King Henry's Choice

by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

  The past few weeks had been spent sheltered in the castle, just wandering here and there. He barely communicated with the others, not wanting to allow his people to see how anomalous his situation was. Things were precarious at best, insecure almost to the point of obscurity. He couldn’t allow people to see his lack of faith, such as it was. He felt extremely insecure and didn’t quite know which way to turn and what to do to ease the current volatile environment surrounding him and threatening his people.

  He was bereft in grief over the unnecessary loss of both men and women. The loss of his trusted men through deceit and death lay heavy on his heart and mind. The loss of a trusted marital partner at his side rankled him.

  Exhausted from restless sleep and lack thereof, Henry resorted to pacing, looking beyond the castle ramparts, studying military strategies, and thinking. He was deep in thought when the pounding on the door to his outer chambers alerted him.

  “Your Majesty.” It was Robbie. Henry couldn’t believe it. He thought Robbie had been killed at the hands of the vicious bully English lord.

  “Robbie?” he called out and rushed to let him in. “You’re alive. I thought…” He grabbed the man in a big bear hug, patting him fondly on the back.

  Robbie flinched from a mixture of pain and embarrassment. He wasn’t accustomed to bear hugs from the king and he had sustained injuries which still bothered him. “Not quite. Still alive. I was out for some time. One of the housemaids rescued me and hid me in her chambers. Nursed me back to health. Lovely girl.” He blushed and cleared his throat. “And here we are. I gather he did a number on you as well.”

  Henry waved the concerns away. “No. I managed to escape before he could show himself to be the brute he is. Glad to be away from him. Glad you are, too.” He motioned his man into the room and shut the door behind him, locking it to ensure privacy.

  “Not for long, I fear.” Robbie walked with a slight limp, evidence he was still in the process of healing from his injuries. He made his way to the fireplace and took a seat. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t stand on ceremony in here, Robbie. You know better than anyone. So, what do you mean, not for long?”

  “He’s been prowling the countryside looking for you,” Robbie replied. “He’s learned of your whereabouts and he’s on his way to Stirling as we speak.”

  “He’s not one to give up easily, is he? Well, we know Stirling’s history. He’ll have a hard time laying siege on this castle. It’s why I came here. I’ve sent out a call to my most trusted chieftains. They should be here within the day. We’ll plan our line of defense. Lord Dudley will soon rue the day he was sent to conquer Scotland. I fear we shall have to put an end to him, to wipe the scourge of his presence from our fair land and to send a message to the English queen: Scotland is not to be trifled with.”

  “True enough.”

  Yelling came from below. Footsteps clattered quickly towards Henry’s chambers from the hall beyond his door. A knock. “Your Majesty,” a voice called from the other side of the door. Henry made no move to unlock it. “The MacGregor has arrived and is waiting in the grand hall.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right down,” Henry called back. The footsteps retreated. “And the planning begins, Robbie. Let’s go meet the MacGregor. The Murrays should be arriving next. And hopefully the Ogilvies will be close behind. We shall have a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Perhaps with our well garrisoned fortress here, well armed, and troops waiting in the woods beyond, we can surround the English bastard,” Robbie suggested. “Then we might have a chance.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Let’s go talk to the MacGregor chief.”

  Moments later, the two men marched into the grand hall. “Ian my friend,” Henry spoke with fondness for his childhood friend. “Thank you for coming.” He nodded briskly to the other MacGregors scattered around the room before returning his focus to Ian. Decked in the MacGregor plaid kilt, its bright reds and greens making a startling contrast against the meagre lines of black, the robust man made a commanding appearance. A wide belt encircled his waist and the finely crafted dirk perched from its sheath at his side. His thick auburn hair, long, curly and unruly, lay carelessly around his ruddy face. Thickset and solid, he was the craven image of a strong Highland warrior. He was also one of the king’s closest friends. An honor he obviously didn’t take lightly.

  “Your Majesty. No thanks needed.” Ian MacGregor, clan chief, wrapped his thick hand around his king, exchanging warm greetings, patting each other’s shoulders. “The English scourge is upon us again. We must band together and erase the problem.”

