B009AY3XF6 EBOK

by D. L. Bogdan

  Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping.

  But he had no sarcastic retort and I was grateful. He left to do my bidding.

  Ellen entered the room, wrapping her arms about me and holding me as I sobbed for Albany, for my dear Jehan.

  “Oh, Ellen, do you remember how he used to sing?” I asked her. “Did you ever hear him? His voice was so strong and low. Oh, Ellen!”

  “There, there, Your Grace,” Ellen soothed in her soft voice. “He is with God now, and his wife and daughter. He is in a better place,” she assured me as she pulled away.

  I looked into her face. “His daughter? Oh, yes. I had forgotten.” I wiped my eyes. “I supposed I always hoped there would be a chance for us,” I admitted in soft tones. “I always seemed to miss my mark, didn’t I, Ellen?”

  But Ellen was not listening. She was gazing at a point just beyond my head and sinking to the floor, her mouth forming a perfect O.

  I rose from my chair, stooping beside her. Her eyes were fixed, staring beyond me still as I shook her shoulders.

  “Ellen! Ellen!” I cried, holding her to my chest. She was heavy, limp in my arms. “Oh, Ellen! Oh, God, help me!” I screamed. “Please help me!”

  Servants rushed into the room, sweeping my Ellen up and removing her. I followed, ordering a physician’s immediate assistance. I was eager for a report as soon as possible.

  Harry, having heard the ruckus in the hall, joined me as we progressed to her rooms.

  I linked my arm through his. “Oh, Harry, Ellen canna be ill, not when I need her so much!”

  “Yes, God forbid she take ill when you need her,” Harry spat, pulling away from me.

  “I canna expect you to understand,” I cursed as I made my way into her rooms. The physician who met me there only shook his gray head.

  “I am afraid her heart is failing,” he informed me. “Should be no surprise; she lived much longer than expected. She has been unwell for many years now.”

  “She has?” I asked, mystified as I rushed to her side, taking her hand in mine.

  “She hasn’t long, Your Grace,” the physician told me.

  “All right, then, leave us,” I said in harsher tones than I meant as the physician and servants quit the room.

  “My people,” Ellen murmured. “I hear the drums . . . home at last . . .”

  “Your people?” I returned. Though it had always been obvious that Ellen was from a distant land, I never thought of her as having people. I never thought of a lot of things.

  “Your Grace . . .” Her voice was barely audible as a trace of a smile curved her full, dark lips.

  “Yes, my darling?” I squeezed her thin hand in mine. Had I not noted how thin her hands were becoming? Why did I do nothing? Why did I push it aside, as if it would go away?

  “Listen, Your Grace,” she said then.

  “To what?” I cried, my voice growing shrill with panic. “I dinna hear anything, Ellen!” I was desperate at once to hear what she heard, to be part of her world, a world I chose to ignore in lieu of keeping her tethered in mine.

  “Just learn . . . to be still,” she told me. “And listen.”

  “Of course, I will, Ellen, only stay to teach me!” I begged, reaching out to stroke her forehead. Already it was cooling; already the life was leaving her. I wondered if she would meet Albany and my children and my sister, and all those I longed to see but was deprived of.

  “Oh, Ellen, Ellen,” I cooed, leaning in to kiss her dusky forehead. “Dinna leave me, Ellen, please dinna leave me. . . .”

  But her eyes were empty. She had left me for her people and the land of the distant drums.

  And I was all alone, listening.

  I quit her room, moving as if prompted by unseen strings. I was numb, my body going through the motions of walking, of breathing, of what seemed now to be the useless act of living.

  Harry had been waiting. He caught my elbow. “Come now,” he urged in soft tones. “We must leave her to be attended to.”

  “I want a grand funeral arranged for her,” I announced, stifling my tears. Ellen would want me to be strong. “She shall have the best gown, the best of everything, as my dearest friend.”

  “Her funeral shall be as her family sees fit,” Harry told me in harsher tones as we made our way back to my apartments.

  “What do you mean? I am her family!” I cried when we were alone. “I am all the family Ellen ever had!”

