My throat tightened at this. I had learned of this; it was a distressing display of Albany’s rule and a loss of a man who had become a great ally, as unlikely as that was.
‘A lot has come to pass,’ I agreed. ‘But I am here now. I am recovered from the baby’s birth and my illness; I am ready to fight.’
‘There isn’t so much a need for fighting as there is … collaboration,’ Angus said. ‘In that, I think you will agree.’
I drew in a breath, expelling it in a heavy sigh. ‘I dinna want to think on it now, Angus,’ I confessed. ‘I will address each issue as it arises. For now, I want to think of you and the baby, and of seeing Little Jamie soon.’
‘And so you shall,’ Angus said as he made to quit the room. ‘I will let you get some rest.’
‘You’re leaving?’ I asked, furrowing my brow in confusion. ‘I thought you might want to stay. It has been a long time …’
Angus shook his head with a small smile. ‘Now, there’s plenty of time for that, my dear. Rest now.’
‘You dinna want to stay and rest with me?’ I prodded, feeling a desperate fool.
Angus sighed. ‘My dear … Come, I’ll tuck you in.’ With this he led me to my bedchamber, drawing the covers down before helping me out of my gown. I slid between the warm blankets, snuggling in as he drew them to my neck, tucking them around me and pressing a kiss against my forehead. ‘There. Settled?’
I nodded with a smile. ‘Won’t you join me, keep me warm?’
Angus pursed his lips. ‘I have matters to attend. You have been through much. Just rest. For me?’
I nodded again, the obedient wife once more. ‘Of course, darling,’ I conceded, watching his strong back retreat.
Changes, indeed. Everything, to my dismay, seemed unremarkably the same.
Little Jamie was in the care of the Archbishops of St Andrews and Glasgow at Edinburgh and I went there straight away. I could not get there fast enough. In a matter of moments, I would be holding my son.
I was refused entry. There was plague, I was told, and Little Jamie was moved to Craigmillar. Once again I set out for another ride, hoping this wasn’t some kind of scheme to keep me from him, which would stand at odds with the new treaty.
But, to my relief, I was allowed to see him. The lairds and his attendants were present; no one would leave me alone with him, driving the point deep within my breast that I was held suspect of kidnapping my own child. I had to content myself that at least I was allowed to see him.
He was now five years old, slim like his father but robust with health. While retaining as much dignity as I could, I ran to him, taking him in my arms. He stood stiff in my embrace.
‘Jamie, darling,’ I cooed. ‘It is me, Mother.’ I knelt down beside him, stroking his hair, his face, taking in the feel of his baby skin, his child’s scent. Tears caught my throat. ‘I know it has been a long time. I have missed you so! But now we are together and I can see you again often. Did you miss me, Jamie?’
He first looked to the lairds, then shifted his gaze to me, offering a slow nod and shy smile. My heart clenched. Damn those men’s influence to manipulate a child’s heart for their own interests!
I took him in my arms again, rocking to and fro. ‘I’m sorry I had to leave you,’ I whispered against his cheek. ‘And I am so sorry I wasn’t here when baby Alexander died.’
He trembled in my arms at this. I held him tighter.
‘It is hard for you to understand,’ I went on, swallowing the tears rising in my throat, ‘but all I have done I have done for you, for us. I love you more than anyone or anything and I always will. Everything I do is for you, to keep you safe and to keep you king.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ was all he said as I drew back.
My visit was brought to an end and as I left I cursed myself for ever leaving him, for leaving Scotland, and for the forces that were driving my son and me apart.
One of the few joys of returning was seeing my Ellen once more. She was as beautiful as when I first saw her, fuller of figure, but it suited her; she appeared healthy and, as always, I cherished her calm, clear perspective on life. Our reunion at Stirling was warm. I was grateful to have my favourite confidante at my side at long last.
‘Oh, Ellen, why is it that everything looks better when we’re away from it?’ I asked her as we sewed in my apartments. I was sewing garments for Little Jamie. It would please me to see him wear clothes sewn by my hand and grate on the lairds, meeting two objectives at once.