  “Well. At least remove it from our realm,” Henry politely corrected.

  “Exactly.”

  Henry motioned for Ian to sit. They chose facing chairs beside the hearth with its blazing fire. The other MacGregors stood and sat in various locations around the large room.

  “Anything you can tell me? What’s happening beyond these walls?” Henry asked a stream of questions. “Tell me what you know. And does this have anything to do with the nefarious activities you reported to me earlier?”

  “Well, you probably know as much as I do, Your Majesty.” He nodded at Robbie. “I’m sure your man has brought you up-to-date on the happenings between here and Edinburgh.”

  Henry nodded. “He has.”

  “And I do believe we have an escalation of earlier activities to ignite violence within our realm,” Ian continued by answering the last question. “Only now the attack is being more direct. Targeted at you and your son.” He glanced around. “He is safe, isn’t he? Here?”

  “He’s safe,” Henry answered. “But not here. So, how do we proceed?”

  “I assume the others have been called.”

  “Aye.” Henry used the Scottish colloquialism to respond. He only spoke casually when with close friends and confidantes. Ian was both. They had grown up together. For many of his younger years, Henry had spent considerable time at Glenlyon Castle in Perthshire, home of the MacGregor chiefs. They had shared mock battles on the grounds surrounding the castle and studied together in the schoolroom on the top floor. When the boys weren’t at Glenlyon, they were at Stirling, or Holyrood House, or Blair Castle, also in Perthshire, home of the Murray chiefs, or Airlie Castle in Angus, home of the Ogilvie chiefs. All of these buildings had a lot of history full of intrigue. As boys, they learned the secret passageways of each dwelling and lived with a passion for excitement and adventure.

  The others Ian was referring to included Bruce Murray and Wallace Ogilvie who had also spent some of their boyhood years with the young prince who became their king. They had formed a strong bond, full of loyalty. Henry could always depend on the MacGregors, the Murrays and the Ogilvies to come to his aid. There were other clans he trusted, but these he held closest to his heart.

  “They should be here within a day,” Henry continued. “In the meantime, we can start planning our strategy. This Lord Dudley is about as mean as they come. And, I’m sure he’s quite the strategist. But we have the advantage. He doesn’t know Scotland and he certainly doesn’t know Stirling Castle.”

  “He may know more than you think.” Ian stretched out his legs, making himself comfortable. “He spent some years in Scotland when he was a lad. His mother’s lineage traces back to the Clan Sinclair.”

  “Really? From way up north?” Henry shook his head in disbelief. “Then he’ll know this land better than we would hope.”

  “Aye. But I don’t believe he’s ever been to Stirling. And, even if he had been here, he wouldn’t know the castle as we do. Certainly not with all the renovations and improvements you’ve made over the years.”

  “True enough.” Henry was bolstered by his friend’s note of confidence. The men sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds permeating their space coming from the fire in the hearth and the MacGregor men shuffling and coughing discreetly. Henry copied his friend, stretching his legs out comfo
rtably in front of him, allowing the warmth from the flames to creep up his legs and engulf the rest of his body.

  “He’s a military man,” Ian broke the silence. “Trained with an English regiment in India, I believe. He’ll know how to fight, how to lay a siege.”

  “As only the English can do.” Henry shuffled restlessly. He never was one who could sit still for long. “Properly formatted lines of defense, all attacks done with military precision and the need to show one’s presence and one’s prowess.”

  “All show and little logic. It’s how the English lost the American colonies. And it’s how Lord Dudley will lose yet another battle with Scotland. We don’t fight by English rules of battle. We fight to persevere. We fight to win.”

  “Amen to that.” Henry nodded in agreement.

  Twenty-Three

  Malmohus Castle, Denmark, April, Year of Our Lord 1577

  “Ah! Another Scottish king. And you are?” The dusty heap of blankets was tossed aside and a scarred, emaciated figure of a man pushed himself into a sitting position on the rickety cot on which he had been, presumably, sleeping.

  “King Henry, my Lord Bothwell.”

