King Henry's Choice

by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

  “Whoa! Wait just a minute!” Mary Elizabeth’s voice registered shock. “Even if all of this were true and I am Princess Mary Elizabeth, Queen Mary’s daughter, there’s the little issue about my brother, who was already King James VI of Scotland and later King James I of England and Scotland.”

  “But, when James moved south and amalgamated his reign to England, the Scots became vassals and slaves of English landlords and were treated harshly and unfairly for generations. All of the history centered around English dominancy can be avoided if another rightful heir, you…” Henry was lost. This was a timeline he didn’t know. Mary Elizabeth had changed things. And for the better. “Yes, you, Mary Elizabeth. If you were to take the reins and challenge King James I of England, you could legitimately take the throne of Scotland and keep the country a free nation for future generations.”

  James cleared his throat, interrupting the women. “Then we wouldn’t have this blasted ongoing conflict and demands to separate from England. We could rule our people, our way, and decide for ourselves whether or not we want to remain in the European Union.” Another concept Henry didn’t understand. As long as he maintained Scotland’s independence, he shouldn’t have to concern himself with the issues James was suggesting existed in this alternate timeline.

  Another vehicle came down the road. A long, dark, slick railway car sized vehicle. At least in length. The windows were shut and tinted black. It was moving slowly. Towards the house. Henry had a bad feeling about this. It was time to make his exit. As he recalled from Mary Elizabeth’s journals as well as Marie de Guise’s journals, this was the time when all hell broke lose for the Scottish royals. This house would be a victim along with anyone in or near it, if he didn’t make a hasty exit.

  Fifteen

  Scotland Wilds, Autumn, Year of Our Lord 1875

  The ride was hard. Henry preferred his horse to a carriage jostling around on uneven ground. Although he had encouraged and helped finance the construction of better roads through the country, the heavy rains this year in particular had rutted each road with great cavities, there being little left to truly call a road. He never had cared for riding carriages, resorting to the uncomfortable mode of conveyance only when protocol dictated. Besides, this was faster. He could cut across the countryside to make better time.

  Henry knew the lay of the land. He rode this terrain frequently in his youth. Up and down the burghs and across the open fields, crashing through thick layers of forest growth, scattering birds and animals of all sizes in the wake of his thunderous assault. He knew where to tread carefully. The slopes would be most slippery after the heavy rains. He didn’t want to risk his horse. A slip could break a leg which would mean the painful end of a precious animal.

  He thundered along, his escorts struggling to keep pace. It was imperative he make good time, imperative he return to his son before it was too late. Something was making him feel unsettled. He didn’t know what it was, but he had an inkling something wasn’t right. His son wasn’t safe.

  He also understood the importance of protecting himself, to avoid unexpected ambushes along the way. Hence the armored escorts, trusted men who knew the terrain as well as he did. He would have preferred riding alone. It certainly would have been quicker. For his own safety, however, he had to take the necessary precautions. At all times. It wasn’t just his son’s life which was in constant jeopardy. His was as well.

  He was determined, however, to make good time returning to Edinburgh. This niggling thought about something being amiss plagued his mind. If he didn’t make it by nightfall, he would puddle jump, as his great ancestor had jokingly called it, to check on Edward’s safety and well being.

  “Your Majesty,” Robbie called from just behind him. They had reached a flat stretch of land stretching for miles. Robbie, or more correctly, Lord Robert MacDuff, was another childhood friend and trusted confidante. After George’s deception and affair with Isabel, Henry had become closer to Robbie. “We should make camp. Stop for the night.”

  Henry pulled up his horse, allowing Robbie to ride up beside him. He surveyed the land ahead, knowing full well dangers still awaited, dangers which in daylight were bad enough, but after dark, they were downright deadly. “You’re right, Robbie. Right as always.”

  “We can take refuge in the caves over yonder,” Robbie waved a hand off to the right. “We used them as children. Remember?”

  “Aye. Good idea. Lead on.”

  The steady plop of the horse’s hooves as the animal slopped through mud and puddles had a calming effect. Henry’s horse followed Robbie’s lead while Henry’s mind wandered. It often did whenever he was trying to calm his nerves, as he was now. If Edward was in danger, Henry would find out soon enough. As soon as the camp settled for the night, he would make his jump. He urgently needed to travel through time, not too far. His son was in danger and if he waited for the morrow to reach Edinburgh, it might be too late. He had to make sure his son was safe. Rescue him if need be.

  As they plodded slowly up the thickly overgrown path to the caves of their childhood games, Henry recalled some of his many experiences as a time traveler. This gift of shifting through time portals, if it’s what they were, had been beneficial as well as, at times, dangerous. He recalled his first jump. He had been ten or so at the time. His tutor had been intent on teaching him the rudiments of Scottish history and they were at the point where he was reading with passionate interest about his great ancestor, Mary Queen of Scots and her daughter, Queen Mary Elizabeth. One night, still awake after the candles had been snuffed, Henry was allowing his mind to go through the events leading up to Mary Elizabeth’s claim to the Scottish throne. All of a sudden, he was there. Or, at least, he was in the midst of a crucial moment in her early life.

