Three Sisters Three Queens Read online

  And I don’t forget, not even in my joy at my return, that my misfortune has come about because Henry broke my treaty and insisted on war with Scotland, and because Katherine commanded the Howards to lead a brutal army, ordered to spare no one. For all that the Howards’ new standard flaunts emblems of my husband’s defeat, they were not the ones who decided to take no prisoners. That was Katherine: ruthless and bloodthirsty as her mother, who took a Christian sword through Spain. For all that she sends me loving letters now, and promises that we shall fall into each other’s arms on meeting, I don’t forget that she ordered my husband’s naked body to be pickled in a jar and sent as a trophy of war to my brother. A woman who can think of that is not a woman that I can ever call my sister. I don’t even know where James’s poor body is buried in England. I don’t even know where his bloodstained jacket is—in some cupboard somewhere, I suppose. There is bad blood between Katherine and me. She has been generous and kind to me since my terrible downfall, and I have profited from her uneasy conscience; but she was the cause and reason for that downfall and I don’t forgive or forget.

  The day that we are about to leave York there is a tap at the door of my privy chamber and it swings open, without my consent. I look up to see who comes in without announcement to the private rooms of the Dowager Queen of Scotland, and there before me, bonnet in his hand, smiling and heartbreakingly handsome, is my husband, Archibald.

  I get to my feet—I can stand now without pain—I reach for him and he is across the room and on his knees at my feet in a moment. “Go,” I whisper to my ladies, and they scurry out of the room and close the door behind them as he rises up and wraps me in a tight, hot embrace. He kisses my wet eyelids, my lips, my throat, his hands are warm through my tight stomacher. He bends his head and kisses the top of my breasts, and I feel him untie my laces.

  “Come,” is all I say, and I lead him into my bedroom and let him strip me as if I were a peasant girl in a hay barn, push my rich skirts and my fine lace-trimmed linen to one side and enter me with as much desire as when we were first married and thought we would rule Scotland together.

  It is blissful. We lie together in a tumble of clothes and bedding as the sun shines in through the window and I hear the church bells of York toll one after another for the afternoon service of None. “My love,” I say sleepily.

  “My queen,” he replies.

  I take his tanned smiling face in my hands and I kiss him on the lips. “You came to me,” I say. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

  “I couldn’t let you go like that,” he says. “I couldn’t let you go without knowing that my love is with you, as faithful as I always am, as much in love with you as I ever have been.”

  “I am so glad,” I say quietly. I rest my head on his shoulder and I feel, through the thin linen of his shirt, the beat of his steady heart.

  “And you are treated well?” he murmurs. “I see you have beautiful gowns and ladies in attendance and a fine household around you?”

  “I am cared for like the Tudor princess I was born to be, and the Scots queen I am,” I say. “Dacre is a most loyal servant.”

  “As he should be,” Ard says irritably. “And has he given you money from your brother?”

  “I am rich again,” I confirm. “And everyone tells me that I will get my jewels and goods back from Albany. You need not fear for me, my darling. I am well provisioned.”

  “Thank God,” he says. “And when do they plan that you shall come back to Scotland?”

  “Nobody knows yet. They will have to deal with Albany. But Harry says he will speak with nobody until he has first heard from me. And Dacre and I have compiled a great book of my grievances. Albany shall answer for them, the Scots lords who supported him shall answer for them. You and I will be avenged.”

  There is a knock at the door and a voice says: “Your Grace, will you be dining in the hall?”

  I turn with a lazy smile to Ard. “Everyone will know that we have been to bed in the afternoon,” I say.

  “We are husband and wife,” he says. “They can know that. I can tell them that I will sleep in your bed tonight, if they want to know.”

  I chuckle. “In my bed every night all the way to London.”

  A little shadow crosses his face. “Ah, love. Don’t let’s speak of it.”

  “What?” I ask with sudden alarm. I call out to the lady-in-waiting. “Yes! Yes! Come and dress me in a little while.”

  “I can’t come to London,” Ard says. “Nothing has changed for me in Scotland though you are wealthy and well guarded now. But I am still an outlaw. I am still running and hiding for my life in the hills.”

  “But you will stay with me now. You too will be wealthy and well guarded.”

  “I cannot,” he says gently. “My people still need me. I must lead them and protect them against your enemies.”

  “You came just to say good-bye?”

  “I couldn’t stay away,” he whispers. “Forgive me. Did I do wrong?”

  “No, no, I would rather see you for a moment than not at all. But, Ard, are you sure you cannot come?”

  “My castle and my lands and my tenants will all be in danger if I don’t go back. You will forgive me?”

  “Oh yes! Oh yes! I would forgive you anything; but I can’t bear you to leave me.”

  He gets up from the bed and pulls on his leather riding breeches. They are worn soft and pliable from hard rides in all weathers.

  “But you are not going now?”

  “I will stay to dinner, if I may. I have had few good dinners in the last few weeks. And I will sleep in your bed tonight. I have had no soft pillows and no tender loving. And I will leave at dawn. It is my duty.”

  “At dawn?” I repeat, feeling my lips tremble.

  “I am afraid I must.”

  I love him for his pride and for his sense of honor. I get up at dawn with him and watch him dress in his old worn breeches. “Here!” I say. “At least take these shirts.” I give him half a dozen fine linen shirts, beautifully hand-sewn and trimmed with lace.

  “Where did you get these?” he demands, drawing one over his lean back.

  “I commandeered them from Lord Dacre,” I confess. “He was most unwilling but he can get more made for himself, and you should have nothing but the best.”

  He laughs shortly and pulls on his old riding boots. “Do you get enough to eat?” I demand. “Where do you sleep?”

  “I stay with other outlaws in their castles and forts all along the border,” he answers. “Sometimes I sleep rough, under the sky, but usually I know a friend, someone loyal to your cause, who will take the risk of having me under their roof. Sometimes I even get back near to Tantallon, where everyone would risk their lives to give me a bed for the night.”

  I know that Janet Stewart would open the doors of Traquair to him. But I won’t mention her name.

  “Do you need money?” I ask eagerly.

  “Money would help,” he says wryly. “I have to buy arms and clothes and food for those who ride with me, and I like to pay for my hospitality, especially when the people are poor.”

  I go to my chest. “Here,” I say. “Dacre gave me this from my brother, for my benevolences on the way. He can give me more. Take it all.”

  He weighs the purse in his hand. “Gold?”

  “Yes,” I say. “And take this too.”

  I open my treasure box and take out a long chain of gold links. “You can break it up and sell it as you need,” I say. “Take it, wear it around your neck and keep it safe.”

  “This is worth a fortune,” he protests.

  “You are worth a fortune to me,” I assure him. “Take it. And take these too.”

  I find a handful of heavy gold coins at the bottom of the box.

  “This is too much,” he says, but he lets me press the gold into his hands. “My wife, you are good to me.”

  “I would do so much more for you if I could,” I swear. “When I come home to Scotland you will have