“Too many majesties,” Bertie grumbled through the cigar once again perched between his lips.
Henry coughed to stifle a chuckle. “Very good, George. Would you care to join us?”
George stepped into the room. “No thank you, Your Majesty. But I did find someone just coming in from the courtyard. Someone you might like to see.”
An older man stepped in behind George and made his way directly to the young king. With a nod, George slipped out, closing the door behind him. “Uncle Harry.” Henry jumped to his feet to greet his guest. The two Henry’s hugged fondly, slapping each other on the back. Stepping back young Henry observed his older self. At least thirty years older, judging by the fading hairline and the greying around the temples. The older Henry, Uncle Harry, must have noted the entry in the journal which suggested he visit on this day, to quell any further questions from their cousin, Bertie. “We were just talking about you. Bertie claims he hasn’t seen you in years.”
Uncle Harry laughed. “Well, now. What a coincidence. And here I am.” He marched over to where Bertie still sat and extended his hand in greeting. He bobbed his head and gave the perfunctory greeting expected for royalty, “Your highness.”
“Yes, isn’t it so,” Bertie stuck the cigar in his mouth and left it there while he grasped the older man’s hand. “So where have you been?”
“Here and there. And everywhere in between.” Uncle Harry was good at vague responses. This was about as vague as one could get. “I tried popping in to see you last time I was in London. Only I discovered you were at someone’s private castle or lodge or something of the sort. Can’t keep track of you, my boy. Can’t keep track of you. I do believe we have all aged somewhat since we last met.” He ran a hand through what hair remained on his scalp. Bertie just grunted in response. “And, I hear you are happily married with children of your own. Three boys and three girls.”
“Only two boys, now. Young Alex died shortly after he was born.”
“Ah yes! I remember now. Very sad.”
Bertie merely shrugged. If he still felt the pain of loss, he didn’t show it.
“And they’ll all be married off soon, no doubt.” Uncle Harry carried on the friendly banter, trying to put Bertie at ease. Not a simple task at the best of times. “I hear there’s plans to match one of your girls with Henry’s newborn.”
“Pshaw!” Bertie snorted and took a deep inhale of his cigar. “Young Prince Edward, Crown Prince of Scotland, is only a few month’s old. Too young for any of my daughters. Even my youngest, Maud, at six, is a little old for the young prince. And they’re both too young to plan a wedding. No.” He shook his head vehemently, eyes darting about nervously. “It won’t happen.”
The young king had moved to the side table and poured three glasses of whisky. He handed one to Bertie and another to Uncle Harry before lifting it in a salute, clinking his glass with the others in turn. “Ah. Thank you, lad.” The older Henry took a sip. “Fine stuff. A cigar for your old uncle?” He reached into the offered box, choosing the one closest. He ran it under his nose. Satisfied, he bit off the tip, disposing it and placed the cigar between his lips. The king lit a match and helped him light up. Inhaling, the older man pondered only slightly his next words. “Well, now. Being a royal means you’re a pawn on the chessboard. Age doesn’t matter. Something your mother knows extremely well. I have it on good authority she’s upstairs with the Queen of Scotland right now plotting and planning for Maud and Edward to become a couple.”
“No!” Bertie slapped his glass down. “I won’t have it. I tell you, I won’t.”
“Well, if not Maud, then who?”
Bertie snapped, almost spitting out his cigar. “What’s with the woman anyway? Always plotting and planning everyone’s lives to suit herself.” He shook his head. “Henry.” He stood up, giving his cousin a steely gaze. “We have to stop this now. Are you with me?”
“Absolutely,” the king downed the rest of his whisky and stood up to accompany his cousin. It was time to confront the Queen of England and set things straight. What better ally than the Prince of Wales. “Uncle Harry.” He patted the older man’s shoulder affectionately. “Until next time.”
Sensing his presence was no longer required or desired, he responded in kind, “Until next time.”
