Darcey Bonnette - The Tudor Princess

Jamie took me in his arms, holding me fast. ‘Never say such things, Maggie, you know it is untrue,’ he urged.

‘Not at all – not at all!’ I reiterated, enjoying the effect of my words on my husband and pulling away, folding my arms across my blossoming breasts. At least something was happening there. I wished the process could be sped along so I would be too irresistible to abandon for a shrine and whatever else he might be devoting himself to.

‘Please do not go,’ I pleaded in soft tones, my anger fading to misery as my arms dropped to my sides.

‘I must, little one, but only for a short time,’ he told me, taking me in his arms and kissing the top of my head. ‘When I get back we shall go on progress, how about that? To Falkland Palace, our favourite. Would you like that?’

I nodded at the thought of the vast, sprawling deer park and lush forest.

‘And we’ll hunt together,’ he went on. ‘We shall make quite a merry sport of it, a contest. I trust you will practice your archery while I am gone so that you might hit all your marks. Perhaps you shall kill more stags than I!’

He disarmed me. Already I was thinking of the gowns and jewels I would pack for the journey.

‘We shall pass a merry spring there,’ he said. ‘You must plan a grand banquet – would you like to attend to all the special details, to make certain you have everything just as you wish it?’

I offered a nod of eagerness. ‘Oh, yes! English John and Scotch Dog shall help me. And Dunbar shall amuse us with witty verse!’ I cried with delight, enthused about my task.

‘My sweet little girl,’ Jamie said, kissing my cheeks and touching the tip of my nose with his forefinger. ‘Plan a wonderful entertainment then and I will come home to you soon.’

‘Yes, you always come home to me,’ I remarked with a confident smile.

‘Always.’ And with this Jamie departed. I sat on my bed, bowing my head.

No doubt he visited his children as well on these trips.

I rose, squaring my shoulders. It was no matter. I remained above bastards and would not reduce myself to thinking of them. When our child was born they would be forgotten.

‘Scotch, I want your best dressmakers to fashion me a gown,’ I informed my wardrobe keeper, James Doig, utilising his pet name.

He was all smiles at the prospect. ‘What kind of gown would Your Grace be needing?’ he asked in his thick burr.

I clasped my hands together as I stood before the mirror in my privy chamber at Edinburgh. ‘A riding habit – but not an ordinary riding habit. This particular habit must be as enchanting as a ball gown but as seductive as a shift.’ To my delight his eyes widened at this shocking revelation.

He stood behind me. In the mirror I noted his eyes slowly travelling from my slippers to my hood. There was no lechery in them. He was assessing his project. ‘I think I know just the thing,’ he said in decisive tones. ‘Might I be permitted to surprise Your Grace?’

I broke into a smile. ‘Of course,’ I agreed, turning about to take his hands in mine. ‘Make it a good one, Scotch – the Stewart line is depending on it!’

Scotch’s lips twitched a moment before he yielded to a burst of laughter. It rang in my ears like the tinkling of chimes. His blue eyes sparkled bright with mirth against his rosy complexion as he squeezed my hands. ‘Be assured, Your Grace, that this will be the finest habit you will ever lay eyes upon!’

He bowed over our joined hands, then made his retreat.

I smiled to myself. My first step in seducing my husband the king had been put into action.

There were to be no entertainments at Falkland Palace. I had not planned one, not a single one, for while we were there I wanted no distractions. Jamie would be shared with no one, not even his own courtiers.

The castle was sweetened and scrubbed. I made certain Jamie’s favourite organ was brought so that he might play at his leisure. Twenty-three carts of gowns, jewels, and other supplies necessary for diversion were brought on our progress and when everything was unpacked I waited for Jamie to come to me.

I planned a hunt. Together we would ride through the thick forest that surrounded the palace; the sweet spring air would fill our lungs until we were rendered breathless. The clomping of the horses’ hooves would pound against the forest floor, mirroring the blood pounding in our ears. Our bodies would thrill with the stretch of the bowstrings as we drew them back to hit our mark, the regal stag. Oh, the hunt!

Jamie arrived to find me and a handful of courtiers waiting. As usual he removed his cap and played the chivalrous knight, ever solicitous, ever caring. I did not offer any challenges about his previous whereabouts but celebrated his presence, reminding myself that he may love a hundred common women but only one queen.

The morning of the hunt a smiling Scotch Dog visited my apartments. Two servants followed with a chest that was set before me.

‘Your habit, Your Grace,’ he announced with a dramatic hand gesture before stooping down to open the chest. He commenced to reveal the most beautiful riding habit I had ever beheld. The low-cut velvet gown was deep claret, with an orange kirtle the colour of autumn leaves and fitted sleeves to match. Resplendent velvet oversleeves were claret to match the gown, and the boyish velvet cap with a claret ribbon sported a black feather that Scotch advised me to wear at a jaunty angle.

‘Oh, Scotch!’ I breathed, clutching the soft velvet of the over-sleeve and rubbing it against my cheek. ‘It’s perfect! Tell me it is easy to remove.’

Scotch laughed. ‘Very,’ he informed me as he showed me where it laced up.

‘Excellent work, Scotch!’ I commended.

‘Happy hunting, Your Grace,’ he retorted with a wink of his twinkling blue eye.

I giggled. ‘This is one prey I’m not letting get away from me!’

Scotch departed with another bow and I was assisted into my gown, shocking my ladies with the knowledge that I wore nothing beneath it.

‘Your Grace, it simply isn’t done!’ they cried.

‘Then I am setting a precedent,’ I replied. ‘Soon everyone will be doing it and think me quite a visionary.’

They clicked their tongues and shook their heads but obeyed and I admitted to a certain freedom as I slipped into the gown without the bother of all those petticoats.

My hair was left flowing over my shoulders, streaming to my waist in a rippling copper mane. The cap was set upon my head at an angle, the claret ribbon tied beneath my chin. I smiled at my reflection, pleased. The gown accentuated my developing curves, and even my ladies gasped in appreciation.

Satisfied with my appearance, I removed to the stables, choosing my favourite palfrey and riding her to where Jamie awaited at the edge of the forest. I rode at a deliberate speed, with purpose.

When Jamie beheld me his eyes widened, his lips parting. ‘Maggie …’ he breathed.

‘Your Grace,’ I replied, flashing him a bright smile. ‘Shall we make for the forest?’

He nodded. To my delight he was unable to remove his eyes from me. I pretended not to notice but thrilled with pleasure.

We commenced into the forest. Anticipation made me alert to every noise. It was not long before we were on the tracks of a stag, discovering him grazing in a clearing. He raised his majestic head, heavy with its crown of antlers. His brown gaze fell upon us, cautious, questioning. He was still, his muscles tense. At last he flicked his tail and leapt into the forest. The chase began in earnest and I readied my bow as I followed him, my husband in tow.

The stag turned once more and I drew back, my shoulder aching with the tension in the string. I let it snap. The arrow swished through the air, piercing through the chest of the animal. Brilliant crimson stained his fur as he dropped. A lump swelled in my throat as it did with every kill – as exhilarating as the hunt was for me, I could not help but be moved by the creature’s sacrifice.