But today I am diminished. All the patronage and power was mine, but here comes the Duke of Albany to take my place at the head of the table of the lords’ council, to draw the country closer to France. He would not even be here if my brother’s fleet had been able to catch him at sea. It was Harry’s intention to capture or perhaps even sink the duke’s ship. In the great North Sea they sighted him and missed him, and now here he is, fresh from his landing at Dumbarton with a train of a thousand—a thousand men! As if he were king already.
He enters the room with a flourish, and my decision to dislike him melts away. He is dressed very beautifully in velvets and silks, but not like a king, as he wears no ermine trim. His hands sparkle with jewels and there is a great diamond in his hat, but he is not a walking jewel chest like my brother. He perfectly judges his bow to me, respectful to a queen regent and Tudor princess, but as from a kinsman—not a servant. I curtsey to him and when I rise up we kiss each other to acknowledge the family connection. He smells beautifully of orange flower water and clean linen. He is as immaculate as a princess on her wedding day, and I am seized at once with admiration and envy. This is a Frenchman of the highest breeding, a real nobleman. He makes the rest of my council look like Lowland beggars.
Behind him, bowing with a warm smile on his handsome face, is my chevalier, the Sieur de la Bastie, the white knight who jousted before me when I was a bride, and when I was a new mother. He bows very low and then he takes my hand and kisses it. It is as if I were a girl again and he promising to ride in the joust for me. If de la Bastie is with Albany, I feel I can trust both noblemen. I introduce him to Archibald and I see, with my anxious attention, Albany’s small sideways glance at me, as if to confirm that I did indeed choose this willowy youth as my second husband—I, who had been married to such a great king.
We walk aside from everyone to exchange a few words. I gesture that Archibald shall walk with us, but Albany takes my arm and walks close to me so that Ard has to tag along behind and does not hear and cannot comment. “Your Grace, your councillors advise me that matters have come to a pretty pass here,” he says, smiling. “I hope to help you set things to rights.”
“I have to protect the inheritance of my sons,” I say. “I swore to their father, your cousin, that his son would inherit his throne and continue his work of making this a wealthy and cultured country.”
“You are a scholar like your husband?” he asks me with sudden interest.
“No,” I admit. “But I have continued my husband’s work endowing schools and universities. We are the first country in Europe to provide schooling for the sons of our freeholders. We are proud of our learning in Scotland.”
“It’s a remarkable achievement,” he says. “And I am proud to help you with it. Can we agree that Scotland must continue to find its own way—we cannot bow to English influence?”
“I am an English princess but a Scots queen,” I say. “Scotland must be free.”
“Then your husband’s uncle, Gavin Douglas, must give up his claim to Saint Andrews,” he says quietly. “And also Dunkeld. We all know that he got them only because his nephew married you.”
I give a little gasp. “I don’t agree at all.”
“And your husband’s grandfather will have to answer for his assault on the Lyon Herald,” he goes on, his voice low and patient. “You cannot allow your new kinsmen any special favors—it destroys your reputation as a just queen.”
“He barely touched him!” I protest. “Perhaps his sleeve swept his face.”
He looks at me ruefully, his blue eyes smiling. His charm is completely self-aware; he is so beautifully mannered. “You had better think about this, Your Grace,” he says. “I cannot keep you in your place and restore your dower rents and get the government to pay you what they owe, and honor you as they should, if you do not make your new kinsmen behave as they should.”
“I must have my rents. I am practically penniless.”
“You shall have them. But your kinsmen must obey the law.”
“I am queen regent!” I exclaim.
He nods. I see now that he has an air of superiority, as if he had foreseen this conversation and prepared for it. “You are,” he says. “But—I am sorry to say—your young husband is neither royal nor courtly, and his family are known rogues.”
I am so furious, so insulted, and also—to tell the truth—so afraid, that I call Bishop Gavin Douglas and Lord John Drummond and Archibald into my privy chamber and send my ladies away so that we can whisper together.
“I don’t think we should have insisted that you were made bishop,” I confess to Gavin. “And we shouldn’t have bribed you into Dunkeld.”
“I was the best choice,” he says, quite unrepentant.
“You may be, but the parliament don’t like the Drummonds and Douglases getting everything.”
“It’s not unreasonable,” Lord Drummond says, his hand on my husband’s shoulder. “We are the natural rulers.”
“And we’re not getting everything,” Gavin adds, as if he hopes for more.
Archibald nods. “You are queen regent: the right to make Church appointments is in your hands. You cannot be commanded by others. And of course you favor my family. Who else should you favor? Who else has shown you any support?”
“You shouldn’t have struck the Lyon Herald.” I find the courage to confront John Drummond, though I quail beneath his sharp look. “I am sorry, my lord, but the duke says you will have to answer for it. I didn’t know what to reply.”
“You were there, you know it was nothing.”
“I know that you struck him.”
“You should have denied it,” he says simply.
“I have denied it! But clearly the herald has made a complaint and it is his word against yours.”
“His word against yours,” he emphasizes. “You will continue to deny it. Nobody can challenge the word of a queen.”
“But they do challenge it!” I wail, really afraid now. “I won’t get my dower rents if Albany does not think I am being a good queen. And he will take my boys into his keeping! He will take them away from me.” I put my hand over my belly. “You know I am with child. I dare not go into confinement and leave all this mess. Who will look after—” I break off. I nearly said, who will look after Archibald? “Who will look after my sons?” I correct myself.
“We will,” Lord Drummond says. “Their Douglas and Drummond kinsmen, their stepfather Archibald. And that fool Albany has made his first mistake. He insulted Lord Hume at the first moment of their meeting, so he has lost his greatest ally. Hume has come over to our side, and he will bring in the Bothwells. Soon, the lords on our side will outnumber those that called for Albany and we can throw him out of the country and send him back to France.”
This is good news, but the favor of the lords gives me neither money nor power until they vote for me in parliament. Until then, Albany has a thousand men in his train, ten thousand to follow them, French backing; and I have only the Douglas men but no money to pay them. I don’t even have money for the household; I cannot even feed my servants.
“Hadn’t you better go to your brother?” Archibald asks. “As Lord Dacre suggested? As your brother invites you? We have lost the first round here. Hadn’t you better go to England and get an army and money?”
I turn a burning look on him. “To England? And leave you? Do you want to be rid of me now?”
“My love! Of course not!” He catches up my hand and kisses it. “But think of your boys. Should you not take them to King Henry? He has invited you: go to him for your own safety. You could come back home when it is safe.”