He had heard that she constantly referred to him now as my lord Anguish. Let her. She would see that he could cause her anguish enough. He had Henry of England behind him; he had made sure while he was at the Court of England that Henry had understood his sister’s leanings toward France through Albany. Henry disapproved of Margaret’s obtaining a divorce; he had accepted Angus as his brother-in-law from the first, and continued to do so.
The walls of the city loomed ahead in the darkness and Angus called a halt.
Lennox gave a sign and several men dismounted and crept toward the walls. There was silence among those who waited which seemed to go on for a long time; then the gates of the city were thrown open. Dawn was beginning to show in the sky when Angus and his men marched into Edinburgh through the High Street to St. Giles’s Church.
There was an atmosphere of expectancy in Holyrood that night.
Margaret was conscious of it. It was due to the fact that Angus was in Scotland, and she could not feel safe while he was there.
Harry Stuart was in her bedchamber; it had become common knowledge that he was her lover, and Margaret’s passion was too ardent for her to submit to subterfuge. Her love for this young man was apparent in every look she gave him, and she knew it was no use attempting to hide it. Better to show it in — as some called it — a brazen manner. She was not ashamed of her love, nor was he.
“Harry,” she said, “I have not felt at ease since I knew Anguish had crossed the Border.”
“We’ll be a match for Anguish when the time comes,” Harry assured her.
She took his hand and kissed it. “My blessing,” she murmured. “What comfort you give me!”
“That is my great desire and always will be,” Harry told her.
He was very pleased with life which offered him so much honor and so much devotion from the Queen.
“It seems oppressive,” Margaret said, “in spite of the November cold.”
“Let us to bed,” replied Harry. “I promise to drive off the oppressive atmosphere and the November cold.”
She laughed and kissed him.
“Harry,” she said, as they lay in each other’s arms, “I fancy you have been quiet of late. Is there something on your mind?”
“It is not easy to keep troubles from you. Your eyes are so sharp.”
“Then something is worrying you.”
“I’m afraid, my love.”
“Afraid! You, Harry? I do not believe it.”
“Afraid of offending you. If I did, I think I should walk out of this apartment and leap down from the topmost point of the Palace.”
“Don’t say such things! I can’t bear it. Tell me, what has made you feel thus?”
“Something which happened long ago and of which I have not told you.”
“Someone you loved?”
“Or thought I loved,” he said. “I did not know love until I knew my Queen.”
“And this… someone you thought you loved?”
“I married her.”
“I see. So she is your wife. And you visit her?”
“Not since we told each other of our love. In truth she is no longer my wife. I have divorced her. It was easy enough.”
Margaret was silent for a few seconds, then she said: “Tell me her name.”
“You would not know her. She is Lady Leslie. My love, my Queen, you are angry with me for keeping this secret?”
“Oh, no, Harry, my darling. I could never be angry with you. And why should I be now? You married her before we met. You kept her existence a secret from me, fearing to hurt me; and you tell me now because she is no longer your wife.”
“Oh, Margaret… if you were the humblest maiden within these city walls, I would love you and count it an honor to be your husband.”
She lay against him. “Thank you for telling me, Harry. It is always so much better to be told than to discover. I have been hurt by the men whom I have loved. Let us swear now that we will never keep secrets from each other. If our love fails we will tell. If we are unfaithful we will tell. Do you promise?”
“There will never be occasion to tell.”
“I know, my love, but let us swear all the same.”
So in the quiet of that night they swore; they made love; and they slept. But not for long.
Margaret released herself from her lover’s arms as the disturbance outside her door roused her from her sleep. There was a faint dawn light in the room and she could hear the sound of shouting in the streets.
Hurrying into the antechamber, she called to her women who helped her to dress, their teeth chattering, their fingers fumbling as they did so.
Now there was a hammering on the door.
“Who is there?” called Margaret.
It was one of the guards. “Your Grace,” he cried, “my lord Angus is in Edinburgh. His men have scaled the walls and let the invaders in. They are already in the streets on the way to the Castle.”
Margaret understood. They would take the Castle. They would take James from her.
She ran from her apartment, calling the guards as she did so. “The invaders must not enter the Castle. Send a message at once to the guards that the cannon are to be fired on them as they advance.”
The quiet early morning was broken by the roar of the cannon.
Margaret stood tense, waiting. And after a while news was brought to her that the invaders were retreating from the castle precincts.
Angus and his friends, alarmed when the Queen had ordered the cannon to be fired on them, left Edinburgh and took temporary refuge at Dalkeith and then retreated still further to Tantallan.
As soon as the city was free of them Margaret made plans to leave Holyrood, and that night, with her son, led a procession by torchlight to the Castle. There, in that strong fortress, she felt safe, but only temporarily.
She knew that the Douglas faction was too powerful to be easily vanquished, and what she dreaded more than anything was that Angus should force her to return to him.
It was ironical to contemplate that the return of Angus had been made possible by her own brother; Margaret was very uneasy regarding the relationship between herself and Henry, and she decided that her first move must be to alienate Henry from Angus.
The situation was filled with dangers. Scotland was teetering on the edge of civil war. The Douglases were growing bolder than ever now that Angus was back and it was believed that he had the support of the King of England. They had already shown their intentions by murdering Lord Fleming on the very threshold of St. Giles’s, solely because Fleming was a friend of Albany’s and his sister the Regent’s mistress; the Douglas faction had determined to thwart the French, and for this reason alone would have had the support of the English.
Never had it seemed more true that a friend one day might be an enemy the next. Margaret, who had previously longed for peace between England and Scotland, was now wondering whether France would not be the more substantial ally.
It was all very well for Henry to offer the Princess Mary to James; but Margaret believed that Henry was contemplating divorcing Mary’s mother, Katharine of Aragon, because, as she had been the wife of his brother Arthur, her marriage with himself was invalid. Then would Henry offer a bastard princess to the King of Scotland!
Letters from France reached her. Albany had a suggestion. His wife’s niece, the daughter of the Duke of Urbino and Marie of Boulogne, was one of the wealthiest heiresses in Europe. It was true that Catherine de Medici was not royal, but Albany believed she would be a very good match for the King of Scotland.
Margaret feigned to consider this but James’s marriage could wait.
In the meantime there remained the menace of the Douglases; and it seemed to her that the most urgent matter of all was the need to obtain her divorce from Angus.