  Harry leaned against my writing table, shaking his head. “Are you really so blind, Margaret, or are you just that selfish?”

  “What do you mean?” I demanded, mortified Harry should choose such an inopportune time to scold me.

  “She had a daughter in care of the Lindsays,” Harry told me.

  My heart seemed to slow. My breath caught in my throat. “What do you mean, a daughter? I never heard that; she never said. How do you know this?”

  “Because, unlike you, I stopped talking long enough to listen, to inquire after her life and what was important to her,” Harry told me. Listen, Your Grace . . . “As you could not, as her ‘dearest’ friend. Did you know there was another Moorish lady, a Margaret?”

  “Yes, she was named for me,” I said dumbly.

  “That is irrelevant, but I suppose that is the first thing you would think of,” Harry said. “Did you know why she was not close to Ellen? They were from different tribes. Is that not ironic? The one person she could have claimed as a friend, who knew of her people and her lands, was from another tribe, thus forbidden to her. They honored that even here, even in Scotland, the land of warring clans. We are not so unlike the Moors, are we? But why would you care? You know nothing of your friends, let alone strangers.”

  I sank into my chair. “Harry, why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because, as Ellen’s ‘friend,’ it would serve you to know a few things about her,” he returned, his tone icy.

  “Oh, but Harry . . .” I breathed, unable to take it all in. “A daughter . . .”

  “A daughter you would not let her go to—you ‘needed’ her too much,” Harry said, his tone laden with disgust. “As you need everyone too much. You needed her to death. So at the very least, if you held her in any esteem at all, let her daughter lay her to rest as she sees fit. I will take it upon myself to inform Barton of her death.”

  “Barton . . . you mean, Robin?”

  “Who else would I mean?” Harry shot back. “He first brought her to Scotland; they were especial friends. He has a right to know.”

  I could not speak, I could not think. All this time, Harry knew more of my Ellen and her world than me.

  “If I had only known, Harry, I swear to you I would have let her go to her daughter,” I said. “You can imagine, me being separated from my own daughter, I would have care of such things.”

  “Ha!” Harry scoffed. “Poor Margaret means no more to you than this child of Ellen’s does now. They are both just as much strangers to you and better for them that they are.”

  “Harry, why are you being so cruel to me?” I demanded. “First about Albany and now my dearest friend—and she was my dearest friend regardless of how you mock me—she is gone and you . . . all you can do is antagonize me!”

  “I am not antagonizing you,” Harry told me, his tone softer. “I am being honest.”

  “I did not know she was sick, Harry,” I said then.

  “Do not insult Ellen’s memory more by lying,” Harry said. “You have known she was ill for years but were too selfish to part with her. My God, I could see how ill she was every time I looked at her! But you, Margaret, you see what you want to see.”

  I sank my head into my hands, my sobbing renewed with a vengeance. I hated him for his cruel words. I hated him more because he was right.

  “Maybe now you will see, Margaret, that it is time to slow down, to retire from public life yourself before it is too late for you as well,” Harry said then. His tone grew soft. “You can come with me to Methven Castle. I am willing . . .
I am willing to try to repair things with you.”

  “After everything you have just told me this very night?” I returned, seething that he dare propose such a thing now. “After you made it clear you have no respect for me as your wife, let alone your queen?”

  Harry shook his head. “I feel sorry for you, Margaret.” I searched for a hint of mockery in his voice but, to my mounting frustration, found none. “You will never learn from your past, will you? You will insist, with that Tudor stubbornness, on sabotaging any possible chance at happiness.”

  I bowed my head, sobbing brokenly.

  “Cry, Your Grace,” Harry urged, the mockery I could not find before now abundant in his tone. “Cry for your Albany and cry for your Ellen. But before them all, cry for yourself, for you are more pathetic than the lot of them.”

  With that he retreated, leaving me to my tears, my pathetic, useless tears.

