James listened carefully, and she rejoiced because his regard for her was so apparent.

He wanted to show her his new household; many of his old servants had been replaced, and when they sat down to a banquet she made the acquaintance of a merry young man, handsome in a brash way, who was the King’s Master Carver.

He was very bold, this young man, and he did not seem overawed by the presence of the King or Queen. In his livery of silk, his doublet of crimson satin and his red hose which were furred with black budge he was quite a dazzling figure.

He carved for the King and the Queen on that occasion, and kept them amused by his merry wit.

“Tell me,” said Margaret to her son, “who is this young man who seems so pleased with himself and life?”

“I will get him to speak to you himself,” answered James, and beckoning the young man, added, “Her Grace the Queen would speak with you.”

The young man bowed low and opened his eyes wide with pleasure. He murmured: “The Queen wishes to speak with me! This is the happiest day of my life.”

“Tell me your name,” said Margaret.

“It is Henry Stuart, Your Grace.”

Margaret smiled. “A goodly name and one which is not unfamiliar to me. Tell me to which branch of the family you belong.”

“My father is Lord Avondale, Your Grace, and I am his second son. My brother James is in the service of the King with me. We count ourselves fortunate to be in such good service.”

“And it would seem to me that you perform your duties in a commendable manner.”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and murmured: “Your Grace, who could fail to… when serving the King? And now to enjoy the additional pleasure of serving the Queen… !”

There was something in the boldness of his looks which she found amusing. She signed for him to carve for her, which he did with alacrity and, when he held the meat for her to take, his eyes were on her in a manner which, though bold, she did not find offensive. He was young and he had made her feel young.

When she retired that night she felt more lighthearted than she had for a long time.

Albany was on his way to see her and she could not restrain her excitement. The fact that she knew he had had a mistress while he was making love to her could only grieve her, she supposed; it could not make her hate him. She had chosen her gown with the utmost care; her hair at least had lost none of its beauty, it was carefully dressed and she was adorned with jewels. But she could not completely hide the ravages of the smallpox, and he would notice how changed she was. Yet when she was at the height of her beauty he could not be faithful; neither could James, her first husband, nor Angus her second.

She had left the King at Stirling and returned to her lodgings in Edinburgh, for she knew that Albany was on his way to the King and she thought it fitting that she should not greet him in James’s presence. Her friends had told her how Albany had knelt before young James and sworn that he had returned to Scotland to lay down his life, if need be, for his sake.

And now he was on his way to Edinburgh and Holyrood Palace which he would make his headquarters.

She could hear the sounds of acclamation in the streets; he was immediately popular even though he did seem like a foreigner to the citizens of Edinburgh. It was the Stuart charm which was so irresistible and seemed to be possessed by everyone who bore the name. That young Master Carver of James’s had it. He was a bold fellow and perhaps she had encouraged him overmuch; but he had so pleased her; he had made her feel that she was young again and that her women were right when they assured her that the pox had made little difference to her looks.

Albany paused on his way to Holyrood to call on the Queen. She waited, her head held high, until he came and stood before her. He bowed and, when his eyes met hers, there was no sign that he noticed any difference in her appearance.

“So you have come back to Scotland!” she said.

“I should never have left, had it not been necessary.”

She wished that her heart would not beat so wildly, that she did not feel so absurdly glad that he had come. Yet mingling with her pleasure was a fierce anger against him. She wanted to say: And when do you propose to visit your paramour, the Fleming woman?

But their conversation was cool, as was becoming in the presence of others.

“How long will you remain in Edinburgh?” she asked him.

“For but a short while, I fear. I have matters to attend to.”

“On the Border?” she suggested, but he only smiled.

“Yet,” he went on, “I hear that my friends have prepared some entertainment for me at Holyrood. I could not enjoy it if the Queen were not present to make my joy in this return complete.”

She smiled. The desire to dance with him in the state apartments of Holyrood Palace was too great to be denied.

They led the dance as they had on previous occasions.

