Tudor Princess, The (33 page)

‘Pearls are for mourning, and diamonds are hard and unfeeling,’ Albany told me.

‘But people love them,’ I countered. ‘And people keep them.’

‘I will keep you.’ Albany’s voice was soft as he laid a hand across his breast. ‘I will keep you here.’

It would have been any courtier’s perfect line, but from Albany it rang with the utmost sincerity.

I wanted to beg him to stay, to marry me, and promise him we could rule together. He was closer to a king as a duke than an earl; he would not compete with Henry or Little Jamie, he would rule by my side. But I knew better than that. I would never take his dream of returning home to France away from him. I would not disgrace myself or our friendship with such pleas.

I would let him go.

Albany stooped down, tilting my chin up with his fingertips. With the greatest gentleness, he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine in a warm, soft kiss. There was no lust in it; it embodied our respect, our friendship, our honour.

Long after Albany departed I sat before my fire, my hand pressed to my lips, clinging to the moment.

It was the sweetest kiss I had ever received.

If Henry and I agreed on anything, and we seldom did, it was that Little Jamie’s minority should be ended. It was time he ruled as king in full; it would save him from the ambitions of the men who surrounded him and perhaps compel Scotland to further solidarity. Henry’s letters were full of grand schemes. He wished to break his daughter the Princess Mary’s betrothal to the Emperor Charles V and instead forge an alliance between her and my son. Though I considered this, I was also aware any betrothal between the cousins would offend France greatly, and I never knew when I would need France as an ally.

I mulled this and other things over in the company of Little Jamie and Henry Stewart, whom I called Harry. I could not bear to address him as I did my brother; while many called him Harry, I never had. Henry was my brother. Harry was my friend.

I began to spend more time with this young Harry, maybe to distract myself from pondering what might have been with Albany and remembering what had been with Angus. Or maybe I was set on proving I could still capture the heart of someone handsome and virile. Harry was six years my junior, but the age difference mattered little; we enjoyed each other, and the rapport he had with Little Jamie was genuine. I could not have asked for more. We began to ride together, hawk together, sing and read together, sharing our time and meals, most often with the king, but sometimes not. When I needed to discuss the matters of Little Jamie’s future, I preferred Harry alone.

‘I canna imagine wedding him to Mary,’ I told Harry one evening as we took a quiet supper in my apartments of game hens in a cream sauce, with sweet wine, rich cheeses, and bread to accompany them. ‘If I agreed to such a union, Henry would control them both to suit his own ends and I could not bear that. Little Jamie needs to stand on his own, which is why it is vital that his minority be ended.’

Harry laughed at this.

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked, irritated that such a serious matter should be scoffed at.

‘Nothing funny, Your Grace,’ Harry said, his full mouth still spread into a wide grin. ‘It’s just that if you want His Grace’s minority to end, should you not desist in calling him “Little Jamie”? I do not think it makes him feel very … manly.’

I began to laugh as well at the thought. ‘I suppose I’ve never thought of him any other way,’ I admitted. ‘I never will,’ I added softly. ‘He will always be my little one. But you are right. I should call him Jamie now … Jamie …’ I lowered my eyes as an image of my late husband, the other Jamie, the only Jamie, flashed in my heart.

‘I think he’ll appreciate it,’ Harry said. If he had read my wistfulness, he did not show it, and I was grateful to him.

‘He confides in you, doesn’t he?’ I asked, with a knowing smirk. ‘He put you up to this suggestion, did he not?’

‘He … may have,’ Harry responded, a mischievous smile on his own lips.

‘I am glad he found someone he can trust,’ I said in earnest. ‘He has had few enough in his life, men he could count on and admire.’

‘I am a lowly man,’ Harry said. ‘I am unworthy of his admiration. But I am very content for his friendship, however he esteems me.’

‘He holds you in high esteem,’ I said. ‘Which, of course, inspires me to do the same.’

‘Again, I am unworthy,’ he said. ‘You must know I hold you in high esteem as well.’

I laughed. ‘Oh, I can almost hear it. As “more than a queen, as a woman as well,” isn’t that right?’ I challenged.

Harry furrowed his brow at this. ‘I do not think I could ever see you as anything but a queen, Your Grace. A woman, of course. But you are a queen and I would be a fool to consider you as other women.’

I considered this. It was honest and, being that it was a rare enough trait in men, I relished it.

‘Could you see yourself loving a queen, then?’ I asked him, cursing myself for revealing my feelings before he did, yet not caring. I had nothing to lose any more; I had already lost the respect of great nations, what did it matter if I lost his?

‘I already do,’ Harry said, his tone matter-of-fact.

‘Do you?’ I asked. ‘In what respect, then? As the mother of your sovereign or something more? All the time we spend in each other’s company and with Jamie … why do you do it? You could spend time with Jamie without my company. Why seek me out? Ambition?’

‘I am ambitious,’ Harry admitted. ‘I admit that I want to raise my station in life. Who doesn’t? Yet do I love you as more than the king’s mother? Of course.’ His tone was so offhanded, as though he were revealing things I should see as obvious, that I laughed. He was without condescension; it was as if he seemed surprised I had not already come to the same conclusions.

‘So if I raised you high above the rest,’ I went on, ‘you would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Who wouldn’t?’ Harry returned again. ‘I told you I have aspirations for my future; I won’t lie. But I think, if I may be bold, that you are afraid that I wish to intertwine my aspirations with notions of romantic love with you, when in fact that is not so.’ He tossed his head a moment, his unruly blond hair flipping up over his eyes and to the side, revealing his earnest, engaging blue gaze. ‘There are many ways a man can elevate himself. I keep company with the king; I could of course wait for him to promote me. I do not need to romance his mother. I spend time with you because I like you.’

