The Thistle and the Rose

The Unfaithful Husband

It was of paramount importance to Margaret that she should see her son as soon as possible, and she lost no time in making her intentions clear.

This had been expected and the lords of the Council had prepared themselves for it. It had been arranged that young James should be well guarded in Edinburgh Castle and that three Lords — Erskine, Ruthven, and Borthwick — were to take it in turns to live with him there as his guardian, each doing this service for four months of the year. The castellan, Sir Patrick Crichton, ordered twelve guards to watch each night outside the King’s bedchamber; and there were guards placed at all salient points, while a master gunner with six cannons was stationed on the walls. The Abbot of Holyrood had his quarters in the outer castle as an added precaution; and before anyone was allowed to enter the King’s apartments he or she had first to receive permission from the castellan to do so.

Thus when Margaret arrived at Edinburgh she was at first denied admittance. This infuriated her but, longing as she did to see her son, she restrained her anger and pleaded with his guardians that she was his mother and had been long without a sight of him.

“Take me at once to the castellan,” she pleaded.

She was taken to Sir Patrick Crichton, who was very uneasy.

“Your Grace,” he said, “I have my orders. I regret that they must be enforced even against you, but I fear I must do my duty.”

“I am the King’s mother,” Margaret retorted, “and I demand to see him.”

“Your Grace, I cannot allow you to enter the castle accompanied by so many attendants. Only twelve may enter and only four of those accompany you to the King’s apartments.”

Margaret flushed with anger but, determined to see her son, she again forced herself to control her feelings.

“Very well then,” she said, “it shall be as you say. Now, I pray you, take me to my son.”

She stood on the threshold of the apartment looking at him. He was sitting with David Lindsay and David was instructing him in playing the lute.

James stared at her for a few moments while David Lindsay rose to his feet.

“Your Grace… ,” he began.

But James had dashed at her. “Davie,” he cried, “it is my mother. At last she has come.”

Then he threw himself into her arms.

She embraced him, kissing and holding him as though she would never let him go, while the tears fell from her eyes onto his tawny curls.

She saw David Lindsay wipe a tear from his eye and she smiled up at him.

“Oh, Davie,” she cried, “it is good to be here.”

Although Margaret was allowed to see her son, she was not permitted to spend a night in the castle. These were uneasy days made pleasant only by the company of her son and little daughter. She was beginning to notice a change in Angus and, guessing that his conscience troubled him for some reason, she believed this to be due to the friendship he had shown to Albany during her absence. Of course that created a rift between them; how could it be otherwise?

But the days spent at the castle brought her great contentment. James was a son of whom any mother would be proud. Every day she saw his father in him. There was intelligence in the blue-gray eyes; his abundant hair with more than a dash of red in it framed a face that was pleasant to look at; his nose would be aquiline when he grew up, Margaret decided, and it seemed likely that he would be another such as his father. She smiled to think of the jealousy his wife would feel; she would sympathize with her when the time came. Who could understand more than one who had suffered it all before? His tutors were delighted with his sharp wits; and besides David Lindsay, Gavin Dunbar, John Bellenden, and James Inglis all supervised his education.

But it was David Lindsay whom the young King loved more than any of his other tutors; this was probably because David was more of a playfellow than a tutor. David made himself the most exciting of companions; and to see them together was to be given the illusion that they were of an age.

David’s one idea was to make a man of the King and, even when James had been little more than a baby, he had dressed up as a grisly ghost to teach him never to be afraid, but to investigate any strange phenomenon and so discover the truth beneath it.

David was succeeding admirably.

But although she was allowed to see her son frequently, Margaret greatly desired to take part in his upbringing. David commiserated with her.

“They’ll always suspect Your Grace of trying to take him away from Scotland, down to your brother’s Court,” he told her. “You tried once, and they think you’ll try again.”

Margaret agreed; and she thought: Aye and I would, given the opportunity.

One day when Margaret arrived at the Castle, she was met at the outer gate by the Abbot of Holyrood.

“Your Grace,” he cried, “you must not enter the Castle.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“A child belonging to one of the attendants has the botch.”

