“Henry is only a boy,” insisted Margaret. “He is new to kingship and anxious that everyone shall know how powerful he is.”

“Power is dangerous in the hands of boys,” was James’s comment.

Margaret ceased to think of politics, for after a few months of life little Arthur followed his brother and sister to the grave.

This was too much to be borne, and the King and Queen were prostrate with sorrow.

James was certain now that he was accursed, and he blamed himself afresh for the part he had played at the time of his father’s death.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I should go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I begin to fear that we shall never have a son who will grow up to be King after me.”

But Margaret refused to despair.

She put her arm about him. “We have been unfortunate, but has not my brother’s wife met with the same misfortune? We will try again, and this time our son will live. I know it.”

“You are right,” James told her. “It is foolish to fret.”

Hope came to them when, shortly after the death of little Arthur, Margaret was once more pregnant.

“Now,” said James, “we must take every precaution. I will go at once to St. Ninian’s shrine and there ask him to take especial care of you.”

“It might be well if you paid no visits on your way back from the shrine,” said Margaret shrewdly. “Mayhap St. Ninian feels it is disrespectful of you to go from him to your mistress.”

James was thoughtful; he decided that he would not visit Janet Kennedy on this occasion.

Now the King and the Queen, together with the whole Court, thought constantly of the importance of the coming birth. Every precaution was taken to placate any supernatural influence which might prove hostile. Relics were brought to the Queen to kiss; some she kept with her at all times. But James and Margaret devoted themselves to prayer and meditation. With only one or two lapses James was the faithful husband. He devoted himself to naval affairs and spent a great deal of time in the company of Sir Andrew Wood watching the building of a new ship which was to be greater in every way than the two — named the James and the Margaret — which had been recently built. Often he would stay the night on board; and during the first months of her pregnancy, Margaret often joined him there.

If she could only have been sure of producing a healthy child and did not suffer sickness and the disabilities which were always her lot at such times, those would have been the happiest months of Margaret’s life. Never since those early days of her marriage had James been so completely hers.

One of the happiest days of all was that in October when the great ship was launched and she stood with James listening to triumphant drums and trumpets as the ship rolled into the harbor of Leith.

It was a day of rejoicing. The Queen pregnant; the greatest ship any of them had ever seen, successfully launched! It must be celebrated with worthy entertainment; and on the arrival of the royal party at Holyrood House a play was performed.

When it was over and the King and Queen had expressed their pleasure, Margaret called the principal actor to her in order to compliment him. This was a young man named David Lindsay who was known as Lindsay of the Mount; he was a poet and had been for some years in the royal household. The King had made him equerry to his first heir, the little Prince James who had died when he was about a year old.

David Lindsay was greatly respected throughout the Court, being a man without any ambition except to live a good life; he was devoted to literature rather than to position and wealth; and both Margaret and James had an affection for him.

“I want to thank you for your performance,” Margaret told him. “It was a pleasure to watch.”

Delight shone in David’s gentle face. “’Twas a good part, Your Grace,” he said.

“And your play coat of blue and yellow taffeties became you well,” Margaret added. “Pray, tell me the cost, that you do not pay it from your own pocket.”

“It was three pounds, four shillings.”

“A goodly sum, but it was a goodly performance you gave us and well worth the sum.”

James turned to him and added his praise to the Queen’s. “Why, Davie, you are indeed a credit to our Court.”

“You were usher and equerry to my firstborn son who died, alas,” said Margaret. “I intend to ask the King to make you the same to this child which is soon to be born.”

James cried: “’Tis a good choice. None could make a better.”

“I thank Your Graces,” murmured David. “I assure you I will never betray the trust you have placed in me.”

“Do this then,” said James. “Pray for a safe delivery for the Queen and a healthy boy for Scotland.”

“I shall continue to pray thus, Your Grace.”

When he had left them James said to Margaret: “He is a good man, that Davie, and one whose prayers may well find favor. We cannot have too many prayers.”

It was April again and Margaret lay at Linlithgow. Her time had come and in the streets the people stood about and asked themselves what would happen this time. If the Queen failed again, they would say that there was indeed a curse on their royal family.

Some months before, a comet had appeared in the sky — it sent out beams as though it were a sun; and thus it had remained for twenty-one nights.

A warning? A sign of evil? A bad omen?

Now the people remembered it and asked themselves these questions.

There were services in all the churches; there were prayers throughout the country.

A son! A son for Scotland.

Margaret lay groaning on her bed.

“This time a son,” she prayed. “This time he must live and he shall be called James after his father.”

“A boy!”

The triumphant words rang through the Palace, through the streets of Linlithgow; they were carried to Edinburgh and all over the country the people rejoiced.

The King came to his wife’s chamber and demanded to see his son. There he was, lustily crying, a strong little boy with a down of tawny hair on his head and, so said the women of the bedchamber, already a look of his father.

“Let the bells ring out!” cried the King. “Let Scotsmen rejoice, for this child will live.”

Margaret, exhausted but happy, slept and when she awakened she was refreshed and declared that this was different from her other pregnancies.

