My delight in seeing James makes me grateful to Archibald for allowing me back to Edinburgh. Margaret is my daughter once more, she comes to my rooms every day, I supervise her education and she lives under my guidance. Archibald has complete power over the council of lords; no one dares to oppose him. If he had wanted to ban me from the city he could have done so, and no one would have defended me. He is generous to me—I cannot deny it. He is serving Harry, he is following the wishes of England: really, he has no choice, but still he is being kind to me.
“You cannot really have been frightened of me?” he asks in his low caressing tone. “When I think of the queen that you were when we first met, you were frightened of nothing, and I was so lowly a server in your household, you didn’t even see me. And when you faced me behind the cannon and I saw you smile through the smoke! I didn’t believe it for a moment when they said that you were frightened of me. You cannot be frightened of me, Margaret.”
“I am not,” I say, instantly defiant.
“Of course not. You have been in my life like a moon on my horizon—not like an ordinary woman at all.”
“I didn’t know you felt like that,” I say cautiously.
“Of course. We have been lovers, we have been husband and wife, we have been parents to a beautiful daughter, we have been either side of a cannon, but we have always been the most important person to the other. Isn’t it true? Who do you think of most of the day? Who do you think of every day? Who do you think that I think of, all the time? All the time!”
“It’s not the same as loving someone,” I protest. “I won’t hear any words of love. I know that you have another woman; you know that I love Henry Stewart. I will marry him if the Pope grants my divorce.”
He gives a little laugh and makes a gesture with his hand as if to say that Henry Stewart means nothing to him. “No, God no, it’s not the same as loving, it’s more,” he says. “Much more. Love comes and goes; if it lasts the length of a ballad or a story it is long enough. Everyone knows that now, the Queen of England, God bless her, among them. Love has ended for her. But belonging goes on. You are more than one of the loves of my life. I am more than a favorite. You will always be the first star at twilight for me.”
“You speak of a moon and you speak of stars,” I say a little breathlessly. “Are you setting up as a poet?”
He gives me a slow, seductive smile. “Because it is in the nights that I think of you. It is the nights with you that I miss the most,” he whispers.
Archibald’s tenderness to me and his generosity to my son continues, for he persuades the council to declare James as king in the summer, at the age of fourteen. Now, at last, the officers who make up James’s household and rule in his name are dismissed. The French guardians are gone, the lords of the council lose their posts, James and I can choose our own household and take command. Exultantly, we start to draw up lists of men that we will choose to serve us, but it does not happen as it should. Instead of letting us appoint our choices, Archibald takes all the work upon himself. He nominates his own people to the royal household and we see that James is still going to be king only in name.
All the letters go out under James’s seal, but they are dictated by Archibald and copied by his clerks. All the wealth is audited and kept by Archibald’s lord treasurer, guarded by the soldiers of the castle. Once again, Archibald has all the money. The royal guard answer to Archibald’s captains and to Archibald himself; they are all of the Douglas clan. To the outside world James is king, but behind the high walls he is nothing more than Archibald’s stepson. I am dowager queen, but first and foremost I am Archibald’s wife.
I am in no doubt that Archibald means this to continue forever: James will never be allowed to take his power, I will never name my household officers, I will never be free of Archibald’s rule. The Archbishop of Saint Andrews, James Beaton, who has been such a bitter enemy of mine in the past, is smarting from losing his office as Lord Chancellor, and he manages to meet me in the chapel at Holyroodhouse when I am praying alone and offers me his support. He says that others will follow any lead that I give. He says that they will help me free James from his overbearing stepfather.
But first, I must get away. Every day that I sit at Archibald’s table with James at my side reinforces the belief that we are reconciled. Every time he presents me with the best cut of meat or the first taste of the finest wine it looks as if he is serving his wife with love and honor. Even James glances at me as if to confirm that I am not falling under the spell of the Archibald charm. I think of the moon on the horizon and the first star at twilight and I tell James that I have to go.
He goes pale. “And leave me here? With him? Again?”
“I have to,” I say. “I cannot gather supporters while I am under the same roof as Archibald. He watches me day and night. And I cannot write to London for help while he pays the messenger and breaks the seal.”
“When will you come back?” my son asks coolly. I feel my heart twist with pain at the way that he hides his fear behind a clipped tone.
“I hope to come back within months, perhaps even at the head of an army,” I promise him. “I will not be idle, you can be sure of that. I’ll get you away from him, James. I will get you free.”
He looks so unhappy that I say: “Francis of France got free, and no one thought that he ever would.”
“You are going to raise an army?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“You swear on your honor?”
We hold each other very tightly for a moment.
“Come back for me,” he says. “Lady Mother, come back.”
STIRLING CASTLE, SCOTLAND, AUTUMN 1526
I make three attempts to kidnap James from Archibald’s keeping but my husband is too skilled, and his household is loyal to him and determined to keep James. A raid on his men when he and James are riding in the borders is defeated, a kidnap attempt inside Edinburgh Castle fails. But more and more of the Scots lords come to our side, repelled by Archibald’s abuse of his power. Even so it is a bad day for me when Davy Lyndsay walks into my presence chamber and kneels.
“Davy?” I am on my feet in a moment, my hand on my heart. “You here? James is ill? You’ve come for me?”
“I am dismissed from his service,” Davy says, very low. “The Earl of Angus sent me away and I was not allowed to stay though I said I would lie under the same roof as him without pay, without my keep, so that he knew I was there. I said I would sleep in the stables. I said I would lie down with the hounds. But he sent me out. Your son is to have another head of his household. I am not allowed to serve him any longer.”
I am horrified. James has never been parted from Davy before. All through his life of partings and death, he has always had Davy at his side.
“He’s alone? My boy?”
“He has companions.” The twist of the old man’s mouth shows me that he does not think much of them.
“Who is his tutor?”
“George Douglas.” Davy names Archibald’s younger brother, who cares for nothing but the triumph of Clan Douglas.
“My God, what will he teach the boy?”
“Whoring and drinking,” the old man says sourly. “He knows nothing else.”
“My son?”
“They’re spoiling him on purpose. They are taking him to the stews and getting him drunk. They laugh at him when he falls, when a whore takes him. God forgive them for what they are doing to our boy.”
My hands are over my mouth. “I have to fetch him.”
“You must. Before God, you must.”
“And Davy, what will you do?” I ask him. This is as hard on him as it is on me. He has not been apart from James since he was born.
“If I may, I will join your household, and when you send your troop to rescue the king from the Douglas clan, you will send me too, and I can get back to my boy.”