“The botch!” Margaret cried in horror, visualizing the beautiful skin of her son covered in unsightly boils and swellings. “Not… James?”

“Nay, Your Grace, as soon as it was discovered that there was a case of botch in the Castle he was taken at once to Craigmillar Castle where he is now under the guardianship of Lord Erskine.”

Margaret turned to her companions.

“We are going at once to Craigmillar,” she said.

Lord Erskine made no attempt to prevent the Queen from visiting James at Craigmillar, which was only three miles from Edinburgh. It was strongly fortified but by no means the fortress that the Castle was. As she rode toward it and studied the lofty square keep, Margaret could not help thinking that it would be easier to bring James out of Craigmillar than out of Edinburgh Castle.

James was delighted with the move, as he was growing tired of living so long in David’s Tower at the Castle; and Lord Erskine was a lenient guardian.

If only, thought Margaret, Angus were not so strange. If only his aims were the same as mine!

There was no one to whom she could talk of her desires except David Lindsay; and when she hinted to him that she would like to have her son completely in her care, he was horrified at what an attempt to abduct him might mean.

“Your Grace,” he said, “if you took the child away from his guardians and carried him into England, many a lord would declare the time had come to dethrone James and crown Albany King.”

Margaret pondered this. It might be so. And although she was ready to forgo the right to rule, for the sake of having her family about her, she could not allow James’s future to be jeopardized.

She was suspected of plotting to carry him off, and when certain members of the Council heard how frequently she was permitted to enter Craigmillar Castle, they declared it was time James was brought back to Edinburgh.

No sooner was the city pronounced free of the botch than James was hurried back to his old quarters.

This was not the way, reasoned Margaret. While she visited James she would be watched and every movement she made would be suspect. She had once tried to abduct him and carry him to England, and they were expecting her to do the same again.

She decided then to leave Edinburgh and go to her Castle of Newark in Ettrick Forest and there quietly plan her next move.

She believed that, with Angus to help her, she could regain the Regency and the right to be the guardian of her own child.

She wanted to confide in Angus but something in herself prevented her from doing this. Since she had been back in Scotland their life together had been very uneasy. He made excuses to absent himself from her for long periods. He had his estates to look after, he told her; and he was constantly engaged in the work of the Council.

She realized that he had grown up during the year she had been away. He had made a niche for himself in the affairs of Scotland, and was quite clearly recognized to be a figure of importance. Arran’s hatred of him was enough to show that, if nothing else.

She must be reasonable. They must work together, for then they would have a good chance of success.

An event occurred which gave her an idea that she might put an important post in the way of Angus. That should please him and show him that he could lose nothing by confiding in and working with his wife.

The post of Warden of the Marches had been bestowed on his good friend the Sieur de la Bastie by Albany before leaving for France; a reward to a friend who had rendered him good service more than once.

Albany — and de la Bastie — could have had little knowledge of the wild Bordermen; otherwise the former might have thought twice before offering such a gift, and the latter before accepting it.

Lord Home and his brother William had mortally offended Albany and, although he had forgiven them again and again, at length he had decided to do so no more, and had ordered them to be executed. It was thus that the post of Warden of the Marches had fallen vacant.

Home was a turncoat, a wild and arrogant man; but he was a Borderer and, although the Border barons fought each other, they did not care to see one whom they considered a foreigner pass the death sentence on one of their kind. Moreover the Home clan considered it a duty to avenge their leader. Thus when de la Bastie went to the Border to carry out his duties he was set upon and murdered.

This meant that the post of Deputy Governor which had been de la Bastie’s was vacant.

Why should not Angus fill it? Margaret asked herself. Then, with Angus as Deputy Governor, it would not be difficult for her to regain her old influence, for her husband would surely support her.

She laid this suggestion before the Parliament.

They would not consider it for a moment.

Disconsolate and lonely — Angus was away, engaged on one of his numerous duties — Margaret brooded on the estate to which she was reduced. She was too impulsive where her emotions were involved. She knew this but she could not restrain herself. How could she sit alone at Newark, brooding on the fact that she was not allowed to direct the upbringing of her own son; that when she — the Queen — suggested a post should be bestowed, she was ignored?

