He made me laugh and I was eager to hear more.

“My father Meredydd was a man of wild temper. If a word was uttered against him that did not please him, it would be his hand to his sword. I do not believe any were surprised when he killed a man.”

“Owen Tudor!”

“Alas, ’tis true, my lady. ’Twas before I entered this world. Perforce he fled to the mountains taking Margaret with him, and there in the shadow of great Snowdon, I was born.”

“And you left Wales to come and serve the King?”

“There I had good fortune. Look you, is it not so? A man knows this one…knows that one…and that can be another step up the ladder to fame. My father’s mother was a connection of the great Owen Glendower who was of some use to England. His own son, in time, entered King Henry’s army and so brought me to it.”

“So that is how you came to be with us?”

He looked at me earnestly and murmured: “’Twas the greatest good fortune I have ever known, my lady.”

“I am pleased. I often think that a warrior such as you will want to be off again…fighting.”

“My lady, I am more content here than I have ever been before.”

It was fulsome. But he was Welsh, I reminded myself. He had a poetic soul and might sometimes choose words for their musical sound rather than because they expressed the truth.

But I continued to look forward to our meetings; and they took my mind away, now and then, from the haunting fear that I might lose my son.

Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, was with me again, and I was delighted to see her, particularly as she brought with her her charming daughter of her first marriage, Jane.

Margaret was happier than she had been at our last meeting when she was mourning her husband. Now she had settled down to a life of widowhood and I could see that the center of that life was her daughter.

I found a great pleasure in their company. I, myself, was fast recovering from the shock of Henry’s death, and my nightly prayers were that I should continue in this state.

There was another visitor to Windsor. This was James I of Scotland.

It was not quite true to call James a prisoner in the ordinary sense. He was just being held in England until such time as the Scots paid his ransom.

James was a delightful companion. I had liked him from the moment I met him. I felt I knew him fairly well for he had been with us on our triumphant entry into Paris. Henry had taken him to France in the hope that he would be able to persuade the Scots there not to fight for the French. I believe he had not been very successful in this; but James himself had fought side by side with Henry in several battles and I could not believe that for one moment he saw himself as an enemy. He had been in exile for so long. I think at this time it was nineteen years. But he had always been treated as royalty. The only difference was that his liberty was curtailed. For instance, he could not ride out and return to Scotland. I had a sneaking notion that he had no desire to. Conditions above the border were somewhat harsh compared with the south; and while he was treated in a royal manner, I supposed James felt no restraint—or very little—in not being allowed complete freedom. He was happy enough to be in England. In any case, he never showed any nostalgia for his native land to my knowledge—in fact, he could scarcely have remembered it, for he was about ten years old, I believe, when he had been captured.

He had lived hardly any of his life in Scotland, for he told me that when he was eight years old he had been put into the care of the Earl of Northumberland to learn the manly arts and for a while was educated with the Earl’s grandson, who later became known as “Henry Hotspur.”

It was another case of a minor being too young to take over the government of his country; and his old, sick father decided he would send his young son to France for safety. His efforts failed, for the ship in which James was being taken was intercepted by the English; and that was how James came to be a prisoner awaiting the ransom to be paid.

He was writing a long poem about his life which he called The King’s Quair, and he used to read extracts from it to us, which we found both moving and entertaining.

So I grew very fond of James and hoped we should go on enjoying the peaceful days together for a long time.

It was inevitable that, as they were both at Windsor, one day James should meet Jane.

I remember the occasion vividly. James was in my apartment and we were looking down on the gardens as we chatted. Suddenly Jane came into view.

She looked up at the window and, seeing me with the King of Scotland, she bowed her head; then she looked up again and smiled.

“What a beautiful girl!” said James.

“Yes, is she not.”

“Who is she?”

“She is the daughter of the Duchess of Clarence. Her father was John Beaufort, the Earl of Somerset.”

“Oh…a Beaufort.”

“Yes. The Duchess’s first husband. Poor Margaret, she has been twice widowed.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is sad for her.”

At the earliest possible moment I presented Jane to him. James was clearly bemused. I was not sure of Jane. She was perhaps more in command of her feelings. They talked together for some time and I noticed that his eyes never left her face.

I fancied a certain radiance had touched her too. It was rather charming to see the effect those two had on each other.

I talked to Margaret about them.

“I think there is no doubt that James is falling in love with Jane…or, more likely, has already fallen.”

“I trust that is not so.”

“But why, Margaret? I should like to see James happy. Poor young man! Think of his being a prisoner for nineteen years.”

“It has been a very comfortable prison.”

“If Jane married him, she would be Queen of Scotland.”

“A queen without a crown…a queen without a throne.”

“If the ransom were paid, he would return to Scotland.”

“They say it is a barbaric land, and the ransom will never be paid.”

“James does not seem barbaric, and the ransom will surely be paid one day.”

“He has been brought up in England.”

“Margaret, I thought you would rejoice. I think it is wonderful to see two young people so happy. If they are in love, they should be allowed to marry.”

“Well,” said Margaret. “It has not yet come to that.”

I watched the courtship grow. This was love…true love. It was something I had missed. Henry had never been like that.

I could see it all clearly now. He had been kind to me…gentle…loving…but it was not love such as the King of Scotland had for Jane Beaufort. I felt envious. I would have given a great deal to be loved like that.

They talked to me about it.

“We are going to marry,” James said firmly.

“Then I wish you all the happiness in the world,” I told them.

Jane embraced me. “Nothing will change our minds,” she said. “They can forbid us as much as they like…we will marry. We have made up our minds.”

“You will,” I said. “But do not do anything rash just yet. Surely soon the King’s ransom must be paid.”

“Surely soon,” said James.

Margaret was less optimistic.

“Will they pay his ransom after all these years? It must be nearly twenty now…just because he has fallen in love with an English girl?”

“They must want their king back.”

“After all these years? You can depend upon it—for every one who wants him back, there will be two against it.”

“Why are you so pessimistic, Margaret? Let us hope.”

And so the golden days slipped by.

Trouble with Burgundy through Humphrey’s marriage continued to hold the attention of those who might otherwise turn it to the education of my son, which was a blessing to me. And here in Windsor I had Henry to love and to cherish and I could watch the growing love and courtship of Jane Beaufort and the King of Scotland. And there was Owen.

Happy days when I could forget the shadow hanging over me.

The summer was passing. I lived through the golden days treasuring each one as though it might be the last. I watched with mixed emotions the progress of my son. Each day he seemed to change; he would soon pass out of babyhood. They would be made aware of that passing and they would take him from me. He was now taking a few uncertain steps. Guillemote and I would stand him on the floor, a few paces from each of us, and he would take his tottering steps before stumbling into our arms. We clapped our hands in rapturous applause and he would clap with us, his face a picture of delight. There were happy moments like that to be treasured and I knew I should remember them forever.

Humphrey of Gloucester remained in conflict with the Duke of Burgundy, much to the chagrin of the Duke of Bedford. But I was not thinking very much of that at this stage. I was immersed in my happy days at Windsor, watching the ever-growing love between James and Jane—and envying them.

James was becoming an impatient lover. There was nothing he wanted so much as marriage with Jane. I was deeply aware of his single-mindedness. For him there was one goal. How lucky Jane was to be loved like that!

He talked to me about it.

“I must be recalled to my kingdom,” he said. “I must have a home to offer Jane.”

“I am sure Jane would be happy to marry a poor prisoner,” I replied.

“I know. It is so with us both. There is nothing…nothing but each other.”

I said: “Such love is rare with kings.”

“A king can love as wholeheartedly as a shepherd.”

“I know, James. You have shown me that. I wish I could help you.”