  “James. Call me James. I am no longer lord of anything.” The man cleared his throat. “This retched place will be the death of me. So, what era do you call your own?”

  “The late 1800s.”

  James raised an eyebrow which was marked by a slash just barely healing. How could anything heal in this dank place? In this filth? Henry doubted the man had been allowed clean water to bathe. At least, not recently. “And what brings you back in time to see the likes of me?”

  “You are my ancestor. You were also a great battle commander. I come seeking advice on how to defeat the English once and for all.”

  The decrepit figure tried to laugh, but it quickly transformed into a fit of coughing. When the fit subsided, he gave the young king an intense look. “You can’t defeat the English, lad. We’ve tried for centuries, long before I was born. All you can do is try to keep them at bay.”

  “You’ve fought enough battles with the English to be able to spare me some words of advice, James.” Henry was not about to give up. Lord Bothwell had been an astute battle commander in his day. Long before he was imprisoned for kidnapping Mary Queen of Scots and forcing her to marry him. At least, it’s the way the opposing political powers of the day painted the picture. Mary Elizabeth was his daughter and she told a completely different story about counterespionage which would make the spies as far forward in time as the twenty-first century and perhaps even beyond look like amateurs.

  “Aye. Marie de Guise suggested you might come to me for advice. It’s all I can give you, lad. Advice. Don’t fight on principal. Fight to win at all cost. The best defence is the offence. A good offence. You start the battle. Don’t wait for the English to strike first. They’re trespassing, if I’m understanding correctly.” Henry nodded in response. “Then you have every right to ambush them and take them prisoner. And, if you have this wonderful ability to jump through time, as Marie de Guise and my daughter, Mary Elizabeth, do, then make a visit to the English monarch and put the fear of the Scottish clans in his or her heart. He or she’ll think twice before trying to invade Scotland a second time.”

  “She. Queen Victoria.” Henry took a minute to explain. “She’s a power force of her own. She rules a good portion of the world and dares to call herself Empress of the English Empire overseas. Scotland rules a greater portion of the world. Kindlier and more civil than the English, I might add. She wants what we have. She wants it all.”

  “Don’t they all.” Bothwell didn’t try to mask the sarcasm in his voice. “Every English monarch in history has wanted a piece of what we have. And more, too.” He paused to endure another fit of coughing. When it subsided, he continued, “I gather from Mary Elizabeth’s visits you have further developed what she initiated during her reign. Universal education. Advanced research in science, mathematics and medicine. Promoting and supporting the arts. Humanitarian aid to struggling populations around the world. Given these accomplishments, I would say you are more of a power to reckon with than this Queen Victoria.”

  “Perhaps. So, you suggest we surround the invaders and take advantage of a surprise attack.”

  “Before they have an opportunity to catch onto your tactics.”

  “In other words, before it’s too late.”

  “Aye. And allow no escapes. All the invaders must be either killed or imprisoned. Don’t allow them to return to England as they’ll just be back. They’ll know your tactics the next time they come and they’ll be better prepared.”

  “Good advice.”

  “I believe you have some penal colonies scattered around the world. Or, so I hear from my daughter. Send the prisoners there. The further away and more isolated the outpost, the better.”

  “Way up north. An isolated island encased in snow and ice. Only the Eskimos roam free on Baffin Island. I’ll send them there. They won’t be able to escape unless they want to tempt the fates of the cold, desolate, barren land and waters plagued with icebergs.”

  “Perfect. What do you call this land?”

  “Northern Nova Scotia.”

  “New Scotland.”

  “Grandmother. It’s what I call your daughter. She claims an alternate timeline, one quite different from the one we know, a timeline that existed before she changed the course of history, creating this vast continent known as Canada. Even as far north as Baffin Island. I prefer to keep the name, Nova Scotia.”

  “Very fitting for a grand new land for the Scottish Empire.”

