Prince Henry was accompanying the party as far as Colley Weston where he and his father would say good-bye to Margaret after they had stayed a few days at the home of Margaret, Countess of Richmond, who had left the Court a little beforehand so that she might be in her home to greet them when they arrived.
The Princess Margaret was glad that her brother was present so that he could see all the splendor of her equipment and realize that he was not the only important member of the household.
She was amused, contemplating his envy. But then of course he would remember that there would be far more splendid occasions in store for him; and once he was king—and that would mean that he had escaped from his father’s restraining hands—the money so carefully preserved by their father would doubtless be recklessly spent.
But she found there was little time to gloat over Henry’s envy; at the moment she was at the center of events and she must enjoy every minute.
At Colley Weston in Northamptonshire her grandmother was waiting to receive the party. She embraced her son with that emotion neither of them showed for anyone else. And the Countess then turned to her granddaughter and there was a look of pride in her eyes as they rested on the beautiful girl.
She was congratulating herself that the Tudors were strong now. She wished that the King could cast aside his uncertainty. Nothing could come against them. They had a fine Prince of Wales. It was a pity that they had not another boy just in case, but it seemed ridicculous to imagine that anything could happen to Henry. Well, the King must remarry soon and if he had another son . . .
But this was Margaret’s matter; and very satisfactory it was that she should go into Scotland for the union should assure peace at the Borders.
In due course Margaret said good-bye to her family. The King gave her his blessing and warned her to take every care in the manner in which she conducted herself at her husband’s Court. She must remember always that she was her father’s daughter and that it was her duty to prevent trouble arising to his detriment.
Margaret, a little tearful now at the parting, was longing nevertheless to be free from restraint; she promised that she would remember what her father had said and that he could rely on her to do all that she could for his good.
The journey through England was exhilarating. Everywhere she was greeted with affection and admiration. She smiled and waved and when she could, talked to the people; she reveled in the fine garments which had been provided for her, she lingered as long as possible for she was in no hurry to end this triumphant journey. The people loved her and she loved the people; their admiration made her eyes sparkle and brought bright color to her cheeks making her more beautiful than ever. If her father could have seen her he would have agreed that Dudley and Empson were right. It was money well spent.
So she traveled northward. In the city of York there were special celebrations, which started from the moment when the gates were flung open to welcome her. She began her stay by attending Mass and then receiving the nobility who had gathered there to await her arrival.
There were banquets and as she was noted for her skill in dancing many balls were held in her honor. Life was wonderful and she was able to push aside that faint apprehension, which attacked her from time to time when she thought of crossing the Border into that land which she had heard—and which her brother Henry had said—was dour and populated by barbarians.
And in due course she came to that wild border country and she was told: “My lady, you have now left England. This is the country of which you are Queen.”
She looked around her. She would not have known that she had crossed a border if she had not been told it was so, for the grass and trees and lanes were similar to those of England. But when they arrived at Lammermuir and the local nobility came to greet her, she noticed a difference. They stared more openly; they did not bow with the same grace; their clothes were not quite so fine and though made of good materials they lacked a certain elegance.
It was sad to say good-bye to the English noblemen who had accompanied her and her exuberance began to fade a little, but she was glad to move on from Lammermuir and when she reached Fastcastle and was warmly welcomed by Lord and Lady Home she felt her spirits lift a little. The stay was brief, however, and after one night they were on their way to Haddington.
The King, impatient to see his bride, was traveling to Dalkeith, and Margaret, having heard that she would no doubt meet her husband there, was determined to be prepared. She had changed into her most becoming dress and had asked her attendant Lady Guildford twenty times how she looked. Her heart was beating wildly; the next hour could be the most important of the whole journey. This would decide her future.
She stood in her apartment waiting. From the bustle below she knew that he had arrived. She knew that he was coming nearer. At any moment now.
The door was opened and a man stood on the threshold.
There was color in his cheeks and his eyes shone with excitement. They surveyed each other quickly . . . and then they were smiling.
She saw a handsome man, with dark auburn hair and hazel eyes, well-shaped features, handsome bearing and above all an indefinable charm.
He saw a beautiful young girl and he was very susceptible to female beauty. She was enchanting—pretty, young, fresh and eager to please—all this and the daughter of Henry Tudor.
This was a happy moment for Scotland and its King.
He took her hand and kissed it; while he held it to his lips their eyes met and it was almost a look of understanding which passed between them.
Then he bowed and turned to her attendants, kissing the ladies and speaking to the men.
Conveying a certain relief as though to say: now I have done my duty and I can return to pleasure, he came back to Margaret.
“At last,” he said, “you have come to me. I began to fear that you never would.”
“But we have been betrothed for a long time.”
“It seems an age . . . but now you are here. Do you think that you can love me?”
“Oh yes. I wondered whether you were the handsomest king in the world.”
“Is that what you heard of me?”
“It was.”
He grimaced. “I am glad I did not know it. I should have been most fearful of disappointing you.”
“Oh you do not. They spoke truth.”
“And they told me you were the most beautiful of princesses and they spoke truth also.”
“Oh it has all ended so happily.”
“By sweet St. Ninian, my Queen, it is only beginning.”
He was thinking: she is charming. It will not be difficult. I should count myself lucky.
But he laughed ironically at the thought. For he could not rid himself of memories of that other Margaret. Of all his mistresses Margaret Drummond had been his favorite. But she was dead . . . foully murdered by some person or persons unknown. He would never forget Margaret. He had had countless other mistresses but Margaret had been all that he could have wished in a woman. Had she been his wife he would have been faithful to her . . . he was sure of that though no one else would believe it.
It had been said of him that he would never marry while Margaret Drummond was with him. And one morning she with her two sisters was found dead. They had been poisoned. By whom? No one had ever discovered of if they had discovered had not disclosed.
It might have been some of his ministers who had thought her influence on him was too strong; it might have been some jealous woman. . . .