Six
Bertie was two steps behind Henry as he stormed out of the study, stomping his way along the halls and up the grand staircase to the second level. As they approached Isabel’s chambers, Henry steamed at the gull of both his wife and the English queen. He was forever pondering the politics and, yes, the benefits of royal marriages. The last thing he wanted to do was dictate who should marry whom, especially where his child was concerned. He wanted him to be allowed the choice. Within reason, he supposed. Ideally, a marriage between his son and the daughter of one of his loyal dukes would be the best option. All he could do was introduce possible choices and allow his son to make the final selection.
If only he had chosen more wisely. He realized now, too late, he hadn’t made a good choice in a marriage partner. If he could go back, he would have chosen someone else, a childhood sweetheart. However, he had believed he loved Isabel, or at least he could love her if he tried. He believed she loved him in return, enough to make it work between them. All too soon after their marriage, Henry learned it was pomp and circumstance for Isabel: the glittery jewels, flashy gowns and the obeisance of an entire kingdom. What more could a girl ask for? He had hoped for more. His great ancestor, Queen Mary Elizabeth, hadn’t been able to marry her love choice, but she hadn’t done too bad in her marriage partner. They had been friends and partners throughout their married life. Which accounted for more than most royal marriages.
But Henry and Isabel? Friends? Not even close?
“Henry?” Bertie had stopped abruptly and was scowling at his cousin. “Henry?”
“Hmm!” The king was startled from his thoughts. They had reached his wife’s door. “Hmm!” He muttered again. “Yes, I agree. Not a good idea. Maud is much too old for my son.” He paused briefly and without sharing a glance at his cousin stated quite firmly, “Just like your mother though, to try yet again to amalgamate our two countries. Will the royals of England never learn?” He was re-stating the arguments they had already shared back in the study. “What your mother can’t seem to understand, and I hope you do, is Scotland doesn’t want to become part of England.”
Bertie showed hesitance in barging into the chambers of his host’s wife, even with the wife’s husband, the King of Scotland, standing next to him. Had he been on home soil, he wouldn’t have thought twice about doing such a thing. Henry had no qualms however. After his brief pause and verbal outburst, he reached for the door handle. A clipped English voice caused him to hesitate and listen.
Queen Victoria was speaking. He could hear her voice through the closed door as if he were standing before her. “You must stand up to him, Isabel,” she was scolding his wife. “He needs to be made to understand. Scotland and England belong together. This dream the Stuarts have carried with them for so long, since the days of Queen Mary Elizabeth. It’s a dream serving no purpose, other than to bolster Scottish egos. One must move on towards progress. And Scotland would fare much better as England’s ward than it has done on its own. You, Isabel, must make sure he gives you more children, more heirs to marry off to English suitors. More means to bring our two countries together.”
He had heard enough. Scotland didn’t need England. It was the other way around. While Scotland progressed ahead of so many other countries in literature, the arts, science and colonization, England floundered trying to keep up. Scotland was a thorn in England’s side and England was not going to let the Scottish thorn go unchecked. Not for long anyway. England wanted what King James I promised and couldn’t deliver. England wanted domination over the entire British Isles. Which included Scotland. It wasn’t going to happen.
He didn’t bother to knock. Turning the knob, he slammed the door b
ack and barged into the room with Bertie right on his heels. “How dare you!” He pointed an accusing finger at the English queen. “You come here as my guest and turn my wife against me and my country and demand we, the rulers of Scotland and England, become one. It is something, my dear queen, which will never happen. And the sooner you realize the simple fact the better. There will not be any more heirs. Not from me. Not with this woman. I will not take this woman to my bed again. You have both deceived me and threatened my throne and my country. As of today, Queen Isabel will have no powers in this country. She will be removed to Loch Leven Castle, a fitting retreat for a captive queen, don’t you think?” He almost beamed as he saw the stunned look on both queens’ faces. “I will choose her companions and she will have no access to my son. Not now. Not ever. Scotland is free and independent. FOR NOW AND FOREVER!” He spat out the final words with increasing volume, the battle cry which had driven Queen Mary Elizabeth to power and secured her throne.
