He smiled. Life was ironical. Once it had offered him a similar opportunity. A daughter of his to marry a king. That had failed, through some foul murderer; but now his grandson might be the husband of the Queen.
He considered the matter. Should he talk to Angus? The boy was only nineteen and foolish without doubt, imagining himself in love with Jane Stuart. This had to be handled with the utmost care.
He invited the boy’s uncles to call on him, letting them know that he had vital family matters to discuss with them; and when Gavin Douglas, the poet and priest, came to Drummond’s apartments accompanied by his brother, Sir Archibald of Kilspindie, Drummond lost no time in telling them what he suspected.
“The Queen is enamored of young Angus, and this is no surprise to me. I believe him to be the most handsome man at Court.”
“You mean she is his mistress?” asked Sir Archibald.
“Nay, nay. You go too fast. She is deeply conscious of her royalty. The pride of these Tudors is greater than that of the Stuarts, my friends. She is in love with him but I doubt she would be his mistress. Nor do we wish her to. But I see no reason why she should not become his wife.”
The Douglases were too startled to speak. “Why not? Angus has a great title. Why should not a Douglas share the throne? Have you two so little regard for your family’s honor that you would raise objections to this?”
“Why no, indeed,” said Gavin quickly, “but is it possible?”
“Why not? Providing we act with discretion.”
“How so?” demanded Sir Archibald.
“The Queen is a young woman. She has been without a husband since Flodden. She sees our young Angus and is enflamed with desire for him. Can you wonder? He is a fine figure of a man. I have watched her. I have seen the signs.”
“The Council would never permit a marriage.”
Drummond snapped his fingers. “Who cares for the Council! If there was a marriage between these two it would have to be made first and the Council told afterward.”
“It is not a year since the death of the King.”
“We cannot afford to waste time, or they will find a husband for her. They tried to marry her to Louis XII.”
“They cannot do that now.”
“Assuredly not, since the King of England, determined to have no union between Scotland and France, has married his younger sister Mary to Louis.”
“That we know,” put in Drummond testily, “but the Council would find what they deem a suitable husband for the Queen… and that husband would not be Angus. Imagine Arran, for one, allowing a Douglas to be put above him. Nay, if there is to be a marriage it must be done with all speed, while the Queen’s feelings are hot toward our Angus, and before the Council can intervene.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“That we summon our handsome young man and impress upon him the need to do his duty by his family.”
“I believe the boy to have betrothed himself to Jane Stuart.”
“Then he must un-betroth himself,” cried Drummond. “Nothing must stand in the way of this match. Have you thought what it would mean to the family? A bishopric at least for you, Gavin Douglas, a fine place at Court for your brother here.”
“And for my Lord Drummond?” inquired Gavin not without sarcasm.
“My dear fellow, all the family could expect to prosper. I want your support when I explain to Angus where his duty lies. He must act with speed and caution. He must let the Queen know that he returns her passion.”
“Which he does not?” questioned Archibald.
“Then he must learn to,” retorted Angus’s ambitious grandfather. “I was once cheated of seeing my daughter share the throne of Scotland; I’ll not stand by and see my grandson kept from it.”
“What do you propose to do?” asked Gavin.
“Summon Angus and, with your support, tell him what he must do. Do you stand with me?”
The Douglases eyed each other. They were ambitious men.
“We’d be fools not to,” replied Gavin speaking for them both.
Drummond clapped them both on the back.
“I knew I could rely on you,” he said. “Now… for young Angus.”
Angus was bewildered. He looked in anguish from his uncles to his grandfather.
“You see,” he explained laboriously, “Jane and I have plighted our troth.”
“Plighted your fiddlesticks!” snapped Drummond. “I never heard such nonsense. Marry that girl and you are finished at Court, I tell you. Margaret will see that all you hope for is denied you.”
“All I hope for,” replied Angus, “is to live peacefully with Jane. I don’t mind not being at Court. We’ll be perfectly happy at Whitehorn or Tantallan.”
“Whitehorn and Tantallan! You forget you are the head of the house of Douglas, my boy, and whether you like it or not your clan looks to you to act accordingly. It is your solemn duty to put honors in the way of your family, and how could you do this better than by becoming the Queen’s husband?”
“But she has not said she would marry me.”
“What a young fool you are! It is for you to sigh and simper and show how you would if you dared. She’ll be ready and willing enough. If you were half a man you would have read the signs in her eyes.”
“B-But what of Jane?” stammered Angus.
“If she’s a sensible girl she’ll understand and call you a fool if you missed your opportunity.”
“I have sworn… ”
“As a Douglas you are pledged to your family, my boy. Now, no more nonsense. How many men do you think there are at Court who wouldn’t give ten years of their lives to be in your position? The Queen desiring you! Go to it. You’re not a simpering boy now, you know. You’re a man.”
“I will not… ”
“God help us,” murmured Drummond; then his voice rose in a crescendo. “We are cursed with a Douglas who’s naught but a simpering ninny!”
“Grandfather,” began Angus helplessly.
Drummond took him by the arm. “I see,” he said, “that your uncles and I have to talk to you very seriously.”