“It has seemed long,” he said.

“Doubtless you had much to occupy you in France.”

“So much — and yet it seemed long.”

“I was very sick when you left.”

“I did not know how sick, or I should never have been able to leave Scotland.”

“Nay,” she retorted “one mistress sick, what matters it? There was another to amuse your leisure hours.”

He was silent; then he gave her a remorseful look. “Alas,” was all he said, smiling wryly as he did so.

“My enemies told me,” she continued. “I would rather have heard it from you.”

“One’s flesh is weak,” he admitted.

“It seems a very hard task for a man to be faithful to one woman. I begin to believe it is an almost impossible one to fulfill.”

“That,” he said with a snap of his fingers, “is of no great moment. It is the affections, the tenderness, which are important.”

“I agree. To love would mean never to hurt the loved one by deed or word.”

“I beg you to understand that what happened in a moment of weakness need have no lasting effect on the relationship between us two.”

“Perhaps you are of a lighter mind than I, my lord. You may understand your feelings; you cannot understand mine. You gave no sign of your horror when you saw what illness had done to me… just as you gave no sign that you had another mistress. I congratulate you on your superb control. I should have liked you better had you displayed more human feelings.”

She could feel the anger rising now. She wanted to shout at him, to wound him as he had wounded her. She wanted to scream: Why do I have to love these faithless men? Why cannot I escape from my emotions as easily as they can from theirs?

He was watching her, and she wondered whether he knew how near she was coming to a hysterical outburst. He would know a great deal about a woman’s feelings, she was sure. He, with his devotion to a sick wife! Devotion indeed! No doubt he sat at her bedside and soothed her… when he was not visiting some new mistress. She believed she had the measure of him. He was a man who wanted peace; but he wanted to satisfy his lusts also. He did so in secret, keeping this from his sick wife, playing the faithful husband, as he played the passionate lover to each of his mistresses in turn.

She was praying now for calm and for courage. She must not obey the demands of her senses; she must cling to her pride; she must let Albany know that he could not treat the Queen of Scotland as one of his lights-o’-love and expect her to be willing and eager the moment he beckoned.

“I will make you understand… when we are alone,” he murmured.

She was fighting his allure with all her strength, and against her will she forced herself to say: “I do not know when that will be, my lord, for I have no wish to be alone with you.”

He looked regretful, but calm as ever. Why should he care that she would no longer have him in her bed? He would doubtless quickly seek solace with the Fleming woman.

Albany was only faintly disturbed by the Queen’s discovery of his infidelity. He believed that, if Anne should die and Margaret obtain her divorce, a marriage between them would be considered so desirable that she would succumb and marry him. Moreover he knew that she had been very loath to deny him her bed. He had read the anger in her eyes; he knew she was a passionate woman; that was jealousy he had seen tonight, and if she had not cared deeply for him she would not feel the fierce anger which she obviously did.

If it were necessary he would have no difficulty in regaining her affection.

But at the moment he had other matters which demanded his attention. He had men and arms at his disposal and he was going to wage war on the enemy of Scotland and his master, the King of France.

He spoke to the Parliament in the Tolbooth and he was very eloquent.

“Have you forgotten,” he demanded, “how your King and your fathers were slain on Flodden Field? How many Scottish towns have been destroyed; how many Scottish churches desecrated? How many Scottish homes, perilously near the Border, have been sacked? The time has come to defeat these enemies once and for all. We have the arms. What are we waiting for?”

The Parliament listened. It was true that they hated the English, and now Albany was back in Scotland with news that Sir Richard de la Pole, who called himself the Duke of Suffolk, was preparing an army which would invade England. The cockerel Tudor would be driven from his throne; there would be peace forevermore between the two kingdoms. No more fighting on the Border, no more fear throughout the land that the English were preparing to invade.

Very soon after his arrival in Scotland Albany was on the march, and when he reached the Border he sent a challenge to the Earl of Surrey to come on and fight.