CHAPTER LIX.

REUNITED.

"But am I not the nobler thro' thy love? O three times less unworthy! likewise thou Art more thro' love, and greater than thy years."

Meanwhile treason was not idle at home.

Sir Patrick Gray and Sir James Shaw, exasperated by the turn affairs had taken against them, and by finding, that instead of having their petty lairdships erected into lordships and earldoms, with many a fair slice of the lands of the Crawfurds, the Erskines, the Stewarts, and others, to whose confiscation and forfeiture they had fondly looked forward, and being no longer able to exact kain and herezelds at the sword's point again and again from the hapless rentallers of the king's castles, they entered into a closer compact with Henry for the removal of Margaret Drummond, and with Master Quentin Kraft, who, eluding the chain of guards and close watch kept upon the Borders between Tweedmouth and Solway Sands, had the hardihood to re-enter Scotland disguised, and he, together with Borthwick, who still lurked about the town and Castle of Berwick, were, as before, their ready means of communication with the court of London.

The two anti-national knights had both conceived a mortal grudge against Sir Andrew Wood, for no other cause, perhaps, than his being a sterling and unflinching patriot, who, by taking the English ships, had restored Margaret Drummond to her princely lover. Thus they had many a long conference, and one in particular on the very day after he sailed for Brest.

Shaw, as usual, half intoxicated,--and Gray, nervous, grim, and fiery as ever, sat over their wine in the half-naked hall of Kyneff, where Kraft, the notary, or attorney--for he was called both--prepared a statement of the number of ships, men, and guns carried by Admiral Wood. With this paper he departed on the spur to Berwick, from whence Borthwick conveyed it to London (then a four-weeks' journey at least), and there he informed the Bishop of Winchester, the secretary of King Henry, who was then residing at Baynard Castle, that on leaving Brest, the Scottish admiral would sail for Sluys; and that by having a powerful fleet to intercept him, he might easily, at one and the same time, crush one of the young king's most gallant subjects, assert the superiority of England on the sea, and revenge the affront so lately put upon her arms in the battle of the Firth of Forth.

Though kings had generally as little power of choice in love, then as now, and had to submit to the wishes and will of their subjects, and to the interests of their country, James IV., after striving to banish from his mind the gloom his father's fate had brought upon him, and after exiling from his presence most of those who had been the cause of that hapless father's downfall, gave himself up to the joy and intoxication of his passion for Margaret Drummond--a passion all untrammelled now by secrecy, and uncurbed by caution.

The whole nation knew that he loved her now--that they were secretly married, and that a little daughter had been born, to secure whose legitimacy and regal rights the dispensation of the Pope alone was wanting; and the Lyon King of Arms had gone to England, empowered to demand the instant liberation of its bearer, or denounce war by sea and land. But though anxious to destroy Sir Andrew Wood and his companions, and also to detain the Bishop of Dunblane, the subtle Henry VII. had no intention, if it could be avoided, of having a crisis so fatal to his darling matrimonial projects; and he still resolved, that by fair means or foul, Lord Drummond's daughter should be removed, to make way for an English princess.

It was now the beginning of August: the birds had ceased to sing, and were training their newly-fledged broods; the swallows were gathering for their long and mysterious journey, and the ripe corn waved in heavy ear.

The sun was setting beyond the fertile carse of Gowrie, and the evening was warm and balmy in bonnie Dundee.

The last of the traders had left the meal-market, and the lorimers, the bonnet-makers, the wabsters, and cordiners, had closed their booths about the old Salt Iron. The various bells were ringing for the vesper service, and the broad blue river, with its picturesque craft, lay sleeping in its beauty between the yellow sands and fertile slopes of Fife and Angus.

Dreaming little of the tangled web of trouble, care, and sorrow Scottish guile and English gold were weaving round their young and loving hearts, James and his fair-haired consort occupied the old Palace of St. Margaret, of which we gave the reader a description in the earlier chapters of this history.

The royal guard had been re-established under another captain, the town was occupied by a great number of armed men--Drummonds, Homes, and Hepburns,--all flushed with their recent victory at Sassentilly, and these were quartered on the wealthy citizens, among whom they remained at free quarters to be ready for any emergency as the country was far from being quiet or settled.

