The Tudor Princess. Darcey Bonnette

I want your best dressmakers to fashion me a gown,’ I informed my wardrobe keeper, James Doig, utilising his pet name.

      He was all smiles at the prospect. ‘What kind of gown would Your Grace be needing?’ he asked in his thick burr.

      I clasped my hands together as I stood before the mirror in my privy chamber at Edinburgh. ‘A riding habit – but not an ordinary riding habit. This particular habit must be as enchanting as a ball gown but as seductive as a shift.’ To my delight his eyes widened at this shocking revelation.

      He stood behind me. In the mirror I noted his eyes slowly travelling from my slippers to my hood. There was no lechery in them. He was assessing his project. ‘I think I know just the thing,’ he said in decisive tones. ‘Might I be permitted to surprise Your Grace?’

      I broke into a smile. ‘Of course,’ I agreed, turning about to take his hands in mine. ‘Make it a good one, Scotch – the Stewart line is depending on it!’

      Scotch’s lips twitched a moment before he yielded to a burst of laughter. It rang in my ears like the tinkling of chimes. His blue eyes sparkled bright with mirth against his rosy complexion as he squeezed my hands. ‘Be assured, Your Grace, that this will be the finest habit you will ever lay eyes upon!’

      He bowed over our joined hands, then made his retreat.

      I smiled to myself. My first step in seducing my husband the king had been put into action.

      There were to be no entertainments at Falkland Palace. I had not planned one, not a single one, for while we were there I wanted no distractions. Jamie would be shared with no one, not even his own courtiers.

      The castle was sweetened and scrubbed. I made certain Jamie’s favourite organ was brought so that he might play at his leisure. Twenty-three carts of gowns, jewels, and other supplies necessary for diversion were brought on our progress and when everything was unpacked I waited for Jamie to come to me.

      I planned a hunt. Together we would ride through the thick forest that surrounded the palace; the sweet spring air would fill our lungs until we were rendered breathless. The clomping of the horses’ hooves would pound against the forest floor, mirroring the blood pounding in our ears. Our bodies would thrill with the stretch of the bowstrings as we drew them back to hit our mark, the regal stag. Oh, the hunt!

      Jamie arrived to find me and a handful of courtiers waiting. As usual he removed his cap and played the chivalrous knight, ever solicitous, ever caring. I did not offer any challenges about his previous whereabouts but celebrated his presence, reminding myself that he may love a hundred common women but only one queen.

      The morning of the hunt a smiling Scotch Dog visited my apartments. Two servants followed with a chest that was set before me.

      ‘Your habit, Your Grace,’ he announced with a dramatic hand gesture before stooping down to open the chest. He commenced to reveal the most beautiful riding habit I had ever beheld. The low-cut velvet gown was deep claret, with an orange kirtle the colour of autumn leaves and fitted sleeves to match. Resplendent velvet oversleeves were claret to match the gown, and the boyish velvet cap with a claret ribbon sported a black feather that Scotch advised me to wear at a jaunty angle.

      ‘Oh, Scotch!’ I breathed, clutching the soft velvet of the over-sleeve and rubbing it against my cheek. ‘It’s perfect! Tell me it is easy to remove.’

      Scotch laughed. ‘Very,’ he informed me as he showed me where it laced up.

      ‘Excellent work, Scotch!’ I commended.

      ‘Happy hunting, Your Grace,’ he retorted with a wink of his twinkling blue eye.

      I giggled. ‘This is one prey I’m not letting get away from me!’

      Scotch departed with another bow and I was assisted into my gown, shocking my ladies with the knowledge that I wore nothing beneath it.

      ‘Your Grace, it simply isn’t done!’ they cried.

      ‘Then I am setting a precedent,’ I replied. ‘Soon everyone will be doing it and think me quite a visionary.’

      They clicked their tongues and shook their heads but obeyed and I admitted to a certain freedom as I slipped into the gown without the bother of all those petticoats.

      My hair was left flowing over my shoulders, streaming to my waist in a rippling copper mane. The cap was set upon my head at an angle, the claret ribbon tied beneath my chin. I smiled at my reflection, pleased. The gown accentuated my developing curves, and even my ladies gasped in appreciation.

      Satisfied with my appearance, I removed to the stables, choosing my favourite palfrey and riding her to where Jamie awaited at the edge of the forest. I rode at a deliberate speed, with purpose.

      When Jamie beheld me his eyes widened, his lips parting. ‘Maggie …’ he breathed.

      ‘Your Grace,’ I replied, flashing him a bright smile. ‘Shall we make for the forest?’

      He nodded. To my delight he was unable to remove his eyes from me. I pretended not to notice but thrilled with pleasure.

      We commenced into the forest. Anticipation made me alert to every noise. It was not long before we were on the tracks of a stag, discovering him grazing in a clearing. He raised his majestic head, heavy with its crown of antlers. His brown gaze fell upon us, cautious, questioning. He was still, his muscles tense. At last he flicked his tail and leapt into the forest. The chase began in earnest and I readied my bow as I followed him, my husband in tow.

      The stag turned once more and I drew back, my shoulder aching with the tension in the string. I let it snap. The arrow swished through the air, piercing through the chest of the animal. Brilliant crimson stained his fur as he dropped. A lump swelled in my throat as it did with every kill – as exhilarating as the hunt was for me, I could not help but be moved by the creature’s sacrifice.

      ‘Wonderful, Maggie!’ Jamie cried as he dismounted. He instructed his courtiers to remove the stag to the palace for our evening’s supper. With this executed we stood alone. Our breathing was heavy, the thrill of the kill still surging through our veins. I quivered, trembling with excitement.

      Jamie approached me, taking my hands in his. They were hot, slick with sweat. He shook his head as though in disbelief. ‘My God, Maggie … You’re so beautiful.’

      I smiled, drawing him nearer to me. ‘Jamie …’

      He wrapped his arms about me, his lips descending upon mine in our first true kiss. His lips were hungry, inflamed with a passion I did not know he possessed as he devoured mine. I returned the kiss, matching his passion with my own. His hands roamed my body and I found myself boldly unlacing his breeches and removing his doublet. Freed of our bonds, we stood before each other as God made us, shining with sweat, our chests heaving. I took in Jamie’s body, drinking in its beauty – all angles, all muscles, taut and fine. But he was scarred. His hips were chafed from the iron belt he insisted on wearing, his back a patchwork of white and pink wounds that snaked across his flesh, jagged rivers of pain.

      ‘Jamie, who dared whip you?’ I asked him.

      He shook his head, tears lighting his green eyes. ‘It is a burden I bear gladly – please let us not think of it or anything unpleasant at this moment. Let me look at you … oh, Maggie …’ He drew me to him and I revelled in the silkiness of his skin against mine. We pressed against each other with urgency, kissing once more. His lips travelled down my neck, to my breasts, my belly, my legs. My body was aflame with sensation; I was primal, pagan as a priestess at a Beltane fire. Infused with passion, we fell to the ground and with tender urgency claimed what was our right, writhing with love there in the middle of the forest, on a bed of thick, sweet grass surrounded by thistles and wild roses.