by Jean Plaidy
But it was pleasant to revile him with Harry, knowing herself beyond need of him, knowing that she had a young and handsome lover who adored her.
The winds of December were battering the walls of Stirling Castle when Albany arrived there.
Margaret, with James, was waiting for him. As he entered she noticed how drawn he looked. He is getting old, she thought; and she rejoiced in her Harry who had helped her to recover from that bitter love affair.
James, primed by her and always ready to do her bidding, received Albany coolly. Albany on the other hand treated the boy with the utmost reverence.
Margaret stood watching, delighted that she could do so without emotion; and when Albany came to her and bowed, she acknowledged his greeting without warmth.
“I greatly regret,” he said, “that I have displeased you.”
“You have none but yourself to blame for that regret,” she retorted.
“Cannot we come to some amicable agreement?”
“It seems unlikely,” she retorted. “The King is in no mood to brook further restrictions. He feels them to be impertinent and an insult to his crown. In this he has the support of his mother.”
“I regret that His Grace should harbor such opinions.”
“Indeed my Lord, you seem to feel nothing but regrets.”
She smiled maliciously and she thought: Oh, Harry, my beloved boy, how happy you have made me! Let Albany do his worst. Let him go to France or the Fleming… what do I care, now that I have you!
“I hoped that I could turn you once more to friendship,” murmured Albany.
She shrugged her shoulders. She felt gloriously free. He no longer had the slightest power to move her. She had finished with him as she had with Angus; and when hatred turned to indifference, then could a woman call herself no longer the prisoner of her emotions.
Albany fretted as the weeks slipped by. He had come to no decision. The King was still with his mother in Stirling; he himself had made repeated requests to leave Scotland, and each time they had been refused.
He sat in his apartment looking out over the snowy landscape, thinking of that sickroom in the château. He had written to Anne promising that he would be at her bedside as soon as he could bring some order into the troublesome affairs of this country.
He knew that she would be thinking of him as he was thinking of her, and he longed to assure her once more of his devotion.
It was while he sat thus that messengers arrived from France with the sad news that Anne had died; she had blessed him before she did so and had wished to thank him for the happy life he had given her.
Albany covered his face with his hands when he heard the news.
I failed her, he thought; even at the end I was not at her side to bid her farewell.
There was whispering throughout the Court. The Regent was a widower; it only remained now for the Queen to obtain her divorce and they would be free to marry.
It was a situation to give rise to speculation.
Margaret heard it and smiled. Harry was quite obviously alarmed. She laughed at him when they were alone. “Nay, my love, do you think I'd take Albany now!”
“It might be considered a desirable match by the Council.”
“Do you think I will allow them to make a match which would be quite distasteful to me?”
“I greatly fear they will try to persuade you.”
“Then you are a foolish boy.”
“I live in terror.”
“My poor sweet Harry!”
She was delighted with him and so touched, yet sad because she was unable to give him all she longed to.
“I have not obtained my divorce from Angus yet, you know,” she said to comfort him.
“I rejoice in that, for at least you cannot marry Albany yet.”
“I never shall, I tell you. Though when I get my divorce I may marry again.”
“Your Grace…my dearest… but whom would you marry?”
“A certain young man.” She was reckless, but it was delightful to watch his face. She loved him too much to tease him for long. She went on: “His name is Harry Stuart.”
She watched the wonder dawn slowly in his eyes.
It had been necessary for Margaret to leave her son in Stirling Castle while she came to Edinburgh. She was restless and unhappy because this meant that not only did she have to say a temporary farewell to James, but to Harry also.
She was determined that it was a state of affairs which she would not endure and, when Albany invited her to meet him at the Gatehouse of Holyrood Palace, she went there eager to hear what he had to say to her.
Theirs was a private meeting which she found to her satisfaction, but when she heard the news he had to tell her, she was alarmed.
“I am afraid,” he warned her, “this will prove a shock to Your Grace. Angus has escaped from France and is on his way to England to seek refuge in your brother's Court.”
Margaret was horrified. Since she had fallen in love with Harry she had been agitating more determinedly than ever for her divorce. She knew how delighted Harry would be, as she would, if she could openly claim him as her husband. She hated the present separation and all the subterfuge which, even when they were under the same roof, had to be put in motion before they could spend a night together. She, as much as he, longed to regularize their union. There would be great opposition to their marriage, she knew; but they would face that afterward. She had acted before on impulse and taken the consequences. If Angus had proved to be the husband she knew her dear Harry would be, she would have had no regrets. It was Angus's perfidy which had caused her such sorrow, not her own impulsive action.
It had been pleasant to believe Angus to be well out of the way, and the thought of his return and all the trouble it could mean was alarming.
Albany watched her closely. “And your brother will offer him sanctuary and help.”
“I fear so,” she answered.
“Margaret, your brother is no friend to you.”
