this for her agony had begun and, as was usual with her, her labor was long and painful.

Two days later, on October 5, she gave birth to a daughter whom she decided to call after herself. The Lady Margaret Douglas was a healthy child and, in spite of the trials which had preceded her birth, seemed as if she would survive.

For days Margaret was too ill to understand where she was; and when a gentleman of her brother’s bedchamber, Sir Christopher Gargrave, called at the castle with letters from Queen Katharine, Margaret could only hold them in her hands, for she was too ill to read them.

“I could not bring the stuffs Her Grace the Queen sent to Your Grace,” Sir Christopher told her. “There are too many robbers in the Border country, and the articles would never have made the journey from Morpeth to Harbottle in safety. But when Your Grace is well enough to leave Harbottle for Morpeth, you will find them waiting for you there.”

Margaret smiled her thanks, but she was too weak to care.

At that time she believed she would never leave Harbottle.

Slowly she began to recover, but then suffered so painfully from sciatica that she was unable to move from her apartment, and it was not until November was nearing its end that she left Harbottle for Morpeth.

When she arrived at Morpeth Castle Margaret suffered a relapse. All the excitement and uncertainty which had been hers at this difficult time had been too much for her; not only had she suffered from a difficult confinement but continually she worried as to the fate of her little sons.

She believed that, had they escaped with her, her high spirits would have helped her to regain her health; as it was she was sunk in wretchedness and forebodings of evil.

The ghosts of those other little Princes in such similar circumstances continued to haunt her; and as she lay in her sickbed at Morpeth it seemed to her — and those about her — that she would never leave it.

Angus, with the rest of her friends who had escaped into England with her, was allowed to come to her at Morpeth; and Dacre was inclined to view Angus with tolerance because his master Henry VIII did not disapprove of the young man. Angus, however, was far from happy. Continually he wondered why he had allowed himself to be caught up in such troubles. He believed that Albany would confiscate his estates; and he had no wish to live as an exile in England.

He often thought too of Jane Stuart. His conscience had never really ceased to trouble him about her; and because she was gentle and had loved him so much, he was sure that if he could go to her and explain, she would understand the predicament he was in and how, with the Queen desiring him so ardently, and his family desiring the marriage with equal ardor, he had been in no position to refuse it.

But he had not been happy — apart from those first weeks — though he need not tell Jane about those. Each day when he went to see Margaret she seemed more wan, more exhausted. His little daughter was flourishing so he need not worry about her; she had nurses to look after her now that they were at Morpeth, and all the good things which kind Queen Katharine had sent for her were being used.

There was no need for him to remain at Morpeth. Albany had written to Margaret that if she would return to Scotland she should enjoy all the benefits of her dower lands; and might take part in the guardianship of her children, provided she did not wish to take them from Scotland. Her friends should not suffer for the part they had played in her escapade.

It was that last sentence which appealed to Angus. He wanted to go back to Scotland, to live in peace on his estates, to go to Jane Stuart and explain to her why he had done what he had.

And why should he not return?

Surely if he did he could make matters easier for Margaret. The idea tormented him so much that he began to make plans.

That was a miserable Christmas for Margaret. Not only was she ill in body and disturbed in mind, and living in Morpeth Castle when she longed to go south to her brother’s Court, but terrible news was brought to her.

She was lying in bed, feeling too weak to rise, with her little daughter lying in her cradle beside the bed, sleeping peacefully; wondering why Angus looked withdrawn as though he were occupied with his secret thoughts, why he started to the window every time he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs. If he were expecting a message from her brother why did he not say so? She too was constantly expecting such messages.

He was at the window now, staring moodily out, and Margaret called him to her bedside.

She wanted to tell him that they should be happy together. They should remember how they had loved each other in the first weeks of their marriage before their troubles had started. Because the country did not approve of their match, that was no reason why they themselves should not.

Angus had come to stand by her bedside, and she noticed that a fretful look marred his handsome features.

She held out a hand. “It will soon be Christmas,” she said. “A happy season.”

“Here in this place! ’Tis like a prison. Can Christmas be celebrated in a prison?”

“It is not a prison,” she replied. “It is true there are few comforts, but that is because it is really a Border fortress. Dacre is a good host, being commanded to be so by my brother. I doubt not that letters of goodwill, from him and Katharine, will be arriving erelong. Come closer, my dearest.” He sat down and she went on: “Do you so long to be back in Scotland?”

“I would we had never left it.”

“If we could only have brought my sons with us… I would be quite happy.”

He did not answer; and then suddenly was alert. He had heard the sound of horses’ hoofs below. Immediately he had risen and gone to the window. When he turned to her she saw the excited look on his face.

“Messengers,” he said. “I will go and see what news they bring.”

She closed her eyes. Invitations from Henry, she thought. He will be impatient for me to arrive at his Court. He will want to show me how magnificent he has made it.

She smiled, thinking of ten-year-old Henry, and asked herself: Has he changed much?

Then Angus returned with the messenger, and as she looked at the man who had obviously ridden hard — for he was very travel-stained and weary — her heart began to beat faster, for she knew that he brought news which would be unwelcome. Nor did he come from England, but from Scotland.

“You had better tell Her Grace what you have told me,” said Angus.

The man looked appealingly at Angus as though imploring him to help him in his difficult task.

But Angus was silent.

“Tell me quickly,” commanded Margaret. “You must not keep me in suspense.”

“Your Grace, the little Duke of Ross fell sick of a childish malady. He did not recover from it.”

There was silence in the room.

