CHAPTER 4
Margaret stared out the window at the gardens below, wishing she could leave Holyrood Palace and never return.
Though she had only agreed to stay for a short visit, she’d been stuck here for weeks.
She was sick to death of being paraded before men her brothers viewed as potential allies for them—and husbands for her.
Lately, however, they had ceased pressing suitors on her, which gave her hope that they had finally accepted her refusal to wed again.
Her thoughts of escape were interrupted by Lizzie, who came storming into the bedchamber they shared in the palace and slammed the door behind her.
“If I have to spend another day with the king and that Gordon brat, I swear I’ll punch one of them in the face,” Lizzie said, and flung herself down on the window seat.
“Those two certainly can be a trial.” Margaret sat beside her cousin and smoothed her hair back from her face. “Try to remember, ’tis not entirely their fault. Everyone caters to their whims because they’re a king and an earl. At their age, ’tis bound to go to their heads.”
Unfortunately, Archie did nothing to curb their behavior.
If he would fill their time with worthwhile pursuits, the boys would not have so much leisure to spend on frivolous ones.
The king’s father would be so disappointed.
James IV had been a well-educated man who spoke several languages and supported artists, musicians, and universities.
Lizzie’s father did train them in sword fighting, which endeared him to the boys, but Margaret sensed that the men of her family were more concerned with keeping the king entertained than with training him to be king.
“Hopefully,” Margaret said, “the king and Huntly’s behavior will improve as they grow older.”
“They’re old enough now to know better.” Lizzie folded her arms and pressed her lips together.
“What’s wrong?” The anger in Lizzie’s voice made Margaret suspect the boys had done something worse than usual. “Did something happen?”
“You’re too nice to the king,” Lizzie said, and fixed her gaze on the floor.
“Too nice?” Margaret felt sorry for the king, being separated from his mother and passed from guardian to guardian. Though he was difficult, she tried to be kind to him.
“Aye,” Lizzie said. “Ye must stop it.”
“Stop being nice?” Margaret asked with a laugh. “Why?”
“The king talks about you,” Lizzie murmured.
“Talks about me?” she asked. “How?”
“He’s always saying how beautiful ye are.” Lizzie cast a furtive sideways glance at her. “He brags that he’s going to take ye to his bed.”
Good heavens, the king was not yet fourteen. Though this infatuation could not be serious, it was best to nip it in the bud. Time and distance would solve this problem.
“I must leave Edinburgh, at least until Archie passes the king onto his next set of guardians,” Margaret said, getting to her feet. “I’ll speak with my brothers at once.”
She could barely contain her glee. The king had given her an excuse to escape court, one that her brothers would have to accept.
Once she was away, perhaps she could stay away.
Margaret found her brothers in the royal solar, which Archie had taken over for his own use.
“I’ve had a new gown made for you to wear tonight that will be stunning,” George said. Then he winked and added, “Without my help, ye might be mistaken for a laundress.”
“I’m afraid I’ve something more important than gowns to discuss with ye,” she said.
Her brothers listened closely as she explained the problem and did not interrupt her with either expressions of disbelief or criticisms. This was going better than she had hoped.
“As I’m sure ye can see,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, “I must leave Holyrood at once.”
“Ha! Our Margaret has the king wrapped around her little finger.” A teasing smile tugged at George’s lips as he held his finger up. “What did I tell you?”
If George anticipated this, why did he not forewarn her? Margaret stifled her annoyance and said in a pleasant tone, “I’ll go pack my things now.”
“This is no time to leave,” Archie said.
“But I just told you the king wants to”—she felt herself blush—“take me to bed.”
“Then give the king what he wants,” Archie said.
Margaret was so shocked she could not find her voice to object.
“’Tis unfortunate the king takes after his mother in looks, but I bedded her,” Archie said, making a face as if he had something bitter in his mouth. “We all must make sacrifices.”
“You cannot be serious,” Margaret said. “For heaven’s sake, the king is half my age. He’s still a child.”
“He’s old enough to want a woman,” Archie said. “No matter how unappealing he is in appearance and disposition, he is the king and will have his choice of bedmates.”
