Tudor Princess, The (23 page)

Albany made his intent more than clear when he arrived with a force seven thousand men strong with ‘Mons Meg’ at the head of it. I shuddered. ‘Mons Meg’ was the utmost cannon in the land – none could withstand her might.

My forces fled at the sight of her.

I crumpled to the floor of the bower, Ellen at my side. ‘Your Grace!’ she cried, seizing my arm. ‘Your dearest Grace,’ she whispered, pulling me to my feet.

My legs quivered as I clung to her. ‘It is over, Ellen,’ I breathed. ‘I canna have my children witness bloodshed and curse them for life. I have to give them over.’

My boys, my boys, will you ever forgive me?

Ellen began to sob. ‘I know,’ she choked.

I drew in a shaky breath, disengaging from my faithful maid. ‘We will do so with honour, Ellen. I will do so like a queen.’

‘You are nothing less,’ Ellen assured me, reaching out to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind my ear.

Nothing less, and nothing more.

Before we went out to meet Albany, I knelt before my son the king, dressing him in his robes of state myself. I reached out, stroking his baby skin.

‘I may not see you for a while,’ I told him. ‘You and baby Alexander will be staying with the Duke of Albany for a time,’ I explained, swallowing an onset of tears. ‘But only for a time, till Lord Angus and I can fetch you. You must be very good for the duke and his men and show them that you are king. You must look after the baby and show him how to be a strong little prince. We must be brave, hmm?’

‘I am brave, Mother!’ he assured me with an earnest nod of his head.

I drew him to my breast, squeezing him as tight as I could without hurting him. ‘Know that I love you, Jamie!’ I cried, allowing my tears to fall. ‘I love you with all my heart, all my soul, and I will do anything to keep you safe.’

‘I love you, Mother,’ he said, his voice small. His lips quivered as I pulled away.

I shook my head, blinking my tears away. ‘No tears, lamb,’ I urged. I took Little Jamie’s hand, placing in it the keys to Stirling Castle. ‘When you see my Lord Albany, you will give him the keys to the castle,’ I explained. ‘Because this is our decision, to let him in with peace and dignity. We must go to the duke as a queen and a king. Always remember,
you
are king and no one else.’

Little Jamie swallowed, clutching the keys to his breast and offering another grim nod. How great was the burden set upon the tiny shoulders of this three-year-old king! I could not think of it. I could not afford to meet the duke and his men in tears. I rose, taking my son by the hand and nodding to Nurse, who held the baby for me.

It was time.

Albany, given word of my intent, waited with his men outside of Stirling Castle as I made my way to him with my children. I drew on every bit of strength inside of me, holding my head high as I let go of Little Jamie’s hand, urging him toward the duke.

Albany knelt before my son, bowing his head as Little Jamie extended his hand with the keys to the castle in it. Albany took them with solemnity.

‘Please,’ I said to the duke, my tone low and steady. ‘We beg you to show mercy to these innocent children. And to my Lord Angus and his forces. Please.’

Albany raised his head. To my shock, his grey eyes were lit with tears. ‘I know what this is costing you, Your Grace,’ he told me. ‘The king and the Duke of Ross will be treated in accordance with their stations, I promise you.’

I closed my eyes a moment, willing my tears to hide a moment more. Composed, I opened them. The duke was still kneeling before us. All I could see was the artillery behind him. At once his promises faded in the dust the horses kicked up, swirling and blowing away in the bitter wind.

I nodded to him, then turned away.

I could not watch him take them from me. I could not bear to see them go.

13

I
returned with great reluctance to Edinburgh to offer my halfhearted signature on the agreement supported by Parliament, confirming that the Duke of Albany now had charge of my babies. Though I was reassured I could still see them, Albany made it plain that it may not be wise given my husband’s defection, one Albany never spared mercy for. He feared Angus and I would escape with the children, and despite whatever motherly feeling I retained, I could not be trusted. As outraged as I was, I understood as one who bore the burden of rule the practicality of his decision even while I cursed him for it.

I was twenty-five years old and had been married a year to Angus. It should have been a happy time of raising the boys while preparing for the little one I now carried. I should have been planning my confinement and great entertainments for after its birth. As the child would be a sibling to the king, it would have been a grand affair.

But there was none of that. There was running, always running, nights filled with panic as horrific imaginings gripped my mind, causing me to wonder who my enemies were, if I would even live out each week, if my children were safe and cared for, if I would ever see them again. I wondered if the letters to Henry and Lord Dacre were intercepted. Henry was only to trust letters signed ‘your loving sister, Margaret R,’ but a few of the letters sent in which I sounded agreeable to the fate of my children I was forced to sign as such. Not knowing this, Henry and Lord Dacre chastised me for my decision, telling me the gravity of my mistake, as if I hadn’t a grasp on it. And yet they were men, what did they know of how my choices came to be? Henry had command of armies and still had no children; he had no concept of what it meant to fight for them, to make unbearable decisions one could never imagine being faced with. And Lord Dacre commanded border reivers who could wreak havoc like no other kind of soldier should anyone interfere with his loved ones.

They could not possibly understand. No man could.

I had lost my children, my regency, and the respect of my kingdom. I lost respect for myself.

I was now eight months gone with child and exhausted. But there was no rest for me, no respite in a darkened cloister of a lying-in chamber.