  24

  King Jamie

  There was nothing to be done but think of the present and who was left in it. I pushed my mourning for Albany and Ellen aside. They were never far from my thoughts, as it were. When I lay in my bed alone at night, with no letters to write, no missions to set upon, they came to me whether I wanted them or not, taunting me with my memories, where they were young and bonny while I was cursed to grow old alone on this earth.

  But for now there was Jamie and I would concentrate my waking energies on him. I would renew my pleas for a meeting with my brother, and Jamie’s marriage prospects needed tending. He needed me.

  I would show Harry that I was not needy but needed as well.

  Jamie was less than enthusiastic when he received me.

  “Mother, it isn’t prudent to meet with Henry at this time,” he told me. “You need to come off these plans. We have come to an agreeable truce; be satisfied with that. You’ve endured so much lately,” he added in gentler tones. “You need to stop and rest. You need to think less about me and more about yourself. Think of your own marriage.”

  “Do not advise me about marriage, Son, when you yourself are not yet wed,” I urged him.

  Jamie indulged me with a smile. “I hope to be wed soon, Mother, to Lady Erskine, whether you approve or not,” he told me, in a tone that did not match his sweet smile.

  “Your council will not approve, let alone me,” I said in hard tones. “We have been through too much to see you married to some common woman. She has nothing to offer you, Jamie! You are king!”

  “Yes, I am king!” Jamie cried, pounding his fist on his writing table with a resounding thud that caused me to start. “I am king,” he said again, his tone softer. “And I will decide whom I will meet and when, and whom I will marry and when.”

  I rose. “Then you do not need me after all.” I dipped into a low curtsy. “If I may be dismissed?”

  Jamie nodded. “Go rest, Mother. Please,” he urged as I made my retreat.

  It was as if I were an old cow everyone wanted to put out to pasture.

  What did I have to live for now?

  I met with Lord William Howard to discuss Jamie’s stubbornness.

  “He will not bend to compromise!” I cried in frustration. “He has his own ideas and canna be persuaded for the good of the Anglo-Scots alliance! Do you know I told him I would even go to York in his stead, but that would not do, either.”

  “It is unfortunate, Your Grace,” Lord William agreed. “But he is young and the young do tend to have their own ideas, I am afraid.”

  I sighed. “Oh, Lord William . . . sometimes I feel it best for me to leave him to them. Perhaps Henry would have me back in England and I could be with my daughter again. She could do with a mother’s guidance. King James is a man now. He will make his own fate. I am so weary.” I swallowed tears. I was quicker to them than ever now. “I am weary of my lot in life. I am weary of Scotland.”

  Lord William said nothing. I was grateful to him for that.

  We both knew there was nothing to be done.

  Robin Barton interrupted my woe by calling on me at Edinburgh. Upon seeing him, I dismissed my staff, abandoning ceremony to throw myself into my old friend’s arms.

  Dignified as always, Robin suffered my embrace with his own arms awkwardly about me as he patted my back. He pulled away to guide me to my chair as if I were the guest and he the host.

  “Ellen . . . ?” I began, recovering myself enough to speak. It was the first time since the day she died that I said her name aloud.

  “Aye,” he said, intuiting my thought. “She has been interred.”

  “Was she buried well?” I asked. I did not inquire as to the arrangements after Harry humbled me. I was afraid to intrude now. It was clear Ellen was as much a stranger to me as my own daughter. I denied myself, therefore, any rights those more intimate with her were allowed to enjoy.

  “Aye,” Robin told me. “She has been laid to rest at Over Barnton. And there is no more to be said of it.”

  I nodded in understanding. “I am glad you came, Robin,” I told him then.

  “I am worried about you, Your Grace,” he confessed to my surprise.

  “Why are you worried about me, Robin?” I asked in an indulgent tone.

  “Albany is gone; Ellen is gone,” he added in a softer tone. “And your husband . . .”

  I offered a wry chuckle. “What of my husband?”

  “Do you know where your husband is, Your Grace?” he asked, with a deliberate tilt of his dark brow.

  “Do I care?” I spat before I could help myself. I offered a bitter smirk, shaking my head. “Well . . . Where is he, then?”

