The Border Vixen (22 page)

This child of his heart was too frail to survive the harsh Scottish weather. James Stewart was unhappy to be declined. He wanted a French wife to solidify the auld alliance that had existed for centuries between Scotland and France. He turned his attention in another direction.

Marie de Guise, the duchesse de Longueville, was the daughter of the duc de Guise and his wife, Antoinette de Bourbon-Vendôme. She was three years younger than James Stewart. Marie had recently been widowed, and was the mother of two sons, the second born two months after her husband’s death. The Scots king found that he liked her, but she was not ready to be courted or to even consider another marriage.

Late in the autumn, James saw Madeleine de Valois at a court ball again. Drawn back to her, he realized he was in love. And to his surprise, Madeleine admitted her love for him. They went together to King François and pleaded with him for permission to wed. Unable to deny his favorite child her heart’s desire, and influenced by his second wife, Eleanor of Austria, the French king finally agreed. The wedding was celebrated on the first day of January at Paris’s great cathedral of Notre Dame.

The delicate princess was fortunate in that she did not resemble her father. King François could not under any circumstances be called handsome, his best features being his charm and his power. But his first wife, Queen Claude, had had the same beauty as Madeleine, his favorite daughter. Claude, Duchess of Brittany, had been the daughter of King Louis XII and his wife, Anne of Brittany. Claude was fair to look upon with reddish blond hair and blue eyes. So was Madeleine, but it was her sweetness and firm character that had entangled themselves in James Stewart’s cold heart.

For the next few months the young couple were feted and entertained, but their return to Scotland was inevitable. Finally in mid-May the royal couple sailed for Scotland. The young queen had not been well in prior weeks. Exhaustion had been an inescapable result of all the celebrations in their honor. King François knew as he bid his daughter a tender farewell that he should never see her again in this life. He might have regretted his decision to allow her marriage but that she was so very happy, and so very much in love with James Stewart, and he with her.

The voyage was not an easy one, and Queen Madeleine was quite ill by the time their ship reached Leith. Word of the king’s arrival spread quickly. The queen could go no farther than Edinburgh. Only the fact that the French king had given his daughter an extremely large dower portion kept the more civilized of the king’s lords from complaining aloud of his poor choice of a wife. And plans were already in the works to find a new wife for James Stewart.

When Scotland’s king had departed for France the previous summer, he had seen his then-mistress, Janet Munro, married to Matthew Baird, Lord Tweed. James had agreed to acknowledge his child by Janet, and settle a dower portion on it if a female. Lord Tweed had agreed to raise the child as if it were his own. He was not unhappy to have Janet Munro for his wife. Her connection with the king and the generous dower her family provided made her an excellent choice.

And Janet Munro was not unhappy with her new husband. While closer to forty than thirty, he was a satisfactory lover, and told her he expected her to give him bairns eventually. Their home and their income were comfortable. In the very early spring of 1537, Janet gave birth to a daughter who was christened Margaret. Lord Tweed sent word to his king in France of his daughter’s birth, but he heard nothing.

“We will travel to Edinburgh when the king returns, for that will be the first place he goes. We will ask for Margaret’s portion then,” Janet said to her husband. “I want the matter settled before his queen has any bairns.”

But when Matthew Baird and his wife, Janet, went to Edinburgh, they found their new queen seriously ill, and the king unable to deal with anything other than his wife. He never left her side, sitting with her for hours on end. Janet Munro was sad for the man who had fathered her child, but she was a practical woman. She wanted what had been promised to her baby daughter. A lass needed a dower to wed respectably.

“I must go to Brae Aisir to my cousin, Fingal Stewart,” she told her husband.

“Why?” Lord Tweed asked. “What can he do to help ye resolve this matter?”

“I need to remind the king that it was I who brought Fin to his attention, and thereby gained him another means of support. I want the income James Stewart promised for my Margaret, and only the king can make it so. And if Fin is with me when I ask the king, the matter can be settled immediately.”