Turning to leave, he almost tripped over his cousin. The stunned look on Bertie’s face didn’t stop Henry. He was too angry. Infuriated. Glancing back at the two queens, he pointed maliciously at his wife. “Pack your things, Isabel. You leave within the hour.” He didn’t react when she cried out in dismay. He was on a rampage and no woman’s tears could stop him. Not now. Not ever.
“And Queen Victoria,” he quickly added. “You will leave immediately as well. I will have my royal guards personally escort you and your family out of my country. You are no longer welcome in Scotland. You will no longer be granted access to Balmoral.” He pushed Bertie aside and stomped towards the door. He reached the threshold and paused to add one more verbal punch. “Perhaps I’ll have it pulled down and the land leased out to starving northern English farmers who need good land to make a living. If they pledged allegiance to Scotland, they would be welcome here.”
Bertie gasped at the list of demands and orders. “Henry.” He reached out to his cousin, but Henry shook him off.
“You’ll have to leave too, Bertie.” Henry’s voice was lower, but with all the evidence stacking up, even Bertie’s words of reassurance fell on deaf ears. There was nothing Bertie or his mother could say now to change Henry’s position.
Bertie’s mother wasn’t one to back down so easily. “You wouldn’t dare!” Queen Victoria’s voice almost sounded like a snarl. She could be an annoyingly dominating monarch when she set aside her grief for a husband long since dead.
Henry caught the piercing gaze and held it with one of his own, equally piercing. “I do dare, Madam!” He snapped back. “This is my realm. Not yours. And it never shall be yours!” He almost spat out the last few words. He was adamant to make his point: Scotland, his country, would remain free and independent, for now and forever, as his countryman’s rallying cry firmly stated.
“Then Isabel comes home to London with me.” The English queen sniffed in a deep breath, feigning a sense of pride being wounded. “It’s where she belongs.”
“I think not!” Henry held his ground, glancing first at his wife then at the English queen.
“Why ever not, Henry?” Bertie gently challenged Henry. “She is obviously not wanted here.”
“Bertie’s right, Henry.” Isabel finally spoke between sniffles and catching little coughs, feigning an upset constitution. “I should return with my English cousins. London is my home. It always has been. Not this barren, cold north land.”
“No!” He glared at both women, then at Bertie who had moved closer to his mother during the interchange. “The last time a Scottish queen sought refuge in England under the protection of the English queen, the Scottish queen lost her head.”
“Now wait a minute here, Henry,” Bertie tried to interrupt. He didn’t get the chance to say anything else.
“You stay out of this.” Henry pointed an accusing finger at his cousin.
“Yes, Bertie.” Victoria took her son’s arm and patted it gently as if soothing a distraught child. “It’s best you stay out of this. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bertie stiffened visibly at his mother’s comment, but no one appeared to notice.
Isabel was the one who was distraught. She continued on her rampage, trying desperately to make her points clear, to avoid her banishment to the isolated castle which was reputed to be haunted by a beheaded queen who screamed around her tower prison on a nightly basis. “Instead you send me to the island castle which held another queen prisoner.” They were both referring to Queen Mary I of Scotland, often referred to as the captive Queen of Scots since she spent more years of her reign in captivity than she did as a ruling monarch. Loch Leven had been her prison before she escaped to England where the English imprisoned her in various castles until at last, her cousin Queen Elizabeth I signed the decree to have Queen Mary beheaded at Fotheringay Castle. Beheaded in England, but doing her haunting in Scotland.
Henry faked a smile, his eyes focussed on Isabel. “True enough. But at least at Loch Leven you’ll be allowed to keep your head.” Turning back to the English queen, he added with a snarky tone of voice, “Which is more than I can assure you should you put your trust in England and the English queen.”