‘Distance and time always alter our view of things,’ she told me. ‘It’s why people live in the past; they see it as better. In truth, even then they lived further back in their own minds, where everything is forever good and innocent. Our truest happiness is known when we are but babes. Still, we must try to make some kind of life in our present. Otherwise we miss all the good that is around us now, longing for things we can never have.’
I pondered her words, knowing them to be true. In Scotland I wanted to be in England; in England I wanted to be in Scotland. With my husband Jamie, I wanted the love and devotion of a man who would never betray me; with Angus, I wanted Jamie. It was a torturous existence and I knew it was not exclusive to me.
‘The present is as confusing to me as it ever was,’ I said, my tone taut with frustration. ‘Scotland is as barbarous and bloody as ever in its divisiveness. The Homes murdered Deputy-Governor De la Bastie, even having the gall to tie his head by its hair to the saddle of his horse, as if killing him wasn’t enough. Now Lord Hamilton, the Earl of Arran, is his replacement and he suspects my Angus as playing a part in his predecessor’s murder. He’s arrested Angus’s brother George.’
‘What do you think, Your Grace?’ she asked me. She had abandoned her sewing, engaging me with her ebony eyes, fully attending the conversation while I fumbled with my needle, dropping it and recovering it over and over, fidgety with anxiety.
‘I dinna know what to think,’ I confessed. ‘Angus and the rest of the Douglases have always had their share of enemies. And Lord Hamilton was a bit of a pirate in his day, but he has become loyal to me.’
‘I think you like pirates,’ Ellen teased. ‘As it is, Robert Barton is your comptroller.’ Her eyes grew soft when she said the name of one of my favourite storytellers from my early days in Scotland. I remembered that it was he who captured the Portuguese ship Ellen was on as a slave. He had rescued her and brought her to Scotland with another Moorish beauty, named Margaret after me.
‘Yes, but Robin was a privateer,’ I returned with a smile, utilising my dear friend’s pet name.
‘Oh, yes, a marked difference.’ Ellen laughed. ‘A pirate with papers!’
We giggled at that and it lifted my spirits to laugh and tease as if we were young girls at court again.
‘I hate to see Lord Arran at odds with my husband and his family,’ I said, returning to the topic at hand. ‘I dinna know what to make of Angus, Ellen. He is so cold to me.’
To this, Ellen bowed her head, saying nothing.
Her silences had always revealed more than she intended, or perhaps exactly what she intended. She knew why Angus was cold; perhaps everyone did.
For me, I was content to live in ignorance a bit longer.
I did not want to know.
To my utter surprise, I received a letter from Albany stating that I should appeal to the council for the return of my regency. His correspondences had been warmer to me of late. Perhaps he was plagued by the guilt of baby Alexander’s death, though in truth I no longer blamed him for it. Perhaps Scottish politics had been too much for him, with the constant feuding and clan rivalries. Or perhaps he was accepting that he was a Frenchman at heart and wanted to remain in the home of his former exile. Whatever the reason, this turn of heart rejuvenated me.
I took this news to the lairds of my council, suggesting that Angus be my co-regent; nothing like this boost of power would prove my desire for a happy marriage more. After our triumphant ride into Edinburgh together with a
train four hundred horses strong, our ears ringing with the cries of the loving crowds, the hope of being received well as regents seemed reachable.
My appeals were denied to a man.
‘Angus,’ said Lord Arran, ‘is not an honourable man.’
I shook my head at this, taking to my apartments again to wonder why. Angus was rash, his moves bold. But was he without honour?
It was in my apartments that I was paid a visit by Robin Barton. He was a handsome man, I had always thought, with his cut figure, dark curling hair and thin mustache, skin tanned from years at sea, and bold green eyes. His stories of his adventures had delighted me as a young girl, and his loyalty touched me as a woman.
Ellen remained with me for his visit and I noted the softness in their eyes as they regarded each other. Robin sat across from me in a stiff-backed chair, folding his ankle over his other knee and leaning forward.
‘Your Grace,’ he began in his gruff voice. ‘What do ye know?’
