“Yes, I suppose they were. Now they must answer to me and only to me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He reached into the cradle and ever so gently picked up his sleeping son. The baby gurgled and let out a tiny sigh, but otherwise was undisturbed as his father tucked him into the cradle of his arm. Henry couldn’t help but smile down at his son as he ran a finger along the infant’s chin. As he started to rock the sleeping babe in his arm, he glanced at the nanny. “There are rooms next to mine. We shall set up the nursery there.”
“But Your Majesty,” Miss Margaret started to protest.
Henry cut her off with a piercing look. “And he is to remain close to me at all times during the day and night. I will be checking on him frequently. And I will be inserting some of my own trustworthy people to attend to his needs. For now, you may keep your job. But be forewarned, Miss Margaret, my eyes are on you. I will make sure you and everyone else around my son are closely watched.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The nanny curtseyed, ducking her head in compliance, though probably hiding her look of discomfort in the process. She walked out briskly, leaving her charge in his father’s care.
“Yes, little one,” Henry spoke quietly to his son. “We must stand by each other. It’s just the two of us, now. You and me against the world.”
Thirteen
Loch Leven Castle, Late Autumn, Year of Our Lord 1875
“You came,” Isabel remained seated by the fire. She was wrapped in multiple layers of shawls and blankets in an attempt to look feeble and frigid cold. Frigid, yes, the king thought to himself. But cold? Well, he supposed it was a little cold in this stone tower. “Did you bring our son?”
“No.” His answer was abrupt. He had steeled himself for the visit, one she had demanded on many occasions. She had threatened all manner of things to get him to come. When she had managed, well almost, to escape the castle, as had his predecessor several generations earlier, he had taken it upon himself to make sure the castle tower was reinforced. He had brought an entirely new contingent of guards and personal attendants for the queen. It was bad enough she had managed to weave a web a deceit to entrap his once close friend and trusty confidante, George. Her sneaky ability to enlist the help of others at the castle and almost make a successful escape, all with the intent of kidnapping his son on their way out of the country, made her look even more pitiful. She had even planned to seek refuge in England.
She moved slightly to allow herself a look at her husband, the king. “Why not? He is my son.”
“I don’t want your influence to tarnish his innocence. You have managed to turn others against me. You even managed to get yourself with child, not by me, and to have the child while trying to pass him off as mine son and heir. To make matters worse, it appears you have used my cousin, no less, as the boy’s real father.” He studied her closely. In the dim light with only the flames in the hearth to brighten the room, it was difficult to tell if she were pregnant. Then again, she had been late to show with Edward. “I wonder,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Are you with child? Again. Another child fathered by someone other than your own husband.”
She diverted the question and cocked a half smile. “Poor George. He didn’t know what happened until it was over.”
Shaking his head in disgust. “You’re a witch. If you had lived a hundred years ago, I would have had you burned at the stake.”
She cackled a laugh to suit her case. “Oh well! So, will you claim this child as yours?” She patted her belly, which betrayed nothing. “Only a few months to go.”
“No. But I won’t allow you or your allies to have it either. As soon as it’s born, if it’s born as I highly doubt there is a babe within you, I will have it brought to the royal nursery to be raised as Edward’s half-sibling. I might give it a title. It remains to be seen.” He broke his gaze from the woman he had been forced to love, to pledge his life to, focussing instead on the flames flickering in the fireplace.
A silence enveloped the chasm between them. She broke it first. With accusation, of course. “You have cut off my correspondence. I receive no news from my family in London. Why?” Her eyes pleaded her cause. It had no effect, as he continued to stare at the flames.
“You continue to plot against me. Simple as that.”
“So, you change the locks. Change the guards. Change my personal attendants. And you deny me access to my son and, once this child is born, you will deny me access to him or her as well. I may as well lose my head as stay confined like this for eternity.”
“You made your own bed, Isabel.” He stole a glance at her, his eyes brittle like ice. “If you had been satisfied just being my wife and the mother of our children, you wouldn’t be here. Instead, you had to align yourself with the greed of the English royal family.”