The young monarch gave himself up to all the joy of a complete reunion with his youthful consort, but she was unusually sad and thoughtful, as if a foreboding of approaching evil hovered in her heart and clouded her open brow.

"Dearest," said she, after a long pause, as they sat together in a recess of one of those deep old windows which were so well calculated for a quiet _tête-à-tête_, "how deeply am I indebted to you for your tenderness, which gratifies all my wishes, and anticipates all my thoughts. Oh, my dearest--my best beloved one!" she continued, clinging to him like a child; "let me creep closer to you."

"Sweet Maggie," said the handsome young king, as he passed a hand fondly and caressingly over her bright-coloured hair, which looked indeed "as if powdered with gold dust"--and this was the same stout hand which was afterwards hewn off his stiffened arm at Flodden,--"every moment we are separated seems an age, and yet the while my heart is full of thee! But a time is coming, when in the presence of all Scotland, we shall stand side by side upon the throne, and the greatest peers shall kiss this pretty hand, as their queen's."

"When our good Bishop returns--but not, alas! till then!" she murmured, looking upward, as her soft cheek fell upon his shoulder, "he is a weary time away."

The brightness of pure love shone in her fair face; and this young queen--for a queen, indeed, she was, though the Church would not yet acknowledge her--seemed enchanting in her beauty and her innocence.

"Fools speak of the right divine of kings," said James, gazing tenderly upon her. "By my soul, dear Margaret, the power of a beautiful woman is the only one that comes direct from heaven."

Margaret only sighed at this compliment, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Still nursing thine old sadness, Margaret!"

"Ah, call me pet names, as you were wont to do."

"Well, then, Maggie, why so sorrowful?"

"My aunt, the Duchess of Montrose, told me that there is a rumour going abroad--that--"

"That what?"

"That an old prophecy of Thomas of Ercildoune says,--

"When Pausyle and Tweed meet o'er Merlin's grave, Scotlande and Englande one king shall have."

"There they can never meet, thank God!" said the king, laughing: "though Merlin lies buried in Drummellier, by Tweedside; for there I have seen his tomb. But what doth an old rhyme matter to us, Maggie?"

"They say moreover--"

"Who are _they_?"

"The people," said Margaret, giving way to tears, "that this prophecy will be accomplished by your wedding the daughter of Henry VII."

"Those who say so are fools! Has not this cunning old Tudor a son, who will be Henry VIII.? No English king can reign over Scotland, and I would not sit on the English throne were I its heir to-morrow; for who, then, would be king of broad Scotland, Margaret? and who would be a barrier between her people and the tyrannical nobility? Besides, tidings must long ere this have reached the English court that we are married, and well must Henry know that thus all hope of fulfilling the terms of that state betrothal, which assigned _another Margaret_ to me, is at an end for ever."

Margaret only sighed, and her tears continued to fall.

"My bounibel," said James, "here are luxury, wealth, grandeur, rank, and greater are yet before thee; yet thou art not happy."

"Oh, pardon my ingratitude; but I have such strange dreams by night, and such dark forebodings by day! Something is always wanting to complete happiness."

"That is the curse of life, Margaret."

"Of mine at least," said she, folding her soft little hands.

"And that want--"

"Is security," said Margaret, sighing.

"Thou wilt always be loved and respected, Maggie," said her boy husband, as he caressed her; "for thou art not valued by the dimness or splendour of thy fortune, but for thy sweetness and piety, thy goodness of heart and purity of soul, rather than imaginary nobility of name."

"But your majesty must be ever watchful and ready to defend from danger your poor Margaret, who loves you so well--better than all the world beside;--yea, better even than her little babe--_ours_; and you must not leave me so often and so long for those meetings of council and affairs of state, for dire forebodings of evil crush me whenever I am left alone."

"Why so fearful of plots and wiles, sweet Maggie? But take courage, for I would defend you against a world in arms; and fear not either for our fair-haired little one, who may one day wed some gallant king of France or Spain, when she is beautiful as thyself, my kind-eyed Maggie!"

Such was one of many similar conversations which took place between the young king and his secretly wedded wife, while they awaited the bishop's return and the coming coronation; but whether the dark presentiments that hovered in Margaret's timid mind and saddened her winning manner were false or true, a little time will now serve to show.