Виктория Холт - The Thistle and the Rose

He stood up in the Tolbooth and requested leave to go back to France where his wife was dangerously ill. This was denied him; he was told that his presence was needed in Scotland, and there lay his duty.

“Then,” he replied, “the King must be taken from the care of the Queen, for I see great trouble ahead of us if she is allowed to imbue him with ideas of rebellion against the restraint which we have been obliged to impose upon him.”

The lords of the Council agreed with this and it was arranged that Margaret should be separated from James, and his personal attendants replaced by others.

When the news was brought to Margaret, she was alarmed, and she did what was fast becoming a habit with her — she talked over her troubles with Harry.

Harry was proving himself to be more than a passionate lover; he clearly enjoyed giving her his advice and, as she wanted to please him as much as she possibly could, she always asked for it.

“What can we do?” she said. “Our enemies are so strong. I will not be parted from my son.”

“The King himself is reluctant to be parted from Your Grace; which is easily understood. We must be strong but wily. We must think about this very carefully and not act rashly.”

She smiled at him. “Oh, Harry, how good you are for me. You know that I can be a little rash at times. Yes, let us ponder this and decide together how best we can outwit that man.”

“It is said,” Harry went on, “that he intends to make Lord Fleming one of the King’s guardians.” He looked at her covertly, for he knew that not very long ago there had been scandal touching her and the Regent. “And Lord Fleming’s sister is Albany’s mistress. That seems to me a dangerous situation.”

“Why so?”

“Because Fleming has a bad reputation. It is said that he murdered his own wife and her sisters with her. He would like the Regent to be King, which he might well be if the King were dead.”

“Do not speak of such a thing!” cried Margaret in horror.

“My love, such a possibility fills me with horror as it does you, but we must not ignore such possibilities. Fleming would prefer to see his sister the mistress of a king than of a regent.”

“Oh, the vile creatures!” murmured Margaret.

“It may well be,” went on Harry, “that Albany has chosen Fleming for this reason: he wishes someone to do this evil deed for him, and Fleming could be the man.”

Margaret sat listening with narrowed eyes. She knew that to be false. She knew he would never connive at murder and that he had some affection for James; that he was not a man so ambitious that he would wish to see his young kinsman murdered for the sake of a crown.

But it was pleasant to revile him with Harry, knowing herself beyond need of him, knowing that she had a young and handsome lover who adored her.

The winds of December were battering the walls of Stirling Castle when Albany arrived there.

Margaret, with James, was waiting for him. As he entered she noticed how drawn he looked. He is getting old, she thought; and she rejoiced in her Harry who had helped her to recover from that bitter love affair.

James, primed by her and always ready to do her bidding, received Albany coolly. Albany on the other hand treated the boy with the utmost reverence.

Margaret stood watching, delighted that she could do so without emotion; and when Albany came to her and bowed, she acknowledged his greeting without warmth.

“I greatly regret,” he said, “that I have displeased you.”

“You have none but yourself to blame for that regret,” she retorted.

“Cannot we come to some amicable agreement?”

“It seems unlikely,” she retorted. “The King is in no mood to brook further restrictions. He feels them to be impertinent and an insult to his crown. In this he has the support of his mother.”

“I regret that His Grace should harbor such opinions.”

“Indeed my Lord, you seem to feel nothing but regrets.”

She smiled maliciously and she thought: Oh, Harry, my beloved boy, how happy you have made me! Let Albany do his worst. Let him go to France or the Fleming… what do I care, now that I have you!

“I hoped that I could turn you once more to friendship,” murmured Albany.

She shrugged her shoulders. She felt gloriously free. He no longer had the slightest power to move her. She had finished with him as she had with Angus; and when hatred turned to indifference, then could a woman call herself no longer the prisoner of her emotions.

Albany fretted as the weeks slipped by. He had come to no decision. The King was still with his mother in Stirling; he himself had made repeated requests to leave Scotland, and each time they had been refused.

He sat in his apartment looking out over the snowy landscape, thinking of that sickroom in the château. He had written to Anne promising that he would be at her bedside as soon as he could bring some order into the troublesome affairs of this country.

He knew that she would be thinking of him as he was thinking of her, and he longed to assure her once more of his devotion.

It was while he sat thus that messengers arrived from France with the sad news that Anne had died; she had blessed him before she did so and had wished to thank him for the happy life he had given her.

Albany covered his face with his hands when he heard the news.

I failed her, he thought; even at the end I was not at her side to bid her farewell.

There was whispering throughout the Court. The Regent was a widower; it only remained now for the Queen to obtain her divorce and they would be free to marry.

It was a situation to give rise to speculation.

Margaret heard it and smiled. Harry was quite obviously alarmed. She laughed at him when they were alone. “Nay, my love, do you think I’d take Albany now!”

“It might be considered a desirable match by the Council.”

“Do you think I will allow them to make a match which would be quite distasteful to me?”

“I greatly fear they will try to persuade you.”

“Then you are a foolish boy.”

“I live in terror.”

“My poor sweet Harry!”

She was delighted with him and so touched, yet sad because she was unable to give him all she longed to.

“I have not obtained my divorce from Angus yet, you know,” she said to comfort him.

“I rejoice in that, for at least you cannot marry Albany yet.”

“I never shall, I tell you. Though when I get my divorce I may marry again.”

“Your Grace… my dearest… but whom would you marry?”

“A certain young man.” She was reckless, but it was delightful to watch his face. She loved him too much to tease him for long. She went on: “His name is Harry Stuart.”

She watched the wonder dawn slowly in his eyes.

It had been necessary for Margaret to leave her son in Stirling Castle while she came to Edinburgh. She was restless and unhappy because this meant that not only did she have to say a temporary farewell to James, but to Harry also.

She was determined that it was a state of affairs which she would not endure and, when Albany invited her to meet him at the Gatehouse of Holyrood Palace, she went there eager to hear what he had to say to her.

Theirs was a private meeting which she found to her satisfaction, but when she heard the news he had to tell her, she was alarmed.

“I am afraid,” he warned her, “this will prove a shock to Your Grace. Angus has escaped from France and is on his way to England to seek refuge in your brother’s Court.”

Margaret was horrified. Since she had fallen in love with Harry she had been agitating more determinedly than ever for her divorce. She knew how delighted Harry would be, as she would, if she could openly claim him as her husband. She hated the present separation and all the subterfuge which, even when they were under the same roof, had to be put in motion before they could spend a night together. She, as much as he, longed to regularize their union. There would be great opposition to their marriage, she knew; but they would face that afterward. She had acted before on impulse and taken the consequences. If Angus had proved to be the husband she knew her dear Harry would be, she would have had no regrets. It was Angus’s perfidy which had caused her such sorrow, not her own impulsive action.