Margaret lay speechless; all the color had left her face. It was like waking to find that a hideous nightmare was no dream after all.

What she had feared had come to pass.

She was inconsolable. Her women tried to calm her.

“This is so bad for you, Your Grace. Children take these maladies… and often they die.”

“Had I brought him with me he would be alive today,” she asserted. “It is my enemies who have done this. They have murdered him as others murdered my uncles in the Tower. And my little James, what will become of him?”

“Your Grace, you have heard that he continues in fine health.”

“For how long?” she cried bitterly.

There was no consoling her. Her women reminded her of her weakness, but she took no heed of them.

She cried out: “He has done this, that black-hearted murderer. He has killed my little son. My child… dying, and his mother not with him. My little Alexander who was such a bonny child. And what of my James? Oh, this is a bitter day for me. Would I could lay my hands on that murderer. How did he do it? They say my uncles were stifled in their beds. Is that how my little Alex was murdered? You see, do you not, if he murders my little James as he has his brother, then there would be no one to stand between him and the throne.”

They were afraid that in the excess of grief she would do herself some harm, so they sent Angus to comfort her.

He sat by the bed and begged her to stop weeping, for it grieved him to see her thus.

“It is easy for you,” she cried. “He is not your son.”

“It is not easy for me to look on when you are so sad.”

That softened her. “Oh, my dearest,” she cried, “what should I do without you? But if only our plans had succeeded, if only with this dear daughter of ours I had my sons as well, I would ask nothing more. I swear I would ask nothing more.”

Angus knelt by the bed. “Return to Scotland,” he said earnestly. “Make peace with Albany.”

“Make peace with the murderer of my son!”

“You know he is no murderer. What sense does it make… murdering young Alexander while James lives? Had he wished to remove all obstacles to the throne he would have killed them both.”

“How do I know what will befall James now that his brother has been removed?”

“You must be reasonable. You are hysterical. Oh, I understand your grief… and indeed it is mine, but you know Albany has done no murder. He is not the man to commit murder, and it is my belief that he does not greatly desire the crown of Scotland.”

“It is easy for you. It is not your son who has died. Murderer! Usurper! He is another Richard III, I tell you. And my little one is in his hands.”

Angus laid his hand on her brow. He was wondering what she would say if she knew that he had written to Albany asking on what terms he could return, that Albany’s reply had been very favorable, and that he had almost made up his mind that he was going to Scotland whether she would come or not.

She was soothed by his touch but she had to give vent to her anger; she had to comfort herself in some way; she could not bear to think that she would never see Alexander again, and she must give way either to sorrow or anger.

But she did not believe in her heart, any more than Angus did, that Albany had murdered her son. Albany was no murderer of children.

She remembered him when he had taken the keys of the castle from little James — tall, upright, handsome, with a kindly tolerance in his eyes. And how gracious he had been to her — so that he had reminded her of James, her husband; and there were times, although this was another thing she was not yet prepared to admit, when she compared James with Angus and thought: Ah, but he was a king.

And Albany was a king’s son; he was a Stuart at that. And in his eyes there lurked that tolerance, that gallantry toward a woman which was almost irresistible.

Angus was convinced that Albany was no murderer, but although she secretly agreed with him, she continued to rail against the man because she was so sick with grief that she must relieve her feelings in some way.

Looking up at Angus, seeing the weak petulance about his handsome mouth, she found herself involuntarily comparing him with Albany and thinking: The Duke is a strong man.

After a few days it became apparent how the shock of this news had affected the Queen’s health. She was stricken with a fever and there was scarcely a person in Morpeth Castle who did not believe she was on her deathbed.

Yet even when the fever was at its height and she rambled incoherently, the incessant repetition of her son’s name was enough to indicate what was on her mind. She clung to the thought of that small boy as though he were a lifeline; and indeed it seemed as if he were and that Margaret would not leave this life while she believed her son needed her.

Outside the castle the bleak January winds came howling from across the Border; the bitter cold penetrated the castle.

Angus was impatient. His wife was dying, and if he waited for her death, Albany would say he had accepted his terms because there was no other way out for him. He dared not wait. He must show Albany that he deplored the conduct of his wife and that he wished to serve the Regent.

So on that bleak January day, when Margaret’s death was hourly expected, Angus with a few of his attendants quietly left Morpeth Castle and were soon galloping over the Border on their way to Edinburgh.

“Where is my husband?” asked the Queen. “Tell him to come to me.”

The woman went away to call him, but she did not return for a long time.

Margaret summoned another woman to her bedside. “Pray go and find the Earl of Angus and tell him that I wish to see him.”

The woman lowered her eyes and stood silent.

“What has happened?” demanded Margaret. “Why do you not do as I tell you?”

“Your Grace, the Earl of Angus is not in the castle.”

“Then where is he?”

“He returned to Scotland more than a week ago, when Your Grace lay nigh unto death.”

“Returned to Scotland!” she whispered as though to herself. Then: “I understand. Pray, leave me.”

She lay still, too numb with sorrow to weep or to rail against him.

She had lain near to death and he had deserted her; and this was the man for whom she had jeopardized the crown of Scotland.

Now she would no longer deceive herself. Her heart should accept him for what her mind had been telling her he was for so long. This is the end, she told herself. I shall never forget what he did to me in Morpeth Castle.

Her attendants were surprised at the calm with which she accepted his desertion. She rose from her bed shortly afterward and amazingly her health began to improve.

Through February and March letters were exchanged between Morpeth and the English Court; and with them came a warm invitation from Henry for his sister to come to London.

So with the coming of April Margaret began her journey south.