King Henry's Choice

by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

  “Very well, Your Majesty.” He nodded at James. “Thank you.”

  It was some time later before Henry felt it safe to make a jump. He was restless as the men lounged around the fire after sharing idle chit chat. Rain had taken over the world beyond the cave, great torrents of water thundering down the slopes, creating a wall, a division, between inside the cave, where it was cozy and warm, and outside.

  The long ride had been exhausting and the men finally succumbed to much needed slumber. James took the first watch and Robbie decided to bed down next to Henry. Close to keep his king well protected. How much protection he could offer in this deep slumber, Henry didn’t know, but he breathed a sigh of relief when Robbie’s loud snores joined the others in the cave. It was a symphony of sounds: the roaring rain outside and the soothing snores inside. As the snores increased in both numbers and volume, Henry curled into his cloak for warmth and feigned sleep, counting quietly to keep his brain active without disturbing the others. With James on watch, for now, it was safe. He knew all he had to do was think about where he was going. It’s what had happened on the ride up the mountain. It would happen the same way again. He never understood how it worked. It just did. Like magic? Or was it?

  Eighteen

  Holyrood House, Edinburgh, Autumn, Year of Our Lord 1875

  He was never sure if he was dreaming or physically present in the alternate time. All he had done was think of his last moments with his son before he left to visit his wife. Suddenly, he was there, behind the drapes in the nursery, watching, absorbing the precious moment which was securely etched in his mind and his heart.

  He watched in awe as the memory took life, as he kissed his son’s forehead before placing him in the cradle. His other self hesitated, not wanting to leave. But he did, slowly, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Henry listened intently to the sounds of his own footsteps receding down the hall. A few moments later, there were shouts and hoof beats clattering through the courtyard below. These, too, diminished in volume. Then silence. He desperately wanted to peak in the cradle. To pick up his son and hold him. To be assured all was well. Something told him to wait.

  He slipped further behind the drapes, even though the light was dim, almost dark, the only bright spot being the few sparkling embers in the fireplace.

  “In here,” Miss Margaret, the nanny called to someone in the adjoining room. The nursery door opened and he watched as Miss Margaret walked into the room motioning someone to follow. “Shh! He’s asleep. We must be quiet.” Something was amiss. He knew he should never have trusted the woman.

  “Get him. We leave now.” A coarse voice. Male. Unfamiliar, but definitely English. The accent gave it away. “We must go now. While all’s quiet. The sleeping potion will keep the guards out for at least an hour. Not much longer. Hurry up, woman.” Impatient. Angry. Abrupt. His voice said it all. A loud voice. And he was a big man. It was evident from the large shadow blocking the light from the other room as the figure filled the doorway. He didn’t venture too far into the room. Just as well. He might have seen Henry as he slunk even deeper into the folds of drapery.

  “It won’t take me long. I have a bag ready.” She scurried about the room, returning to the man standing at the door. She handed him the bag. “Wait downstairs. In the courtyard. I’ll bring the young prince.”

  “See that you do!” He snapped and moved away, the bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder.

  Henry was unsure what to do. He had to rescue his son. Before it was too late. What had they done to his guards? Drugged them? And what was the plan for the little prince? Other than the obvious: abduction.

  His moment of indecision was rewarded when Miss Margaret gasped and said to herself, “Oh, I can’t leave without…” The rest was lost as her voice faded away.

  It was now or never. Henry pushed away the drapes and almost slid over to the cradle in his haste to move both quickly and quietly. Stealth was of the upmost importance. He scooped up his son and made a beeline back to the drapes.