Angus believed himself to be the most unhappy man at Court. Why, he kept asking, did his grandfather have to die? Why was he thrust into this position? How much better it would have been to have remained plain Archibald Douglas than become Earl of Angus. Then everyone would have said the match with Jane was a good one. Why had the Queen picked him out!
If he went to Jane and married her he would be continually reproached by his family; if he obeyed his family he would be forever reproached by Jane.
All his life he had been brought up to recognize the importance of belonging to a great family. In his family’s mansions like Whitehorn and Tantallan there were the Douglas arms and emblems in every room. Old Bell-the-Cat had played a big part in the history of Scotland; as it was deemed fitting that every head of the House of Douglas should do.
What can I do? he asked himself again and again.
He was in private audience with the Queen. His grandfather had arranged it, telling the Queen that his grandson Angus had asked it.
It was untrue; but now that he was alone with her he looked at her with a new interest.
There was no denying that she was beautiful. She looked particularly so today… eager and expectant, her eyes brilliant, her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders in a careless fashion that was very becoming. It was so long that she could have sat on it, and he was fascinated by its shining splendor.
She did not seem like a queen; indeed he fancied that she was trying to cast aside her royalty that they might appear as equals.
“My lord,” she said, “I hear you have something to say to me.”
“Your Grace… ,” he murmured and did not look at her.
She held out her hand, which he took because there was nothing else he could have done; she drew him toward her so that he was standing close to her seductive body; he could see by the rise and fall of her breast that she was a little agitate
d.
“You are thinking that I am the Queen,” she said. “Pray, my lord, forget that.”
“It is impossible to forget,” he said quietly.
“Nay. I am a woman and you are a man.” She took his other hand and drew him closer. She lifted her face to his and there was nothing else to do but kiss her. The passion which he met overwhelmed him. She clung to him, her body pressed against his, her kisses fierce, demanding.
She was beautiful; she was desirable, and they were both young; it was not difficult to respond.
At last she withdrew herself, her eyes half closed; she looked as though she were fainting with ecstasy.
“Angus… ,” she murmured. “My dearest Angus. Nothing shall keep us apart, I swear it.”
“Your Grace… ”
She held up a hand. “I have sworn it. I have thought of this matter for a long time. They will attempt to stop us, of course, but we’ll not allow it. My dearest love, you must not think of me as your Queen. There shall be no formality between us two. How I long for you! The marriage must take place at once.”
“Your Grace, there is something I must tell you.”
“Not ‘Your Grace.’ Say ‘Margaret.’ I am Margaret to you now and henceforth. There will be opposition, but I have spoken to Lord Drummond who will arrange this matter for us. He is shrewd and wise. There is going to be no delay. Soon, my love, you and I shall be in each other’s arms.” She laughed. “How you deceived me! There were times when you convinced me that you did not care for me at all. Oh, how wretched you made me! But it is all over now.”
She threw herself into his arms again; the passionate embrace was repeated. And what could Angus do but respond? A man would have to be an eunuch not to, he told himself. She was so beautiful, so eager, and a queen withal! The situation had a piquancy to tempt any man’s fidelity.
She would not let him speak; she stopped his lips with her kisses; and who would dare explain his feeling for another woman when the Queen’s lips were on his? And afterward he dared not make an attempt. How could he tell her, when she had made such a confession of her own feelings, that he did not share them? How could he so insult a queen?
Margaret was grateful to the grandfather and uncles of her beloved. Lord Drummond had told her that he would arrange for the wedding ceremony to take place, and she could safely leave such matters to him. His nephew, Walter Drummond, was Dean of Dunblane and parson of Kinnoul, so the pair could be married in the utmost secrecy in his church at Kinnoul.
Margaret wanted to show her gratitude to these accommodating gentlemen, and she began by nominating Gavin Douglas as Bishop of Dunkeld. He overwhelmed her with thanks, and she replied that she would never forget his goodness and could wish to have bestowed an even greater reward. She hinted that when it was possible the Primacy of Scotland should be his.
The brothers and Lord Drummond consulted together. Drummond was triumphant. “You see,” he cried. “A bishopric already and a promise of the Primacy! I assure you, my friends, that in a short time the Douglases and their connections will be ruling Scotland. It is well that Angus is so young; he will be the more easily guided. But we must get this marriage made before our intentions become known. You are aware, as well as I am, that there are men in Scotland who would rise in civil war to prevent it if they knew what we planned.”
“Then… ,” began Sir Archibald nervously, but Drummond silenced him.
“Nay, Sir Chicken-heart. We play for big stakes. We’ll take a risk or two. And if we did not go forward now I doubt not our warm-blooded Queen would do so without our help.”
On a warm August day, not twelve months after the battle of Flodden Field, Margaret married the Earl of Angus in Kinnoul Church.
She did not stop to think of the consequences of this marriage. All that mattered was that this handsome boy who had long occupied her thoughts was now her husband.
Her one desire was to abandon herself to the passion which obsessed her.
Later she could consider how she would explain her conduct to her people.
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 i
t 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… ”
The Thistle and the Rose Page 15
