One day however James the First of Scotland arrived to take up his residence there. She had heard much of him at Windsor for the castle had been his principal residence for a good many years. At one time he had been lodged in the Tower, and later he had accompanied Henry to France; but at the same time he was the prisoner of England and would remain so until his people paid the ransom required for him.
Katherine had expected a sullen young man. After all it might be expected that he would bear resentment towards a people who held him so long against his will. She was agreeably surprised when they met. He was some seven years older than herself – good-looking, witty, an eager conversationalist and a man who was ready to see more than one side to a question – in fact a very agreeable companion.
There followed delightful sessions when she talked with him, his chaplain Thomas of Myrton and others of his household. In the evenings there would be music and dancing.
He liked to talk with her of the past and contemplate what the future would be. He could remember a little of his native Scotland, though he had left it when he was ten years old and had not been back since.
‘Nor shall I go,’ he said, ‘until they pay the ransom for me.’
They had much in common for they had both lived through strange childhoods. Both had had a father who had suffered from weakness, mentally and physically, although King Robert of Scotland was not mad as Charles VI had been.
James and Katherine agreed that to be born royal was to be born to danger.
They rode together in the great forest of Windsor; they walked in the castle gardens and she told him of those fearful days at the Hôtel de St Pol and he told her of his childhood at Dumfermline and Inverkeithing. His fears had been less horrifying than hers for he had had a strong good mother; but he on the other hand had been in greater danger than she had, for she was only a girl – to be used later as an important bargaining counter it was true but as a child, of little importance.
‘It was when my mother died that I was in danger,’ he said. ‘My elder brother was murdered by my uncle and my father, fearing a like fate for me, decided to send me to France. However the English intercepted the ship in which I was sailing and brought me to the King – your husband’s father – and I have been a hostage ever since.’
‘You do not seem unhappy,’ she commented.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It happened when I was young. Ten years old. It seemed an adventure then. In a way it has seemed an adventure ever since.’
Of course he had been treated with honour. He was a King even though a captive one. Kings usually respected kings. They never knew when they themselves might be in need of respect. His education had not been neglected; he had excelled in manly sports; he had taken a great pleasure in literature and was writing his own poem which he was calling The Kingis Quair and he would read parts of it to Katharine now and then.
One day when they sat talking there were sounds of arrival at the castle and looking out they saw a girl riding at the head of a small band of attendants.
‘Visitors,’ cried Katherine. It was always pleasing to have visitors providing they were not important men from court who had come to make demands.
‘What a strikingly beautiful woman,’ said James.
Katherine agreed.
They went down to the courtyard to greet the newcomers. Katherine recognised the young woman at once as Lady Jane Beaufort, the daughter of the Earl of Somerset. Katherine embraced her and then presented her to James.
He bowed low and Katherine was amused to see that he could scarcely take his eyes from Lady Jane.
For the next weeks Jane shared their rides and their talks and she seemed in no hurry to leave the castle.
They were in love. Katherine wished she could help them. She knew that they wished to be alone but she as the Queen must not allow any act of impropriety in her presence. On one occasion she went riding with them and deliberately lost them. The grooms were surprised to see her return alone and she told them she had lost the party; and they, accustomed to her eccentricities, thought no more of it. Then she wandered out into the gardens and seated herself on a rustic seat sheltered from the castle by bushes.
While she was seated there she heard the sound of footsteps and with mingling surprise and pleasure she saw Owen Tudor coming towards her.
He seemed overcome by embarrassment and she cried out: ‘I am pleased to see you, Owen Tudor. Pray sit down beside me. I would talk with you.’
He hesitated. He was always shy when she addressed him. He could not forget the great gulf which divided a Queen from a humble squire.
‘You think this is not … comme il faut … is that so? Not what is right for a Queen. But I do so much that is not right for a Queen. Shall I tell you I have just lost – on purpose – the King of Scotland and the Lady Jane. What do you think of them, Owen Tudor? Are they not a handsome pair? Are they not so beautiful … and is not it wonderful to be in love as they are?’
Owen was silent, tongue-tied in the presence of his Queen.
‘Of course he is a King,’ she went on. ‘But a King in exile. And she is royal, you know, Owen. Her father is John Beaufort Earl of Somerset, son of John of Gaunt and his last Duchess. She is connected with Richard II through her mother. I do not see why she should not mate with the royal house of Scotland. Do you, Owen?’
‘No, my lady.’
She turned to him suddenly. ‘In fact, Owen, I do not see why anything should separate those who love. Poor James, he has talked much to me. He had a sad childhood … just as I did. You should be thankful Owen that you were not born royal. He loved his mother dearly. I think he was a little unsure of his father. Still, his mother was always there to care for him … until she died. Then his brother was murdered by his wicked uncle. Why is it uncles are so often wicked? It is ambition perhaps and they are usually younger brothers who by removing one person here and another there could come to the throne. I sometimes wonder whether it is not foolish to dream of a crown, Owen. Do you think it brings happiness? Do you, Owen?’
‘No, my lady. I think it rarely does.’
‘It brought my husband happiness … I think above everything he loved his crown. Men do, you know, Owen. So that is why those who have no hope of a crown or power are happier than those who have. You should be a happy man, Owen Tudor.’
‘I am, my lady. Particularly so to enjoy your favour.’
She laughed. ‘You have it, Owen. It shall always be yours.’ She looked at him a little archly. ‘Unless of course you do aught to lose it.’
‘Will all my heart I shall strive to keep it,’ he replied.
‘With all my heart I trust you will. But what will become of our lover, think you, Owen? I would to God it were in my power to send him back to his kingdom with the bride of his choice.’
‘It may well be that his people will raise the ransom and he will go.’
‘Oh Owen, how happy you must have been among your Welsh mountains when you were a child!’
‘There was always the fear, my lady. Remember my father was in exile.’
‘Your father … yes … the outlaw accused of murder. We are all the victims of our fathers it seems. How pleasant it is here. I hope I shall stay long at Windsor. It is my favourite place. They will be wanting my son to take on his duties soon, I doubt not. Oh, you smile Owen. He is but a baby. Think of the burden on that little head! A baby … to wear a crown. They try to force the orb and sceptre into those chubby hands. I tell you, Owen, he will confound them all by trying to eat them.’