“Greed? It’s not greed. It’s practical sense.” She spat at him. “But you are too close-minded in your thinking to realize it. Bigger countries are stronger countries.”
“We already are one of the strongest countries in the world,” he argued vehemently and with deep passion. “Aligning our empire with the English would only benefit the English. We are Scottish and only Scottish.”
“Oh, yes! I know!” She managed a sneer before he could steal his eyes away and look into the flames again. “For now and forever. Your age-old battle cry.” She snorted in disgust. “Times are changing, Henry. It’s time you realized bigger is better.”
“I will prove you wrong, Isabel. You and the English, and the entire world for that matter. Bigger is not always better.” He swung on his heel and stomped out of her chambers, the room at the top of the tower where Queen Mary had once plotted her own battles. Perhaps he should reconsider her imprisonment at Loch Leven. There must be other castles, more isolated and more secure. He would think on it. For now, though he couldn’t escape fast enough. He cringed at the thought he once dreamed of living his life and ruling his realm with this woman. Now though, he couldn’t stand to be near her for mere minutes.
She called out to him, but he didn’t pause. He had put off this visit for months. After discovering George blinded by her pleas and seductive advances, he knew he had to investigate the lodgings, the security and make some changes in the people who took care of his wife and guarded her. He had selected two women to care for her. She didn’t need more. He was paying well for the ladies’ loyalty to him. They would work as attendants for Isabel and spies for Henry. In return, they would receive a large enough dowry after two years of service which would ensure an arranged marriage to a high-ranking noble was within their grasp. The women came from large families, lesser nobles, with aspiring hopes to move up on the noble ladder of success. The women were told, quite bluntly, do their jobs with care and remain loyal to the king and they would achieve added prosperity, not just for themselves, but also for their families. Should they be deceived by Isabel and plot against the king, then their families would all suffer. His promises coupled with threats was enough to put the fear of God and king in their hearts. They would not fail.
As for the men on guard, he chose brothers of the women who served Isabel. He ordered no one, man or woman, should be left alone with Isabel. His wife’s privacy was no longer an issue, as far as he was concerned. If one of the guards needed an audience with Isabel, then he would attend her chambers accompanied by another guard as well as both women attendants.
The final terms he set down regarded visitors to Loch Leven and correspondence. There would be neither. All her meals would be searched for hidden notes before she was served. Her laundry and personal items would also be searched before given to her. The only visitor allowed was himself.
It was cruel, but necessary. Isabel had cornered herself into this sad situation. She would have to bear the consequences.
As he left the chambers, he cranked the newly installed lock, ensuring its security. He had inspected all the windows during the brief visit, visually assessing their installation. He wasn’t too worried about Isabe
l trying to escape through the windows, as they were small enough to make squeezing through difficult, especially in the garments the former queen continued to insist on wearing. There was also a sharp, steep drop from the windows, landing on the rocky shore of the loch. Unless Isabel miraculously grew her hair as long as the fairy tale princess, Rapunzel, there was little chance of a successful escape through the windows.
He could hear his former partner calling in despair as he trotted down the stairs and out the final door. He checked the lock on this door as well. Satisfied all was secure, he shared a few words with the captain of the guard before stepping into the rowboat which would take him back to the mainland.
Henry was deep in thought as the boat rocked gently across the water to the main shore. He was anxious to return to Holyrood, to make sure his son was safe. He was always nervous leaving him behind for official functions and visiting Isabel was no different. It could be a ploy. The nightmare had plagued him all day and for days leading up to this journey. He recalled the young King James VI being kidnapped frequently before he was of age to assume his throne. He didn’t want the same horrors to besiege his son’s young years.
Fourteen
Toronto, Canada, Summer, Year of Our Lord 2016
The humidity hit him first. It was like a wall of suffocation smacking him hard in the face every which way he moved. With his heavy garments, long sleeved shirt and wool jacket over wool pants, he felt like he was melting. The sweat dribbled relentlessly carving a path of wet destruction under his arms, down his back and even down his legs. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.
