“A divorce should be arranged with all speed. The Douglases should be stripped of the power which came to them through this marriage.”

Margaret looked at him and smiled wryly, thinking: That it may be bestowed on the Hamiltons?

Hamiltons, Douglases, Hepburns, Homes — they were all ambitious men, all seeking favors which would strengthen their families and make their clans the strongest in the land. Still, she must try to look to her own advantage as they did to theirs. The Hamiltons were certainly one of the most powerful families in Scotland, and Arran stood at their head. She must use them as they would, if they had the opportunity, use her.

She, who could love fiercely, could hate with the same passion; and now, almost as great as her desire to have the care of her son, was that to rid herself of the husband who had put her in the difficult position she now occupied, and then had rewarded her with his infidelity.

“There is little opposition in the land against the suggested divorce?” she asked.

“There is great rejoicing, Your Grace.”

Yes, she thought, among the Douglases’ enemies. She could imagine the consternation the matter would have brought about in her husband’s family.

“Why, Your Grace,” went on Arran, “when you are free of the Douglases, I doubt not that your friends will wish to see you restored to that position which was yours before the unfortunate marriage. I have discussed the matter with the Earl of Lennox who is of my mind; and the Bishops of Galloway and Argyle are as eager to see the bond between you and Angus severed. Your Grace would find yourself supported by many powerful friends.”

“I find that reassuring,” answered Margaret.

“Have no fear, Your Grace. This is the best step you have taken since you entered into that marriage; and in truth I come on behalf of your friends to tell you of the pleasure this has given them.”

They talked awhile of the affairs of Scotland, and Arran asked after the health of the little Lady Margaret Douglas.

Margaret, who could never resist showing her pride in her children, sent for the child that Arran might see for himself what a bonny creature she was.

Arran confessed himself delighted and charmed; and when little Margaret had left them he began to talk of his son with deep affection — and Margaret sensed the implication behind his words. He was telling her that his James, who would one day be Earl of Arran, had the blood of Royal Stuart in his veins; and since one day it would be necessary to find a husband for the Lady Margaret Douglas, the son of Arran should not be considered unworthy.

Margaret allowed him to see that she had grasped his point and was not displeased by it.

When Arran left her Margaret congratulated herself that with the influential lords to back her she stood a very good chance of regaining the Regency, which would mean control of her son; as for Arran, he saw in this the downfall of his enemy Angus.

There were two factions in Scotland now, one under Arran, the other under Angus. The Douglases rallied to the support of the head of their House, and among them were men made influential by the honors Margaret herself had showered on them at the time of her infatuation with her husband.

It was believed by many that the return of Albany was imperative to restore order; and news was carried to him of the trouble between two of the most powerful families in the land and of the Queen’s determination to divorce her husband; moreover the suggestion of a betrothal of Margaret’s daughter and Arran’s son was alarming, for it could unite Douglases and Hamiltons against him.

But the political position had changed, because there was now a rapprochement between France and England. François and Henry had decided to meet and were making preparations for the Field of the Cloth of Gold; and Henry’s daughter, the Princess Mary, had been betrothed to the Dauphin. Although François wished Albany to return to Scotland in order to safeguard French interests, he knew that Henry was eager that the Duke should remain in France. It was not the moment to antagonize Henry.

Meanwhile the news of Margaret’s intentions to divorce Angus reached the English Court.

Henry grew scarlet when he read his sister’s letter.

He could not believe it. He went to his wife’s apartment, his eyes ablaze, and signed to her women to depart. Katharine, terrified at his appearance, hurried to him and begged him to tell her what ill news he brought.

“T-That a sister of mine,” he stuttered, “could so far forget her duty… her honor… to suggest such an action!”

“Your Grace, Mary… ”

“Nay, not Mary. Margaret. Listen to this: ‘I am sore troubled with my lord Angus, since my last coming into Scotland, and every day more and more so. We have not been together these last months… ’” Henry stopped; it was as though the words choked him.

Katharine said gently: “Alas, so she is not happy in her marriage. Poor Margaret! I am sorry for her.”

“Whether she be happy or not, it is not for her to talk of… divorce!”

“Divorce!” cried Katharine, and she began to tremble with horror.

“I said divorce. Angus does not please her so, look you, she plans to divorce him. She will dishonor her marriage vows. She will disgrace us all. A sister of mine to talk of divorce!”

“Oh, Henry, we must persuade her how wrong this is.”

“Persuade her! I shall forbid her. I shall make her see her duty to her family — if she has so far forgotten her duty to God and the Church. I’ll not have divorce in my family, I do assure you. No, Kate, you will sit down and write to her at once. And so shall I. You will tell her how she has wounded you, shocked you beyond belief. While I… I will remind her that I am the King of a great country, and not only that, the head of a great House. There shall be no divorce in my family. I’ll not stomach the disgrace.”

“Henry, how right you are… as always. Divorce! It is too dishonorable to be thought of.”

“Go to, Kate. Write to her, and I will do the same. Then our letters shall be sent by special messenger, that she may profit from them and put an end to this disgraceful plan before it goes too far.”