As always at such times she found pleasure in making wild plans.

James was the center of these plans.

He was back in Edinburgh Castle and it was going to be difficult to get him out of that fortress, but she was not one to consider impossible that which was difficult.

Then she remembered that one of her husband’s brothers, George Douglas, was the Warden of the Castle.

Now the days had some meaning. George Douglas was eager to serve his Queen and sister-in-law.

He wrote to her. Yes, as Warden he had a certain power within the Castle. He had access of course to David’s Tower, and could give her news from time to time of the King. He implied that he knew it was more than news she wanted; and he was ready to help give her that too.

“Dear George Douglas!” she murmured.

She was determined to be careful. She would take no one into her confidence, and was rather glad that Angus was away because it would have been difficult to keep this secret from him.

She might do what she had intended to do before she went into England. That had been a good enough plan. If only Lord Home had been able to divert the attention of the guards he would have rescued the two princes.

Then, she thought angrily, I should have had two sons today, for I am sure my little Alexander would not have died if he had been with his mother.

It was pleasant there at Newark, making plans, waiting for the secret messenger from George Douglas, assuring herself that she could not be unlucky this time.

Perhaps they could substitute another child for James. It would not be discovered until they were away… almost at the Border. Henry would be eager to welcome his dear sister and her little son who was so like himself. Perhaps James would marry the little Princess Mary; then Henry could be relied on to send an army to Scotland, subdue her enemies and place James securely on the throne, there to rule, when he was of an age to do so, with Mary beside him; but in the meantime his mother would be the Regent of Scotland and the guardian of her son.

It was a pleasant dream. To make it come true she would need all the money on which she could lay her hands.

The forest of Ettrick itself yielded four hundred marks a year, which was no mean sum. She wondered how much of it had come in, and sent for her steward.

When the man stood before her and she made known the reason she had sent for him, he seemed surprised.

“Your Grace,” he said, “the rents have been collected and given to my lord Angus in accordance with his instructions.”

She studied the papers which he had given her, and all the time her anger was rising. How dared Angus appropriate this money! There should have been a goodly sum accumulated by now and she needed it badly.

“I see,” she said; and dismissed her steward.

When she was alone she paced up and down the room. Where was Angus? He must come to her at once. She needed an explanation.

She sent for a man who had been in attendance on her husband.

“Urgent business has arisen,” she told him. “I need the immediate presence of my lord Angus. Do you know where he is?”

The man hesitated and his furtive looks alarmed Margaret.

“Come,” she said testily, “where is he?”

“Your Grace… I cannot say. I do not know… ”

She thought: He knows and he is lying.

She wanted to command him to answer, to threaten him with a whipping if he did not speak.

But no, she thought. Let it wait. I will think on this; and I shall discover all in good time.

That very day news was brought to her which made her forget temporarily Angus’s perfidy over the rents of Ettrick.

A messenger had arrived from Edinburgh and asked to be taken immediately to the Queen.

He fell at her feet breathless, travel-stained from the journey.

“Your Grace, the Warden of Edinburgh Castle has been arrested and thrown into prison.”

She stood still, her eyes half closed. Another scheme foiled!

She said quietly: “Why so?”

“Sir Patrick Crichton declared he could not hold himself responsible for the King’s safety unless the Warden was removed. He had discovered an intrigue… ”

She did not need to ask what. She knew.

“So he is no longer at the Castle, Your Grace, and the Earl of Arran has been set up in his place.”

Margaret did not speak. She was thinking: Did ever a woman have such ill luck as I?

Where was Angus? Never with me, she thought, when I need him.

No wonder he seemed guilty. How dared he appropriate the rents which were hers? Because she had married him, did he think he could rule her… the Queen!

She sent for the servant to whom she had spoken before. “I believe you know the whereabouts of my lord Angus,” she said. “I command you to tell me what you know.”

“Y-Your Grace… ” stammered the man. “I know nothing.”

“I will have the truth!”

The man had turned pale but he did not speak.

Wearily she studied him. What was the use of venting her anger on one who was merely trying to be loyal to his master?