Queen Victoria let out a disgruntled huff. Before anyone could speak further on the matter, Henry made his departure with great fanfare and drama. He marched out of his wife’s chambers. He left the door ajar, calling out as he exited the chambers.
“Guards.” Footsteps paraded from either direction. “Escort the English queen and her son to Waverly Station. Make sure all of the attendants and accumulated luggage is loaded securely on the train. Our guests leave at once.” As the gathered guards followed their orders, Henry called for more guards and ordered them to escort his wife to Loch Leven Castle. “She may take one attendant and one change of clothes. There is little time to pack. She must be gone within the hour. And she must be kept under constant supervision and locked securely at the castle. In Queen Mary’s tower.”
“And the infant prince, Your Majesty?” Henry was asked by one of the guards.
“My son, Prince Edward, remains with me.” Then he stomped down the hall, assured his orders would be carried out without question. He needed another drink. His head was throbbing and his anger was seething through his veins.
“How dare you!” Queen Victoria’s voice followed him down the hall. Though small in stature, she had a powerful presence, which she exuded to the fullest when deemed necessary. This was one of those occasions. “I have exceptionally powerful allies, young man. You would do well to heed my advice. Alienating me will do you more harm than good.”
Henry stopped at the top of the grand staircase. Without turning, he bellowed his response. “I have powerful friends and allies, too, Madam. I would advise you to be wary of my abilities to protect my lands and my people. Do not threaten me, Madam. And do not interfere with my country, my people, my politics, my wife and family ever again. Do you understand?” Henry had never been so angry. His face flushed beet red as he almost yelled at his southern neighbor.
Turning to the guards still marching up the stairs he ordered, “Don’t let either queen out of your sight and keep them apart. I need a guard on my son, as well. His attendants must be watched until we can replace them with people only I can trust.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Henry.” Isabel called from her rooms. She used the voice she saved for special occasions, like when she wanted something desperately. She knew how to put on the charm when needed. “Can we talk?”
He returned to the chambers and stood at the door, glaring at his wife. He was relieved to see the English royals had been escorted out. “Speak your mind, woman. For after this day, we shall speak to each other no more.” His voice was a low growl, just loud enough to project his message. He was angry. Hurt. Annoyed. Disgusted.
“How can you do this to me? Send me away from you, from my son? How? What have I done to deserve this?” She was whining, now. She walked over to her husband, reaching to take h
is hands in hers. He pulled them back, stepping away.
“You are a traitor,” he said, his voice cold and distant. He would honor this woman no more. She had deceived him. “You have used your manipulative charms to spy on my country, on my people, on me. You have plotted against my wishes. My son, only days after his Christening, and you are already marrying him off to some English princess. I know now I made a mistake in marrying an English princess and I will never allow the same for my son. Don’t you realize?” He held an accusing finger just inches from her face, his eyes ablaze with anger. “Don’t you realize the English only want to dominate us? It’s all they’ve ever wanted.”
“No, Henry.” Isabel shook her head, stepping away from the finger still mocking her. “You’re wrong. They want to make both our countries stronger. By working together as one, we could be a very powerful nation.”
“Scotland already is a very powerful nation!” Henry was yelling. His anger was taking control, something he tried to avoid at all cost. “England wants the Scottish Empire to be theirs. England wants the Scottish lands and people to pay taxes to the English crown. England wants the Scottish people to fight their battles. No! It’s why my great ancestor, Queen Mary Elizabeth, took the throne from her brother, James when he tried to amalgamate the two countries. She wanted to protect Scottish rights and freedoms forever. And I want the same. Obviously, you don’t.”
“I want what’s best for all of us, Henry.” Isabel spoke more quietly than her husband. It no longer mattered. Henry had stormed out of her room. He needed a drink.
Seven
Henry was about to pour a glass of whisky when there was a knock on the door and George poked his head in. Henry set the decanter down, leaving his drink for later. He didn’t usually drink during the day and even less so in the morning, but these were extenuating circumstances. Besides, his head hurt like a sledgehammer was rattling around inside his skull.
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