  “Living on your lands, off your rents, with Janet Stewart and the child he got on her,” he said.

  I drew in a breath, closing my eyes a long moment. “It is no more than I would expect,” I told him then. I almost laughed, so reminiscent it was of the time he imparted similar news of Angus. “Well. You always seem to know the whereabouts of my husbands, poor man, and are always in the undesirable position of having to tell me,” I observed with a chuckle devoid of amusement. “I have too much to worry about now to think on that overmuch, Robin. I expect after divorcing Angus, a second one shouldn’t be as difficult. I will set to suing for it directly, with the king’s help.”

  “The king, Your Grace, left for France,” he said then, his gruff voice low. I suppose, in his sailor’s way, he was trying to be gentle.

  “What?” I breathed. “What do you mean, France?” My voice rose in panic.

  “He learned Lady Erskine was married to Lord Lochleven and his hopes for a Scottish marriage were dashed,” he informed me. “He goes to France seeking a bride. He didna want you to know; he was afraid you would upset yourself. He wants to leave you regent while he is gone,” he added, as if that was supposed to soothe me.

  “So you came here to tell me all this,” I said, my tone hard. “I thought we would discuss Ellen and the old days, but no, you came on my son’s bidding. You are my son’s man.”

  “Of course I am, as you are his subject as well. And there’s no use revisiting the old days; they are gone. Those who trap themselves in nostalgia may as well bury themselves with the dead.” Robin’s tone was matter-of-fact but still kind. “I came, Your Grace, to help you however I can. Because I am your friend.”

  At once no words were ever sweeter. “Well,” I said with a rueful smile. “I suppose I am in need of that. Thank you, Robin.”

  He smiled then, a pirate’s smile, and it warmed my heart.

  He had always been my most loyal friend, never swerving from my cause.

  No wonder Ellen loved him so.

  With the setback of a storm that sent me in a panic over the possibility of losing my son at sea, Jamie’s travels did not go as planned, but he was able to venture forth again in September, determined to procure a French bride. While he was gone, I set to pursuing my divorce. I hoped the fortune that smiled upon my brother would also favor me and proceeded to gather the opinions of forty learned gentlemen regarding the validity of my
marriage. If my brother could have a marriage of twenty years declared invalid by university men, then there was no reason I could not do the same with a shaky marriage of less than ten.

  Jamie married a Frenchwoman on New Year’s Day, the daughter of King Francois, Princess Madeleine. While I attempted to keep my son’s realm secure, Jamie and his fair bride were toasted at the French court, enjoying every luxury life had to offer. They did not return till the spring. It was none too soon; I missed Jamie and was eager to put our differences aside now that he had found a wife. Besides, I needed his support in my divorce.

  I met them at Leith with the rest of the court and watched with my breath caught in my throat as the slim, tall young maid stooped over to grab two fistfuls of earth in a gesture I found haughty and pretentious but the crowd loved. It was a blatant statement signifying who was now Queen of Scotland. I suppose it was her right. More and more, I heard it whispered in the galleries and the gardens, “Here comes the Old Queen,” whenever I passed by. After all I had done for Scotland, this was what I was reduced to: the Old Queen. Scotland, it seemed, was ready for the beauty and vibrancy of a young queen.

  She might have been fair, but I could not say young Madeleine was especially vibrant. She had a fragile look about her that frightened me.

  “Jamie, she’s consumptive,” I told my son when at last we were afforded some privacy amidst the happy chaos of their arrival. “Did Francois not tell you? Surely he must have known. Her lips are bluish and she has a dreadful cough. She’s terribly thin, Jamie. I would fear getting a child on her; she may not live through it.”

  “He did worry after her health here,” Jamie confessed, referring to the King of France. “But, Mother, you must tell me you remember what it is to be in love. I loved her from the moment I set eyes upon her. It is our love that I pray will keep her strong, despite the harshness of Scotland. If we keep her warm and well fed, she will be all right. She must be,” he added, his voice taut with desperation.

  Whenever love was mentioned in any conversation, there was no use imposing reason, so I let Jamie believe as he would.