She dismissed the man and for some days she was sunk in despair. Her plot with George Douglas was known — to his cost, and to hers most likely. They would watch her more closely than ever. They would probably prevent her from seeing her son.

She felt desperate and alone.

Then Angus returned. As soon as he came into her presence she opened her attack.

“You have been long absent, my lord.”

“I had business to attend to.”

He came to her and placing his hands on her shoulders, drew her toward him, but she withdrew herself impatiently.

“There are certain matters I wish to discuss with you. First… the rents of Ettrick.”

A faint color showed under his skin. “What of these?”

“I think you are aware of my meaning. I have discovered that these have been passing to you.”

“And why should they not?”

“Because they do not belong to you.”

“You once said that you would give me all I desired.”

She laughed bitterly. “That was long ago. You once said that you would always be faithful to me.”

Had she not been so angry she would have noticed the apprehension leap into his eyes.

“And,” she went on, “I shall never forget how you deserted me when you believed me to be dying, how you ran as hard as you could to make sure of a welcome in the opposite camp. And now I discover that during my absence you have appropriated money which belongs to me.”

“I am sure you gave me Ettrick in those early days,” he mumbled.

“I should have remembered,” she said. “I remember too much of those early days. I know now how ready you are to deceive and desert me, that you give your allegiance to others.”

He misunderstood her, believing her to have discovered more than she had.

He muttered: “I was betrothed to her before we married.”

“Betrothed,” she murmured.

“I would have married her,” he went on sullenly, “had I not been forced to marry you.”

She thought she must be dreaming. What was he talking about? Betrothed? Forced to marry?

“So,” she said, “these absences of yours… ”

“Of course. What do you expect? You ran away, did you not? What was I supposed to do all that time?”

“Some husbands would have accompanied their wives,” she retorted, but she was not thinking of what she said; she was trying to grasp his meaning.

“Most husbands,” he replied, “are masters in their own houses.”

“Not all aspire to marriage with a queen,” was her proud answer.

“In which case they may call themselves lucky.”

He was off his guard now. She would get the truth of what lay behind this. “How long has she been your mistress?” she hazarded.

“Since you went into England.”

“I see,” she said bitterly. “And I’ll dare swear all the Court is aware of this.”

“There are always gossips.”

“And it seems this time there is strong foundation on which to base the gossip.”

“What did you expect?” he cried.

“Fidelity!” she answered. “Respect. Gratitude for all I have done for your family. Affection for your wife and daughter.”

“I look upon her as a wife, and I have given her daughter my name.”

Margaret could find no words to express her grief and rage. She felt as though she had lived through this scene before. She was back in those early days of her marriage with James when she had discovered that he had illegitimate children. She remembered the pain of discovering that he chose the society of other women in preference to hers.

Why must I suffer this disillusion twice? she asked herself. Why must my second husband treat me as did my first!

She looked at him — the handsome Angus with whom she had planned to live in love all her life. She felt cheated now as she never had when he had deserted her at Morpeth.

She could see it all so clearly; his betrothal to a woman with whom he was in love; the pressure of his family when it was known that the Queen delighted in him; his reluctant agreement to follow the wishes of his family and his Queen.

It was too humiliating to be borne.

“Leave me,” she cried. “I would be alone.”

So now she had the details. He had been betrothed to Lady Jane Stuart, the daughter of the Lord of Traquair; he had deserted her to marry the Queen, but he had never forgotten her, and when his wife left Scotland he made haste to rejoin Lady Jane. He took her away from her family; he insisted that she travel with him wherever he went, as though she were his wife; and her family made no protest. This was not merely Archibald Douglas who had made their daughter Jane his mistress; it was the Earl of Angus, the husband of the Queen.

Jane had borne him a daughter who was known as the Lady Jean Douglas, and it seemed that her mother, and he too, would make this child’s position comparable with that of his daughter born in wedlock to the Queen, the Lady Margaret Douglas.

This was not to be tolerated.

Then she made up her mind what she would do.

Angus had been betrothed to Jane Stuart before his marriage to the Queen. Could this be grounds for divorce?

Very soon the news was out, as she intended it should be.

The Queen no longer lives with Angus; she is contemplating divorce.