When Margaret read the letters from her brother and sister-in-law she shrugged aside their advice. It was all very well for them to be so self-righteous; they did not know what it meant to be entangled in an undesirable alliance.

She was surprised that she could hate anyone as fiercely as she now hated Angus. There was anger against herself in that hatred. How could she have been so foolish as to lose all sense of proportion merely because of a momentary infatuation for a handsome boy?

How different had been her first marriage. James had at times humiliated her, but in public he had constantly shown her respect. She remembered how he had always uncovered his head in her presence. He only asked that she accept his infidelities which, being the sensual man he was, he could not curb. He would never have deserted her when she was dying. And he had conducted his love affairs with a certain dignity. He had tried to make up for his shortcomings by giving her extra pleasure; Angus had stolen her rents.

She hated Angus and, even if she had to admit that this was largely because he was a living reminder of her own folly and the source of all her troubles, that did not make her hate him less.

There was one who reminded her a little of her first husband; that was Albany. They had some quality, these Stuarts, which was unique. No, she had never seen others with quite the same charm of manner. James had had it to a large degree; Albany slightly less; but he was certainly a charming, courteous man.

If one were a queen it was necessary to marry wisely. Suppose she and Albany were free to marry — there could not be a wiser match in Scotland, for marriages were often the links which bound countries together, and made friends of enemies. A marriage between herself and Albany — and there would have been no conflict in Scotland; she would never have been cut off from her son; she and Albany would have been joint guardians of the young King. What a happy state of affairs compared with what now confronted her!

And was not too late to put matters right.

She was determined to divorce Angus no matter what difficulties were put in her way; and she was sure there would be difficulties. She could imagine her brother Henry sending off deputations to the Pope, asking him not to grant a divorce to his erring sister, for the sake of the honor of the Tudors. She would have to fight for her divorce; but she would get it in the end. And then if Albany’s wife died — for how could she live long; the poor woman had been ailing for some time — he would be free too.

She closed her eyes and pictured him. Black eyes alive with passion. Poor man, married to a woman who for so long had been an invalid.

Arran was persuading her to join with those who were urging Albany to return, because Arran had long decided that when the Duke came to Scotland he would favor the Hamiltons and become the enemy of the Douglases.

She had listened thoughtfully to what Arran had to say; she had nodded when he enumerated the reasons why the return of Albany would be good for Scotland. And all the time she had been thinking of him — black-eyed, black-bearded, the courteous knight with all the charm of his Stuart ancestors.

She said: “I will write to Albany and join my pleas to yours. I think that he might be willing to help me in my divorce. He should stand well with Rome, as I believe his master does. Yes, my lord, I am convinced that you are right. Scotland needs Albany at this time.”

She thought: And it may be that Scotland’s Queen does too.

It was not easy to obtain a divorce. There were too many people of influence who were against it. Time passed and still Margaret remained unsatisfactorily married to Angus.

Henry and Katharine had crossed the Channel and had had a meeting with the King of France in circumstances of most reckless extravagance, with each King trying to outdazzle the other.

François, mischievous in the extreme, using every means at his disposal to disconcert the King of England, having in his possession at this time the letter which Margaret had written to Albany, thought it would be amusing to show Henry how his sister was working against his wishes and was warmly inviting Albany back to Scotland.

Henry read the letter and quietly handed it back to the King, but when he was alone his choleric anger broke forth.

By God, he thought, this shall be the end of the help she gets from me. What has become of my sister! She shows herself to the world as a wanton. Divorce indeed! She disgraces the name of Tudor and then… she deceives her own brother by inviting his enemy to Scotland!

The Scottish matter rankled in his mind during all the balls and banquets, jousts and wrestling matches of that brilliant excursion.

He confided to his wife: “When we return to England, you shall send a priest to Scotland. Choose him with care for I want him to impress upon my sister that if she persists in attempting to obtain this divorce from her lawful husband, she places her immortal soul in danger.”

Katharine replied that Henry as usual was right. There were few matters which could be so dishonorable, so lamentable as divorce.

It was a summer’s day when Father Bonaventura arrived in Scotland.

Margaret was then in Perth, and he traveled to her there. He was a gentle priest who had lived away from the world, and Margaret received him kindly when she heard that he had come from her sister-in-law, Queen Katharine.

“It is good of you to have made this long journey,” she told him. And when they were alone together she tried to impress on him that though she appreciated his good services, he was wasting his time if he thought to divert her from her purpose.

“I have come to pray with you,” he told her. “Your Grace will find the answer to your problem in prayer.”

Margaret, who had never been deeply religious, was a little impatient; but she was courteous to the priest and told him gently that her mind was already made up.

Father Bonaventura tried to reason with her and she continued to listen patiently, but he realized that he was making no headway and eventually, disappointed and reluctant, he prepared to leave.

Father Bonaventura had no sooner returned to London than Henry decided to send a man of his choosing. No gentle priest this, but a man whose preaching had often set sinners shivering with fear.