‘Why?’ I asked, uncaring as to whether I sounded vain or not. ‘I am far from a fair young maiden. I am thirty-five years old. You are twenty-nine. You could have anyone.’

‘So could you,’ he returned. ‘You are a queen and a Tudor princess. Could you not suit a king, a wealthy duke?’ I did not know if he implied Albany but chose not to acknowledge it if he did. ‘Why would you want a man of low station such as me?’

‘Because I like you,’ I said. ‘I enjoy being together. I like that you are honest and full of life; I like that you are kind to my son, that you always treat us with respect. I like that you are fun.’

‘I feel the same,’ Harry said. ‘You never care what anyone thinks; you say what you want and do what you want. You ride well; you are good with the bow; you have a beautiful voice; you are clearly strong and intelligent. I like those things about you.’

His manner lacked a courtier’s charm; he was not like Angus, full of fair words and dramatic declarations. He was simple; he was honest. And it was rare to be genuinely liked by someone, rather than tolerated for my station under a thin veil of respect.

‘I find that I am often too much for a common man,’ I warned. ‘I have been told only a king should love me. And even so, it is rare to find faithfulness in a king let alone a man of lower station. I have been much humiliated in my life, as well you know after Angus’s betrayal. I do not know if it is because being married to a queen was too much for him, or if it is simply man’s nature. But given that I have been with a king and with a great laird and was betrayed just the same, I will venture it is the latter. So. I won’t expect you to be faithful, Harry. All I expect is that you do not humiliate me publicly.’

‘What are you asking of me, Your Grace?’ Harry’s tone was soft.

‘I am asking you,’ I began as I rose from my seat at the dining table, rounding the corner to take his hands in mine, ‘to call me Margaret.’

Harry squeezed my hands. ‘Margaret … what do you want of me?’

‘Just you,’ I said, pulling him up. With Harry I wasn’t a queen teetering on old age, a queen without power, without prospect. I was desirable and daring; I was taking control and I liked it.

Harry rose and wrapped his arms about my waist as I wrapped mine about his neck.

‘Just you,’ I whispered as I drew him toward me in a kiss that, if not passionate, was enjoyable.

And that was all I wanted. To enjoy the company and affections of a man; to feel …
alive
.

With Harry, for a time, I did.

‘It seems Angus has fled to my brother’s court,’ I told Harry one evening after receiving the disturbing series of dispatches from my brother that revealed his plans.

Harry was naked from the waist up and I admired his torso, rippling with lean muscle as he leaned on his elbow in my bed. I lay next to him, my long coppery locks spilling over my creamy shoulders, reading my brother’s letters.

‘He has the audacity to like Angus,’ I spat, disgusted with Henry’s fickle ways. ‘He wants to send him back here for a reconciliation, that we might back Jamie in his rule together when his minority is ended.’

‘You aren’t considering it, are you?’ Harry raised his brows.

‘Why? Do you fear losing me?’ I asked, not without a trace of delight. The thought that he would worry about our affair ending pleased me somewhat.

‘Of course I do,’ Harry said. ‘I do not know where we are going, but I am enjoying it.’

‘Well, you do not have to fear,’ I assured him in sugared tones. ‘I will not reconcile with Angus, no matter what Henry dangles before me. He has no idea the machinations of Scotsmen’s hearts. To elevate the Douglases again would turn clan against clan again and upset the balance of power.’

‘Power that should belong solely to His Grace,’ Harry said.

‘Exactly,’ I agreed, touched that he should recognise it as well and not include himself in that balance as Angus would have done. Angus would have said the power should belong to ‘us.’ Meaning him and Jamie, not him and me. Me he would have flattered till his ends were met, then discarded me as he had countless times before. Oh, how wonderful it was that Harry was not such a man!

‘I have written to Henry,’ I went on. ‘I have told him my fears and urged him to detain Angus. I will not have great jealousies stirred up once again and destroy the allegiances I have worked so hard for.’ I sighed. ‘We need to get Jamie away from Stirling, away from his French guards. We will take him to Edinburgh and there the minority will be officially ended. Even Lord Hamilton, the Earl of Arran, agrees.’

‘Then we shall do it,’ Harry said. ‘And I will help you however I can.’

‘I know you will,’ I said, and I did. ‘But dinna do it for me, Harry. Do it for Jamie. Whatever happens to us, I never want you to lose your affection and allegiance to him.’

‘He is my king, Margaret,’ Harry assured me. ‘No matter what happens, I will never lose sight of that.’

Somehow I knew he spoke true. Whatever confidence I had, or lack thereof, in a happy, lasting future with Harry, I knew he meant my son well.

I was learning, as Albany had instructed, to let go of expectations. There was only to think of Jamie’s happiness and safety. What little pleasures I could steal for myself meantime, I would. But none would eclipse what mattered most and that was Jamie. And for whatever Harry would prove himself to be, he was at my side knowing that.

That was all I needed.

19

W
e rode with Jamie into Edinburgh, where he was invested with the sword, sceptre, and crown. He was king as he was meant to be. Acknowledged before his peers as a man, despite being a lad of twelve. Henry lent to me the support of Thomas Howard, the newly styled Duke of Norfolk, elevated from Earl of Surrey upon his father’s death. With him and his men just beyond the Border, the statement of the might that backed the decision to invest Jamie with his full powers of state was made clear. Norfolk was the son of the victor of Flodden. What destruction a Howard could wreak upon Scotland was now legendary. No one would cross me now.