“What a clever puss ye are, my dear,” Lord Tweed said.

“This queen is dying, Matthew,” Janet continued. “He is in love with her. Everyone says it. When she dies he will be devastated. Ye don’t know him, my lord, but I do. James has never loved anyone in all his life. He is a charming man, but his heart was always a cold one until he met this princess. She is his first, and possibly his only love. He will not be easily amenable to anything after she dies. He will mourn her as deeply as he loves her. He is not a man to do things by halves,” Janet said.

“We have not been able to even see him ourselves. Few have,” her husband reminded her. “How do ye expect to reach out to him even if yer cousin comes?”

“I’m not certain,” Janet admitted, “but I believe I have a way. I have to do this for my wee Margaret’s sake. James has not yet received so much as a groat from Fingal. By giving that income to my daughter, it actually costs the king nothing. He will appreciate the subtlety in that, my lord, if I can but point it out to him.”

Matthew Baird, Lord Tweed, laughed heartily at his wife’s reasoning. “God’s nightshirt, Jan, ye are far cleverer than I had realized. Will yer cousin agree?”

“Fingal is a good man,” she replied. “He will not refuse me. He will see the wisdom in what I suggest.”

“But will the king?” Lord Tweed asked seriously.

Chapter 8

I
t was late spring at Brae Aisir, and the hillsides were green with new growth, and white with new lambs. The frost had finally gone from the ground. The few fields were quickly plowed and planted. Traffic through the Aisir nam Breug had picked up with the better weather. In early June, Fingal Stewart was surprised to be visited by Janet Munro, his cousin, and her husband, Matthew Baird, Lord Tweed. They arrived one bright afternoon, traveling from Edinburgh.

Maggie was delighted to have the company, for there had been no visitors to Brae Aisir in months. And particularly as Lady Tweed was her husband’s kinswoman, she welcomed the pair warmly. “Grandsire always enjoys company,” she said cheerfully. “And especially that of a pretty woman,” Maggie complimented Janet.

“Why, ye are far lovlier than I had anticipated,” Janet said frankly. “I suspect if the king had known how fair ye were, he might not have been so generous to our cousin. He’s always had an eye for a pretty face.” She dismounted her horse.

“Come into the hall,” Maggie invited the couple. “Are ye traveling with another purpose, or have ye come to see us especially?” She led them inside the stone house, signaling to her servants to bring wine and biscuits as she invited them to sit.

“I see ye’ve birthed yer bairn,” Fin said as he considered why Janet was here.

“A daughter on March third, baptized Margaret as it is a Stewart family name,” Janet said brightly. “She’s at Tweed House with her wet nurse. It’s safer for so young a bairn. The king has returned. His delicate French queen is dying. I have not seen her; few have. But from what I’m told, she’ll not last the summer.”

“How tragic!” Maggie exclaimed. “Did ye hear, Grandsire? The young queen is dying, poor lass.”

“She was frail to begin with, if one can believe the gossips,” the old laird said.

“Aye, it has been said,” Janet agreed. She looked to Fingal and to the laird. “My lords, I need yer aid in a certain matter.” When he nodded at her, she continued.

“The king promised when he saw me wed to my good lord that he would provide for our child, for that responsibility is not my husband’s. If a lad, the child would be given a living, a priory or monastery as his other sons have received. The king also swore that if the child were a lass, she would be given a small yearly income and a generous dower portion. Alas, with the queen so ill, his promise has not been fulfilled. Now, with her death imminent, I fear the king will be so deep in mourning that he will not want to be troubled by this matter.”

“Yer a clever lass, and a good mother to want it settled soon,” Dugald Kerr said.

“How can we help ye, Jan?” Fingal Stewart asked.

“Ye promised to give the king a portion of the revenues ye receive from the tolls ye collect from the Aisir nam Breug,” Janet Munro said. “But the king could transfer that right to his daughter to meet his obligation. Margaret would be taken care of at no out-of-pocket expense to James.”