  Sixteen

  Greenwich Castle, Summer, Year of Our Lord 1587

  Squished between nobles dressed in their heavily jeweled and fur-covered robes, Henry, tall for his young age, could just barely see above the shoulders of those in front of him. Just as well he was inconspicuous. Henry, the lad, was after all, dressed in only his night clothes. Certainly not suitable attire for a royal gathering, which is what he assumed he was witnessing. He heard some gasps behind him, and some whispers about his appearance, but nothing to concern himself about. At least, not yet.

  Young Henry didn’t notice the older Henry, as king, dressed in his muddy riding attire standing nearby, witnessing his first jump back in time.

  King Henry watched as his younger self craned his neck to see none other than Queen Elizabeth I on her throne, holding court. It had to be her. The wig, the white powdered face, the heavy assortment of jewels and the richly brocaded gown. He recalled the awe he felt then and couldn’t help but feel again.

  “Your Majesty.” The room was eerily silent as the announcement was made from the far end. All heads pivoted in the general direction. Watched and listened. “Her Royal Highness, the Princess Mary Elizabeth of Scotland, daughter of the late Queen Mary of Scotland and her husband, Lord Bothwell, granddaughter of James V of Scotland and his wife, Marie de Guise. Cousin of our Queen, Elizabeth I of England. Accompanied by her royal entourage.”

  Gasps fluttered through the room and a path opened up like the Red Sea in the story of Moses leading the Israelites from Egypt. There she was.

  Both Henry’s watched in awe, the others equally enraptured, as Princess Mary Elizabeth gracefully placed one foot in front of the other, her tiny silk slippers peaking through the hemline of her dress. White and full in its bountiful layers of silk and lace, the dress swished in time to her pace. The long train of the rich deep blue velvet cloak pulled gracefully on the floor rushes behind her.

  The walk itself was obviously a difficult one, but the princess kept her steely eyes glued to the target, the English queen. Henry’s eyes stole a look towards Queen Elizabeth, witnessing her stone-faced stance as she observed the proceedings with an icy welcome. However, she did return the princess’s gaze with equal furor, matchi
ng it with a note of respect.

  The procession was slow, measured, each footstep executed with precision. The gaze locked between princess and queen never wavered. Princess Mary Elizabeth reached the raised dais on which sat the English queen. She paused and then performed a most elegant curtsy. Henry, in all his ten years in the Scottish royal court, had never seen anything so beautiful. It was the moment he felt his chest burst with pride for his great ancestor.

  “Your Majesty,” the princess paid her respects in a loud, clear voice, laced with both grace and conviction. More softly, she added the words, “Cousin.”

  Queen Elizabeth noticeably grimaced at Mary Elizabeth’s final greeting. “How dare you!” she snarled between clenched teeth. It would appear the princess’s presence was trying Queen Elizabeth's infamous temper to its limits. Young Henry gaped, mouth wide open, eyes bulging with surprise. Henry, the king, had to stifle a chuckle, not just at his younger self’s reaction, but because he had been here before, witnessing this act. “How dare you come here and claim to be a princess of Scotland and my cousin?” She waved her hand imperiously, almost violently so, in front of Mary Elizabeth’s face.

  “I dare,” the princess answered, keeping her voice calm, measured. “Because I was born with the right to dare. When all the forces of England and Scotland would have seen me dead at birth, I have risen above their most awesome powers and have come to claim my rights.”

  King Henry’s smile broadened with pride and a deep, long held respect. He had learned a lot from this woman over the years. All his visits to her in the past and with her in his time had been educational. She had been instrumental in making him the strong king he was in his time. He knew he was a strong king. A good king. The strength of his nation, his people, was evidence of this simple fact.

  “Your rights?” The queen glowered. Her heavily powdered face was starting to crumble as plumes of white dust fell on her bosom and her shoulders, leaving behind the straining, bulging veins of an angry woman: an angry old woman.

  “Yes, my rights.” Mary Elizabeth matched her glare with the queen’s, tilting her nose slightly upwards as if she were regally looking down upon someone of lesser importance. “I am Princess Mary Elizabeth of Scotland, daughter of Queen Mary of Scotland, your cousin, the one you murdered!”

  The silence in the room couldn’t be more overwhelming. Everyone waited. Even the gasps which would normally follow such an abrasive comment were held in check. The queen also waited, her pallor bleached whiter than the powder flattering off her cheeks. Eyes locked on each other, there was a battle of wills at play and whoever blinked first would lose.

  “So, you claim.” The queen waved her hand dismissively as if the princess’s declarations were frivolous and of no importance. “If it were so, if you were the princess born to Queen Mary at Loch Leven Castle, then where have you been all these years? And how is it the queen’s gaoler at the time and her half-brother, James Stuart, Earl of Moray and Regent of Scotland, could not find any evidence of a baby’s existence after the queen’s long labor giving birth? Can you explain it for me?”

