The Tudor Princess. Darcey Bonnette

make certain the pearls are still threaded prettily through my hair.’

      I stared down my reflection in the metal of the mirror, wishing there were some better way of seeing myself. I held the swells of my breasts. ‘Not much I can do about these, I suppose,’ I lamented.

      ‘You’ll fill out as you grow, Your Grace,’ Lady Surrey assured me.

      ‘I wish I’d grow in the next ten minutes,’ I pouted.

      ‘Come now, you’re beautiful,’ said Lady Guildford in her tiny voice. ‘He will adore you.’

      I blinked the hot tears from my eyes, hating the quickness with which they appeared. ‘Do you think?’

      She nodded, along with Lady Surrey.

      When I was deemed presentable the room began to fill with courtiers both Scottish and English. I stood by the window, shoulders squared, trying to rein in my trembling. The king … my husband. He was coming …

      When at last he swept in, I took in the sight of him. Tall and well built, with auburn hair grazing his shoulders in layered waves, his lively eyes a vivid green, his nose aquiline, and the beard that hugged his well-defined jawline framing a sensual mouth, he was the quintessence of regal bearing. He sported his hunting habit of crimson velvet and wore his hawking lure over his shoulder. Upon seeing me he removed his cap. His lips were parted; his eyes were gentle.

      I dipped into a deep curtsy as he approached. He bowed and once we were both righted he took my hands. His were strong, with long, tapering fingers. A hunter’s hands. A king’s hands.

      ‘But you’re beautiful,’ he breathed as he gazed upon me.

      Strange warmth coursed through my veins. My cheeks tingled as I looked at him through my lashes.

      ‘Expecting something else?’ I asked him.

      He laughed. ‘One never knows.’ His voice was handsome despite the thick Scots brogue. Somehow when he spoke the accent was far more charming than grating. ‘And so, Margaret, my beautiful little bride, do you resent very much my impatience at wanting to see you?’

      ‘I should,’ I told him. ‘How unkind coming upon me this way!’ But I was teasing him and he knew it. His green eyes sparkled with merriment. ‘You could have found me in my shift!’

      ‘All the more delightful!’ he cried, but I noted as he assessed me, his face clouded over. His eyes softened, as though in pity. My heart raced.

      ‘Have I displeased you, Your Grace?’ I asked in small tones.

      He rested his hands on my shoulders. ‘No, dear heart, no … but you are so very young and so far from home. Are you terribly frightened?’

      My lip quivered. How I longed to throw myself in his arms and cry, Yes, yes, I am frightened! Rock me, hold me, do not let me go till the fear dispels! But I only offered a smile.

      ‘How can I be frightened, my lord?’ I asked him. ‘You say I am far from home, but I could not be closer. I am in Scotland beside my husband the king. What is there to fear in my true home?’

      He tipped back his head, offering a deep belly-shaking laugh. ‘Well said, my lady, well said!’ He cupped my face between his strong hands. ‘Scotland is your true home and I shall always endeavour to make it feel that way to you.’

      He leaned forward then and bestowed the gentlest of kisses upon my lips. The courtiers who had been pretending to be absorbed in their own nonsensical chatter grew quiet as the king pulled away, breaking into his boisterous laughter once more as he led me to the assembly.

      As I stood next to him I could not stop looking at him. This was my husband and the King of Scotland.

      Most important, he was the most wonderful man in the world and he was mine!

      That night the bells began to toll and I started. ‘Mother is dead!’ I cried, then, shaking myself to my senses, scrambled out of bed to see what the matter was.

      ‘’Tis the stables, Your Grace,’ a servant informed me. I looked out of the window into the black pitch of night. The sky glowed with an eerie golden hue. ‘Up in flames.’

      ‘What of my palfreys?’ I asked, my heart racing in panic. ‘What of the palfreys from my father?’

      ‘All gone, Your Grace,’ she said softly. ‘I am sorry.’

      ‘No!’ I cried, throwing myself facedown on the bed and burying my head in my folded arms. All the tears I tried so hard to quell throughout the long progress into Scotland freed themselves; the floodgates of my soul were torn asunder and I sobbed great gulping gasping sobs. I counted my losses … Arthur, the young Prince Edward, baby Catherine, Mother, home, and all that was familiar … Now my loyal horses, the beautiful dear horses Father gave me, were gone. It was as though I were allowed to keep nothing from England. I would be all Scot. I would have Scottish palfreys, Scottish gowns, Scottish maids. I was not to be reminded of home, not even in the smallest sense.

      The servant departed and it was not long before I was surrounded by the Ladies Surrey, Guildford, and Morton, who petted me and cooed to me as though I were a wee babe. All meant well, but it was of no use. I could not be consoled.

      ‘I want my mother,’ I sobbed as Lady Surrey collected me in her arms, swaying gently from side to side.

      ‘Oh, darling,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, Your poor little Grace, how much you have endured!’

      My ladies slept beside me all night, comforting me when I awoke crying for Mother and Arthur, my little palfreys, and a childhood long gone.

      The king arrived at dawn and admitted himself into my chambers after I had donned a green velvet dressing gown.

      He gathered me in his strong arms and I buried my head against his ribs, for I was so small that I did not even reach his breast. He stroked my hair as my tears mingled with the black velvet of his doublet.

      ‘My precious Maggie,’ he said, and I warmed to the new pet name. ‘Dearest little girl, dinna cry. Please dinna cry. Your Jamie’s going to move you to Newbottle, how would that suit you? Then you will not have to look upon where such tragedy befell you. And I am going to buy you all new palfreys, how about that? White and shining, just as good as your old ones, and they’ll be outfitted in the prettiest you’ve ever seen.’

      I nodded, hiccoughing and shuddering with renewed sobs.

      ‘Now, now, dinna cry, love. Think about all the entertainments! I canna wait to see you dance and hear you play the lute – it is rumoured you are of great talent.’ He kissed the top of my head. ‘We’ll sing together, won’t we? Hmm? You can sing, can you not? Why, I know you can, your speaking voice is such a delight.’

      ‘Oh, Your Grace—’

      ‘Jamie,’ he corrected me. ‘Your Jamie.’

      I tried to smile, but my lips quivered so much it was a feeble attempt. ‘Jamie, I’m so tired,’ I murmured. ‘Everything has been so wonderful, but I long so much to sleep all day long.’

      At this request, Jamie lifted me in his arms and carried me to the bed. When he settled me on the mattress he pulled off one slipper, then the other, then drew the coverlet over my body. ‘And so you shall. Sleep till you can sleep no more and when you awaken I shall have you carried to Newbottle, where I will arrange the most magnificent entertainment in your honour. How does that sound?’

      ‘Wonderful.’ I yawned.

      He leaned down and kissed my forehead. ‘Till then, sweetheart,’ he said as he bowed.

      ‘Till then, Jamie,’ I echoed, casting adoring eyes at his beautiful face.

      Oh, but he made me feel better! He was so handsome and chivalrous! Truly he was the incarnation of Lancelot himself!