  “Encased in ice, these prisoners will never escape.” Henry felt confident in his decisions. It felt good talking to this ancestor. Reassuring. Stimulating. He noticed James was perking up as well. Imprisoned in a Danish prison for the crime of loving and marrying a queen. Didn’t seem right. Here he was languishing away in this rotten hole. For a moment in his time, his life brightened as he played a vital role in the strategic planning of a military exercise well beyond his future.

  “Surround and conquer.” James studied the king before him, reassured one of his descendants had managed to retain the Scottish fervor centuries beyond his lifetime.

  “Surround and conquer.” Henry echoed the older man’s sentiments. “For now and forever.”

  “Aye. For now and forever.”

  Twenty-Four

  Osborne House, Isle of Wight, English Channel, Late Fall, Year of Our Lord 1875

  Victoria had inhabited this grand palatial home in the winter months since her late husband, Prince Albert, had designed and built it in the 1840s. Styled after an Italian Renaissance palazzo, the house was more of a castle than a meagre dwelling. She liked it here.

  The building rambled, both inside and out and Queen Victoria enjoyed rambling through its rooms. It was a restless pastime helping her come to terms with the current issues plaguing her mind. Scotland was top of the list this time. News from her English spies in Scotland was not good. King Henry had managed to uncover her plot, rescue his son and sequestered him somewhere intensely secret. She needed to know. She needed the prince. He was the future of a combined, amalgamated Great Britain. Yes, she would call it Great Britain. Even if the prince was actually her grandson instead of a distant cousin. The world didn’t need to know the details. The world only knew what she, queen, empress, ruler of the world (her ultimate goal), allowed the world to know.

  Once she secured the Scottish empire as her own, she would rename the blasted piece of her continent, the northern lands of the new world, lands of what should rightfully be hers, lands which had plagued her ancestors since they’d been discovered and settled. King George III had to lose a good piece of the new continent to what was now called the United States of America. They had never managed to get a foothold north of the St. Lawrence River. The Scottish and the French controlled it. More the Scottish now, as the French became too embroiled in their own battles on home soil to have the re
sources to maintain the colony. If her memories served her right, it was shortly after her coronation when Scotland actually purchased from France the French colonies along the St. Lawrence River. Scotland seldom went to battle. Only when threatened on their own turf. She was threatening them now. Would they have the military force to fight back? Would they have the military strategy to succeed?

  “I wonder.” She was deep in thought as she made her way into the library, happy to notice the fire roaring in the hearth, keeping the room toasty warm. There was a smile on her face, a smile of contentment, as if all was well in her world or, at least, soon would be.

  “You wonder what?” The voice, a man’s, startled her. She hadn’t realized she was talking out loud. To herself. It would never do. She didn’t need any help spreading rumors suggesting their ruling monarch talked to herself. Her hand jumped to her chest to sooth the rapid beating of her heart.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Your cousin. The one you plan to exterminate.” Henry stepped out of the shadows at the end of a large bookcase.

  “Henry. What are you doing here? How did you get here?” She moved towards the fireplace and was about to reach out to tug the bell pull, to call someone, anyone, to her defense. Henry grabbed her hand before she could reach the bell pull. She jumped back a step, pulling her hand from his grasp, affronted at the brash move. How dare anyone touch her! Prevent her from what she deemed her right to do. She wasn’t sure how to respond, suddenly feeling rather skittish. It was inconceivable for Henry to simply pop in. The last she heard, he was somewhere in the heart of his own realm, far in the north. He couldn’t possibly ride this far south, hop a ferry and be here to visit with her without her prior knowledge. With her network of spies, nothing escaped her noticed. Or did it?

  “I wouldn’t.” He stood with arms crossed in front of him, positioning himself between her and the bell pull, preventing her from trying again to summon help. “We need to talk, Cousin. You need to call off your men. You won’t rescue my wife, for however long she remains my wife. You won’t kidnap my son and you definitely won’t pawn him off to one of your female minions.” He watched his cousin, frozen, her arm still reaching as if to tug the bell pull, which he blocked. “I think you should sit, Cousin, and explain to me why you are making this into a war. Because that’s what it is. You continue along this path, and I will declare war on England. You may not like the results of doing battle with the Scots.”