  “I was overseas,” Mary Elizabeth answered quite honestly. Her voice rather polite as if she were shrugging off accusations. “My mother gave me to a trusted servant just after I was born, to ensure I wouldn’t be handily disposed of, or worse, made a prisoner of the realm like she was and like my brother, the King of Scotland, was during his childhood. And then there were all those attempted kidnappings of my brother. I wonder who had planned them. And, if the world had known I existed, would I have been used as a similar pawn of politics?”

  The queen blanched at the princess’s mention of the many failed attempts to kidnap King James VI of Scotland. Henry the lad was mesmerized by the ongoing battle of wits. King Henry was revisiting his knowledge of the past, knowing full well Queen Elizabeth, though she claimed ignorance to these plots, was complicit in both the kidnapping plots and Queen Mary’s execution.

  Times never changed. Subterfuge and espionage between royal courts was still rampant in his time. Which was why he had to return to his son quickly. To protect him at all cost.

  Seventeen

  Scotland Wilds, Autumn, Year of Our Lord 1875

  He was jostled back to his time as if he had awakened from a sleep-induced coma. Henry had just revisited his first jump. It had been unsettling to see himself as a lad, witnessing a turning point in English and Scottish history. He must have been tired to shuffle through time while traversing the wilds of Scotland on horseback with an armored guard. He glanced around, but no one seemed to notice anything unusual about him or their surroundings. He hadn’t been found out.

  He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Robbie was dismounting before a dark opening in the side of the mountain, the path they had climbed ended abruptly at a somewhat level clearing. The mist which had plagued them from Loch Leven was thickening into an intense fog. As darkness fell, the light dwindled to next to nothing. It would be suicide to try riding further through this. Any able Scotsman knew the risks of traveling through dense fog in the highland wilderness, especially at night.

  “We’ll make camp here,” Robbie instructed the men. He glanced at the king, who nodded in agreement and started to dismount.

  Henry gave his horse a fond pat and led him to the trees where two of the guard had already set up a line to tether the horses. He proceeded to untack his mount, content to do the task others would deem below the rank of a king. Caring for his horse helped to bond with him. There were times and dangerous situations when a rider needed to feel connected to his mount. What better way to make this connection than to show some care and affection for the animal? Tethered and untacked, Henry took additional time to rub down his horse. They had paused briefly at the stream to water their horses before starting the climb. There was sufficient greenery to feed the horses within reach of the tethered line. They would receive a good feeding of oats once they returned to Holyrood House on the morrow. Henry would insist.

  Satisfied his mount was secure for the night, he made his way into the cave where the others were working to get a fire started near the opening. He pitched in. There was only minimal chatter. Everyone was exhausted from the day’s ride. They worked as a team, each one seeming to know what was expected and executing their tasks without complaint.

  As Henry helped set up the campsite inside the cave, he allowed the silence to ease his thoughts as he continued to reflect on some of his other jumps through time. The secrets he learned each jump, the privileged information helped him execute a good decision when ruling his domain. He remembered waking the morning after his first jump. He recalled the confusion, wondering if he should tell anyone, realizing no one would believe him. He had told Bertie. Once. Bertie had laughed at him. Bertie didn’t believe him. He called his adventures a fantastic dream and frequently teased him whenever they were together.

  “Any more dreams of different times, Cousin?” Bertie would snicker, not afraid to share his teasing with whomever was present.

  “No dreams, Cousin. Just reality.” Henry developed a plausible response for each occasion. Gradually Bertie’s teasing evaporated as the desired response was never what he expected.

  Secrets.

  Lots of secrets.

  Past and future secrets, of a time which for him, never stood still.

  One of the soldiers returned to the cave bearing a line of fish. “We’ll eat well tonight,” he called out, dropping his catch by the fire.

  Henry hadn’t seen the man leave the cave to catch their evening meal. He believed everyone was present and accounted for. He glanced around, counting the heads. There was one more. Was this soldier, the one with the fish, an imposter? A spy? Friend or foe? No one else seemed to notice the extra man in the cave. Not even Robbie. Henry found this strange.

  As if sensing the king’s intensity of a stare, the soldier caught his eye and held the look. They studied each other thoroughly for several minutes. Recognition was slow in coming.r />
  “James,” the king whispered, but said no more. It was James Stuart. Here again. To help him? Or hinder him?

  The man merely nodded then returned to the task of gutting the fish and skewering them on sticks to hang over the fire. Yes, the men would eat well tonight.

  As the men settled around the fire to enjoy their meal, James made a point of sitting next to the king. “You must go,” he whispered as he ate. “Your son is in danger.”

  Henry nodded. “I expected as much.”

  “Once they’re asleep.”

  Henry nodded again. Robbie sidled over to the king. “I’ll take the first watch, Your Majesty.” He pointed to the back of the cave. “It’s probably best if you sleep further in the cave. We’ll rotate shifts. I’ll wake up one of the men to take over.”

  “You look tired, Sire,” James spoke up. “Perhaps I should take the first shift. I can wake you in a few hours to take over.”

  Henry understood. James taking the watch would mean no one would notice his absence. Only James. The one who understood best about time travel.

  Robbie studied the king. Henry nodded. “I think it’s for the best, Robbie,” he said. “You do look a little peaked. We need you well rested for the morning. Who knows what awaits us in Edinburgh?”