Edinburgh for the night,” he said, “and you must retire early to prepare yourself for the ceremonial entry into our capital.”
“I am sorry you must return to Edinburgh without me.”
He laughed and touched her hand lightly. This was in the nature of a caress. His hazel eyes were bright with tenderness; she did not know that this expression was invariably in his eyes when he looked at a woman—even though she were a fishwife in the market or a tavern girl.
“It was a little unseemly of me to come in this way,” he told her, “but I was so eager to see my bride. I wanted to assure her that she had nothing to fear.”
“I should never be afraid of you,” she told him. “You are kind and good, and the happiest woman in Scotland is the Queen.”
He smiled again and said: “You make prettier speeches in England than we do in Scotland. I trust our rough manners will not offend you.”
“You…rough?”
“You will see,” he warned her, but there was mockery in his gaze, and she was more deeply in love than ever.
She danced for him, taking Lady Surrey as her partner; she was eager to show him how accomplished she was. She remembered the occasion when she and Henry had danced together at the marriage of their brother Arthur and Katharine of Aragon, and how all present had said none danced in such a sprightly manner as they did. She remembered how her father and mother had watched them, with smiles of contentment on their faces, so grateful were they for their good health and spirits.
But then she had danced as a child, trying to outleap Henry; now she danced as a woman, gracefully, seductively.
The King applauded her and, when she returned to his side, told her he was charmed with his bride.
“But the hour grows late,” he said, “and I must return to Edinburgh; for remember we have not yet sworn our marriage vows to each other except by proxy. Until we have done so, alas, we must part.”
“Soon,” she answered, “we shall make those vows.”
“I am glad that you look forward to that occasion even as I do,” he replied.
When he said farewell, Lady Guildford wanted to warn her charge that she should not show her feelings so frankly, but that lady realized that it was not so easy to advise the Queen of Scotland as the Princess of England.
Margaret lay dreaming of the future. She was dancing before him with Lady Surrey, and suddenly he rose and partnered her himself, holding her tightly. His handsome eyes were ardent; he was telling her that he had never dreamed she could be so beautiful. Willingly she submitted herself to his embrace; she was growing very warm; she felt that she was suffocating.
Then she was awakened by a flickering light in her apartment and she was coughing because of the smoke.
She hurried out of bed as Lady Guildford ran into the room.
“Your Grace! Rise quickly. There is not a moment to lose.”
“Is the castle on fire?”
“I fear so.”
She was hurried into a gown and out of the apartment; there she was joined by her ladies, and she saw the Countess of Morton was with them.
“Come quickly down to the hall, Your Grace,” said the Countess. “Something terrible has happened. The castle is in danger.”
As they hurried down to the hall they heard shouts from without. Now the angry glow seemed all about them and they could hear the crackle of flames.
They were joined by the Earl and some of his men.
“It started in the stables,” he said. “I'm afraid they're completely burned. But I believe we have saved the castle. There is no need to fear. We can remain here. The fire is under control.”
It was a wretched night, for although she returned to her apartment she did not sleep; she stood for a long time with her ladies at the window watching the smoldering remains of the stables, and when news was brought to her that her two white palfreys had been burned to death, Margaret threw herself onto her bed and wept like a child.
Her dear palfreys whom she had
“I am sorry you must return to Edinburgh without me.”
He laughed and touched her hand lightly. This was in the nature of a caress. His hazel eyes were bright with tenderness; she did not know that this expression was invariably in his eyes when he looked at a woman—even though she were a fishwife in the market or a tavern girl.
“It was a little unseemly of me to come in this way,” he told her, “but I was so eager to see my bride. I wanted to assure her that she had nothing to fear.”
“I should never be afraid of you,” she told him. “You are kind and good, and the happiest woman in Scotland is the Queen.”
He smiled again and said: “You make prettier speeches in England than we do in Scotland. I trust our rough manners will not offend you.”
“You…rough?”
“You will see,” he warned her, but there was mockery in his gaze, and she was more deeply in love than ever.
She danced for him, taking Lady Surrey as her partner; she was eager to show him how accomplished she was. She remembered the occasion when she and Henry had danced together at the marriage of their brother Arthur and Katharine of Aragon, and how all present had said none danced in such a sprightly manner as they did. She remembered how her father and mother had watched them, with smiles of contentment on their faces, so grateful were they for their good health and spirits.
But then she had danced as a child, trying to outleap Henry; now she danced as a woman, gracefully, seductively.
The King applauded her and, when she returned to his side, told her he was charmed with his bride.
“But the hour grows late,” he said, “and I must return to Edinburgh; for remember we have not yet sworn our marriage vows to each other except by proxy. Until we have done so, alas, we must part.”
“Soon,” she answered, “we shall make those vows.”
“I am glad that you look forward to that occasion even as I do,” he replied.
When he said farewell, Lady Guildford wanted to warn her charge that she should not show her feelings so frankly, but that lady realized that it was not so easy to advise the Queen of Scotland as the Princess of England.
Margaret lay dreaming of the future. She was dancing before him with Lady Surrey, and suddenly he rose and partnered her himself, holding her tightly. His handsome eyes were ardent; he was telling her that he had never dreamed she could be so beautiful. Willingly she submitted herself to his embrace; she was growing very warm; she felt that she was suffocating.
Then she was awakened by a flickering light in her apartment and she was coughing because of the smoke.
She hurried out of bed as Lady Guildford ran into the room.
“Your Grace! Rise quickly. There is not a moment to lose.”
“Is the castle on fire?”
“I fear so.”
She was hurried into a gown and out of the apartment; there she was joined by her ladies, and she saw the Countess of Morton was with them.
“Come quickly down to the hall, Your Grace,” said the Countess. “Something terrible has happened. The castle is in danger.”
As they hurried down to the hall they heard shouts from without. Now the angry glow seemed all about them and they could hear the crackle of flames.
They were joined by the Earl and some of his men.
“It started in the stables,” he said. “I'm afraid they're completely burned. But I believe we have saved the castle. There is no need to fear. We can remain here. The fire is under control.”
It was a wretched night, for although she returned to her apartment she did not sleep; she stood for a long time with her ladies at the window watching the smoldering remains of the stables, and when news was brought to her that her two white palfreys had been burned to death, Margaret threw herself onto her bed and wept like a child.
Her dear palfreys whom she had
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