“Yer cousin is a bold woman to put her hands in our purse, Fin,” Maggie said bluntly. She looked straight at Janet Munro when she spoke.

“Ye owe the king in any event,” Janet replied stubbornly.

“If he promised yer bairn a living,” Maggie snapped, “why not remind him of his promise? While I have heard the king was tightfisted, I was also told he was good to his offspring. Why do ye not solicit him directly and remind him of his promise?”

Janet Munro was surprised that her hostess was so forward, and she wondered why Fingal, her cousin, did not speak up. The look on his face was one of amusement. Did he consider the matter of her child’s financial well-being something to be laughed at? But then, to her relief, Lord Stewart did speak up.

“If the king is as deeply in love with his dying wife as has been reported,” he began, “he will hardly be in the mood to be reminded of an old obligation to a child born on the wrong side of the blanket. And we do owe him a third of all the tolls we collect to be paid in coin each St. Andrew’s Day. That was what was agreed upon when I came to Brae Aisir. Dugald knows it. The king wanted half, only that I bargained him down.”

“Why should he have any of our income?” Maggie demanded to know.

“Because he saved Brae Aisir’s fate by sending me to be yer husband,” Fin told her. “Do ye not think I’m worth a third of the monies we collect each year? I think ye more than worth the two-thirds we retain.” He grinned at her.

“Yer a fool, Fingal Stewart,” Maggie said. “I’m worth it all!”

“Aye, Maggie mine, ye are,” he told her. “Now let us return to Janet’s dilemma. I think it an excellent solution that the king’s portion from the tolls collected be used to support his daughter. But how can we manage to make such an arrangement? He must be very diverted at the moment with his queen’s poor condition.”

“He is,” Janet said. “Her health is so perilous that she cannot even be moved to Stirling or Linlithgow. She is in the royal apartments in Edinburgh Castle. We can get into the castle. I have a kinsman among the castle guard. And the king’s secretary owes me a favor I shall now collect from him. But I need ye with me, Fingal, to assure the king that ye are content with this disposition. Will ye come back to Edinburgh with us?”

“Ye will need
me
as well,” Maggie said. “I am the heiress to Brae Aisir.”

“But Fingal is yer husband, and surely ’tis his right to make such a decision,” Janet Munro said primly. She was a woman of tradition.

Fin laughed aloud. “Nay, Jan, Maggie must come with us, for she is the heiress, and whatever I now possess I possess through her.”

“We must leave on the morrow then,” Janet Munro said.

“We will depart the day after,” Maggie replied. “Ye are barely past childbed, madam, and have raced into the Borders from the city. Ye and yer horses will have a day of rest before we begin our journey. Now I must go and see to yer comfort while ye are with us, and the cook must be informed there will be two more at the high board this day.” With a smile she hurried from the hall.

The laird chuckled. “She has had her way since her birth,” he said to their guests. “There is no changing her now.”

Fin grinned. “The king gave me quite a responsibility, didn’t he? It takes a particular skill to manage it, Cousins.”

Dugald Kerr laughed aloud.

“She is very forward,” Janet Munro ventured.

“A headstrong lady, I can see,” Lord Tweed said with understatement.

“She is known as Mad Maggie,” Fin murmured, “and is rather proud of it.”

“God’s foot!” Janet exclaimed. “And ye put up with it?”

Fingal Stewart smiled knowingly. “She is worth it, Jan. I should have never imagined such a wife as I now have.”

“He loves her,” the laird murmured softly.

“I have not said it, Dugald,” Fin quickly replied.

“But ye do nonetheless,” the old man answered, “and I’m glad for it. I shall go to my grave content knowing Maggie is safe with ye.”

“Yer an old fraud,” Fin said. “Ye won’t go to yer grave for years, Dugald Kerr, and we both know it. Ye may fool Maggie, but ye don’t fool me.”

The laird chuckled, giving his grandson-in-law a broad wink. “Ye’ll not tell on me, I hope,” he said.