“Not the best place for your attire,” a voice noted from behind him. Henry thought he recognized the voice, but he couldn’t place it. He moved to meet his commentator face-to-face. “Never felt heat and humidity like this before, I’ll wager.”
Henry shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well, Your Majesty. Welcome to Toronto in July, a time when you can fry eggs on the sidewalk in less than a minute.” The man held out his hand. Henry took it and shook it. He didn’t know what else to do. This was unfamiliar territory to him and the few people who walked around him had nothing but strange looks directed at him. Even the landscape was bizarre. Hard stone slabs pushed volumes of heat through his feet and up his legs. Tiny quarters of lush grass, neatly trimmed and lined with colorful flower beds. Buildings of brick and wood.
He studied his surroundings and then returned his gaze to the man. “You know me and yet I can’t place you.”
“James Stuart, Your Majesty. The year is 2016 and you are in Toronto, standing outside Marie de Guise’s twenty-first century house.” He pointed across the street to a grand mansion, of sorts. At least a house bigger than the others around it, but certainly not of the scale he was used to in Scotland. “Your many great grandmother and her daughter, the Princess Mary Elizabeth. Both of them will soon be returning to their time in the sixteenth century, a time when the princess awaits the death of the English queen so she can take her place, her true place, in Scottish history, as Queen of Scotland.” He paused to let his words sink in, then continued, “but not until I’ve had a chance to talk to them first. You’re welcome to join me as I lead her into and out of trouble.” He quirked an eyebrow. Henry shook his head. “You’re right. Probably not a good idea. Yet. The princess still doesn’t quite understand who she is and where she belongs. But she will. Soon. Just in time to make her daring escape and to see her mother, Mary Queen of Scots, for the first time.”
“Unbelievable,” Henry muttered under his breath.
“Real heady stuff as they would say in the twenty-first century.” James chuckled and fondly slapped Henry on the back. “We have met, you know. I was at your son’s christening. You might want to take a page out of Marie de Guise’s notebook on how to protect a child who may one day rule.”
He didn’t wait for an answer and he didn’t offer further explanation. With a smart bow, he crossed the street, leaving Henry standing, bewildered, not quite knowing what to do or what James meant by his suggestion.
He stood and watched as the young princess answered the door, looking every bit like a common servant girl. From what little he could see, she was even dressed in the garb of the ordinary Scottish working girl, one who worked the fields, not in a grand house. Why would a princess answer the door?
James walked in without a backward glance and the door closed behind him. Without further thought, Henry trotted across the hard, concrete surface which he assumed to be the roadway. A horn honked at him and he jumped with fright when he noticed a large, horseless carriage, or so he thought, barrelling towards him. He quickened his pace.
He trotted up the front steps as noiselessly as possible and made his way to the front door. Should he knock? Announce himself? Enter into the foray, such as it was? Voices came from the other side. He strained to listen, following them as they seemed to move to a room behind the window to his right. He moved over to listen more closely.
A woman’s voice, an exceptionally commanding voice, came across brilliantly clear. He couldn’t see through the windows with the curtains drawn, but he was sure it was the voice of Marie de Guise, Mary Elizabeth’s grandmother. “You have no right to call me by my given name, in this century or in the past. Now state your purpose.”
“My purpose has always been the same.” It was James’s voice. Henry couldn’t be sure, but he believed James was the only male in the house. “Marie. Or should I be addressing you as Your Majesty?”
“What’s he talking about, Grandmother?” Mary Elizabeth. He would recognize her voice anywhere. After many visits with his many great grandmother, both in her time and in his, he knew he wasn’t mistaken. Mary Elizabeth had a charming quality to her voice. Soft, like a touch of velvet, forceful only when needed. “Why does he call you Marie? And Your Majesty?”
“She doesn’t know, does she?” James could be heard pacing the room and slapping his side to accentuate his words. “Well I’ll be…”
“No swearing in this house.” A warning issued by Marie de Guise.
