Yet young Margaret was well cared for, the friend of Princess Mary, and a favorite, it was said, of her uncle. She was by all accounts a rare beauty, and Margaret would have given a great deal to see her again.
But it was not possible to have all one wished in life and she must learn to be content with what was hers.
Harry was a devoted husband; she was very fond of his brother James who was so like him in every way. The King was an affectionate son; he was loving by nature as many young women had discovered. Ah well, thought Margaret, it was hardly to be expected that a son of James IV and herself would be otherwise.
There were few shadows in life up to that time when news came to Scotland that the King of England had married again and was asking acknowledgment of Queen Anne Boleyn.
James came to see Margaret to discuss the matter with her.
As usual when she saw him after a brief absence she was filled with pride as he entered her room at Methven Castle. He was startlingly like his father and every bit as handsome. His hair had never lost the reddish tinge; his eyes were bluish gray, long and alert; his aquiline nose gave dignity and manliness to a face which otherwise would have been almost feminine in its beauty. He was of medium height, slender and well-shaped — a son to be proud of.
He kissed her hand — so gracious and courtly — another reminder of his father.
“So my brother has at last freed himself of poor Katharine and married the Boleyn woman,” she said.
James laughed. “Well, you must admit he has been patient.”
“Patient! ’Tis something Henry could never be. He must have suffered torment. I pity those about him.”
James nodded. “He wishes us to acknowledge her as Queen of England.”
Margaret spread her hands. “Henry has made her his Queen. That is an end to the matter. But I know how he always loved approval. He could never be happy without it.”
“The clergy are displeased,” James told her. “They sent a friar to preach before me and, although he did not mention names, he made it very clear that what has taken place in England has deeply shocked him and his brethren.”
Margaret made an impatient gesture. “I am sorry for Katharine, but I always knew she was too meek. And she was very condemnatory of my divorce. It is all such nonsense. When a marriage is finished, it is finished and that should be an end to it.”
“As you proved with Angus. Mother, I am in agreement with you. I shall write to congratulate Henry on his marriage and to wish him and his Queen a fruitful union.”
“Do so, my son, but with discretion. There are too many people in Scotland who imagine divorce to be a major sin, and it is better not to offend them.”
“They will have to change their minds.” He hesitated for a few seconds then hurried on: “Mother, I have made up my mind to marry.”
“It is time, my son. Do you plan to visit France yourself to claim your bride?”
“No, I do not intend to go to France because I have no intention of marrying into France. I have chosen my wife and she is Scottish.”
Margaret stared at him in astonishment. “But you have been promised to the daughter of the Duke of Vendôme. What are you saying, James?”
“That I have decided to marry where I please, and I have chosen my own bride.”
“James! This cannot be so. Whom have you chosen?”
“Margaret Erskine. She has already borne me a son and I would make him legitimate if that were possible. He is a fine healthy boy and I love his mother as I could love no other.”
“But is she not married to Douglas of Lochleven?”
“We have just agreed that when a marriage is irksome it should be dissolved, have we not?”
“James, this is madness!”
“Was it madness when you divorced Angus?”
“I was only the mother of the King. You are the King.”
“Nevertheless I am determined to marry whom I will.”
“So it is for this reason that you congratulate my brother and his new Queen.”
James was silent, and Margaret felt peace slipping away from her. She tried to look dispassionately at that handsome face which was almost womanish. The aquiline nose could not altogether disguise the weakness of the chin. James was weak where women were concerned, as his father had been.
He must not make the mistakes that she had made. Looking back she saw that hasty marriage with Angus as the beginning of all her troubles.
In that moment she wanted to help James achieve his desire, but she believed that by arranging a divorce for his mistress, marrying her himself and by attempting to legitimize his bastard, he was, at the beginning of his reign, making trouble for himself. What of the French? How would he placate them for the insult done to them?
No, she must make a firm stand.
“It is impossible,” she said.
His brow had darkened, his lips tightened. He turned on her in a rage.
“It was well enough when you wished for divorce. So there is one law for you and another for me?”
“James… you are the King.”
“And you were the Queen. What did you care? So you will stand against me now. I had not believed it of you.”
She tried to explain but his impetuous nature was in revolt. All those who would not help him in this matter were his enemies.
It was the first quarrel they had had; and it was a bitter one.
Margaret was filled with grief; and that was the end of the peaceful years.
James did not marry his mistress. When the Parliament stood firmly against him he was wise enough to realize that he could only court disaster by doing so.
So he gave way and went to France, in the role of romantic lover, to court the lady who had been chosen for him. He was received with warmth in the Duke’s household, but he did not fall deeply in love with Mademoiselle de Vendôme. His thoughts were still with the mother of his son James on whom he doted although he had put aside his desire to marry her, for the sake of duty. It was not surprising therefore that he lacked enthusiasm for this woman who had been chosen to be his bride.
Traveling through France he was entertained at the Court of François, and there he met the young Princess Magdalene who had at one time been suggested as a bride for him. She was a delicate child who, no sooner had she set eyes on him, adored him.
As for James, all his chivalry was aroused by her fragility and her admiration of himself; and he confessed to her father that she was the lady whom it would delight him to marry.
The King of Scotland was a worthy parti. So the proposed marriage with Vendôme was put aside for the more desirable one with the daughter of the King of France.
James was delighted. Only this fragile child could compensate him for his inability to marry his dear Margaret and legitimize his bonny James. The Parliament of Scotland had no objections. A French marriage was what it desired, and a daughter of the King of France was more suitable than one of the Duke of Vendôme.
Margaret sighed with relief. Once James was safely married, all would be peaceful again.
News came from England that Henry, tiring of his second wife, had accused her of adultery and she had lost her head on Tower Green. He was now married to Lady Jane Seymour.
“He cannot blame me for having had three husbands,” commented Margaret, “now that he has had three wives.”
She was a little anxious about her daughter Margaret who by this time had become a prominent member of the English Court. In those days of intrigue one could never be sure who was going to arouse the King’s anger next. Henry VIII was a fickle man; his anger was terrible, and he had supreme power with which to make it felt. Who would have believed that the vital and dazzling Anne, for whom he had fought desperately over so many years, could in three short ones have passed from glory to dishonor and death? It was ironical that glory, honor, disaster and death had been dealt by the same hand.