Lincluden, Scotland, August 1460
Queen Mary of Scotland stood outside the Abbey with Bishop James Kennedy, her chief advisor. It was a windy day despite the sun overhead and they both peered in the distance. A party approached at a slow pace and the Bishop was curious, “Could this possibly be the Queen of England, my Lady? How could one so treasured be so rudely thrust out?”
Mary of Guelders was twenty six and many considered her the most beautiful woman in Scotland. Given that her husband King James II was not due to the large wine stained birthmark to half of his face, it was thought an odd match but it had been successful. And at this moment, all looked to her as the Scots King was recovering from a rather major illness resulting from a wound. Mary was practically regent to the realm and the letter she received from Margaret of Anjou had touched her both as a Queen and as a woman.
A shrewd judge of character learned from her years at this court and its many renegade clans, she was prepared to both receive and consider this woman as she crested the nearest hill. Mary looked closer with a hand held above her eyes to shield the wind, “It is possible she may have deserved her current position, but surely not that of her circumstance.”
“Are they not one and the same, my Lady Queen?” Bishop Kennedy suggested.
Mary shook her head, “Nay, sir. We have seen here how fortunes may change drastically, yet no thing should cause a great Lady distress such as this. From her letter to me, she begged for sanctuary as she does fear for her very life and that of her son. Forced to flee under the worst of conditions...I must say that I cried for her.”
“Our King has met this pretender of York,” the Bishop replied, “He was impressed.”
“She is an anointed Queen, sir,” Mary answered as she moved into the Abbey, “I will offer her a respite as a Christian and mine own husband our anointed King would do no less. See her to me when she arrives.”
After some time, the Bishop was right along with Margaret and young Prince Edward followed by a few Welsh guards given to her by Jasper Tudor. The Queen of Scotland stood below the altar and smiled, “God’s house is sanctuary for us all, madam. This I offer to you for your travails are entirely sad and poor.”
Margaret was not as careworn as she was when she arrived to Harlech Castle, yet her lack of finery was apparent. Her jewels and dress purloined, and then another journey by sea from Wales to Scotland, she was left looking worse for the wear and she was already jealous. This Queen of Scots was four years younger. Having tipped over to the wrong side of thirty, Margaret of Anjou was never one to be less attractive to anyone in any room. Yet now she begged and thus, she offered a fine bow, “Your Grace...you are my very savior. Sent from God Almighty. So this is perfect place for us to meet.”
“I would say also that I am caused to be here,” Queen Mary held her smile, “My husband’s beloved aunt holds her tomb to this abbey and he sees much interest in the completion. It has only been some few years that she passed to God. In truth, my Lady...her name is also yours.”
“How quaint,” Margaret allowed with no smile in return as she stood taller and looked to her fellow monarch.
Mary skewed a brow, “You do not approve?”
“No, madam...” Margaret softened, “...it is only that my name does appear cursed. I would wish it on no one.”
“Then you must be reassured,” the Scots Queen gestured to a front pew, “Let us sit and speak of your terrible horror.”
Margaret pressed forward Edward, “Yet first you must meet my son, Your Grace. This is Edward born to Westminster, the Prince of Wales.”
At seven, Edward had already found a growth spurt. Though uncomfortable in his body, he still bowed deeply to the Queen, “I am your humble servant, my Lady.”
“What a perfect young Prince,” Mary smiled to him and then looked to Margaret, “My namesake daughter is the same age. And mine own son James is only a little older. The rest...all younger still.”
Margaret narrowed her brow as she sat, “Such a brilliant brood.”
“Yes,” Mary sat next to her and grasped Margaret’s hand, “Now tell to me all. What are you to do, my dear?”
Margaret of Anjou sighed. My dear? Who the hell does this woman think she is?! Pulling Edward close, she answered, “I will find this child his kingdom. There is no other choice. Rude and treasonous men have captured my husband and their anointed sovereign King. He is at their mercy and they are not kind.”
“Yes...” Mary gave nod, “...you spoke it in your letter.”
