Then they put this heavy metal crown on me and I was King.

MARGARET (quiet). Poor little boy.

He looks at her, reads the compassion on her face.

JAMES. Ah, you do still love me, don’t you?

MARGARET. You won’t settle for less, will you? From anyone.

JAMES. No.

They kiss. After a moment MARGARET goes back to her work.

ANNABELLA. What do you see? What can you see out there?

She’s indicating the window.

JAMIE. Just the dark.

ANNABELLA. Me too. Why do we need to see more of that? Here, try this.

She offers him her drink.

JAMIE (drinks). What is it?

ANNABELLA. It’s uisghe beatha, a wee bit of sweet wine and a rind of orange. Sometimes I drop a bramble in it. Come on, I’ll show you how to make it.

She leads him off.

JAMES. Are you sure you’re not a bit jealous?

MARGARET. Of whom?

JAMES. The Countess of Atholl, perhaps?

The Duke of Buccleuch?

MARGARET. The Duke of Buccleuch? Really?

JAMES. You’re surprised?

MARGARET. I’d never have guessed.

JAMES. He was surprised too. Astonished. Quite cross with himself.

But there you have it.

A very large, angry moth… and a very, very bright flame. Poor Buccleuch.

MARGARET. Yes indeed.

Poor Buccleuch.

JAMES. It’s Cochrane, isn’t it?

MARGARET gives him her full attention again.

MARGARET. No.

JAMES. Isn’t it?

MARGARET (wanting to mean it). Cochrane is a brilliant man. You understand the same things. You describe the buildings you want and he can make that stone dream real. There’s no one else you can talk to like that. He’s a good man.

JAMES. Yes. I think so.

And he gets it, doesn’t he? The value of the things that matter… those skinflints in the Estates… sitting on my taxes…

We may have to sell something.

MARGARET. Why?

JAMES. To pay for my choir.

MARGARET. No.

JAMES. What do you mean, no?

MARGARET. We can’t afford it.

JAMES. I think you’ve forgotten who you’re speaking to.

MARGARET. I asked to see the treasury papers.

JAMES. Why?

MARGARET. Because someone has to start helping you!

(The papers.) Have you looked at these?

JAMES. God, no.

MARGARET. There is no money, James.

JAMES. A choir, Margaret, a few singers.

MARGARET. How many?

JAMES. A small choir.

MARGARET. How many?

JAMES. Only forty or so…

MARGARET. No.

JAMES. Are you telling me, are you presuming to tell me, I can’t afford music? Scotland can’t afford music?

MARGARET. James, you can’t afford to annoy people like this any more.

JAMES. People?

MARGARET. Everyone! The entire nation!

JAMES. They’re my subjects.

It doesn’t matter how much I annoy them, does it? What are they going to do? Stop me being King?

MARGARET. I imagine it’s being discussed!

They look at each other for a moment.

I just…

I worry for you.

That’s all.

I worry.