“I shall agree with you if he is ready to make Angus his friend.”
“That he is eager to do. Moreover, he would give Angus the help he needs to come back to Scotland and form a party to work for English interests and plot the downfall of the King. So you see, he is working against you.”
She was silent. There was so much truth in what he was saying.
“France would be a better friend to you,” went on Albany. “The King of France would grant you a pension; and if at any time Angus returned, and he made life difficult for you in Scotland, honors would be waiting for you in France.”
“Could I be sure of this?”
“I promise you it would be so, upon mine honor.”
“Your honor, my lord?”
“Come, I do not break my word. When did I ever swear to you that I had loved no other woman?”
“‘Tis true enough,” she answered.
“We must be reasonable, Margaret. A marriage between us would doubtless do much to bring peace into Scotland. I am now a widower, and if you obtained your divorce you would be free.”
She did not speak; she was thinking how much she would have given such a short time ago to hear him say those words. Now she could listen to them calmly; and she was thinking: Never would I marry you. I have no wish to marry you. You are aging and jaded, and my Harry is so young and tender. He thinks it the most wonderful thing in his life that a queen should love him. When I am free, it is Harry who shall be my husband.
She pretended however to be persuaded. She would let him think that she would marry him; then she would show him how much he meant to her, in the same way as he had shown her.
Revenge was still sweet, so perhaps even now, with Harry's caresses fresh in her memory, she still had some feeling toward this man.
She would go along with him, hide her true feelings; for if her brother was going to be the friend of Angus so that he regained his power in Scotland, her divorce might be delayed still further, and it would be well to
see what France had to offer her.
“There shall be a bond between us,” said Albany. “I will have it drawn up and you will see what advantages will come to you through friendship with France.”
“Yes,” she answered, “let there be such a bond for me to see.”
Now that she was on friendly terms with the Regent, Margaret returned to Stirling to her son and lover. Albany had impressed upon her the need to obey the Council's injunctions, which were that the King should be kept under restraint for his own safety. She listened quietly and had appeared to acquiesce, but she and Harry together discussed their plans, which were that as soon as the opportunity offered itself the King should be nominal head of the party which they themselves would lead.
That was an uneasy winter.
A quarrel flared up between Margaret and her brother, for her enemies arranged that a copy of the bond to which she had agreed with Albany should be sent among her papers to England.
Henry was furious. Whom could he trust, he stormed, if not his own sister? To think that she was considering making terms with France after all he had done for her.
Margaret shrewdly replied that she herself had had the bond sent to Henry in order that he might understand Albany's intentions; but Henry was not mollified, because he did not believe her. He guessed that she had heard of his invitation to Angus and because of this was seeking friendship with France. It was a sorry state of affairs when brother and sister must quarrel, grumbled Henry, but he had done all he could to keep his sister from losing her kingdom and her soul; he saw that he might be forced to abandon her if she did not mend her ways.
All this seemed unimportant to Margaret, because of her love for Harry Stuart.
Meanwhile Albany was getting desperate because he was not allowed to return to France. He had written to his friends there, assuring them that it was impossible to persuade the Scots to fight against England. He could no longer serve France, and he begged permission to return.
At last he was allowed by France and Scotland to do so and, before departing for Dumbarton where his ship was waiting for him, he went to Stirling Castle for a last interview with Margaret and her son.
He asked to be alone with Margaret for a few moments so that he could say goodbye to her. She granted this request, exultantly recalling the last time he had left and the sorrow she had felt then.
“This is not goodbye,” he said to her, and he held out his hands.
Margaret pretended not to notice the gesture, and walking to the window, looked out.
“We are sorry to see you go, my lord,” she answered.
“I hope that soon you will be free,” he went on.
“I too hope, as I have for so long.”
“And then,” he added, coming to her and standing close, “we shall be able to make our plans.”
She inclined her head. Her plans were already made, but she was not going to tell him what they were. It would give her some pleasure to refuse his offer of marriage when it came, because, she realized now, she would never really feel indifferent to him.
“Margaret, my dear…”
She turned and smiled at him vaguely. “I must wait until I am free before I can make my plans,” she replied, and moved away from him.
“How you have changed toward me,” he said sadly.
“Time never stands still for any of us, my lord.”
He sighed and, realizing that it was no use talking to her as a lover, said: “Margaret, the state of a country is always uneasy when the King is not of an age to govern. There are too many ambitious men waiting to seize power. I pray you have a care.”
“The care of my son has always been by first and most important task.”
“That I know well, but it is necessary to act with the greatest caution. I beg of you, do not attempt to bring him out of his boyhood too soon.”
“You must trust me to study his welfare in every way.”
“Margaret.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. It was the gesture of a lover toward his mistress. “Let us part as friends.”
She smiled and, gently disengaging herself, offered him her hands.
