The Beauty of the Mist

by May McGoldrick

  Maria had not complained. The longer she had to wait for this dreaded marriage, the less real it seemed. But then this morning, the Abbot had come to the Abbey’s guest quarters and, sitting beside Isabel, had informed them that the Earl of Angus had left his troops at the Borders and was riding back to Edinburgh just to greet the future Queen.

  He’s going to rush this marriage, she decided, considering everything. Angus needed to consummate the marriage that would seal the treaty between Scotland and the Holy Roman Empire. Angus and his Douglas clan were the ones responsible for this upcoming marriage of the Scottish king. And from all that had taken place here in Scotland over the past month or two, she could well understand the man’s motives for seeking to finalize his pact with the Emperor.

  Maria turned and looked to the northwest, past the great hill and the Castle. The Highlands were there somewhere. And Benmore Castle. Perhaps John was out there, standing in the same rain. Looking southward toward Edinburgh.

  She had done her best to hide the fact that the Abbot’s news distressed her, but she wasn’t really sure how successful she’d been. She already disliked the Earl of Angus. He was clearly an ambitious, power hungry man with no sense of integrity. Curious, she thought, that Caroline Maule is a cousin to the man. Angus’s message to the Abbot had referred to the upcoming wedding ceremony. It would be conducted, the Lord Chancellor promised, as soon as the trouble with the Borders could be contained, and the King safely conducted to Edinburgh.

  Maria wondered for a moment how much of what she heard was true. Some reports had it that both Margaret Tudor and her new husband were imprisoned in Stirling Castle. Others held that the queen’s husband, Lord Darnley, was free in the Highlands, gathering support from the clans there. It appeared to be common knowledge that King James was being held against his will at Falkland Palace, in spite of the Lord Chancellor’s denials. Thanks to Isabel and the Abbot, her aunt’s willing informant, Maria was beginning to get a steady flow of news. Maria was so glad Isabel had agreed to stay.

  Isabel had taken one look at the confusion surrounding their arrival and had softened considerably to her niece’s plight. She had apparently seen that the young queen had no one to support her. The delegation had quickly dispersed, and the four ships under Sir John’s command had immediately set sail, reportedly northward to Dundee–and the nobles loyal to young King James.

  John Macpherson had gone, and nothing had been resolved between them, Maria thought with a pang of sorrow. Or perhaps all had been resolved.

  They had been settled into the royal residence at the Abbey, a favorite stopping place for Margaret Tudor, the king’s mother. It was curious to Maria that even though she had never met Queen Margaret in person, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of intimacy with the woman. Margaret, too, had been wed at a young age, and she, too, had an aggressive and ambitious brother who interfered and planned out her life for her. But now, after two marriages, she had taken her future in her own hands and had wed the man she’d chosen at last–only to be imprisoned by her ex-husband.

  With a last look northward, Maria went down the spiral stone steps to her Abbey chambers and, hanging her dripping cloak on a peg by the door, sat down by the small fire. After exchanging a few commonplace thoughts with Isabel, who sat sewing, Maria sat back to wait for Angus’s arrival.

  Looking into the fire, she wondered if she were nothing more than a puppet. A fancy, expensive, elegantly dressed puppet bought to play a part and divert the people. Perhaps that was the role of all nobility these days, she thought, forcing down the anger that was threatening to push to the surface. Letting out a long breath, she ignored Isabel’s questioning look and picked up the small volume of Scots poetry she’d borrowed from the Abbot’s collection. Opening it to her place, Maria went back to Blind Harry’s exploits of a hero named ‘The Wallace.’

  Archibald Douglas, the Earl of Angus is an extremely unlikable and arrogant man, Maria thought, her smile plastered on her face. Even worse than she had imagined. Perhaps he wanted to impress her with his ‘manly’ drive to rule, or perhaps he simply thought that because Maria was a woman, he could say anything. But whatever the reason, he blustered and bragged, strutted about the chamber, and tugged his long black beard–in all, making very little effort to hide his ambitions. Angus’s behavior was appalling, but still she remained where she was seated...and tried to memorize his every word. She would not be so foolhardy as to give him any clue of just how insidious she thought his plans to be. Nay, she had already decided to play the simpleton and agree wholeheartedly to everything he suggested. But only for now.

