The Thistle and the Rose (35 page)

He went to the King and asked him what he thought of his mother's action.

“I do not presume to judge the Queen,” answered James coldly.

“Your Grace, she has lost all hope of keeping her place in the Regency.”

“Has it occurred to you that soon there will be no need of a Regency?”

“Indeed that is so, but just now there
is
need for a Regency, and we are going to Stirling to see that this upstart, Henry Stuart, receives his just deserts.”

“And what are those?”

“Your Grace jokes. He shall be thrown into prison. He has no right to marry the Queen.”

“But she gave him that right which was hers to give.”

“Your Grace is too young to understand the implications of this.”

“Ah,” retorted James. “It is the old story. I am always too young.”

Angus was so disturbed that he did not notice the King's coolness. They must set out at once for Stirling, he said, and the King must accompany the party which should go, because it was in his name that Harry Stuart should be arrested.

How angry was young James as he rode toward Stirling. He thought of Lennox, dying from wounds inflicted by the hated Douglases. He thought of his beloved mother and his friend Harry Stuart. They loved and married; and because the Douglas had not wished them to do so they were to be parted.

If he were but King in truth!

He thought of all the things he would do. He would embrace his mother first, then Harry, and tell them he hoped for their happiness. And then he would cry: Throw that man in prison. And he would laugh aloud to see the astonishment on the face of Angus.

“I hate the Douglases,” he muttered as he rode along.

But power was still in the hands of the Douglases.

Angus strode into Stirling Castle and demanded to see the Queen.

She faced him defiantly, but when she heard his demand that Harry be brought forth, and when she saw his guards lay their hands on her husband, she was alarmed.

She cried out: “James, you are the King…”

James wanted to intervene but he knew it was useless; there was nothing he could do, and he could only stand by, black hatred of the Douglases in his heart.

So they took Harry Stuart and threw him into a dungeon.

And they left Margaret weeping for her newly married husband.

It seemed now that the country was completely in the control of Angus. He was the uncrowned King. The Queen, who had retreated to Edinburgh, was forced by him to give up the Castle. She so feared for her life that she hid herself on the moors and lived the life of a shepherdess, surrounded by a few faithful friends who adopted the same disguise.

Harry escaped from his dungeon and, when she received a communication from him, she joined him at Stirling and they made the Castle their refuge.

James was scarcely a boy now, for he would soon be seventeen. Time enough, he believed, for him to throw off the yoke.

The lords surrounding him watched his hatred of Angus growing and, ever ready to change sides, they believed that it would be wise to do so now.

Margaret with Harry and his brother James made a new plot, and messages were smuggled in to the King. Margaret let him know that she was taking the precaution of fortifying Stirling Castle so that very shortly it would be completely garrisoned; a good place for the King to come to and make a stand against his enemies.

She wanted him to know that there was none who worked more zealously for him than his mother and his stepfather, Harry Stuart; she hoped that when it was in his power to do so he would remember all Harry had done, and reward him. The Lordship of Methven, she suggested, would be a suitable honor. James should think of it.

James did think of it. He would be very ready to reward Harry, or anyone who could help him escape from his hated position.

Angus had moved him to Falkland Palace, and one by one James was winning over the servants to his side. He knew whom he could trust, and it would be a simple matter to slip out with the
help of guards who had ceased to be the servants of Angus and wished to serve their King. Horses would be waiting for him; then away to Stirling.

It proved to be as simple as he had thought it would because he had been right when he had believed that there were few now who wanted to disobey the King.

So one night James walked out of Falkland, mounted the waiting horse and rode full speed to Stirling, where he was received with great rejoicing by his mother and her husband.

Next day the royal standard flew high over Stirling Castle. The King was a boy no longer; he had come into his own. He was ready now to rule Scotland. He was going to reward his friends—and woe betide his enemies!

How happy Margaret was now.

James, her son, was King in truth, and there would be no more separations; Harry had been rewarded and was now Lord Methven and Master of the Royal Ordnance; men were deserting the Douglases and rallying to the King; there was nothing to do but rejoice.