“Farewell, my friend,” was all she said.
He drew her to him and kissed her with passion. He still had a slight power to move her. But she was thinking of Harry and their plan to make the young King head of a party which they would lead. All this would be possible, once the Regent had left for France.
Let him think that the kiss she gave him was the kiss of a friend. She could feel little rancor toward him now. Let him go. What did it matter? She was happy with her Harry; and thus she intended to remain for the rest of her life.
Now that Albany had left Scotland, the time had come to carry out that plan which Margaret had cherished for so long.
Closeted with her son and Harry Stuart she told them what they must do. “The King is coming into his own,” she declared. “I, no less than he, am weary of this delay. We must seize our opportunity, and as we have many friends it will soon come.”
Young James and Harry were enthusiastic, and their eyes shone with anticipation, because both saw through this a change in their present situation. James had his eyes on a future when he should be King in more than name. Harry was dreaming of the day when Margaret would keep her promise to make him Treasurer of Scotland, and give the Great Seal into his charge. Nor would that be all; as husband of the Queen great titles as well as honors would be his.
“When?” cried young James.
“As soon as I am sure that we can act with safety,” was the answer. “Now I propose to go on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Ninian when in truth I shall be mustering the lords of Galloway whom I have reason to think will be faithful to our cause.”
“And soon,” cried James, “I shall leave this prison. Soon I shall show my subjects that I am in truth the King.”
There was a wildness in the tawny eyes that might have alarmed Margaret if she had not been so elated. She looked from her beloved son to her lover and put an arm about each of them.
“We are together in this,” she murmured, “and we cannot fail.”
There were many to rally to the Queen's cause. Albany was gone and loyalty to him was waning as it always did when he was no longer in Scotland.
Moreover it was obvious that James would be a King who, in maturity, would make up his own mind and would not thank those who stood against him now. There was the future to think of. James was determined on freedom and would remember those who helped him to it. So there was very little opposition when the King decided to break through his guard at Stirling Castle. When he rode in triumph to Edinburgh his people came running from their houses as he entered the capital city.
“Long live the King!” they shouted. “We have a king to rule us once more.”
And indeed James had the look of a king. What did it matter that he was so young? Youth passed all too quickly. The boy would soon be a man. Another such, they said, as his father. And they remembered the bonny man; remembered how his eyes would gladden at the sight of fair maidens, and his handsome looks and the show he gave them at the jousts when he was always champion. They forgot that he had led their men into unnecessary battle; they forgot that he had died before his time on Flodden Field.
They only remembered his charm and beauty and they said: “James V is another such as James IV. Long live the Stuart. Long live the King!”
So James with his mother rode through his capital and came to the Palace of Holyrood; here they stayed because they had decided to use it as their residence while they remained in the city.
Harry Stuart swaggered about Edinburgh. Rarely had a young man risen so rapidly to power, and many were asking why.
What had this Harry Stuart to bring him such posts as Treasurer and Lord Chancellor? What of those able lords whose experience and rank entitled them to these honors? Why should these be given to a younger son of an obscure nobleman, who had only just begun to be noticed about
the Court?
Of course he was handsome; he gave himself airs; he had a knowing look.
They remembered the rise of Angus, and asked themselves if this was an old story repeating itself.
So just as Margaret was beginning to win the respect of the lords she was doomed to lose it. Scotland was prepared to accept the boy King as their ruler; and since he was devoted to his mother and desired her to act as Regent, they were ready to acquiesce. But to set up this nobody—simply because he had a handsome face and a bragging manner—was unendurable.
There was not a lord at Court who was ready to knuckle under to the Queen's paramour. They complained together of the Queen's loose living and told themselves that they had not supported her that she might rule Scotland with the help of Harry Stuart.
Margaret was unaware of the grumblings. She was so happy to have her son and lover contented. They were three happy conspirators—all certain of success.
She wrote to Henry in England telling him that she had successfully flouted the restrictions placed on James by Albany, and that the boy was now in Edinburgh recognized as King. She thought that James should be turning his thoughts to marriage, for although he was as yet young, his betrothal was of great importance to him and to Scotland. Nothing would delight Margaret more than to accept her dear niece, the Princess Mary, as her daughter; and knowing her dearest brother's affection for his nephew (who bore such a striking resemblance to himself) she felt that he would not be averse to accepting him as his son.
Thomas Magnus, Henry's ambassador, arrived in Scotland with Henry's reply to this proposal, and when Margaret heard that he was in Edinburgh she was eager to see him without delay.
James and Harry were with her when she received Magnus, who told her that his master was pleased to hear that James had freed himself from the restraint put on him by Albany and that he hoped that now there would be an end to the strife between their two countries.
“My brother must be assured that this will come to pass,” Margaret replied. “Pray tell me what was his comment on my proposal concerning the Princess Mary.”