As soon as the Queen was able to leave her bed, there must be a feast such as there had never been before. Lindsay of the Mount must come and take charge of the little boy’s nursery. The child must be watched over night and day to ensure that he continued in perfect health.

Margaret was now the triumphant mother assuring herself that her little James showed none of the weakness of his brothers and sister. Healthy, lusty, his voice could be heard in his nursery when he crowed and clucked, as though he was determined, as his parents and attendants were, that he should stay alive.

Preparations were made for the feast. Four wild boars were roasted with four oxen; there were ninety-four pigs, thirty-five sheep, thirty-six lambs, seventy-eight kids, seventeen calves and two hundred and thirty-six birds besides pies and cakes of all description.

The wine ran freely and the sounds of rejoicing resounded not only in the Palace, but throughout the country.

James, Prince of Scotland and the Isles, had come to stay.

Little James prospered in his nursery and delighted all who beheld him, though none more than his father and mother; but now that they could believe he was in truth a healthy boy and they need not continually fear he was going to be taken from them, it seemed unnecessary to observe such rigorous piety as they had before his birth.

Margaret no longer prayed for long hours each day; as for James, he had been a faithful husband too long, and abstinence from his favorite game was too much to ask of him.

He was off on his travels once more, and it was whispered that not only did he visit the old mistresses but had added several new ones to those who pleased him.

Anger flared in Margaret’s heart. She had been so contented during those weeks of pregnancy when he had been constantly at her side. And now that she had produced a healthy boy, he felt it was enough to visit her occasionally, to share her bed that they might do their best to get more children — one heir not being enough.

She looked about angrily for a diversion.

There was politics. She remembered a conversation which had taken place between herself and her brother Henry before her marriage; then he had deplored the Tudor–Stuart alliance; he did not like what he had heard of her husband. And now that he was King, he seemed to remember that dislike. There was trouble brewing between Henry and James; and it seemed an insult to her that her husband should be more inclined to favor France than the country of his own wife. This is characteristic of the way he has always treated me! she told herself.

It was only reasonable that she should be on the side of her own countrymen and her own brother, and she was going to do everything she could to ruin the chances of the French and advance those of the English. If she did, Henry might give her the jewels which Arthur had left her. But it was not for that reason that she had decided she would dabble in politics.

She was a woman of spirit, so how could she stand by with indifference while her husband openly visited her rivals.

There was another interest in her life. She was young and beautiful; and now and then she found the eyes of some of her husband’s courtiers resting on her, and their looks were meaningful.

She had come to Scotland prepared to love her husband, and she would never have given a thought to any other man had he been faithful to her. But he had wounded her pride — always strong in the Tudors — so, she asked herself, could she be blamed if she, like James, found others interesting?

She had never allowed her fancy to go beyond glances and the imagination. When she bore children she must be sure they were Stuarts of the royal house; but for that, it might have been a different story. She needed restraint in those days — restraint to curb her irritation, her wounded pride and most of all her natural impulses.

James was on a visit to St. Ninian’s shrine, which meant of course a sojourn with Janet Kennedy; and as Margaret sat at her window in Linlithgow Palace looking out over the loch, she was not admiring the sparkling stretch of water but picturing those two together.

There was a boat on the loch and in it were a young man and woman. Margaret watched him plying the oars while the young woman played the lute. It made a charming picture. She guessed the man to be about her own age, although he might have been a little younger.

I believe childbearing has aged me, thought Margaret ruefully.

She turned her gaze to the men and women who were sauntering at the lochside, but her attention went back to the man in the boat.

She rose and called to her woman. “I have a fancy,” she said, “to go on the loch. Go and tell them to prepare my boat for me.”

In a very short time she was lying back in her boat, her lute in her hands, her hair showing golden beneath her headdress; the excitement which had come to her making her look very young indeed.

“Who is that in yonder boat?” she asked Lady Guildford who had accompanied her.

Lady Guildford tried to hide a faint alarm which, knowing her mistress so well, she could not help feeling. So far Margaret had behaved with decorum, although it had to be admitted that she suffered some provocation.

“It’s young Archibald Douglas, Your Grace.”

“A Douglas! Old Bell-the-Cat’s son?”

“Grandson, Your Grace.”

“Ah, yes, I see he is very young. And who is the lady with him?”

Lady Guildford’s mouth was a little prim. “That, Your Grace, is his young wife.”

“Indeed. And who is she?”

“She is Margaret, daughter of Patrick Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.”

Margaret began to laugh. “There seem to be so many Margarets at the Court of Scotland.”

“It is a charming name, Your Grace,” murmured Lady Guildford.

Margaret did not answer, but she continued to watch the young man. She had always had a liking for Old Bell-the-Cat because he had sought to rival James in Janet Kennedy’s affection. And this was his grandson. How handsome he was! Gazing at him, she realized that her husband was beginning to look his age. All the Stuart good looks and charm could not give him eternal youth; and what a pleasant thing youth was. He must be near my own age, thought Margaret, possibly younger.