Against the Wind

by R G Roberts

  She wondered idly if Gates had been trying to drive them apart with that remark, but only shrugged in response to Mary's question. Her sister wasn't really looking for an answer, anyway.

  "Something has happened," she said pensively, pacing across the reception room. "Something must have happened. I worry for Edward, Mary."

  "Do you think I don't?" her sister demanded, gesturing furiously. "But now the Council has decreed that we are not worthy to be by our brother's side when he is ill! Oh, if I had a chance, I would make them regret every insult they have thrown our way…"

  She trailed off, clearly too angry to even verbalize the threat. Elizabeth, however, answered quietly:

  "You may soon have that chance."

  Her words shocked them both into silence, and a moment passed before the elder Tudor girl spun to glare at her sister.

  "Don't say that, Bess!" Her shock led her to use the childhood nickname, the one Elizabeth had shed years before. "Don't even think it. Edward—Edward will be fine. I know it."

  "I don't think so, Mary." She hated to say the words almost as much as her sister hated to hear them; despite her differences with the Regency Council, Mary adored Edward. They both did, and had Elizabeth been anything other than the daughter of a king, she might well have been weeping at the thought of losing her little brother.

  But as Mary had said, they were both Princesses, and they had to be made of sterner stuff than that.

  "I have to believe—" Mary started, only to be cut off by her steward's sudden arrival.

  "Your Highnesses, there is a messenger here for you." He sketched a quick bow, but the shock on his face made it very short. "And Lord Robert is here!"

  Elizabeth whirled around, the words escaping before she could stop them. "My Robert?" she demanded.

  "Elizabeth!" Well bred princess that she was, Mary shot her a scandalized look—but Elizabeth spotted the twinkle in her eyes, too. Mary knew how Elizabeth felt about Robert, always had. Yet Mary always insisted on observing proprieties. So she turned to the steward and commanded: "Send the messenger in, and see that Lord Robert is made comfortable and offered refreshments."

  She shot her sister a glare but did not bother arguing as she moved back to Mary's side. By rights, they should have received Robert first; as the son of an earl, he outranked a mere messenger. However, an unexpected messenger could signify something extremely important, and they both knew that Robert would wait. He'd always said that one smile from Elizabeth was all the apology he ever needed, and just thinking about the way she could affect him made her twenty-year-old heart flutter.

  Focus, Elizabeth! she told herself firmly as the steward led the messenger in. You are a Princess of England, and have larger concerns than youthful infatuations!

  The messenger was a young man, handsome and suave enough to occupy Elizabeth's thoughts had her mind not already been full of Robert Dudley. He swept the pair of them a dramatic bow, and she could tell that his polite manner soothed Mary's ruffled feathers a bit. His voice was smooth, respectful:

  "Your Highnesses," he greeted both princesses. "Thank you for receiving me."

  "We are glad to receive you." Mary offered her hand to kiss, and was followed in due course by Elizabeth. "Master…?"

  "Ainsworth, Your Grace. I am a man-at-arms for His Grace, the Duke of Norfolk."

  That name made Elizabeth perk up; of the triumvirate holding power over Edward, Norfolk was undoubtedly their strongest supporter. He was related to Elizabeth by blood (which he never permitted her to forget), and tied to Mary through their shared love of the Catholic Church. Aging though he was, Norfolk was still the head of the vast Howard clan and a power to be reckoned with, particularly in the North. Neither Warwick nor Hertford crossed him lightly—but that did not explain why his man-at-arms arrived hard on the heels of the Council's refusal to allow their return to court. Norfolk was one of the heads of the Council, Elizabeth knew, which meant that Ainsworth's impeccable manners might be pleasing and yet mean nothing at all.

  "And what message does the Duke of Norfolk send us in such a hurry?" Mary inquired delicately, making Elizabeth start slightly. She hadn't quite noticed before, but Ainsworth's clothes were dusty and he smelled of horse. He had clearly come straight to them from London, probably without stopping for long.

  "Your Grace, I fear I have not beaten the Council's messenger, but the Duke cautions you not to believe everything they tell you. The King is seriously ill, and the Council is split—but you do have friends at court. My Lord suggests moving to one of your London houses, so that you might be close at hand for…whatever the situation may require."