  The Earl of Angus had already imprisoned a king and a queen. She was not about to give the Lord Chancellor any reason to lock her up at Edinburgh Castle before the wedding took place, an act she really didn’t think was beyond the realm of possibility. She had played this game with her brother, and the Emperor was far better at it than this man. But she was not going to underestimate him. She knew how to play this game. And she preferred to play it from the relative freedom of the Abbey of Holyrood.

  “In two weeks the Borders will be secured,” Angus announced reassuringly. “Then I’ll be bringing back our young king to Edinburgh for the day of the wedding. There will be no time for any troublemakers to disturb the festivities, and this whole affair will be settled. It will be a day of joy for you, your grace, and for Scotland.”

  Once again, she just nodded simply.

  “Of course, you do understand that I am relying on you, your grace.” He paused, giving her a knowing look. “I am relying on you to convey to your brother immediate news of...well, of news that...”

  Even though it would have given her great satisfaction to let him stew uncomfortably, looking for a courteous way to speak his mind, she knew the wiser course, at this point, was to help the arrogant boor through his difficulty.

  “...that the marriage is consummated?” Maria suggested, smiling sweetly.

  “Aye. That’s it.” Angus nodded his approval. “Since you’re barren, there is no point in waiting for a miracle to occur before your brother forwards the second part of your dowry to us. In my opinion, your words on the matter should be sufficient for all concerned...your grace.”

  It seemed impossible that he could not know how cruel he sounded. “That’s very kind of you, Lord Chancellor.”

  “Also, in your letter to the Emperor, if we may, I’d like you to mention the possibility of him sending some of his Imperial troops along with the dowry.” Angus stopped by the window and stared out at the courtyard below. After a short pause, he continued, sounding like a man thinking aloud. “With these fools in the north acting up, a show of force by the Emperor would benefit us all.”

  This was more than Maria could believe. How could this man have survived in power all these years? She was not even married yet to James, and still Angus was already asking her to help bring in foreign troops.

  “Could I rely on you to grant me that, your grace?”

  “M’lord, I understood you to have excellent rapport with my brother. You surely do not need my help in such a trivial matter, now do you?”

  “Aye, your grace. I do, I do. You see, I mean to send a letter to the Emperor after your wedding, with the same request. But a note from your grace in support of my petition...why, that would mean a certain response from your brother, I should think.”

  Maria couldn’t agree more. Angus was inviting the wolf into the hen house, and Charles would jump at the opportunity, she was quite certain.

  “Whatever you think best, Lord Chancellor,” she agreed in her most vapid tones. “I don’t know how much Charles reads of the lower level correspondence, but I’m fairly certain he reads my letters. As you already know, these days are exceptionally trying for my brother, you know.” Reciting the Emperor’s exact words, she continued with a pained expression, “My poor, dear Charles is extending himself in every direction. He has to crush rebellion in Spain, fight with the nasty French, hold back the Turk
’s advances in the east, control Lutheran heresy in Germany, even protect the Pope in Rome! Oh, my heavens...on top of it all, he will be extremely put out if he is summoned to Scotland.”

  “But perhaps, if you were to ask...?” Angus suggested.

  “Aye, if I were to ask...” Maria gave him a honeyed smile. “The dearest thing will do anything if I were to ask. And don’t fret, m’lord, I’ll ask.”

  “Then it’s settled!” The man rubbed his hands together and then smoothed his long beard reflectively.

  Seeing the earl so content, she paused before asking her final question. “Once I am wed, though, I hope you don’t expect me to spend much time in some hunting hovel.”

  “Oh, no, your grace. Though Falkland Palace may not be up to the standards you are accustomed to, it is quite comfortable. But once I’ve hammered the outlaws of the Borders into submission and secured the allegiance of the rebels to the far north, we’ll devise a progress for your grace through the kingdom that will please you. And, of course, we could oversee the building of a new Palace, if you care to.” Angus tugged at his beard. “It’s just that I have to...well, provide for the young King at one of the royal residences for a while yet.” As an afterthought, Angus concluded. “For his own safety, of course.”