“What Archie is trying to say is that some lass is going to be his first mistress, and her family will benefit,” George said. “Should it not be a Douglas?”
“You want to make me a…a…whore to that boy?” She should not have been so surprised.
“If you’re unwilling to bed him, then just give him the hope that ye will,” George said. “Keep him diverted so he doesn’t choose a lass from one of our rival families, who would be only too happy to have a royal bastard.”
Margaret’s heart raced. She hated to argue, but this time she had to stand up to them.
“I can’t do this,” she said. “I won’t.”
“Ye don’t have to do anything ye don’t want to,” George said in a soothing voice, and put his arm around her.
“You used to understand the importance of putting the family first and doing your duty,” Archie huffed.
She looked up in time to catch the cautionary look George shot Archie.
“Do this for the family,” Archie said, attempting a more conciliatory tone, “and I promise that after the king tires of you and moves on to someone else, I’ll find you a good husband.”
“By good husband,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even, “ye mean a powerful man ye wish to make an ally?”
“Of course, he must be that as well, but we’ll find a husband who will make ye happy,” George said. “You deserve that after what happened with William.”
“After what happened with William, I never want another husband.” She’d told them that a hundred times in the last weeks, but they never seemed to hear her.
When George attempted to put his arm around her shoulders again, she stepped out of his reach. She usually avoided confrontation and swallowed her anger. But not today.
“William must have been a dreadful husband,” George said, “even before he left ye.”
“William did not leave me. He threw me out,” she said. “And if ye knew he would be a terrible husband, why did ye marry me to him?”
“Marriages are like any alliance,” Archie said. “Ye need not like your partner.”
“I’ll not marry again.” She dug her fingernails into her palms with the effort to maintain her composure. “I will not.”
“For God’s sake, Margaret, control of the crown is at stake, and we need allies.” Archie leaned over her as he spoke, in a way that reminded her far too much of her former husband. “I will choose a good man for you, and when I say so, you will marry him.”
“We can discuss this another time,” George said as he drew Archie away from her and refilled his cup. “Is everything ready for our special guests and the feast tonight?”
“King Henry’s emissaries have already arrived,” Archie said. “Margaret, make certain the food and music are the very best tonight, or they’ll tell tales in London about the inferiority of our Scottish court.”
Without waiting for her to respond, her brothers began discussing their strategy regarding the emissaries from Archie’s brother-in-law, the English king.
Margaret hid her shaking hands in the folds of her gown.
She had not realized until this moment how determined Archie was to force her to marry again.
She never realized the toll her marriage had taken on her until long after William threw her out.
During her marriage, she had focused on getting through each day as best she could.
Soothing her husband’s temper, coaxing him from foul moods, listening to his lying boasts, enduring his constant criticism and demands.
Worst of all, suffering his invasion of her body, even when the midwife warned it was too soon after her last miscarriage.
She might not survive another marriage. She feared she would fade away altogether until there was nothing left of her at all.
But what could she do? She dug her nails into her palms and forced herself to keep an outwardly calm expression while she struggled to think of a plan.
Her dowry. If she was to have any control over her life, she needed her own resources. Her dowry included lands, jewels, and gold that would provide her the independence she needed to live her life as she saw fit.
Provoking Archie had been a mistake when she would need his help to force William to return her dowry. She chastised herself for her brief display of anger. That never served her well. She waited for a pause in their conversation to speak again.
“I’m sorry I reacted poorly to your suggestion that I marry again,” she said, casting her gaze to the floor. “I know ye meant well.”
“We are only trying to do what’s best for all of us,” George said.
Archie and George did what was best for Archie and George. Though they may persuade themselves that what was best for them was also best for her or the family, she knew better from bitter experience.
“Alison also urged me to consider remarrying.” Alison was wrong, but at least her sister truly did have her best interests at heart and wished Margaret to find the kind of happiness she had. “Perhaps I will warm to the notion with time.”
She would never agree to remarry, but her sister Sybil said the key to lying was to not make it too far-fetched—and Sybil knew about such things.
“You’ve always been a sweet-natured lass,” George said, and put his arm around her shoulders again. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”