The Tudor Princess. Darcey Bonnette

shamed me and I held out my goblet for more wine, hoping to drink my disgrace away. ‘There are other things that have to happen to get a child.’

      ‘Does that hurt, too?’ I asked, my gut lurching in terror.

      He gazed into his goblet. ‘No, it is very pleasurable,’ he said.

      ‘For the man, you mean,’ I remarked, unable to keep the pout from my tone.

      He laughed. ‘Aye. But there is much pleasure to be had for the woman as well. You will see.’

      ‘Have you loved many women?’ I asked him.

      He hesitated. His face clouded over. Moonlight reflected glistening tears standing bright in his eyes. ‘Yes, Maggie. I have loved many women.’

      I scowled, unable to contain my instant jealousy. It surged through me hotter than any wine. ‘I suppose they were buxom and wildly curvaceous and knew just what to do.’

      His lips twitched. ‘Maggie, we must not speak of such things on our wedding night,’ he told me, setting his goblet down once more and climbing into bed beside me. ‘Come lay your head on my chest,’ he invited as he enfolded me against him. He sighed. ‘I do not come to our marriage bed an innocent. I wish that I had. Can you forgive me?’

      I wiped my tears away, frustrated to have betrayed my jealousy. ‘I can forgive you anything,’ I assured him. ‘So long as you remember who is the true Mistress Stewart.’

      He laughed. ‘Mistress Stewart?’

      I nodded. ‘Mistress Stewart – it is a title I relish even more than “Your Grace.”’

      ‘Ah.’ He kissed my nose. ‘Then, may I bid my forever Mistress Stewart good night?’

      Forever. It was a word that rolled nicely off the tongue. I giggled. ‘Indeed. Good night … Master Stewart.’

      But as we lay there lost in our own respective thoughts I wondered what else my husband had experienced while my childhood was spent preparing to be his bride.

      I wondered at my capacity for forgiveness.

      As the night waxed into dawn I lay awake listening to my king cry and twitch in his sleep.

      ‘Margaret,’ he moaned. ‘Oh, sweet Margaret …’

      I was reassured. He must have been greatly bothered by our conversation to let it haunt his dreams so.

      ‘I’m here, my love,’ I assured, reaching out to stroke his bearded cheek. ‘I’ll always be here.’

      And I wrapped my arm about his broad chest, curling up against him, this man who was to be my world.

      The king did not try to repeat our wedding night’s unpleasantness and I was just as glad. The longer I could put off that invasion the better. Meantime he was ever solicitous and attentive. Every day I was treated to glittering entertainments. Jamie’s fool, English John, had such a raunchy sense of humour that I was sent into fits of delight, but the poor fellow was scolded for his bawdy witticisms. I was disappointed in the stricture placed upon him.

      Every day hoped to outdo the one before in gaiety. There was nought to do but play and be merry and I relished every opportunity to sun myself in the gardens with my ladies. We played at cards and bowls or spread our embroidery about the lawn and stitched away the hours against the music of our own gossip.

      One afternoon Jamie descended upon the garden with old Lord Surrey and a group of courtiers. Surrey spent a great deal of time with Jamie and the two seemed to have developed a genuine rapport. I smiled in greeting.

      Aunty Anne and Lord Thomas Howard pushed me in my favourite swing as my king approached with long, confident strides. Oh, what a handsome spectacle he was! In his arms were cradled two squat black terriers with coarse fur and long squared-off snouts.

      ‘They’re called Skye terriers,’ Jamie informed me, his voice infused with his infectious enthusiasm as he placed the wriggling creatures in my arms. ‘Do you know what Skye means?’

      I nodded, proud of myself for remembering. ‘It is Scotland’s true name,’ I said.

      ‘Very good. They are a feisty breed but very affectionate and fiercely loyal.’

      ‘Ah, then they will suit their mistress well.’ I laughed, fingering one pup’s gem-studded collar.

      ‘What will you call them?’ he asked.

      ‘I shall call the girl Skye,’ I said. ‘And the boy will be named …’ I put my finger to my chin in thought. ‘Bruce! After Robert the Bruce!’

      ‘Ah, my little Scottish bride!’ Jamie cried, leaning in to kiss my forehead. ‘Are you quite comfortable and taken care of then?’

      ‘Aye, my lord,’ I answered, flushing.

      ‘Then I shall leave you to get acquainted,’ he said, offering a deep bow and kissing my hand. After a series of bows and curtsies, he departed with some of his courtiers, leaving me to my pups and my play.

      ‘I suppose we should begin overseeing the details for our return,’ remarked Lord Surrey.

      Startled, I raised my eyes to him. Return. Of course my English court must leave. They could not stay forever. I knew that. Why did my heart lurch in surprise? I turned toward Lady Surrey and Aunty Anne. Would I see them again? A lump swelled my throat.

      ‘Would that you could all stay a little longer,’ I lamented in soft tones.

      ‘There will be visits,’ Aunty Anne reassured me.

      I bowed my head. Though I appreciated her attempt to cheer me, I knew the likelihood of visiting to be very slim. This was a long, arduous journey; few ever took it twice. I would receive English ambassadors, perhaps an occasional border lord. No friends, no family. They were leaving.

      ‘Come, Thomas,’ Surrey commanded in his gravelly tone. ‘Let us commence.’

      Lord Thomas turned to Aunty Anne, offering a gentle smile as he leaned in to press his lips against hers. For a brief moment I was allowed a glimpse into her world; his face emanated love in its form most pure and I was swept up in it. Would Jamie ever look at me that way? He looked upon me with fondness and affection already, but not quite love. Not yet. Soon, I hoped.

      Lord Thomas’s expression was fleeting, converting to the stony mask that I had come to associate with him. He offered a bow, kissing my hand as was required, then departed with Surrey.

      Though they were soon out of sight, their voices carried on the wind and I heard Surrey mutter, ‘I’ve sent word to the king about his new son-in-law.’

      ‘What did you tell him?’ asked Lord Thomas.

      ‘Ah, that he’s a little too hungry for a Crusade – thinks he’s a regular King Arthur. Doesn’t see things as they are – a hopeless romantic. But I think he’s trustworthy enough for a Scot.’ He sighed. ‘Well, let’s hope he gets a babe on her soon, before one of his bastards gets any ideas.’

      I rose, clutching the pups to my chest, my flat, childish chest. My face was hot, my breathing shallow. Tears burned my eyes.

      ‘Your Grace—’ Lady Surrey reached for my shoulder.

      ‘Hush!’ I commanded, straining my ears.

      ‘At least someone had the good sense to remove the Drummond girl or Scotland very well could have had another Margaret as queen,’ Surrey went on. His voice was growing softer as he grew further out of earshot.

      ‘A pity the sisters went down with her,’ Lord Thomas said. ‘Three girls poisoned at breakfast.’

      ‘What’s three girls?’ Lord Surrey retorted with a brief, joyless laugh.

      ‘Ask their father,’ Lord Thomas returned, his tone bitter.

      Surrey’s reply could not be heard. I whirled