  “Of course,” she repeated with another vacuous smile.

  Maria watched as the Earl of Angus roused himself and rubbed his hands together. The man was clearly delighted with himself and his good fortune at finding such an agreeable queen.

  “I have naught more to trouble you with, your grace,” he announced, bowing to her formally. “I must return to the Borders for a fortnight, and when I return, we shall have a wedding to attend to.”

  “M’lord,” she called softly, as if she were just recalling something. “With only a fortnight or so to the wedding, do you think there is enough time...”

  Maria brought her hand to her mouth, stopping her words, a look of mortification lighting her face.

  “Enough time for what, your grace?”

  “Before I left, my brother...the Emperor demanded that I forward him a wedding portrait of me immediately. And I’ve been here a week already and done nothing to honor his request.”

  “Your grace,” Angus said impatiently. “I assure you there will be plenty of time after your wedding for a portrait to be painted.”

  “Well, then I suppose my letter to the Emperor will need to be delayed for at least that long, as well,” she replied, a note of petulance in her voice. “And I suppose if I must wait that long to gratify his only recompense for his efforts, I could send off for Charles’s painter, Jan von Vermeyen. Of course, Vermeyen is always quite busy, and it might take him perhaps six months or so before he could come. Oh heavens, that brings us to winter, doesn’t it. Oh, well. I guess he won’t be able to come until next summer.” Her voice again cheerful, Maria turned her bright green eyes fully upon him. “But you can wait a year or so for a few soldiers, can’t you, Lord Chancellor?”

  The look of horror in Angus’s face was priceless, and Maria fought back her smile.

  “Nay, your grace. I fear we can’t wait that long. It...we simply can’t. Certainly, your brother is a reasonable man. If you were to send a letter with the promise of a portrait to follow soon after.”

  “Clearly, Lord Chancellor, you don’t know the Emperor’s mind on such important matters.” She turned the poutiest face on him that she could muster. “If you think I am going to send my brother a letter asking for a few pieces of gold and some soldiers, and not even do him the courtesy of sending the portrait that he so much desires, then you are mistaken, m’lord. Quite, quite mistaken.”

  “I am certain there is something we can do.”

  “Very true. We’ll wait for Vermeyen.” Maria brightened suddenly. “You know, Lord Chancellor, as well I should wait for the best.”

  Maria again watched from the corner of her eye the struggle that Angus was going through. Charles had asked for no such portrait. As far as Maria knew, her brother couldn’t care less for such a gift. But if she could use this ploy as a way of passing on the Lord Chancellor’s rather despicable intentions to those who really served King James...

  “I fear I have a headache coming on, Lord Chancellor,” she announced, unwilling to give the man time to consider the matter. “I’m not accustomed to so much...so much hard work all at one time. So, since you agree, I’ll forward a letter to Vermeyen and ask him to join us here next summer.” She put a hand to her forehead as if checking for a fever. “With Charles and Queen Isabella redecorating the Palace at Antwerp, I wonder if he’ll be able to make it then. Perhaps two years might be more realistic.”

  “I assure you there is no need for you to wait that long,” the Earl replied unhappily. “Scotland boasts one of the finest portrait artists living. Elizabeth Boleyn Macpherson’s reputation is well known.”

  “A woman?” Maria gasped. “A woman artist!”

  “Aye. They tell me she studied with Michelangelo himself.”

  Angus ran a hand down his beard, obviously trying to think through what he’d just suggested. But it was Elizabeth Macpherson’s name that Maria had wanted to hear all along. But she was not about to admit to the Lord Chancellor that she’d even heard of the woman. It was obvious from all she’d heard before that Angus didn’t consider the Macphersons as allies.

  “I never met a woman painter before,” she announced. “How exciting!”

  Again, she noticed the doubtful look in the man’s face.

