“You spoke of a brother in the service of my Lord Arran.”
The woman flushed and murmured: “Nay, Your Grace, I have no message.”
“Yet you brought one to me, this day.”
“I, Your Grace?”
“From your brother who is with the Earl of Arran.”
“Oh… ’twas naught, Your Grace. It was merely that… ”
“Pray continue.”
“That I have seen the manner in which Your Grace is treated by my Lord Angus, and methought it was no way in which to treat a queen.”
Margaret’s lips tightened a little and her eyes hardened. She was angry, but not with the woman. It was true; she was humiliated again and again. There was not a servant at her Court who did not know of her husband’s intrigue with Jane Stuart, of the manner in which he ignored her wish that it should be discontinued.
She said impulsively: “You have a brother in the service of the Earl of Arran. Doubtless you could pass a message to him which he in his turn could place in the Earl’s hands.”
The woman caught her breath. “I could do that, Your Grace.”
“Very well.” She went to her desk and wrote.
It was suppertime in Edinburgh Castle and Margaret sat with the lords of the Douglas faction while they were served, and the minstrels played softly as they ate.
She was trying to appear serene, but she felt far from that, as she looked about the table at those ambitious men. They were smug because they believed they had triumphed over their enemies, led by the Hamiltons; they were going to have a rude shock before the night was out.
But as yet they must suspect nothing; though it was difficult to act as though she was not all impatience to rise from the table.
There were six people besides herself in the secret… three men and three women; all her attendants. They too were alert, waiting for the signal.
Yet she must sit there as she would at any suppertime, listening to the music of the lute and the songs of the favorite singers.
At length she yawned and rose, and when one by one the lords took their leave of her, some of her women accompanied her to her bedchamber.
Seeming sleepy, she bade them good night; but no sooner had the door shut and their footsteps died away than she called to those three of her women — one of them that woman who had a brother in Arran’s service — and said: “Now. The time is come. Bring my riding gown and cloak; and we will escape.”
Her eyes were shining and she looked very young, for a plan such as this could always delight her and give life a new zest.
She had made up her mind that she had been a fool to come back to Angus, to place herself in the position of a deceived wife who must accept the vagaries of a husband. Master Chadworth could go to hell — a place with which he considered himself well acquainted by his accounts of it — for all she cared.
She had changed her mind. She would not stay with Angus; she was going to let the whole world know that she had too much pride to remain with an unfaithful husband who had gained his power through her. She had been forced to endure the unfaithfulness of James IV; but Angus was no Scottish King.
She was in her riding clothes and ready.
“Come,” she whispered. “By the spiral stairway… down to the courtyard.”
One of her women led the way; she followed; the other two came behind.
In the courtyard the three men were waiting.
They led the way cautiously, to where, about a quarter of a mile from the castle, dark shapes were waiting under a clump of trees; Margaret heard the neighing of horses.
Then a voice: “Your Grace, the Queen?”
“I am here,” she answered.
A man had ridden forward; he was leading a horse.
He dismounted, and taking her hand kissed it.
“James Hamilton,” he said, “at Your Grace’s service… now as ever.”
She saw his eyes gleam in the moonlight. He was tall, handsome and so like Arran that she guessed this was the son of the Earl — the natural son of whom she had heard and who was known as the Bastard of Arran.
He helped her mount and then, swinging himself into his saddle, brought his horse beside hers.
“Now,” he cried. “Away!”
It was a glorious experience to be riding through the night, a handsome man beside her, whose every look and gesture assured her of his respect for the Queen, and his admiration for a beautiful woman.
“My father is waiting for you at Stirling,” he told her. “I begged for the honor of taking you to him.”
“’Twas well planned,” she told him.
“I have thought of nothing else since I knew you would come.”
“Then you are indeed my friend.”
“So much so, Your Grace, that I would willingly do murder for you.”
“Nay, do not talk of murder.”
“Thoughts of murder will enter the mind when rumors of the ill treatment of our Queen disturb it.”
“Ah… that is over.”
“Nay, I shall never forgive it, even if Your Grace does.”
She would not discuss her husband, and she was silent. Being quick to sense her mood, he too was silent and there was no sound but the padding of their horses’ hoofs as they rode on to Stirling.
Yet memories of that night stayed with her. Arran’s bastard during that ride made her feel young again, desirable, so that the wounds which she had suffered from the treatment of Angus — and perhaps that of her first husband — were soothed; and she began to think that perhaps one day she might find someone who would love her as a woman, not as a queen.
That person was not James Hamilton of course; but she would always be grateful to him for reminding her that such a person might exist.
With the desertion of Margaret, Angus’s position deteriorated, and Arran persuaded the Queen that the way in which she could best obtain her divorce was by joining her pleas to those of the lords who wished Albany to return to Scotland.
Margaret had her own reasons for wishing to see Albany in Scotland and she fell in with Arran’s proposal, so that in the letters sent to Albany were some from her, and they were very cordial.
Angus, furious at the manner in which she had left him, and realizing that now any number of priests preaching hellfire would not be able to bring her back to him, wrote to Henry, telling him of Margaret’s friendship with Albany and that she had again gone so far as to join with those who were urging him to return.
Henry was furious; he was all for disowning a sister who was not only a friend of the French but planning to divorce her husband, but Cardinal Wolsey managed to persuade him to more diplomatic action.
Why not offer to support her with an army so that she might regain the Regency and the care of her son? For that was clearly what she wanted. Offer her this on condition that she returned to Angus and gave up all plans for a divorce.
When Margaret read Wolsey’s letter and understood all it contained she shut herself up alone in her apartments and thought about it.
To be the guardian of young James. That was what she deeply desired. To regain the Regency, which would mean that she would be in a position to guide James and teach him to rule wisely. What more could she ask?
But the price was high. Return to Angus! Accept his infidelity! To feel again the desire for him which she had never been able to curb. It was too humiliating. It was asking too much.
But how she longed to have young James living with her!
The offer was tempting; but the price was too humiliating.
“Nay,” she said aloud, “I shall not demean myself by returning to a husband whom I despise. And I shall go on fighting for my son.”
In the château of Auvergne, Albany sat at the bedside of his sick wife. She could not live many more weeks, he told himself, yet he had been saying that for a long time. She had grown frail in her infirmity and it was astonishing that a woman in her condition could go on living.