  It was treason to speculate about the King's death, but the words hung unspoken in the air.

  Mary swallowed visibly.

  "How is our brother the king?" the elder Tudor girl asked quietly when Elizabeth could not bring herself to. She knew the answer, but she did not want to hear it. She missed Edward desperately, missed the wonderful years they had spent together as children. Their recent arguments meant nothing in the face of that.

  "Ill, Your Highness, and worsening quickly," Ainsworth replied bluntly. Mary blanched at that, and Elizabeth forced herself to step in.

  "Thank you for coming to us, Master Ainsworth," she said, speaking for the first time. "My sister and I would be honored if you would remain overnight with us at Hundson—unless, of course, My Lord the Duke requires your immediate return."

  "It is best I not remain here, Your Highness," Ainsworth confirmed her suspicions immediately, but Elizabeth was more interested in the other message he conveyed, all without speaking a word. Ainsworth had addressed both of them as princesses, which could not have been an accident. Despite the Council's decision to verbally downgrade us, Norfolk wants us to know that he still views us as princesses, and as Edward's legal heirs.

  "Then we shall regret your absence," Mary picked up again. "My steward will see to any needs you may have before departing."

  Ainsworth bowed his thanks and was led out; however, the sisters barely had a chance to exchange glances before Robert Dudley barged in, making the steward yelp in surprise. Elizabeth spun to face him, shocked at the breach of Robert's usually impeccable manners, and then she noticed how disheveled he looked. If Ainsworth had appeared dusty and road-weary, Robert was downright filthy, with sweat and mud staining his fine clothing. He looked horrible, without any of the polish Elizabeth was accustomed to seeing from him.

  A cold feeling swept over her, sinking deep into her stomach and making her shiver. Something was wrong. Elizabeth knew Robert as well as she knew herself, and she could read his expression like a book. He was exhausted, but Robert was worried, too. His strides were quick and long, eating up the distance between them rapidly as he crossed the hall.

  "Lord Robert," Mary chided him with a smile, not seeing the signs as well as Elizabeth. "I understand that you have the King's permission to visit Princess Elizabeth, but—"

  "Forgive me, Your Grace, but the King is dead," Robert interrupted, dropping to his knees in front of the two princesses.

  Elizabeth's stomach dropped out.

  "What?" Mary squeaked.

  Neither knew who reached for the other, only that the sisters were suddenly holding hands, gripping one another so tightly that it hurt.

  "The King died late this afternoon, Your Grace—Your Majesty," Robert corrected himself, his eyes focused on Mary. But Elizabeth's sister did not notice the compassion in his voice as she reared back angrily.

  "Why has the Council not—"

  "Mary," Elizabeth interjected gently, cutting off the furious demand. Yes, the Council should have sent someone—someone Robert clearly was not, if Elizabeth was reading his expression correctly—but something else was going on. "Why are you here, Robert?"

  His gaze flicked to her, and Elizabeth could feel the pain and shame spilling out of his bottomless brown eyes. Then he steeled himself and looked back at Mary.

  "My father intends to declare La
dy Jane Grey Queen, on the basis of you both having been declared bastards by the late King Henry," he said quietly.

  "Because she is married to your brother." Elizabeth could not keep back the sad comment. Poor Jane. She had always been a pawn in her domineering mother's hands, and now it looked as if her father-in-law was treating her the same way.

  Their eyes met; Robert looked away first. "Yes, Princess."

  Something had changed between them, and it broke Elizabeth's heart. But she was the heir to the throne now, and nothing would ever be the same again. She was the heir, and her sister was the Queen, the first ruling Queen since the days Empress Matilda had lost the throne.

  The same thought was hitting Mary, and Elizabeth drove it home by sinking to her knees at her sister's feet. "Your Majesty," she whispered, still holding Mary's hand.

  Mary blinked, and Elizabeth thought she might have seen tears in her eyes. But the hand that squeezed Elizabeth's fingers was firm, and Mary sounded positively regal when she spoke. "Rise, sister. And you, also, Lord Robert."

