Queen's Academy

by Skye MacKinnon

  16th May 1568

  A small boat, tossed around by waves. Shouts, raised voices. Eighteen people, clinging to the railings. And at the helm, her. Mary. Wind is tousling her hair and a few locks have escaped her braid. She looks into the distance, trying to see the land on the other side of the Solway Firth. England awaits. She’s full of trepidation, yet she knows she can’t stay in Scotland. These eighteen people are all that remains of her army of six thousand. She’s been defeated, again, and if she doesn’t leave now, she might never get another chance.

  She turns to gaze back to the other side, but the waves seem to have swallowed the beach where they pushed their boat into the sea.

  I watch her as her eyes harden in determination. She knows it won’t be easy, but she’s sure her cousin Elizabeth will help her regain control of Scotland. Mary’s sent a messenger to Carlisle, the castle where she’s hoping to find refuge, but she couldn’t wait for a reply. She’s sailing into the unknown, and despite her confident exterior, I sense a flicker of fear deep within her.

  I know what awaits her. Eighteen years of imprisonment. Then, the execution.

  Without thinking, I reach out to her, touch her shoulder. I expect to feel nothing but air, but my fingers land on her dress, wet with sea spray.

  She flinches and looks right at me. As if she can see me.

  “You,” she whispers, her eyes widening in recognition.

  “You,” I stutter, just as awestruck as she seems to be.

  She can see me. She’s talking to me. This has never happened before. I’ve always been a silent observer, unable to touch, unable to even understand what people were saying.

  “How are you here?” she asks. “Am I sleeping?”

  “You…you know me?”

  She smiles and I think my heart erupts into flame. Mary just smiled at me.

  “Of course. You’re my guardian angel. I’ve known you since I was a wee child. Whenever I was sad, I knew I’d see you in my dreams, and that would give me the strength to continue with my day.”

  Her words are half-swallowed by the sound of the wild waves, but they reach the depths of my soul nonetheless.

  “You know me,” I repeat. “You’ve dreamed of me.”

  Mary nods. “And I can see that so have you. You know me, too.” She reaches out and gently touches my cheek. “But why have you come now? Why can I talk to you? Do you have some urgent missive to pass on?”

  I gulp. I shouldn’t do this. I can’t interfere with history. But I take her hands, her beautiful, soft, long hands, and I say the words I should never utter.

  “Return to Scotland. Going to England will be your death. Elizabeth-“

  Suddenly, I’m ripped away and flung into the air. Darkness swallows me, but not before I see her turn to her entourage to give them a command.

  Maybe I just saved Mary’s life.

  Chapter 3

  I ran into my office, barefoot and in nothing but my boxer shorts. I needed to know.

  My favourite Mary biography is already on my desk, opened to the chapter about her escape from Lochleven Castle that I reread last night. I flick through the pages, breathing heavily, until I find the short paragraph describing her passage from Scotland to England.

  During the crossing, Mary had an apparition of sorts that told her of the awful fate that awaited her in England. She demanded that the boat return to the Scottish side of the Firth, but the strong waves prevented her from escaping her fate.

  I stared at the words. An apparition. Me. She’d told someone about me and her story had somehow made it into the history books. I racked my brain whether this sentence had been in the book before my dream. I’d read this biography many times and I thought I’d almost knew it by heart, but now, I wasn’t so sure. The words felt familiar, but maybe that was due to me just having lived it.

  I’d warned her. I’d done the thing I’d been cautioned about ever since I entered TTA as a student. Never influence history. Especially not the fixed timelines of the movers and shakers.

  I sank into my chair. I’d made a terrible mistake. And it hadn’t even worked. She still ended up in England.

  I turned to the end of the book, just to make sure. I didn’t read the full text, just looked at the chapter heading. Mary’s Execution. Nothing had changed. She would still die.

  Hot tears sprang to my eyes. I could still feel her touch. Her fingers on my cheek. My hand on her shoulder. It shouldn’t have been possible, but I’d long stopped dismissing my dreams as fantasy. They were more than that. They were real in some strange, magical way.

