I found a great pleasure in their company. I, myself, was fast recovering from the shock of Henry’s death, and my nightly prayers were that I should continue in this state.

There was another visitor to Windsor. This was James I of Scotland.

It was not quite true to call James a prisoner in the ordinary sense. He was just being held in England until such time as the Scots paid his ransom.

James was a delightful companion. I had liked him from the moment I met him. I felt I knew him fairly well for he had been with us on our triumphant entry into Paris. Henry had taken him to France in the hope that he would be able to persuade the Scots there not to fight for the French. I believe he had not been very successful in this; but James himself had fought side by side with Henry in several battles and I could not believe that for one moment he saw himself as an enemy. He had been in exile for so long. I think at this time it was nineteen years. But he had always been treated as royalty. The only difference was that his liberty was curtailed. For instance, he could not ride out and return to Scotland. I had a sneaking notion that he had no desire to. Conditions above the border were somewhat harsh compared with the south; and while he was treated in a royal manner, I supposed James felt no restraint—or very little—in not being allowed complete freedom. He was happy enough to be in England. In any case, he never showed any nostalgia for his native land to my knowledge—in fact, he could scarcely have remembered it, for he was about ten years old, I believe, when he had been captured.

He had lived hardly any of his life in Scotland, for he told me that when he was eight years old he had been put into the care of the Earl of Northumberland to learn the manly arts and for a while was educated with the Earl’s grandson, who later became known as “Henry Hotspur.”

It was another case of a minor being too young to take over the government of his country; and his old, sick father decided he would send his young son to France for safety. His efforts failed, for the ship in which James was being taken was intercepted by the English; and that was how James came to be a prisoner awaiting the ransom to be paid.

He was writing a long poem about his life which he called The King’s Quair, and he used to read extracts from it to us, which we found both moving and entertaining.

So I grew very fond of James and hoped we should go on enjoying the peaceful days together for a long time.

It was inevitable that, as they were both at Windsor, one day James should meet Jane.

I remember the occasion vividly. James was in my apartment and we were looking down on the gardens as we chatted. Suddenly Jane came into view.

She looked up at the window and, seeing me with the King of Scotland, she bowed her head; then she looked up again and smiled.

“What a beautiful girl!” said James.

“Yes, is she not.”

“Who is she?”

“She is the daughter of the Duchess of Clarence. Her father was John Beaufort, the Earl of Somerset.”

“Oh…a Beaufort.”

“Yes. The Duchess’s first husband. Poor Margaret, she has been twice widowed.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is sad for her.”

At the earliest possible moment I presented Jane to him. James was clearly bemused. I was not sure of Jane. She was perhaps more in command of her feelings. They talked together for some time and I noticed that his eyes never left her face.

I fancied a certain radiance had touched her too. It was rather charming to see the effect those two had on each other.

I talked to Margaret about them.

“I think there is no doubt that James is falling in love with Jane…or, more likely, has already fallen.”

“I trust that is not so.”

“But why, Margaret? I should like to see James happy. Poor young man! Think of his being a prisoner for nineteen years.”

“It has been a very comfortable prison.”

“If Jane married him, she would be Queen of Scotland.”

“A queen without a crown…a queen without a throne.”

“If the ransom were paid, he would return to Scotland.”

“They say it is a barbaric land, and the ransom will never be paid.”

“James does not seem barbaric, and the ransom will surely be paid one day.”

“He has been brought up in England.”

“Margaret, I thought you would rejoice. I think it is wonderful to see two young people so happy. If they are in love, they should be allowed to marry.”

“Well,” said Margaret. “It has not yet come to that.”

I watched the courtship grow. This was love…true love. It was something I had missed. Henry had never been like that.

I could see it all clearly now. He had been kind to me…gentle…loving…but it was not love such as the King of Scotland had for Jane Beaufort. I felt envious. I would have given a great deal to be loved like that.

They talked to me about it.

“We are going to marry,” James said firmly.

“Then I wish you all the happiness in the world,” I told them.

Jane embraced me. “Nothing will change our minds,” she said. “They can forbid us as much as they like…we will marry. We have made up our minds.”

“You will,” I said. “But do not do anything rash just yet. Surely soon the King’s ransom must be paid.”

“Surely soon,” said James.

Margaret was less optimistic.

“Will they pay his ransom after all these years? It must be nearly twenty now…just because he has fallen in love with an English girl?”

“They must want their king back.”

“After all these years? You can depend upon it—for every one who wants him back, there will be two against it.”

“Why are you so pessimistic, Margaret? Let us hope.”

And so the golden days slipped by.

Trouble with Burgundy through Humphrey’s marriage continued to hold the attention of those who might otherwise turn it to the education of my son, which was a blessing to me. And here in Windsor I had Henry to love and to cherish and I could watch the growing love and courtship of Jane Beaufort and the King of Scotland. And there was Owen.

Happy days when I could forget the shadow hanging over me.