  He knew this place like the back of his hand. All those years as a child, growing up in this rambling, monolithic structure. What else was there for a young prince to do except explore? And explore he did. He knew every hidden recess, secret staircase and unused exits from top to bottom. There was a passage in the corner, behind the drapes, next to the window. It was a narrow staircase spiralling downwards to other rooms below, including his own private chambers, and then to the main floor where it exited into the courtyard. Not the best option at the moment, but the staircase was behind a seldom accessed panel. No one knew about it. No one in this era when the art of espionage didn’t necessarily include secret passageways. There were no building floorplans to outline these secrets. They had served a purpose in the past, then had been forgotten over the generations. Until now. Henry knew them. He knew all there was to know. Good thing too.

  He found the latch and swung the door open, cringing at the slight squeak. He would have to remember to oil it. No. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to do the task. He didn’t want anyone else to know of his secret escape routes. He had just slipped into the stairwell and pulled the panel shut until it latched when he heard Miss Margaret’s return. It was her scream which carried through the walls.

  “He’s gone!”

  Footsteps thundered, approaching. “What do you mean he’s gone?” The man again. Henry was starting to recognize the arrogance which laced the English man’s voice. The drapes were slashed back, hands skittered across the surface of the walls beyond the hidden staircase. Henry cuddled his son closer, hoping he wouldn’t wake and give them away. He knew he was safe enough, for now, but he had to find a way out of the castle. Henry wasn’t sure if he could puddle jump, as his ancestors often called it, to take him into the city where a safe house might be assured for both him and his son. Would the infant prince jump with him? Henry didn’t know whether non-time travelers could jump. Then again, the infant Princess Mary Elizabeth, with Marie de Guise’s trustworthy lady, had been carried into the future, long before she demonstrated her own unique time traveler abilities. Perhaps it would work.

  As if he could conjure the woman into his presence, he heard, “Come. Now.” A whispered voice. A woman. It sounded like Marie de Guise. He couldn’t see well in the dark space. “Quickly. There isn’t much time.” Her voice came from below. Beckoning. He had to follow the sound of her voice.

  Banging against the wall startled him “There must be a secret passage. Where is it? Where have you hidden the prince?” Tension mounted as the man’s temper exploded in thumps and kicks, getting closer by the minute.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the nanny squeaked out an answer. “I’ve never found any secret passages in this room, though I’ve heard rumors there are several in the building.”

  “I don’t believe you. When I’m done here, I will take care of you. Guards!” Miss Margaret shrieked as someone obviously grabbed her. The banging intensified. It was now or never.

  Henry held the still sleeping baby closer. He moved towards the whispered voice, carefully taking each narrow step, feeling as best he could with his foot each time he descended to the next step. He made it to the landing which he knew was just outside his own chambers.

  “Marie de Guise,” he greeted his ancestor with whispered reverence.

  “Henry. You and your son are in grave danger. Come. We will go to the future where he will be safe in my care until such time as it is safe to return here where he belongs.”

  “Will it work?” Henry didn’t hear an answer. Instead, the banging from above diminished, replaced by a cacophony of clashing noises of another sort. He opened his eyes.

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century.” He swung his head back and forth, taking in the marvels of the space around him. Paved roads, horseless carriages, large homes. He remembered this place. Before. He had been here before. The day Mary Elizabeth learned her true calling, her place in Scottish history.
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  “Welcome to the year of Our Lord, 2018, and to my home in Toronto.” Marie de Guise motioned across the street and led the way to a large, Queen Anne style, red-brick house, complete with turrets and pillars to project an image of importance.

  Henry followed his great ancestor as she made her way to the house. On closer inspection, he noted the windows were blackened. It hadn’t appeared so from across the street, but, the closer he was to the house, the darker they were. Definitely blackened.

  “How do you look out?” he asked, indicating the windows with one hand.

  “We have peep holes here and there.” Marie spoke in little more than a whisper. Putting her finger to her lips, she suggested silence. “We’re not safe until we’re inside. Too many spies. Even in this era.”

  Once inside, she took the baby from Henry and, after a quick snuggle and a peck on the baby’s cheek, she handed him to a woman who appeared to be waiting to take charge. Carrying the young prince with care, she made her way up the grand staircase.