“I think you should tell your granddaughter the whole truth.” There was a strong sense of determination in James’ voice. “If you don’t, I will.” There was silence. James was pausing for added effect, allowing his words to sink in. “As you wish. Your Gran, as you call her is your grandmother, in both the present and the past, in the sixteenth century. She is Marie de Guise, second wife of King James V of Scotland and mother of Mary Queen of Scots. She was regent during Queen Mary’s infancy and died, some say of poison, in 1560. Your mother, my dear Mary Elizabeth, was none other than Mary Queen of Scots herself. You are the twin who lived. It was Mrs. Dickson, the old lady as you called her then, or Mrs. D, as you call her now, who brought you to this time and place and actually saved your life. Because you surely would not have survived another day as a preemie in the sixteenth century.” Another pause. “Did I sum things up adequately?”
A pregnant silence followed. Mary Elizabeth broke it first. “Gran, is it true? Is all he says true?”
“Of course, it’s true, my dear little princess.” James’ voice was sounding so uncharacteristically like a snarl. James didn’t usually snarl. At least, he never had on the few times Henry recalled meeting him. For he did recall him now. At the christening at least. “I should add, my dear cousin, we are related, but not quite the way you have surmised. Yes, the resemblance is uncanny, but then again, the Earl of Moray, James Stuart, your mother’s older illegitimate brother, is my blood uncle. I inherited his title. Now, if you haven’t already guessed, the real purpose of this little charade involving time travel is to ensure Scotland never does unite with England. And that, my dear Princess Mary Elizabeth, is where you come in.”
“Me?” Her voice was a squeak.
The next part of the conversation was drowned out by several large horseless vehicles roaring down the road behind him. When all was silent again behind him, Henry was able to hear Mary Elizab
eth ask, in a voice which betrayed a sense of confusion mixed with disbelief. “Is it all true, Gran? How could I be there holding myself as a baby? A person can’t exist twice in one time and place, can they?”
“Yes, my child.” Marie de Guise’s voice hinted at a desperate plea for understanding and compassion. “It is all true, all James told you. I am your real grandmother, the mother of Mary Queen of Scots, who was your mother. You are quite right. One person cannot exist twice for an extended period of time, in one time, but this was an anomaly because you had just been born and were not quite living yet. And if my dear friend here, who you fondly refer to as Mrs. D, had not taken you from that time and place and brought you to the present time, you would probably not be living then or now. Preemies did not live long in the sixteenth century, if at all. Mrs. Dickson brought the baby, Princess Mary Elizabeth, you, here to Toronto, and I immediately took you to Emergency at The Hospital for Sick Children to have you admitted into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where they placed you in an incubator. They saved your life.”
“But how did you explain it to the authorities? I know I have a Canadian birth certificate, but you would have to prove parentage, wouldn’t you?” Henry wasn’t sure he understood what being a Canadian meant. Not in this twenty-first century. It had only been a few years ago in his time when Scotland’s domain of an amalgamated Upper and Lower Canada had started its expansion westward with great fervor. It had created a union of sorts, a country called Canada, but still under the jurisdiction of the Scottish government. In his era, in spite of this union, people born in Canada were still considered to be Scottish. Not this Canadian notion.
Marie de Guise was explaining herself. “It was not easy, my dear child. Not in the least. I made up a story that I heard whimpering like a kitten outside my back door. When I went to investigate, I found you wrapped in a blanket. The police and children’s services became involved, but nothing proved me either right or wrong. I applied to take custody of you and, by the time the courts approved my application, you were old enough, strong enough, and well enough to come home with me. Mrs. Dickson remained here and helped me raise you until you were about two, then she returned to Scotland. It’s why you haven’t met her before, or at least you don’t remember meeting her. She did come to visit on occasion. We both remained in this time, believing it safer until you were old enough to accept your purpose, your true calling, to be the Queen of Scotland the Scottish people of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries wanted. Needed.”
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