The brothers and Lord Drummond consulted together. Drummond was triumphant. “You see,” he cried. “A bishopric already and a promise of the Primacy! I assure you, my friends, that in a short time the Douglases and their connections will be ruling Scotland. It is well that Angus is so young; he will be the more easily guided. But we must get this marriage made before our intentions become known. You are aware, as well as I am, that there are men in Scotland who would rise in civil war to prevent it if they knew what we planned.”
“Then… ,” began Sir Archibald nervously, but Drummond silenced him.
“Nay, Sir Chicken-heart. We play for big stakes. We’ll take a risk or two. And if we did not go forward now I doubt not our warm-blooded Queen would do so without our help.”
On a warm August day, not twelve months after the battle of Flodden Field, Margaret married the Earl of Angus in Kinnoul Church.
She did not stop to think of the consequences of this marriage. All that mattered was that this handsome boy who had long occupied her thoughts was now her husband.
Her one desire was to abandon herself to the passion which obsessed her.
Later she could consider how she would explain her conduct to her people.
The Deserted Queen
Margaret was as happy as she had been during the first weeks of her marriage to James. Angus gave no sign that he was not as deeply enamored of her as she was of him. He was caught up in the wave of her sensuality; she was more experienced than he, having lived for so many years with that expert lover, James IV; there was much she could teach him and he was lusty enough to be a ready pupil. It was too uncomfortable to think about Jane Stuart during those weeks, so he did his best to forget her. He discovered that he was growing up; he was no longer a romantic boy, and he began to realize how wise his grandfather and uncles had been in urging him to this marriage.
Margaret was so deeply in love that she was only happy when she was with him; she promised him all that he could wish. She showered presents on him. “I want to give you everything you could desire in exchange for all the pleasure you have given me,” she told him.
He replied that the pleasure he had given her could not compare with that which she had given him; and only occasionally did he feel a twinge of conscience on Jane’s account.
She would understand, he soothed himself. The Queen had commanded him to be her husband and none could disobey a royal command.
The secrecy which attended their marriage gave it an additional spice. Margaret believed that she had found lasting happiness; but it was foolish to suppose such a secret could be kept for long.
It was in October that the opportunity arose to bestow the Primacy of Scotland on Gavin Douglas, and Margaret carelessly threw the office to the uncle of her beloved husband.
There was an immediate outcry among the nobles. Why should the Queen select this hitherto somewhat insignificant prelate for such a great honor. Only recently she had bestowed on him the Bishopric of Dunkeld. What had he done to deserve it? Old Bell-the-Cat had headed many a revolt in his time. Were they going to stand by and see the Douglas clan leap into power again?
There was clearly some reason why the Douglas clan had come into sudden favor.
It did not take long for the secret to be discovered, and a Council meeting was hastily called. The lords assembled, their feelings outraged by the discovery. It was an insult to them and Scotland that the Queen had married without consulting them; and that she should have married Angus added to the injury. Who did this Tudor woman think she was? they asked themselves. Her only right to the crown was through Scottish James, and before he had been dead a year she had shamelessly remarried.
Lord Home addressed the assembly.
“Hitherto,” he said, “we have shown our willingness to honor the Queen, although it is against the custom of our country that women should rule. But because our beloved King and Sovereign, James IV, created her Regent, we have allowed her to remain so. All well and good while she retained her widowhood; but she is no longer a widow. I put forward the motion that we depose the Queen from the Regency, and once more ask the Duke of Albany to come to Scotland to act as Regent; and that we summon the Queen to our presence that we may acquaint her of our displeasure.”
This was agreed, and Sir William Comyn, Lyon King, was sent to deliver the Council’s message.
Margaret refused to be shaken out of her idyll. This, she told herself, was what she had longed for in the early days of her marriage to James. It had been denied her, but she did not care now; for now she was happily married; her husband was the most beautiful man in Scotland and she was fast teaching him to be the most erotic. She was completely satisfied with her private life and was prepared to forget, for as long as she would be allowed to do so, that there was another side to a queen’s existence.
She was at Stobhall, Lord Drummond’s mansion, shut away from the Court, with her husband, feeling young and joyous, trying to make each glorious day and night last for as long as she could.
Lord Drummond looked on well content and made sure that the lovers had every opportunity for solitude. He doubted Margaret had ever before known what it meant to live a private life. Each day she became more and more enamored of his grandson. They were indeed a handsome couple. Drummond believed that there must by now be a Douglas heir on the way — his great grandson. This was a time of glory for the Douglases, and for the first time since the tragedy he ceased to mourn the loss of his daughter Margaret.
When rumors came to Stobhall, Drummond did not allow them to disturb the lovers. Of course it was absurd to imagine that the secret could be kept forever, but let them go on believing themselves safe from controversy.
Then news was brought to him that Lyon King was on his way to Stobhall, and he realized immediately that he could not keep from the young couple the news that their marriage was no longer a secret.
He went to them and told them what was happening.
“Lyon King is on his way to bring a message to Your Grace,” he said. “He will summon you to appear before the Council.”
“For what purpose?” asked Margaret.
“To discuss Your Grace’s marriage.”
“My marriage is my own affair,” retorted Margaret, knowing that it was not.
Angus, who had ceased to be a somewhat timid boy in the last weeks, took her hand and kissed it. “It is our affair,” he said. “I’ll not allow them to insult you.”
She gave him a loving glance and turned to Drummond who added: “It will be necessary to receive Lyon King when he arrives, and I think we should make of it a ceremonial occasion to remind him that he is in the presence of the Queen of Scotland. Your Grace should wear the crown; and your husband should be beside you. I ask your gracious permission to be present also.”
“My dear Lord Drummond,” said Margaret, “it shall be as you advise, for I am sure you are right, now as always.”
Thus it was that when Sir William Comyn arrived he found the Queen with Angus and Drummond waiting to receive him.
Comyn came into their presence clad in the insignia of his office, almost as grand a figure as Margaret in her crown and robes of ermine.
His first words were enough to show her and Drummond the intentions of the Council, for instead of addressing her as his sovereign, Comyn began: “My Lady Queen, the mother of His Grace the King… ”
Drummond, whose temper, always fiery, was more easily aroused when he knew himself to be in a desperate position, was seized with sudden fury. He had married his grandson to the Queen Regent; how dared Lyon-King-at-Arms address her merely as the mother of the young King!