Henry and Lord Dacre had developed a plan. I was to come to the Border, to Lord Dacre, who would then escort me into England, to Henry and his court, to the prospect of support. Dreams of a glittering triumphant return to Scotland at the head of a well-paid, well-fed army swelled my heart. Why else would Henry assist my escape if not to send me back to Scotland stronger and able to oust Albany, thus taking back my children? No matter the beginnings of understanding that were being forged between Albany and me, the thought of having my children back was irresistible.

I would do anything.

Sending coded messages in response, I agreed to the escape.

Albany granted me permission to retire to Linlithgow for my confinement. The jostling of the coach that transported me jarred and jerked my belly and I gripped it as if it were a foreign thing, some awful mass attached to me that caused nothing but pain and sickness and utter inconvenience. How I wished to have this baby so I could move about with more freedom! I could not regret my estate, but how much easier would it have been if I were not with child!

Once we reached the castle, I sought the refuge of the lying-in chamber, developing a ‘sudden illness’ that made for good enough theatre on my part to inspire Albany to allow Angus a visit, just as I had intended.

When Angus appeared in my chambers, I found myself smiling. Gone was my anger from our last encounter. He was working toward the goal of regaining custody of the children; he was doing what he promised he would do. I could see that now and could not bear to harbour resentment against the father of the little one stirring in my womb.

‘Are you well, Margaret?’ he asked. He looked older. He had always looked older than his years to me, but there was something different about him now. He was becoming seasoned, learning to accommodate himself to disappointment and opposition and the rigours of warfare. He was becoming a man.

I offered a weary nod. ‘Well enough to make for the Border,’ I told him.

He leaned over my bed, offering a light kiss on my forehead before drawing back. He stroked my forehead, offering a faint smile. ‘You are a brave one, Margaret. Keep being brave.’

I nodded, reaching up to take his hand in mine, too overcome to speak. It was so rare to share a moment of tenderness with my husband I found myself treasuring the words.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked, tilting a thick black brow.

‘Aye,’ I said in firm tones.

There was no time for tenderness now. Now was the time for action.

Night had fallen. I was not allowed a coach; it could not negotiate the wilds of the Scottish countryside with its many steep hills and winding paths as well as the sturdy reiver’s Galloway horses. There was but a handful of armed servants to accompany us until we were just beyond the town of Linlithgow, where Lord Home, my unlikely new champion, met us with his own small force.

We were to ride for our very lives.

I had been an able equestrienne when not with child, but it was another matter altogether riding in my heavy gown with the burden of my belly. As we rode, I could not help but be in a terror of losing my balance and falling, then losing the baby as a bitter consequence. I held on as if the ground were covered in writhing demons waiting to take the baby and me to the depths of hell with them, willing myself to remain atop my horse and keep up with my lord husband.

We arrived at the Douglas stronghold of Tantallon, where I collapsed into bed, clutching my aching belly. My ankles were swollen, my hands calloused from their death grip on the reins of my horse, and nausea clutched my throat. Despite being allowed to lie down, I could not rest. I thought of the children, as always, hoping they were safe, wondering if Little Jamie had said anything amusing or if the baby had done anything new. Would I miss it all? His first steps, his first words … I could not bear such reflection.

I thought of my ladies, Ellen in particular. She could not come with me; she could not even be made aware of my escape. Though I trusted her like no other, I could not trust her with this. I could not put her in the position of having to lie to the duke or his men. Nor could I put her in the position of having to tell them the truth.

Angus joined me in my bedchamber, rousing me from my reverie with more news.

‘Albany is in pursuit,’ he announced, his tone thick with frustration. ‘We must flee to Lord Home’s castle of Blackadder immediately.’

Even as I sat up and allowed Angus to assist me with my boots, I trembled and moaned with pain. ‘Oh, Angus, I feel so sick and tired. The baby is going to come soon, I know it,’ I told him, voicing for the first time my fears, that this child would come and hamper all plans of escape.

Angus shook his head with vehemence as he helped me to my feet. ‘You must not say it, Margaret. You must not even think it. The child can wait till we get to England. Hold on for me, eh? Hold on just a bit more.’

I sighed and nodded, as if I could somehow control the advent of my labour, and we set to ride again. In our haste, my jewels and gowns were left behind. Yet they made a far easier sacrifice than the children.

As we made for Blackadder we were met by a messenger.

‘The duke has amassed a force of forty thousand,’ he informed us, breathless. ‘He intends to take Blackadder.’

‘Damn, damn, damn!’ Angus cried, flicking his reins with a wild shake of his head. He inclined his head toward me. ‘We have to get to Berwick Castle, Margaret, d’you hear? Can you make it?’

Through tears the night kept concealed from my husband, I offered a strong ‘Aye!’

And so we rode. My legs ached, my back was stiff, and the baby kicked up a fury. Despite the rough terrain, the bumps, and the rollicking gallop of my horse, I managed to maintain my seat and my grip, keeping my eyes forward, ever forward, till at last I saw Berwick. We had made it! We were all but in England!

I tipped my head back, smiling with a sigh of relief. Soon I would be in a nice, warm bed. Soon I would have food in my belly along with the baby. Soon I could retreat into the only sanctuary I knew – sleep. Oh, how heavenly it all sounded now, far more grand than gowns and entertainments!