All marveled at her beauty and her charm, her brilliant Tudor coloring, her vitality, good health and high spirits. On through Lincolnshire to Yorkshire, here to be greeted by the High Sheriff, Sir William Conyers, by Sir Edward Savage, Sir Ralph Rider, Sir John Milton, Sir John Savile and Lord Scrope — all the worthies of the district who must come and pay homage to the daughter of their King. When she reached the City of York the gates were thrown open and the Lord Mayor marched at the head of the citizens to greet her, while the Earl of Northumberland magnificently attired in crimson velvet, with jewels glistening at his collar and on his sleeves, led the nobility. The trumpets sounded and minstrels sang to welcome her.
She reveled in the ceremonies which awaited her in that ancient city. In cloth of gold, wearing a girdle encrusted with precious stones, not only encircling her waist but falling to the hem of her gown, she visited the Archbishop of York in his palace where she heard mass; and afterward the nobility was presented to her. She would have liked to linger in the beautiful city, but she had to remember that her bridegroom was waiting for her.
It was a wonderful journey with homage all the way; a perfect horsewoman, she could ride for hours without feeling the least tired; and if she wished for a change there was her splendid litter or her even more sumptuous carriage ready for her.
And at last they reached the Border.
This was an important moment. The people here cheered more wildly than anywhere else, for it was comforting to see sparkling processions instead of ravaging hordes of savage men determined on destruction.
“Peace forevermore!” That was the cry. And this beautiful girl — no more than a child — with her round, rosy face and her glittering, golden hair, was the reason for it.
“Long live the Princess Margaret,” they cried. “Long live Margaret, Queen of Scots!”
She had learned how to receive the acclamation of the crowd, for she was a gracious lady now, not a shy young princess.
Lady Darcy, whose husband was the Captain of Berwick, received her at the gates; she was feted and flattered and a banquet was prepared for her. There was music and dancing for her entertainment; there was sport, and wild dogs were brought out to fight great bears. Later Margaret prepared herself for her entry into her husband’s country.
Sparkling with jewels, her eyes as brilliant as any gems, her cheeks scarlet with excitement, she was a lovely sight on her white palfrey; and the ceremonial moment had come; the gates were flung wide and Margaret passed out of England into Scotland.
She looked about her eagerly. The country of which I am Queen! she told herself. It was exciting to see it for the first time. This was the scene of many a bitter fight. How wonderful to contemplate that now it was a scene of rejoicing.
The first halt was at Lammermuir, and the curious people came out to look at their Queen and gasp with admiration at her youth, beauty and finery.
She was greeted at Lammermuir by the nobles of the district and although they could not have been more loyal she noticed that their clothes lacked that magnificence which had been a feature of those of the English lords. There was no gold or tinsel on their doublets, although the material of which they were made was of a good quality velvet or camlet.
Here she received a present from her husband — fruits which he believed she would find refreshing during her journey. Margaret, who was young enough to be hungry in any circumstances, devoured them with pleasure; and although it was now necessary to say goodbye to the English nobles who had escorted her from their Northern domains across the Border, she did so without regret; and her journey continued to Fastcastle. This meant passing through wild scenery such as Margaret had never before seen; and from her apartments at Fastcastle she could look down on the bay below to St. Abb’s Head, from the jagged rocks, black and unscalable, to the Wolf-Craig rising high and forbidding above the castle. It had been a slow journey, for the crossing of Lammermuir had been dangerous; Margaret had been warned of the bogs which lurked on the rough heath, and special guides had been hired to get them safely across.
Margaret felt that night that she was indeed in a strange new land in spite of the warm welcome she had received from Lord and Lady Home who lived at Fastcastle.
She spent only one night under that roof and the next morning took the road to Haddington; and before nightfall she and her cavalcade had reached the convent of Haddington where the Abbess was waiting to welcome her. Here she stayed for the night with her women, chief among whom were Lady Lyle, Lady Stanley, Lady Guildford and the Countess of Surrey; the men of the party could not, of course, stay at the convent so they were conducted to the Gray Friars.
The people of Haddington came out to watch the procession leave, and now there was an added excitement in the Queen’s suite; the meeting with the King must be close at hand and, although Margaret did not believe for one moment that he would be displeased with her, she was eager to look her best for the meeting.
They were to reach the Castle of Dalkeith by midday and as this was only seven miles from Edinburgh it seemed certain that on this day the meeting of the royal bride and groom would take place.
They were within half a mile of Dalkeith Palace when Margaret suddenly felt displeased with her appearance. She brought her palfrey close to that of Lady Guildford, who was known as her ladymistress, and said: “How do I look?”
Lady Guildford answered that she must have been aware of the admiration which she had aroused; it was well deserved.
“But I think I should look my very best, and I am not pleased with this gown. Who knows what will be waiting for us at Dalkeith?”
Lady Guildford saw the point of this. The first meeting was a great occasion, and it was just possible that the King would have ridden the seven miles from Edinburgh to meet his bride informally before he must do so in public.
“What does Your Grace propose to do?” Lady Guildford asked.
“Change here into my best gown and ride the rest of the way in the litter.”
“Change here on the road!”
“Why not?”
“Whoever heard of a queen changing her gown in her litter by the roadside!”
“They will after today,” said Margaret, “for that is what I propose to do, and I’ll have no interference.”
Lady Guildford pressed her lips firmly together. She had seen signs of obstinacy in her young mistress since they had begun this journey. Margaret resembled her brother Henry more than ever. Like him, she had a will of her own and had only been waiting until authority was hers to use it.
There was no gainsaying her; the procession was halted; the gown was brought from her baggage and her ladies surrounded her litter while she changed her traveling gown for one of dazzling magnificence.
Thus she rode into Dalkeith in velvet and tinsel, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, the flush of health and excitement on her rounded cheeks.
The Earl and Countess of Morton, castellan and castellaine of Dalkeith, were waiting for her and, as she passed through the gateway the Earl bowed low and presented her with the keys of the castle.
Lady Morton led her to her apartments and, when Margaret had expressed her pleasure in them and the loyalty of the Countess and her husband, she was left with her ladies to prepare herself for the banquet which was to follow.
While Lady Morton was receiving Margaret’s thanks there was a commotion in the courtyard below. Lady Morton turned pale and, forgetting she was in the presence of the Queen, ran to the window. Then she turned to Margaret and said: “The King is here.”
“The King… my husband!”
Margaret’s eyes were wide and she trembled a little. Then she thought of the magnificent sight she must present in her dazzling gown, and she could not resist throwing a look of triumph at Lady Guildford. There! Was I not right! she seemed to be saying.