  Now that I’d talked to her, I could no longer hold back. She’d known me, she’d dreamed of me like I’d dreamed of her. I couldn’t let her die. There was no way I’d let her be executed like a common criminal. Mary was a Queen. My Queen.

  I jumped up and ran through the quiet Academy, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridors, until I reached Seamus’s room. I assumed that he’d move out soon, now that he had a girlfriend, but for now, he was still in the teacher’s wing with the rest of us bachelors.

  After a quick knock, I barged inside.

  Seamus sat up with a yawn. “Is something on fire?” he muttered.

  I was glad he was on his own. I didn't have the time nor the energy to deal with making his girlfriend leave just so I could talk to Seamus on his own.

  "I need to tell you something," I said while closing the door and switching on the light. He blinked, looking even more tired in the bright light of his ceiling lamp.

  "At three in the morning?"

  "Four thirty, actually. And yes. It's important. I need your advice."

  Seamus yawned loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth. We'd shared a room for years back when we were students; we'd seen each other in more intimate and embarrassing moments.

  "Is this the big reveal?" he asked.

  He patted the bed next to him and I sat down. Not quite sure how to begin, I stroked my beard; an old habit that I was trying to get rid of. I was proud of my beard and I didn't want it to get messed up.

  Seamus sighed. "If you're not going to talk, then I'll go back to sleep. We've got lessons in the morning. It's bad enough when the students all look like sleepwalking zombies. Us teachers should be role models." He rolled his eyes. "Or at least that's what Headmistress Tape would say."

  I had no idea how to start. I'd never told anyone about my dreams. Not even my mum, despite her pestering me about grandchildren every time she saw me. Which wasn't often, precisely because of that. Maybe it would be easiest to just say it. The essence of it.

  "I've been dreaming about Mary Queen of Scots," I blurted.

  Seamus raised an eyebrow. "And that is interesting how? I've dreamed of Cleopatra. That doesn't make me wake up my best friend in the middle of the night."

  "You don't understand. I've been seeing her in my dreams for years. Ever since my first time jump. I've seen her grow up. I've witnessed moments that I only read about in books after I saw them in my dreams. They're real, Seamus. Not just dreams. I'm actually seeing history."

  He stared at me. "Have you taken something?"

  I wanted to throttle him. "Trust me, I know how crazy this sounds. For years I thought it was just my overactive imagination, but now, something's changed. She spoke to me. Mary saw me and she talked to me. Until now, I was never able to hear words, just see everything from afar. Tonight, it was different for the first time. I'm convinced it wasn't just a dream. I influenced history by telling her not to go to England."

  "You did what?" Seamus looked fully awake now. "You know that's impossible."

  "So you believe me? That those aren't just dreams?"

  "I didn't say that." He sighed. "Did you ever talk to Ambassador Hjalmar's wife? Lainie?"

  "I don't think so. Wasn't she a student a couple of years younger than us?"

  "Yes, and she had strange dreams too. As did Hjalmar's brother. Her boyfriend. Their relationship is...complicated. But anyway, this Viking dreamed
of her all his adult life without ever having met her. Despite living many centuries ago. And she dreamed of him, but a scene from the future, where they were a happy couple, even though she'd only just met him. Back then, the theory was that a messed-up time jump was somehow responsible for their strange dream connection."

  I thought back to my very first jump, after which my dreams had started. Now that I focused on that memory, I remembered how my time bracer had been really hot when we'd landed in the past. It had burned my skin and I'd had blisters for days after. I never thought much of it though. Could that have been some sort of sign that something had gone wrong during the jump? It was probably too late to find out. That had been twelve years ago and the teacher leading the jump back then was now retired.

  It felt good to know that something similar had happened to someone else. Their case was different, but not in the crucial details. A dreaming connection that transcended time. Knowing each other despite never having met.

  “I’m going to talk to her. Maybe she can explain it all to me.”

  Seamus nodded. “So you really believe you’re seeing Mary Queen of Scots?”