  “Don’t worry. That is my trusted confidante, Lady Mary Catherine. You can trust her.” Marie de Guise motioned to the room on the right. “Shall we? Lady Mary Catherine will join us once the young prince is fed, changed and settled into his new rooms.”

  “What do you call this place?” Henry asked as he followed his ancestors into what appeared to be some sort of common room.

  “This room is called the living room,” Mary Elizabeth chose to answer, entering the room behind her grandmother and the Scottish king. “The building is called a house. Though some people might refer to it as a mansion because of its large size.”

  “You call this large?” Henry’s eyebrows arched upwards.

  “Well, perhaps not in the standard we’re used to,” Mary Elizabeth chuckled softly. “It’s certainly not a castle.”

  “But it is home,” Marie de Guise added. “And there’s the famous quote, ‘My home is like a castle’.”

  “I think you might be referring to an old English law,” Henry shook his head, marvelling at the idea this house, as Mary Elizabeth called it, might be considered a castle. “The English lawyer and politician, Sir Edward Coke, established this as a common law in 1628, I believe. Something along the lines of: ‘For a man’s house is his castle, et domus sua cuique est tutissimum refugium’.”

  “And each man’s home is his safest refuge,” Mary Elizabeth translated the Latin. “You know your history well. My nephew, King Charles I of England, did one thing right in allowing Sir Edward to establish the law. It doesn’t mean much. But the sentiment rings true.”

  Henry paced the room, admiring the fine woodwork on the mantle over the fireplace and the portrait of Mary Elizabeth as a princess above it. “You make a beautiful princess, Grandmother. And you will be a beautiful queen.” He addressed his many times removed great grandmother with fondness. “And you were,” turning to wink, “and still are a beautiful woman.” He wasn’t sure at what point in his ancestor’s life he had appeared. However, he suspected it was sometime during Mary Elizabeth’s retreat at Kirkwall Castle in the Orkney’s awaiting the death of Queen Elizabeth I and the accession of her brother to the throne of England.

  Mary Elizabeth blushed. “Thank you, young man. You make a handsome king yourself. And a good one, too.”

  “Enough pleasantries, children,” Marie de Guise scolded lightly. “We have much to discuss.”

  They all nodded in agreement.

  Henry spoke first, however. And rather unexpectedly. “I need to know. Is the young prince mine?” Henry was blunt and to the point. Even he didn’t know where the idea originated. “I love him as if he were mine, but with all my wife’s dalliances, I do wonder. I believe there is a way to test this in the twenty-fifth century?”

  “Yes,” Marie de Guise nodded. “DNA testing.”

  “What’s DNA testing?” Henry scrunched his eyebrows in concentration, choosing to take a seat so he could listen more intently.

  “Genealogy is the study of one’s ancestry,” Marie de Guise began. “It became a popular hobby for many people in the late twentieth- and early twenty-first centuries. People wanted to know the extent of their family trees. Simply put, DNA is studying the gene-makeup of an individual and comparing it with possible matches. Everyone has genes; it’s part of our biological makeup. There are other methods of testing, like the ABO blood group typing, but DNA is considered the most reliable method of testing parentage. Paternity DNA testing is practiced in cases where men want reassurance the baby the woman carried was in fact theirs. As in your case. Basically, there is no half-way margin in the test results. If the probability of parentage is 0%, then the parent is not biologically related to the child. If the probability of parentage is 99.99%, then the parent is biologically related to the child.”

  Henry sat, staring at his great ancestor. He found it amazing a woman who lived hundreds of years before him could grasp some of the most scientific developments almost a hundred years after his recorded passing. He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs in his brain. “Amazing. Confusing, complicated, but amazing nevertheless.” He sat quietly a bit longer. “So how do we go about this, what did you call it? Oh yes, DNA testing?”

  “Quite simply. I need to take a swab from your cheek.”

  “A what?” he gasped, eyes bulging in surprise.