The summer was passing. I lived through the golden days treasuring each one as though it might be the last. I watched with mixed emotions the progress of my son. Each day he seemed to change; he would soon pass out of babyhood. They would be made aware of that passing and they would take him from me. He was now taking a few uncertain steps. Guillemote and I would stand him on the floor, a few paces from each of us, and he would take his tottering steps before stumbling into our arms. We clapped our hands in rapturous applause and he would clap with us, his face a picture of delight. There were happy moments like that to be treasured and I knew I should remember them forever.

Humphrey of Gloucester remained in conflict with the Duke of Burgundy, much to the chagrin of the Duke of Bedford. But I was not thinking very much of that at this stage. I was immersed in my happy days at Windsor, watching the ever-growing love between James and Jane—and envying them.

James was becoming an impatient lover. There was nothing he wanted so much as marriage with Jane. I was deeply aware of his single-mindedness. For him there was one goal. How lucky Jane was to be loved like that!

He talked to me about it.

“I must be recalled to my kingdom,” he said. “I must have a home to offer Jane.”

“I am sure Jane would be happy to marry a poor prisoner,” I replied.

“I know. It is so with us both. There is nothing…nothing but each other.”

I said: “Such love is rare with kings.”

“A king can love as wholeheartedly as a shepherd.”

“I know, James. You have shown me that. I wish I could help you.”

“I have an idea.”

“Tell me.”

“My countrymen have always been a thorn in the flesh of the English. Now some of them are in France…and of course they are fighting with the French.”

“Well?”

“What if I promised to withdraw them all if they would send me back to Scotland?”

“Could you?”

“I could try.”

“They would still demand the ransom.”

“Perhaps my countrymen would agree to that.”

“You are of an age now to govern. Do you think they will like you? You have been here so long that you are more English than Scot.”

“I can play the Scot at a moment’s notice.”

I laughed at him. “What do you propose to do?” I asked.

“Offer to recall all Scotsmen from France, for one thing.”

“Try it.”

It was about a week later when he came to me in triumph.

“Thomas of Myrton has left for Scotland,” he told me.

“They have sent your chaplain.”

“He seemed a good man to send.”

“And you think he will succeed in making terms for your release?”

“I have told him he must. I want to go back…with Jane as my Queen, and that is what I am going to do, Katherine.”

“I shall pray for you, James.”

“And your prayers will be answered, I know.”

“There are some times when I am sure that if one believes fervently that something will come…it does.”

A few months elapsed before Thomas of Myrton returned from Scotland, but when he did, it became clear that his journey had not been in vain.

James was beside himself with joy.

“It is going to be!” he shouted.

Jane was with him and they both hugged me. All my ladies gathered around, ceremony forgotten. Everyone was kissing everyone else.

“Listen to me,” said James. “It is true. The treaty has been signed. It was done in York between the Scots and the English. The English drove a hard bargain, but my countrymen accepted it. Sixty thousand marks paid in installments of 10,000 over six years. Am I worth it, do you think?”

Jane smiled at him, her eyes shining with joy. “Every mark,” she assured him, “and more.”

“Assuredly so,” he cried. “And the Scots are prepared to pay it! Oh, yes, I repeat, your country drives a hard bargain, Jane. All the Scottish troops are to be withdrawn from France. So that we must try to do. And here is the best part. It is hoped that I will marry an English lady of noble birth.”

Everyone laughed and clapped their hands.

“And what did you reply to that?” I asked him.

“I replied that I would do so with the utmost pleasure. And…here she is. I have already found her. I am determined to take her, and no one else in the world will do for me.”

It was a solemn moment as the lovers clasped hands and gazed soulfully at each other. We were all silent, watching them.

Then the laughter rang out.

“This,” said James, “is the happiest moment of my life. But…there is better to come.”

Oh, to be happy like that! To be loved for oneself…and not for a crown. How I envied those lovers!

I thought that everyone in the castle must.

I went into the wardrobe room. Owen was sitting at a table writing.

“Have you heard the news about the King of Scotland?” I asked.

Owen said he had not.

“You will. The whole Court will be talking about it. He is a very happy man today. Do you know, a treaty has been signed between the Scots and the English? He is going back to Scotland with the Lady Jane.”

“That is wonderful news,” said Owen. “Indeed, the King of Scotland must this day be a very happy man.”

“Happiness shines out of them both. I am afraid I am a little envious of them.”

“All the world is envious of lovers.”

“You too?”

“Everyone, madam.”

“I am ashamed of myself.”

“Your Grace should not be.”

“But I am, Owen. I say to myself, why should this happen to them when I…oh…I think Jane Beaufort is one of the truly fortunate women.”

He was standing before me, and suddenly he put out his hand and touched mine.

“I understand,” he said.

I said in an embarrassed voice: “You see…I was never loved wholeheartedly. Henry loved his battles more.”

“He was a great king.”

“James is a king.”

“It is different.”

I shook my head. “No, Owen, it is just true love and…half love. That is the difference. I have never been loved as Jane is. I have never been loved as my little Henry is loved. My mother gave me no love. I and my brothers and sisters were just encumbrances in her life to be sent off to live in near squalor…out of her life…out of her thoughts. We were of no importance to her. Then I was married and I was happy. I had dreams…but dreams are…only dreams. What was I to Henry? A means of bringing harmony between our two countries…a line in a treaty.”