  I chuckled dryly. “That makes it sound like I’m having hallucinations. But yes, in my dreams. For twelve years I’ve watched her grow up, become the strong woman she is now.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Beautiful,” I sighed. “Fierce. Determined. Despite all that life’s thrown at her, she’s still fighting. Other women would have given in to the men trying to rule them, but not her. They took away her son, they more or less caused her to have a miscarriage, but there she is, carrying on, determined to be the Queen her people need.”

  Seamus whistled. “Man, you’ve got it bad. You do know how her story ends though, right?” His eyes softened. “There’s nothing you can do about it. Her timeline is sealed. It might be better to take a step back and try to ignore those dreams before you do something stupid.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” I snapped, before taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’ve taken sleeping pills, I’ve tried meditation, I’ve even gone to a hypnotist. Nothing helps, I’m stuck with the dreams whether I want it or not.”

  “I’m sorry,” Seamus said softly and put a hand on my shoulder. “That must be hard. Are they lucid dreams? What I mean is, could you stop the dream before you have to witness her…you know…the chop.”

  I cringed at the thought. Everyone knew that Mary got beheaded. There’s no way around it. It will happen and I’ll likely witness it. “No, I have no power over when the dreams start or end. Until today, I was just an observer, but now she’s talked to me.”

  “What did she say?” He seemed to believe me now. It was a relief to be finally able to talk about it all. It had been a secret for too long. Maybe I should have opened up to him earlier.

  “She called me her guardian angel,” I replied, a blush heating my cheeks. “And that she’s seen me ever since she was a child. I assume her dreams must have started around the same time mine did.”

  “That’s incredible. You should tell the Headmistress about it. I’m sure there are time scientists who’d love to experiment on you. On second thought, don’t. I don’t want you locked up to be probed and prodded.”

  “Yeah, not on my to-do list. Especially not now that I influenced the past. I could be struck off for that.”

  “Do you really think you did that? By dreaming?”

  I realised I was stroking my beard again and clasped my hands in my lap instead. “I’m pretty sure. There’s a line in my favourite Mary biography. During the crossing, Mary had an apparition of sorts that told her of the awful fate that awaited her in England. That must have been me. I don’t know if it was in there before, but even if it was, I may have always meant to do it.” I suck in a breath when I realise what that means. “Maybe I’m supposed to do other things. It might be essential to keep history intact.”

  “Like sleep with her?” Seamus laughed. “Don’t get any silly ideas, mate. She’s out of bounds. You know that.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with her.” Yes, I did. A lot. My cock twitched at the thought of undressing her, exposing that beautiful lithe body. Running my hands over her smooth skin. Cupping her full breasts. Brushing her fiery hair. Tasting her. And then, plunging into her, becoming one with her, the Queen of Scotland. Making her my Queen.

  “Stop having sexual thoughts while in my bed.” Seamus snickered. “It’s weird.”

  “What would you do in my situation? What if the love of your life was in the past, trapped in a timeline that shouldn’t be tampered with?”

  He stopped laughing. “Did you just say ‘love of your life’?”

  I froze. I had. Without realising. Fuck. I really was in big trouble.

  Seamus squeezed my shoulder again. “I really don’t know. It’s an impossible situation. The TTA teacher in me wants to tell you to get a grip and never try and talk to her again. The friend in me wants you to be happy. With her.” He sighed. “Maybe tell her goodbye, if you get the chance. Get it out of your system. Then go back to being an observer without interfering again.”

  He was talking sense, yet how could I say goodbye when I hadn’t even said hello?

  Chapter 4

  February 1585

  Tutbury Castle, England

  The room stinks of damp and a strange other smell, like a moor or marsh. I breathe through my mouth and take in my surroundings. Colourful wall hangings do little to hide the old, decaying castle walls. An icy draft whistles through gaps in the masonry. I shiver even though my dream-self doesn’t get cold.