  “This test is done by collecting what is known as buccal cells,” Marie de Guise explained carefully. “These cells are found inside a person’s cheek. The cells are collected using a cheek swab with a wooden or plastic stick handle. The cotton collector tip of the swab is rubbed on the inside of the cheek. We would need to collect buccal cells from both you and your son, to compare the match.”

  Henry was flummoxed and the expression on his face showed it. “And how do you know all this?”

  “I read a lot.” A safe enough answer. “I just so happen to have a kit in my study. I had expected your visit and anticipated your request.”

  “You did?”

  “I did.” The woman had a warm, sweet smile that she displayed as if pacifying a child. “I quite understand your concerns, Henry. This is the right thing to do. But even without the test, I can assure you the child is yours in every way it matters.”

  “And you know this, how?”

  Her smile continued its intent to act as a pacifier. “Never mind, how. I just do. Now we shall do this test and send it off to a trusted lab for testing.”

  “And how long does it take?”

  “A few weeks. You should pop back to visit your son in a few weeks’ time. We’ll have the results by then.” She left the room to retrieve the DNA kit.

  Mary Elizabeth had been sitting quietly on the couch all this time. She finally spoke, “I feel like a fly on the wall.” And she giggled.

  “What a wonderful idea,” Henry replied. “Perhaps I should use your ruse to spy on my enemies. Or, at least to find out who my enemies are.”

  “It’s not a safe life being royal,” Mary Elizabeth noted. “I have done it, lived the life of a royal spy, many times. Although, I really wasn’t a fly. I just managed to remain hidden in the shadows so I could listen and observe.”

  “Good strategy. I should make use of this time travel skill to my advantage.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  They were interrupted when Marie de Guise returned, Lady Mary Catherine just behind her. “He’s settling into his new nursery nicely. He’s been fed, changed and now he sleeps.”

  “It’s amazing how much this place is like the one I grew up in,” Mary Elizabeth commented.

  “I had this house reconstructed after it was destroyed, with a few modifications based on lessons learned. And it has remained a safe haven ever since.” Marie de Guise had built a marvellous mansion, on the same site as the previous twenty-first century house, the one which exploded after the ladies made a last-minute exit to the past to avoid danger which was threatening them in the future. All terribly confusing. Even he had difficulty wra
pping his mind around this time traveling gig. Past, present, future, time was ethereal, illusive, and not always what you hoped or expected. “Now. Let’s swab your cheek.” Marie de Guise held up the cotton tipped swab. “But do remember this testing is not conclusive. Should your son be the child of anyone in the Stuart dynasty, a definitive association to your DNA may not be possible.”

  “Understood.” Henry nodded. At least, he thought he understood. But who else in the Stuart clan could possibly be the father? Bertie? The thought was there and gone in less than a flash.

  Nineteen

  Holyrood House, Edinburgh, Sometime in the Future

  “He knows too much.” A deep-toned voice, possibly a man’s voice, echoed in the distance. “And now there’s another body needing an implant.”

  “You mean the one he claims to be his son. Prince Edward.” This voice, high pitched, definitely female. What did she mean by ‘claimed to be’? Edward was his son. Wasn’t he?

  “Yes. Otherwise the young prince will be stuck forever in the twenty-first century. He has a role to play in the nineteenth-century. He has to be capable of moving through time. Only infants can escape through the portals of time without an implant.”

  “He’s stirring. I hear a moan. Do you think he heard us?”

  “Can’t be sure. Might be an idea to give him another blocker to erase the memories of what he may or may not have heard.”

  “Where am I?” Henry groaned. “What is this place?”

  “You are perfectly safe, here, Your Majesty.” The woman’s voice came closer until his foggy vision cleared enough so he could see her standing over him. “You are in Holyrood House, Your Majesty. Just resting from a recent surgery.”

  “Surgery. What surgery?” A prick in the arm. Blackness overtook him. Again.

  Twenty