‘About what, Robin?’ I asked, knowing somehow that he was to be the bearer of bad tidings and steeling myself against it.
‘About Angus,’ he finished. ‘About the goings-on while ye’ve been in England.’
My heart began to pound. I lowered my eyes, clenching my hands on the arms of my chair. ‘I know nothing,’ I breathed.
Robin drew in a breath, expelling it in a whoosh. I could see he was uncomfortable in his task.
‘It is my unfortunate duty to make plain to you what he has done,’ he said. ‘And I dinna like it any more than you,’ he added with a wag of his finger. His eyes softened. ‘Your Grace, Angus took up with his old love, Lady Jane Stewart of Traquair. He lived with her for the whole of your departure. On your lands and on your money.’
The words were a lance in my side. I clutched my churning belly, squeezing my eyes shut, praying it was a dream, praying I would open them and Robin would begin telling a story of the sea, something far removed from these days that only grew darker and more complex.
I shook my head and felt Ellen behind me. She wrapped her arm about my shoulders, drawing me to her. I grew stiff. I could not begin to fathom what I had been told, even if I had suspected he dallied with the girl well before I left Scotland. But to live with her on my lands, on my finances! The depth of his brazen disrespect boggled the mind.
‘He’s taken the rents from both Methven and Ettrick Forest,’ he revealed.
I offered a shaky sigh. ‘Oh, Robin … I am a great fool. No wonder I am mocked and laughed at. No wonder the lairds rejected my proposal. God curse me for even thinking to name him co-regent!’ I dipped my head in my hand, humiliation heating my cheeks. ‘I am fated to be the last to know, always. Such a fool, such a fool …’
‘Not a fool,’ Robin amended. ‘A woman. Ye canna condemn yourself for falling in love. It happens to the best of us and always throws reason over the ledge.’
‘I did not love him, Robin,’ I confessed. ‘I loved love.’
Robin lowered his eyes. ‘Ye canna be faulted for that, either.’
I straightened myself in my seat, wiping my eyes and squaring my shoulders. ‘Well. I commend your courage for telling me,’ I told my friend. ‘Now I must decide what to do …’
‘Appeal to the lairds of the council for assistance; perhaps they can help restore the stolen funds,’ Robin suggested.
I nodded, taking this in. ‘Then what?’ I asked in flat tones. I wished for him, for Ellen, for anybody to take the helm of my life and steer me away from danger. The thought of going it alone was exhausting and at once all I wanted to do was sleep.
‘You’re asking me?’ Robin retorted. ‘Ye dinna want to know what I think, Your Grace.’
‘I do,’ I urged him. ‘I want you to be honest. Even if I disagree, I will respect your honesty. It is a trait found in few enough men.’
Robin met my eyes with his own stormy green gaze. ‘Divorce him.’ His tone was hard.
Divorce, that most dishonourable of estates. I could only imagine how such a notion would be received. And yet already I was courting that most appealing of solutions. But was I bold enough, brave enough, to take such action, to name our marriage false before Christendom and the world?
Anger clenched my heart and twisted my gut.
Yes, a voice inside me declared. I was every bit bold and brave enough. I was a Tudor!
Before action against Angus could be taken, I summoned him to Stirling for a meeting alone in my presence chamber. I could not go forth if I knew there was any chance of reconciliation, if there was any possibility that the rumours were not true. His set jaw and hard eyes confirmed without a word that they were.
I remained calm; I would make it known who was queen and who was the overreaching subject.
‘Why did you marry me, Angus?’ I asked in quiet tones, dispensing with the irrelevant and getting to the heart of the matter.
‘I could ask the same of you,’ he retorted, his tone high with tension.
‘Answer the question,’ I urged with exaggerated patience. ‘Please. We’ve nothing to lose now; I know of your transgressions against me. Tell me the truth.’
Angus sighed. ‘You want the truth? I married you because my grandfather wished it. He thought it would serve our family well. He was wrong. It only tore Scotland in two and took me from the woman I truly loved, causing me nothing but aggravation and turmoil.’