  Shocking Elizabeth, Mary reached out to briefly take Robert's hand in her own, giving him a grateful smile.

  "And we thank you for coming, Robert, even though it puts you at odds with your family. I will not forget this."

  "I could not do otherwise, Your Majesty," Robert replied, his honesty manifest. His eyes, however, flicked to Elizabeth once more, and she felt herself color slightly. He did this for me? But Robert cleared his throat and continued: "If I may be so bold, Your Majesty, you need to act quickly. Jane and Guilford aren't yet in London—if you beat them there, you may not have to fight at all."

  "You suggest I race them for the throne." Mary scowled.

  Robert nodded. "It is the best way to win bloodlessly, Your Grace."

  “You would have me scramble for power like a sewer rat?”

  “That is not exactly what I meant to—”

  “Oh, yes, it is!” Mary snapped angrily. “You would have me rush to London rather than entering the city in triumph as is my right. You would have me skulk in the shadows instead of vindicating my rights in the light of day!”

  “I think that what Lord Robert meant to say is that he would have you fight for your throne in the best way possible, Your Majesty,” Elizabeth said when Robert flinched away from Mary’s temper.

  Elizabeth could see that the thought of entering London in anything less than glittering triumph grieved Mary deeply; her sister had always imagined herself as a beloved and accepted Queen, welcomed to the throne by the people of England. But they both knew how politics could destroy such girlish dreams. They would fight for their rights if they had to.

  Mary glared at her. “I should not have to.”

  “But you are the daughter of kings and of a warrior queen. You will do what you have to.” It was the first time Elizabeth had even obliquely mentioned Katherine of Aragon, and she saw Mary’s back straighten.

  Mary finally smiled, a true smile that filled her eyes with joy. "Nothing in our lives has been easy, I suppose. I should not expect this to be any different," she said philosophically. "You will come with us to London, of course, Lord Robert."

  "I would be honored, Majesty." Robert straightened, his eyes shining.

  Elizabeth shot Mary a grateful look. Every courtier dreamed of such an opportunity, and Mary just put her seal of favor on Robert Dudley, despite his father's treason. I love him, Elizabeth realized suddenly, despairingly. He's risked everything for us, and by God, I love this man.

  But there was no time for love, only for hard work and a race to the throne.

  ***

  Great Harry’s daughters rode into the city side by side, and Mary received the public acclaim she had always wished for. The sudden appearance of King Henry's daughters in London brought the populace out in support, and the nobility deserted Warwick in droves. Norfolk came out immediately to champion Mary as Hertford drove a carefully neutral middle road, leaving Robert's father with only Henry Grey, the Duke of Suffolk, in his corner. Both were quickly captured and sent to the Tower, while Jane, Guilford, and Robert's other brothers swore allegiance to Mary. Elizabeth was there for everything, including the day Jane came to Mary in tears, telling her how she had tried to resist Warwick's plans, and how she wanted nothing more than to be Mary's friend and loyal servant.

  “Your Majesty, imprison me if you must,” Jane said from her knees. “I know my family’s actions were treasonous, but please understand that I never wanted the crown.”

  Mary frowned from the throne, attired in glittering jewels and looking every inch a queen. Standing at her right, Elizabeth suppressed a flash of disgust for her weeping cousin. Jane had never been ambitious. All she had wanted was Edward, not his crown. If they had chosen me, and Mary were not my sister, I would never have stopped fighting.

  Mary turned to Norfolk. “Your Grace tells me that the Lady Jane refused the crown?”

  “She did, Your Majesty.” The old man snorted. “Once word reached London that you were marching, she even refused to allow them to crown her husband in her stead.”

  “This speaks well of your loyalty, Lady Jane.” Mary’s smile was thin. “But why did you allow them to proclaim you queen in the first place?”

  Jane swallowed. “My father and Lord Warwick said you would burn anyone who was not Catholic, Your Majesty.”

  “They what?” Mary’s voice thundered out, making even Elizabeth flinch.

  Jane just nodded miserably.

