She had never allowed her fancy to go beyond glances and the imagination. When she bore children she must be sure they were Stuarts of the royal house; but for that, it might have been a different story. She needed restraint in those days — restraint to curb her irritation, her wounded pride and most of all her natural impulses.
James was on a visit to St. Ninian’s shrine, which meant of course a sojourn with Janet Kennedy; and as Margaret sat at her window in Linlithgow Palace looking out over the loch, she was not admiring the sparkling stretch of water but picturing those two together.
There was a boat on the loch and in it were a young man and woman. Margaret watched him plying the oars while the young woman played the lute. It made a charming picture. She guessed the man to be about her own age, although he might have been a little younger.
I believe childbearing has aged me, thought Margaret ruefully.
She turned her gaze to the men and women who were sauntering at the lochside, but her attention went back to the man in the boat.
She rose and called to her woman. “I have a fancy,” she said, “to go on the loch. Go and tell them to prepare my boat for me.”
In a very short time she was lying back in her boat, her lute in her hands, her hair showing golden beneath her headdress; the excitement which had come to her making her look very young indeed.
“Who is that in yonder boat?” she asked Lady Guildford who had accompanied her.
Lady Guildford tried to hide a faint alarm which, knowing her mistress so well, she could not help feeling. So far Margaret had behaved with decorum, although it had to be admitted that she suffered some provocation.
“It’s young Archibald Douglas, Your Grace.”
“A Douglas! Old Bell-the-Cat’s son?”
“Grandson, Your Grace.”
“Ah, yes, I see he is very young. And who is the lady with him?”
Lady Guildford’s mouth was a little prim. “That, Your Grace, is his young wife.”
“Indeed. And who is she?”
“She is Margaret, daughter of Patrick Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.”
Margaret began to laugh. “There seem to be so many Margarets at the Court of Scotland.”
“It is a charming name, Your Grace,” murmured Lady Guildford.
Margaret did not answer, but she continued to watch the young man. She had always had a liking for Old Bell-the-Cat because he had sought to rival James in Janet Kennedy’s affection. And this was his grandson. How handsome he was! Gazing at him, she realized that her husband was beginning to look his age. All the Stuart good looks and charm could not give him eternal youth; and what a pleasant thing youth was. He must be near my own age, thought Margaret, possibly younger.
She turned her attention to his wife. Insipid, she decided, and unworthy of him.
Now their boats were close together and the young Douglases were aware of the proximity of the Queen.
“It is pleasant on the loch today,” Margaret called in a friendly fashion.
“It is indeed so, Your Grace.” His voice was melodious, as she had known it would be; and now that she was closer she could see how fresh his skin was, how bright his eyes. She liked the way his hair curled about his neck. By sweet St. Ninian, she thought, using her husband’s favorite oath, if Old Bell-the-Cat had half the good looks of his grandson, James must have found a formidable rival in him for the wanton Janet.
She played her lute as sweetly as she knew how and the lute in that other boat was silent.
When she had finished there was a round of applause in which he joined most heartily.
She bowed her head in acknowledgment of the applause.
Lady Guildford ventured: “There is a breeze arising, Your Grace. Should you not consider your health?”
“Row us to the shore,” Margaret commanded; and she turned to smile at the occupants of that other boat.
Trouble had flared up between Scotland and England. James was still smarting under Henry’s refusal to let Margaret have the jewels which were rightly hers, when news was brought to him that the English had seized certain Scottish ships and in the fight which preceded the capture an admiral of Scotland, Sir Andrew Barton, had been killed.
Margaret found him pacing up and down his apartment in an anger which was rare for him.
“I’ll not endure this,” he cried. “It is not a matter which can be settled over a council table. This is an act of war.”
Margaret wanted to know of whom he spoke, and when he retorted, “The English!” her resentment rose afresh. Why would he not take her into his confidence? Surely he realized that she could procure concessions from her own brother which his ministers could not hope to achieve.
“I doubt not,” she said tartly, “that there were faults on both sides.”
James regarded her thoughtfully.
“This quarrel goes back to the days when my father was on the throne,” he explained.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it, James? Don’t you see that because I am English I might be able to help?”
“You must admit that your brother is headstrong and hardly likely to listen to advice. But this is what happened. One of our merchants, a certain John Barton, was taken prisoner by the Portuguese and put to death. This happened, as I said, in my father’s reign. His family wanted vengeance on his slayers and, since this was denied them, they put to sea in an endeavor to destroy all the Portuguese ships that came their way. This was a dangerous thing to do, for pirates are reckless men and when there were no Portuguese ships available they sought to make prizes of ships of other nations. Some of these happened to be English. That was how the trouble started. The Howards fitted up ships and set out in search of the Bartons. This is the result.”
“It would seem to me that the Bartons deserved their fate, and what has happened is no reason for enmity between you and my brother.”
“The English have no right to destroy Scottish ships.”
“Nor have Scotsmen to act as pirates against English ships.”
“It is certainly a matter which must be brought to a stop. And as a result Lord Dacre and Dr. West will be arriving in Edinburgh shortly to discuss some sort of settlement with me.”
“I think you should listen to them in a friendly spirit,” said Margaret.
“Do not forget that your brother holds valuable property of yours which he will not give up.”
“I am sure if I were to plead with him I could make him understand that this strife between our countries is foolish and dangerous.”
“Strife is always dangerous, but I do not trust your brother, Margaret, and I never shall.”
“Yet you are ready enough to trust the French.”
“I have no reason to do otherwise.”
“And with the English… ”
“Why, you yourself know he will not give up your jewels.”
“James, when Lord Dacre and Dr. West come to Edinburgh, will you allow me to see them?”
James hesitated. Then he said, “Very well, you shall have your interview with them. Then perhaps you will understand where the fault for this enmity lies.”
Margaret received Dr. West and Lord Dacre in her apartments in Stirling Castle. Her son was with her there, for she did not care that he should be far from her and she always found great pleasure in visiting the nursery where David Lindsay was already in charge.
David seemed to be acting as nurse to the boy. He it was who carried him about in his arms, and in spite of young James’s age he was already aware of the devotion of this man and apt to be fretful when he was not present. David Lindsay watched over the child with the utmost care and had at last, after several failures, discovered the perfect wet nurse for him in a buxom Irish woman.