The words struck me to the core. Even though I knew they rang with indisputable truth, my ears ached with each one. But I had asked him to be honest. I could commend him at the very least for that.
‘So now you are reunited with your true love,’ I observed. ‘On my lands and with my money.’
‘Money and lands that are as much mine as yours,’ he spat. ‘I went through the dread ordeal of being your husband and gave you a daughter; it is the least you can allow me.’
I would not permit myself to flinch at his brazen hatred.
‘I answered your damn question,’ Angus went on, irreverent as ever. ‘So answer mine. Why did you marry me? You did not love me any more than I loved you; of that I was reminded every time you referred to your husband and didn’t mean me but King James. Every time you referred to me by title and never my own name.’ He laughed. ‘Did it ever occur to you to call me Archibald and not Angus?’
I considered this. He was right; I never could bring myself to call him by his given name. Why was it? Did the barrier of a cold title help insulate me against hurt I must have intuited as inevitable?
‘I was lonely,’ I confessed. ‘I was afraid of ruling Scotland by myself and feared for the safety of my children. I wanted to feel admired; I wanted to feel loved.’ I had nothing to lose in my honesty, but how it shamed me to admit the paltriness of my own desires. ‘So,’ I went on with a sigh of resolve. ‘We have admitted we have no love of each other. Why not end this travesty? Why not appeal for a divorce?’
‘I have always known you thought little of our daughter as compared to your golden sons,’ Angus seethed. ‘But for you to so easily bastardize her shames you beyond what words can express.’
I knew there were ways around that but would not argue with him. I shook my head. ‘I see,’ was all I said to that. I swallowed an onset of tears; I’d be damned if I would allow them to fall in front of him. ‘I am sorry for everything; I need you to know that. It would have been easier, for baby Margaret’s sake if no other, for us to behave with civility and peace. But if you refuse to, then all I can do is pray for you and wish you and … the lady of Traquair … well.’
Angus’s eyes softened a moment at this, before returning to murky depths of disdain. ‘Farewell, Your Grace,’ he said in quiet tones, offering a swift bow.
‘Farewell … Archibald,’ I whispered, watching him retreat and, with him, any hopes of saving the marriage. We stood in direct opposition of what our Lord commanded. We entered into the sacred estate of marriage not with loving hearts desiring to work through any obstacle life threw our way as friends and l
overs.
As far as I could see the sin was not in a divorce but in that very union. We had entered into marriage lightly.
17
A Woman of Scandal
My estate grew bleaker by the day. I had begun to pawn my jewels and was even dismissing my servants, hardworking gentlemen and ladies I could no longer afford to pay. It was humiliating and no way for a queen to live. Even my dear friend Robin condescended to loan me five hundred pounds of his own money.
‘’Tis a gift,’ he assured me, and with bowed head and flushing cheeks I was forced to accept.
‘I am at my wits’ end,’ I confided. ‘I have appealed my cause to my brother, to Wolsey and Albany, to the Pope, to everyone who could have influence. Henry and Catherine have written me, actually scolding me, saying I’d bring scandal to the Tudor name if I divorced Angus.’ I held up a letter from Henry, waving it in front of Robin before reading an excerpt. ‘This is what he says: “Remember the divine ordinance of inseparable matrimony, first instituted in Paradise.” The thought of divorce to him is “wicked delusions, inspired by the father of evil, whose malice alone could prompt you to leave your husband or unnaturally to stigmatise the fair daughter you had by him.”’ With a disgusted click of the tongue, I tossed the letter aside on my writing table. ‘All this after Henry has a son with one of his mistresses! Hypocrites, all of them! And Angus refuses to make any terms; he sees it as his right to my land and income as my husband, despite the fact that he continues to live with that woman and the child she bore him openly on my lands of Newark!’
‘It is a shameful ordeal,’ Robin conceded.
‘Even my old friend Lord Dacre sides with Henry,’ I went on miserably. ‘If my daughter Margaret is bastardised by it, as Henry implies, it makes her less of an asset to him and Angus,’ I added, my tone thick with irritation. ‘She’s fated to be a pawn, just like me …’My tone grew soft with regret.
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