Angus?
She thought often of Angus as he had been in the days of his youth. Scenes from the honeymoon at Stobhall often came back to her mind and made her feel young again.
But James continued to ridicule the idea of another divorce, and she could not marry again without one.
Take a lover? She craved for a happy and legitimate union. She was so lonely nowadays; and she found that she could not feel as angry with Harry as she had with Angus. Her pride had been wounded more than her emotions. Was this a sign that she was growing old?
Life went on about her. Her brother wrote jubilantly that he now had a son: Prince Edward. True, the child had cost his mother, Jane Seymour, her life; but he found it more difficult to get sons than wives.
Young Margaret’s lover had died in the Tower and she was freed because, with the birth of a prince, she was no longer of the same importance. In fact, Henry VIII did not care to have about him young people who might be said to have a claim to his throne, so he declared her illegitimate, adding that the marriage between her mother and Angus had been no lawful one.
Margaret’s rage was great when she heard this, and once more she planned a remarriage with Angus that they might fight together for her daughter’s legitimacy and for her place in the succession to the throne of England.
Yet nothing came of these plans. She no longer found intense excitement in plotting as she once had; and, looking into her mirror, she told herself that she was growing old.
“I am growing old,” she said one day.
She sat at her table, her pen in her hand, writing letters, a habit of hers.
She was very tired and felt vaguely unwell. Words would not come easily to her mind as they used to, so she laid down her pen and thought; and as usual at such times her mind went back to the past.
Her daughter Margaret was happy in England, she supposed, now that Henry had given her a place in the household of Anne of Cleves. James had married a French widow, Mary of Lorraine, and although the two children whom they had had, both died, they would have others.
Poor James! How hard it was for royal people to beget healthy legitimate children. His illegitimate ones were bonny creatures, in particular that young James whom he loved so dearly. What a pity that the boy had Margaret Erskine for a mother instead of a Queen of Scotland!
Her own children by Harry were not strong and their health gave her cause for concern, but there were so many anxieties, and she felt too tired to think of them anymore.
Instead she thought of her youth, of coming into Scotland and riding on the palfrey James had sent. She could see him now, so handsome, so beloved by his people, riding into his capital with his bride on the pillion behind him.
Her hands had begun to shake and she could not stop them. She stared at them in dismay and called for her attendants, but when they came running to her side, she could not see them clearly.
“Help me to my bed,” she said. “I feel ill.”
As they undressed her the palsy intensified; and when she lay on her bed she said: “I have never felt so ill before. Send to Falkland Palace for the King. Tell him of my state and that I should like to see him.”
Her orders were obeyed and she lay on her bed, waiting.
Soon he would come — her beautiful son whom she had loved so dearly. She would see him come striding into her chamber. But when she thought of him it was that other James she saw — the laughing, handsome husband with whom on her first coming to Scotland she had fallen violently in love.
She had forgotten that she was in Methven Castle, imagining herself to be in Holyrood with James standing before her while she accused him of deserting her for his mistresses. Then it was Angus who stood there… or was it Albany… or Harry? She was not sure. They were as one now. The men whom she had loved; the men who had deceived her.
She murmured so quietly that none heard: “If I had not been the daughter of a King should I have been loved for myself?”
She tried to rouse herself because there was so much she had to say.
“My daughter… the Lady Margaret Douglas… James must be good to her. Angus… Let James forgive Angus… Let him remember that he had suffered much… Peace… I want peace among them. Peace.”
Those about her bed exchanged glances. She had been well a short while ago. Could one be struck so suddenly?
It seemed so, for it was deemed advisable that the last rites should be administered. This was done, and when James arrived — although he had come to her bedside with the utmost haste — he was too late. Margaret, the Queen, was dead.
Bibliography
The Chronicles of Scotland. Robert Lindsay Pitscottie
King James IV of Scotland. R. L. Mackie.
Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies of Great Britain. Mary Anne Everett Green
Lives of the Princesses of England. Mary Anne Everett Green.
Lives of the Queens of Scotland and English Princesses. Agnes Strickland
Lives of the Queens of England. Agnes Strickland
A Short History of Scotland. P. Hume Brown (New Edition by Henry W. Meikle)
Memorials of Henry VII (The Chronicles and Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland during the Middle Ages). Edited by James Gairdner
British History. John Wade
The Dictionary of National Biography. Edited by Sir Leslie Stephen and Sir Sidney Lee
The National and Domestic History of England. William Hickman
Smith Aubrey
Henry VIII. A. F. Pollard
History of England: Henry VIII. James Anthony Froude
The Political History of England (1485–1587). H. A. L. Fisher
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