  Mary stands by the window, her back turned to me. A woollen shawl is wrapped tightly around her shoulders, but I doubt it does much to dispel the cold. Her hair has grown long and a darker red. I force myself to stay back, fighting the temptation to stand close to her, stroking her hair, giving her warmth and comfort. Her shoulders are drooped; she’s never looked this fragile before.

  “Is it you?” she asks quietly without turning around.

  I clench my jaw and don’t reply.

  “Look at him,” she continues, ignoring my silence. “He hanged himself when they discovered he was a Catholic. Rowland Kitchyn, the secretary of Esquire Langford. They imprisoned and interrogated him for three weeks, until he could take it no longer. Now they suspended his body from the turret, so I can see it whenever I look out of the window. A warning.”

  She sighs and turns to me. “You’ve not visited in a while. Last night though, I saw you in my dreams. Your world is so alien to me, yet so familiar. Is it true that you can travel through time?”

  I nod, still forbidding myself to speak. If I do, I won’t be able to hold back.

  “Then you could travel to me. Speak to me in person.”

  I shake my head.

  “Why not? You seem to have all this strange magic, why wouldn’t you use it?”

  “We’re not allowed to interfere with the fate of history’s most important people,” I croak, my self-control close to breaking.

  Mary laughs; such a beautiful sound. “I’m no longer important. My country has turned against me. My son has been taken away from me and is being raised by people who wish me ill. My cousin Elizabeth is keeping me prisoner. I’d be surprised if in a hundred years, anyone will remember my name.”

  I shouldn’t…

  “Everyone will remember you,” I blurt. “You won’t be forgotten. But that is why I cannot travel to you. Your timeline is fixed. Your life is in the history books. Every child in Britain will be taught your story. You are unforgettable.”

  Her eyes are wide, her mouth parted slightly. Her cheeks flush, a welcome spot of colour in her otherwise pale face.

  “What am I remembered for?” she asks after a moment’s silence.

  Fuck. I can’t answer that. I can’t tell her what awaits her.

  “For being strong,” I stutter. “Headstrong. Sometimes stubborn. Everyone knows about your conflict with Elizabeth. And while you
were the Queen of Scotland and her the Queen of England, your son will be the one to unite the two countries.”

  Mary gasps. “He will conquer England?”

  “Something like that. I can’t tell you more or I would influence history. Just know that your struggles are not in vain.”

  She straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, once again startling me by her height. “Thank you. It is good indeed to know that my life matters. But tell me one thing. Will I see Scotland again? Or France?”

  No. You’ll die in England without ever seeing your home again. “I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”

  For a tiny moment, her eyes grow scared, but then she's back to her royal self; strong and unbroken.

  “I understand. Even as a Queen, there are rules I have to respect. I appreciate you appearing to me, though.”

  I don’t tell her that I came here by accident. That I have no control over when I dream of her and what I see. It’s still a mystery to me, one that I haven’t been able to decipher, not even after talking to Lainie, the Ambassador’s wife. She only had one dream of her Viking boyfriend. He had many of her, but I didn’t get to speak to him since he’s currently in the past on some mission. Lainie said though that he’d only seen her as a grown woman, not as a child like I saw Mary at the beginning.

  “Can you tell me though how much longer I will have to stay in this wretched place?” she asks, once again turning to the window. The corpse outside is rotting away; the stench of decay is seeping through the brittle walls. No one should live in such conditions, least of all the Queen of Scotland.

  “I have had many jailors,” she says quietly in her melodious voice. “When I first crossed the border to England, I was an honoured guest. Then I was given guards, for my own protection. So they said. Step by step, my movements were restricted. I was no longer allowed to go out riding. Visitors were turned away before they reached me. I was no longer given the letters my supporters wrote to me. They moved me to other places whenever they thought they’d found a plot of my escape, but I always end up in this place. I’m beginning to think that I will die in this castle, driven ill by the draughts and the fumes. In the end, my defeat will not come by an army of men. It will come sneaking up on me in the night, drawing away my strength, until I’m nothing but an empty husk. It has already begun. Tutbury will be my death, if I don’t get out of here.”