James, who would never forgive Angus for the years he had spent as his captive, declared his intention of throwing him into prison. But Angus was not easily captured, though he was put to the horn and declared a traitor in every town in Scotland and a prize of a hundred marks was offered to any who could bring him, dead or alive, to the King. His estates were seized and divided among the loyal nobles who were only too eager to receive them.

Yet none caught Angus, and news eventually came to Margaret that he had escaped into England. This was good news, except for one thing. He had taken their daughter, the Lady Margaret Douglas, with him, and Margaret's hopes of regaining the guardianship of the girl were frustrated.

She was very anxious about her daughter until she heard that the Princess Mary had taken her into her household. Then she consoled herself that, as cousin to the Princess, she would be well treated. As for Angus he would be received well at Henry's Court for Henry had always been his friend.

Well, she had lost her daughter, but she had her son, who showed in a hundred ways his regard for her; she had Lord
Methven, her dear Harry; and there was no longer the need to plan James's rescue because James was free and in his rightful place.

She had enjoyed intrigue, but she was growing too old for it. Perhaps now she would settle down happily to the life of wife and mother, for she was young enough to bear children. She would retire from the glare of public life and be content to shelter in the brilliance of her son.

She was no longer Margaret the Queen, fighting to retain an untenable position; she was Harry's wife, contented and at peace.

T
HE
Y
EARS OF
R
ETIREMENT
P
ASSED
I
N
H
APPINESS
as Margaret had known they would. She bore Harry a son and a daughter; and her only sadness was that her daughter Margaret was far away and becoming more and more a stranger to her mother as the years passed.

Yet young Margaret was well cared for, the friend of Princess Mary, and a favorite, it was said, of her uncle. She was by all accounts a rare beauty, and Margaret would have given a great deal to see her again.

But it was not possible to have all one wished in life and she must learn to be content with what was hers.

Harry was a devoted husband; she was very fond of his brother James who was so like him in every way. The King was an affectionate son; he was loving by nature as many young women had discovered. Ah well, thought Margaret, it was hardly to be expected that a son of James IV and herself would be otherwise.

There were few shadows in life up to that time when news came to Scotland that the King of England had married again and was asking acknowledgment of Queen Anne Boleyn.

James came to see Margaret to discuss the matter with her.

As usual when she saw him after a brief absence she was filled with pride as he entered her room at Methven Castle. He was startlingly like his father and every bit as handsome. His hair had never lost the reddish tinge; his eyes were bluish gray, long and alert; his aquiline nose gave dignity and manliness to a face which otherwise would have been almost feminine in its beauty. He was of medium height, slender and well-shaped—a son to be proud of.

He kissed her hand—so gracious and courtly—another reminder of his father.

“So my brother has at last freed himself of poor Katharine and married the Boleyn woman,” she said.

James laughed. “Well, you must admit he has been patient.”

“Patient! 'Tis something Henry could never be. He must have suffered torment. I pity those about him.”

James nodded. “He wishes us to acknowledge her as Queen of England.”

Margaret spread her hands. “Henry has made her his Queen. That is an end to the matter. But I know how he always loved approval. He could never be happy without it.”

“The clergy are displeased,” James told her. “They sent a friar to preach before me and, although he did not mention names, he made it very clear that what has taken place in England has deeply shocked him and his brethren.”

Margaret made an impatient gesture. “I am sorry for Katharine, but I always knew she was too meek. And she was very condemnatory of my divorce. It is all such nonsense. When a marriage is finished, it is finished and that should be an end to it.”

“As you proved with Angus. Mother, I am in agreement with you. I shall write to congratulate Henry on his marriage and to wish him and his Queen a fruitful union.”

“Do so, my son, but with discretion. There are too many people in Scotland who imagine divorce to be a major sin, and it is better not to offend them.”

“They will have to change their minds.” He hesitated for a few seconds then hurried on: “Mother, I have made up my mind to marry.”