  “But I don’t think so. I’ve seen Vermeyen’s work. And this woman’s...why, she could be a fake. She could make me out to look horrible. Nay, Lord Chancellor...”

  “She produces excellent work, I assure you. Excellent!” he emphasized.

  “I don’t wish to sound stubborn or condescending in the face of your obvious regard for this painter’s work, but I have not seen any of her work and until such time as I might see some of her paintings and speak with her of her methods...” Maria shook her head. “I, for one, am not willing to risk postponing Vermeyen’s visit for an additional year. Don’t you agree, m’lord?”

  She stared at him blankly, waiting for an answer. The furrows on the man’s forehead seemed to be deepening by the minute. He was aging before her very eyes.

  “Your grace, if I could arrange a meeting with Elizabeth Macpherson in next two or three days, would you be willing to speak to her?”

  “I don’t know, Lord Chancellor,” she smoothed her skirt over her lap. “With little more that a fortnight to my wedding, I don’t know if I have the time...”

  “Lady Elizabeth has done portraits of Margaret...the Queen Mother, in a very short span of time. If I could convince her to come to you in the next couple of days, she would probably have your painting finished by the wedding.” Angus gave a weary sigh. “Then perhaps, your grace, you would consider corresponding with your brother?”

  Maria tried hard not to show her excitement at his words. Taking her time to answer, she pretended to be in deep thought. “Well! The work won’t be as good, but perhaps Charles will be satisfied. He’s very particular, you know.”

  “Aye!” Angus said happily. “Your brother’s satisfaction will be ample reward in itself, your grace.”

  “Very well, Lord Chancellor. Have this Lady Elizabeth sent to me.”

  “I believe she and her husband are in Stirling, your grace. But you should know, the Macphersons are an independent lot.”

  Maria’s face affected boredom.

  “But she will be here in two or three days at the most. I assure you of that.”

  Maria nodded. “Very well, Lord Angus. Do finish up your business in that Border place, will you? You could be such a help to me here.”

  Angus began to respond, but then closed his mouth and bowed deeply.

  “Aye, your grace. It is my pleasure to serve you,” he said, backing away from her.

  “Oh, one more thing,” the young Queen said as Angus paused anxiously
. “Since I will not be meeting with King James before the wedding. I wish to correspond with him by letter. As we’ve just been discussing, I am a devoted letter writer. Please see to it that I have couriers to deliver my correspondence.”

  “I will see to it, your grace. It will be done.”

  Chapter 25

  A hush fell over the crowd of men, gathered in the Hall of Ambrose Macpherson’s town house in Stirling. The circle of noblemen opened to receive John Macpherson, who was just descending the great stairs into the Hall. The Highlander had only arrived within the hour after a hard ride from Dundee, where he’d anchored his fleet two days earlier. His mud covered clothes were barely shed when one of the servants had brought his brother’s message, asking John to come down to this meeting. He didn’t need to be told what it was all about. He knew the subject at hand.

  Looking about the room, John grasped the hand of his eldest brother, Alec, before his friend Colin Campbell, the Earl of Argyll, stepped up and clapped him hard on the shoulder, his fierce face belying the welcome in his eyes. John knew all of the six nobles assembled there. Besides his two elder brothers and Colin Campbell, the other three–the earls of Huntly, Ross, and Lindsay–were all Stuart men and devoted antagonists of the power hungry Earl of Angus.

  As John stepped into their midst, some settled into large carved chairs as their discussion picked up once again.

  “Is it true, Sir John? Is it true that blackguard Angus is forcing this marriage to take place inside of a fortnight?”

  “Why do you ask the question when you already know the answer, Ross?” Lord Lindsay, his voice was subdued, his head shaking in annoyance, interrupted before John could speak. “Angus has already sent us the details and conditions of the marriage.”

  John’s eyes fixed on the jeweled hilt of Lord Lindsay’s dirk. It had been a gift of James IV, given to him by Queen Margaret just before they’d marched south to that fateful battle at Flodden Field. The Queen. John’s mind flitted to Maria. So this was it, he thought, fighting the anger that burned within him. She was truly to become his queen.