“Then you will know that the Lord of York will follow and then all will be lost,” Margaret replied firmly, “I hold so few to my side...those true to my King...that I must needs more in every way!”
Queen Mary was touched again by the slight tear that fell from the English Queen’s eye and she held closer, “You are wretched, my Lady. Caused too much unkindness. I may hardly believe it. Yet I shall hold you close to my bosom for you require charity. As a woman, I am pressed to feel your pain.”
Margaret looked around the abbey at the Welsh guard, the Bishop hovering over them, the other monks of the priory flitting about and then finally to her son as she held to his shoulder. She finally allowed a smile, “Indeed. As a woman. It is so difficult to navigate this world...is it not?”
“How old were you?” Mary of Guelders grinned, “I was five and ten.”
The Queen of England gave nod, “Just that. And taken to a foreign land.”
“So true,” Mary smiled, “Scotland is not Flanders, nor so would England be France. We are caused to be much, you and I. At times...even too much.”
Margaret laughed, “Oui! C'est vrai! Too much indeed!”
“And now, you are bereft...” Mary grew serious, “...as two homes are stolen from you. Your childhood and your motherhood.”
Margaret sat taller, “There you are wrong, madam. I shall always be a mother and that, my Lady, is my home.”
“Very good,” the Scots Queen sat back and crossed her arms, “We are also protective of our son. Our sons, really. Especially now as my Lord husband is so wrecked with pain.”
“Je suis désolé!” Margaret replied in horror as she realized that she had committed a huge faux pas in not asking about the ailing King James, “My state has left me undone, my Lady. And yet you agree to meet with me even within your own displeasure?”
“I am a wife to my husband, madam,” Mary answered proudly, “There is no other way to be. Yet at the now, I rule in his place. My Lord Bishop here will tell you how much it torments my soul to manage any part of it. I am no weakling, my Lady. I was made strong to be the woman that I am, yet it is my husband the King that is the Stewart. Not I.”
Margaret allowed a smile, “I am intrigued by you, my Lady. I am sad that we have not met before.”
“Moi aussi?” Mary grinned and then turned to Bishop Kennedy, “Now...tell me sir, how many may we spare to the southern border?”
Reticent to speak too much in front of the English Queen, the Bishop tried to be sympathetic, “His Grace the King has...built up a fine set of lads near to those parts. A goodly lot, my Lady Queen. Some cannonade. Yet likely not more than five or six hundred.”
“To what end?” Margaret focused immediately on that, “Were they to go into England already?!”
“It is as protection, my Lady,” Bishop Kennedy answered her, “For who may know what happens across our border?”
“I happen across our border!” Margaret replied readily, “As I happen across yours at the now...”
Bishop Kennedy bowed his head, “For succor, madam.”
“For right!” the Queen of England pressed as she held to the young Prince’s shoulders, “For his paternity. And his kingdom will not be destroyed.”
Queen Mary looked to the Bishop and he answered for her, “There is right and then there is possibility, my Lady. We may provide some assistance, yet it will be few and I dare say...those to the south of your realm will be no more pleased at the idea of destruction than you.”
“You should worry about Scotland...and your side of the border,” Margaret shot back and then looked more kindly to the Scots Queen, “Yet I must...apologize, my Lady. I am beyond my total world at the now and know not what I speak.”
“Well...” Queen Mary patted her hand gently, “...that much is true. I am certain that your fear is great and your heart heavy. Allow me to invite you to stay for a time. As my guest. Perhaps to Blackness Castle? My husband King James gave it to me as a gift. It is very secure. It has to be, for it is also a prison.”
The Scots laughter did not amuse Margaret but she sighed in dejection, “Your Grace is too kind.”
“And you are a dear,” Mary stood and gave nod to the Bishop, “I promise to see you again soon once you are settled to there.”
As she left the Abbey, the Bishop bowed, “I fear another journey ahead of you, madam. Blackness is near to Edinburgh in the east. Not much longer now and you’ll be safe and secure.”
“Secured...” Margaret whispered in anger to herself as he too walked away, “...I am sure.”
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