“It is time, my son. Do you plan to visit France yourself to claim your bride?”

“No, I do not intend to go to France because I have no intention of marrying into France. I have chosen my wife and she is Scottish.”

Margaret stared at him in astonishment. “But you have been promised to the daughter of the Duke of Vendôme. What are you saying, James?”

“That I have decided to marry where I please, and I have chosen my own bride.”

“James! This cannot be so. Whom have you chosen?”

“Margaret Erskine. She has already borne me a son and I would make him legitimate if that were possible. He is a fine healthy boy and I love his mother as I could love no other.”

“But is she not married to Douglas of Lochleven?”

“We have just agreed that when a marriage is irksome it should be dissolved, have we not?”

“James, this is madness!”

“Was it madness when you divorced Angus?”

“I was only the mother of the King. You are the King.”

“Nevertheless I am determined to marry whom I will.”

“So it is for this reason that you congratulate my brother and his new Queen.”

James was silent, and Margaret felt peace slipping away from her. She tried to look dispassionately at that handsome face which was almost womanish. The aquiline nose could not altogether disguise the weakness of the chin. James
was
weak where women were concerned, as his father had been.

He must not make the mistakes that she had made. Looking back she saw that hasty marriage with Angus as the beginning of all her troubles.

In that moment she wanted to help James achieve his desire, but she believed that by arranging a divorce for his mistress, marrying her himself and by attempting to legitimize his bastard, he was, at the beginning of his reign, making trouble for himself. What of the French? How would he placate them for the insult done to them?

No, she must make a firm stand.

“It is impossible,” she said.

His brow had darkened, his lips tightened. He turned on her in a rage.

“It was well enough when you wished for divorce. So there is one law for you and another for me?”

“James…you are the King.”

“And you were the Queen. What did you care? So you will stand against me now. I had not believed it of you.”

She tried to explain but his impetuous nature was in revolt. All those who would not help him in this matter were his enemies.

It was the first quarrel they had had; and it was a bitter one.

Margaret was filled with grief; and that was the end of the peaceful years.

James did not marry his mistress. When the Parliament stood firmly against him he was wise enough to realize that he could only court disaster by doing so.

So he gave way and went to France, in the role of romantic lover, to court the lady who had been chosen for him. He was received with warmth in the Duke's household, but he did not fall deeply in love with Mademoiselle de Vendôme. His thoughts were still with the mother of his son James on whom he doted although he had put aside his desire to marry her, for the sake of duty. It was not surprising therefore that he lacked enthusiasm for this woman who had been chosen to be his bride.

Traveling through France he was entertained at the Court of François, and there he met the young Princess Magdalene who had at one time been suggested as a bride for him. She was a delicate child who, no sooner had she set eyes on him, adored him.

As for James, all his chivalry was aroused by her fragility and her admiration of himself; and he confessed to her father that she was the lady whom it would delight him to marry.

The King of Scotland was a worthy
parti.
So the proposed marriage with Vendôme was put aside for the more desirable one with the daughter of the King of France.

James was delighted. Only this fragile child could compensate him for his inability to marry his dear Margaret and legitimize his bonny James. The Parliament of Scotland had no objections. A French marriage was what it desired, and a daughter of the King of France was more suitable than one of the Duke of Vendôme.

Margaret sighed with relief. Once James was safely married, all would be peaceful again.

News came from England that Henry, tiring of his second wife, had accused her of adultery and she had lost her head on Tower Green. He was now married to Lady Jane Seymour.

“He cannot blame me for having had three husbands,” commented Margaret, “now that he has had three wives.”

She was a little anxious about her daughter Margaret who by this time had become a prominent member of the English Court. In those days of intrigue one could never be sure who was going to arouse the King's anger next. Henry VIII was a fickle man; his anger was terrible, and he had supreme power with which to make it felt. Who would have believed that the vital and dazzling Anne, for whom he had fought desperately over so many years, could in three short ones have passed from glory to dishonor and death? It was ironical that glory, honor, disaster and death had been dealt by the same hand.