  “A queen may love all of her subjects, Lady Jane, no matter what their religion,” Mary said firmly. “Loyal Englishmen have nothing to fear from me. Let that be a lesson to all of you.”

  Courtiers bowed, and Elizabeth beamed.

  Mary's coronation was three weeks later, and the threat of Jane and Guilford Dudley faded into nothingness. Two days after the Earl of Warwick and Duke of Suffolk lost their heads, Mary made Jane Grey the Marchioness of Dorset, and promised that her (future) first born son would inherit the title of Jane's late grandfather, the Duke of Suffolk. At the same time, Mary created Robert as Marquis of Northampton and Earl of Leicester. She allowed his elder brother to inherit the Warwick earldom, but elevated Robert above all of his siblings and most of the court as a reward for his continued loyalty. Ecstatic, Elizabeth found every possible excuse to dance with the new Marquis at the banquet celebrating his elevation, and tried to tell herself that she did not love him.

  The effort was doomed to failure.

  The first few months were full of glorious celebrations, as Mary mended fences with all and sundry, reaching out to both political foes inside of England and to foreign powers long unsettled by their father's actions. The triumvirate controlling Edward had not done much aside from battle with one another and preserve the status quo, particularly in an international sense (aside from repeatedly repelling Scottish raids, but those attacks were so commonplace that no one even blinked). Mary, however, immediately set out to reaffirm England's place in the international community…and, of course, reached out to the cousin who had supported her and her mother for so long.

  The Holy Roman Emperor immediately proposed marriage between Mary and his son, Prince Philip, and the offer's arrival neatly coincided with the Privy Council's outspoken belief that Mary should be wed as soon as possible. Truth be told, Elizabeth knew that Mary desperately wanted a husband and children of her own, so the idea was not exactly a hardship for her sister—but Elizabeth was wary.

  "Must it be a foreigner?" she asked the new queen in December of 1553, the first year of Mary's reign.

  She had waited until they were finally alone, given how sensitive the subject was. Time was running out, however; the marriage negotiations had already begun and Mary was thirty-seven years old. Unfortunately, now that Mary was queen, the two sisters had far less time to spend with one another. So many responsibilities and duties demanded Mary's attention, not to mention the dozens of advisors and courtiers vying for a few moments of her day. At the same t
ime, Elizabeth found herself at the center of a glittering court where gaining her favor was one of the swiftest routes into Mary's good graces, and she found the entire situation more than a little heady. She loved every moment, adored being the center of attention, but thanked her lucky stars that her sister and her governess had raised her to understand how fickle and bloodthirsty the court could be.

  "It's how royalty must marry, Elizabeth," Mary sighed. "Especially queens. Besides, why shouldn't I marry a foreign prince?"

  "A foreign prince will see himself as your equal," Elizabeth pointed out, but Mary countered with a merry laugh.

  "As well he should! I want a partner, not a subordinate."

  What Mary meant was that she believed a partner would be the best outcome she could find in a royal marriage, but then, the privy council kept talking about how Mary needed a husband to rule for her, so Elizabeth supposed she should not have been surprised. Still, she shot a glare at the gorgeous portrait of Prince Philip that Mary had been mooning over.

  "He's going to think he can rule you," she said stubbornly. "And England through you."

  "An English nobleman would be no different."

  Elizabeth snorted. "Only if you pick the wrong one."

  "Men are men, sister," Mary laughed again, taking her hands. "They all think they can rule us, but at least one born royally will be bred to understand the responsibilities of ruling."

  Much though she wanted to, Elizabeth could hardly argue with either of those points, particularly given that she knew which example of an arrogant English nobleman Mary was going to bring up. Foolish Thomas Seymour, who had tried to court both sisters at once and who had wound up with neither—and then had been stripped of most of his titles and honors by a vengeful Duke of Norfolk, with the Earl of Hertford's full cooperation. Tom Seymour had been Hertford’s brother, and yet he’d been banished permanently from court for attempting to seduce both princess—along with trying to force himself on Elizabeth when she had refused. Men always thought they could rule women; Elizabeth couldn’t argue with that point. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that Prince Philip would be a terrible match for her beloved sister, handsome though he was.