And there, in the center of intrigue, was young Margaret. Her mother's anxiety had increased because the girl had been favored by Anne Boleyn, which doubtless meant she had lost favor with her original benefactress, the Princess Mary. It must be impossible to live at the English Court and not take sides.

It seemed that no sooner was the anxiety concerning one child lessened than that concerning another must distress her.

She often lay awake at night, thinking of the dangers which could beset her daughter at the Court of her terrible brother. It was true that Angus, as a pensioner of Henry, was at that Court and, whatever else he was, he was fond of his daughter and would do his best to protect her.

Without doubt the peaceful era had come to an end.

But she was not prepared for the greatest blow of all.

During one of the rare journeys she made, she visited the home of the Earl of Atholl. A splendid banquet was prepared for her and she took great pleasure in wearing her most dazzling gown; her person sparkled with jewels as she sat at the table which was laden with beef, mutton, venison, goose, capon, swan, partridge, plover, moorfowls and every kind of food that could be thought of; with Malmsey and muscatel, white and red wine, beer and aqua vitae with which to wash it down. It was rarely, said Atholl, that he had the honor of entertaining the Queen.

Harry had been with her as usual and, as they sat together at the places of honor, a woman caught her eye. This was Janet, widow of the Master of Sutherland, and eldest daughter of the Earl
of Atholl; in that moment it was as though some extra sense warned her to take especial note of Janet; and when she met Janet's young son, a most engaging boy, she kept him at her side. There was something in the lad which appealed to her strongly.

“What is your name?” she asked him.

“It is Henry, Your Grace,” he told her.

She smiled at Harry. “A goodly name,” she commented, “and one which I like well.”

Harry laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and it was almost as though a secret message passed between them.

Margaret turned her eyes to the Mistress of Sutherland who was watching them, and she noticed that the woman's hands were slightly trembling.

She remembered then that she had heard of the death of the Master of Sutherland some years before. Could he have had a son of Henry's age?

She mentioned the matter to her women when they were undressing her that night, but strangely they seemed reluctant to speak of the matter.

Then it was almost as though she had gone back in years and was reliving certain episodes, as though her life was a vast tapestry, the essential point of which was that the pattern should be repeated again and again. A stupid fancy, she told herself; and tried to dismiss the matter from her mind.

But the evil suspicions persisted, and she found herself watching Harry as she never had before. Emotions which she had long forgotten seemed to be stirring within her.

One evening when they were alone together in her apartments at Methven Castle she burst out: “What is the Mistress of Sutherland to you, Harry?”

As she watched the blood drain from his face, she knew. Had she not lived it all before?

So her life was shattered. She was no longer young, being nearly fifty. The pain was as great as it had been when she had discovered the infidelity of James and of Angus. Why, she demanded, was she called upon to bear this yet again? Why was it that her marriages always ended in this way?

Ended?

Yes, this was going to be the end of her third marriage. She was not going to be deceived and deluded again. She supposed that all the Court knew of her husband's treachery as they had known of that of Angus and James before she did. Then she had given way to passionate weeping. But she was older now; her emotions were no longer so easily stirred.

Harry should be made to suffer though. All his honors should be stripped from him.

“You will be sorry for this, my Lord Muffin,” she said, using the contemptuous term which her brother Henry had bestowed on her third husband when he had first heard of the marriage, and had indeed persisted in calling him ever since.

There was one word which kept hammering in her brain: divorce.

Was there no end to trouble? News came from England that her daughter, the Lady Margaret Douglas, had incurred the King's displeasure by betrothing herself, without his consent, to Lord Thomas Howard, the uncle of Anne Boleyn.

Young Margaret's position had changed when the King had declared his marriage to Katharine of Aragon invalid. It had altered once more now that Anne Boleyn was disgraced. Since both the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth were declared illegitimate, Margaret Douglas was heir to the throne if Henry did not beget legitimate children. It was true that King James of Scotland came before her; but Margaret had been brought up at the Court of England and had until now enjoyed the favor of her uncle.