“If this implant program is obliterated, then how is it you are here?”
“I am the last and only one with the time travel ability. I’m here to take Edward. Well into the future. Even beyond my time. There I will perfect the program and keep it safe.”
Henry felt around the back of his skull. “My implant is gone, isn’t it?” Cecil nodded. “And I’ll never see you again, nor Grandmothers Marie and Mary Elizabeth?”
“No. You will no longer have the ability to jump through time. Neither do they. Each of you must now live out your lives in the agreed upon time period. I won’t return here, Henry. Never again. You are on your own. Be careful how you treat the English queen. Be careful how you reject Isabel. And live your life to its fullness. For yourself, for your descendants and for the people of Scotland.”
“For now and forever.” Henry gave his descendant a parting smile of understanding.
Cecil nodded. He moved towards the bed and gathered Edward into his arms.
Henry quickly moved in and gave his son one final kiss on the forehead. “Goodbye, my son.”
Forty-Four
“What do you mean, you can’t marry me?” Isabel stomped her feet. After days of coyly trying to seduce the King of Scotland, she believed she had cast her net satisfactorily, entrapping the desired prey.
“The bands have been read.” Henry didn’t move from where he stood at the window, studying the gardens below and the people walking through them. Elizabeth was there, walking with her arm tucked into her brother’s. As if sensing his eyes on her, she paused and glanced up to the window. A smile brightened her features. He returned it before turning away from the window. “I will marry Elizabeth MacGregor in three weeks, Isabel. I have made a promise and a commitment. I am not free to marry you. I never have been. I am terribly sorry if you feel you’ve been misled. Certainly not by me.”
She stomped her foot again and screamed, her face scrunching up into a misery one only expected to see in a child undergoing a full-scale tantrum. “No!” She spat the word, spittle covering Henry’s face. He stepped back. “You haven’t heard the end of this.” She stomped again before storming out of the room.
“I am quite sure I haven’t.” Henry pulled out a handkerchief and mopped the woman’s spittle from his face. “It would appear I have dodged the bullet, in a manner of speaking,” he muttered to himself. There was no one else in the room. His once, would-have-been bride-to-be had stormed out. “A twentieth century idiom my son shared with me. The son of a misguided union.” Replacing his dampened cloth, he made his way to the door. He wanted to join his intended in the garden. Instead, the door slammed open as he approached and Edward marched in. Not his Edward. This one was older. This one was the Prince of Wales. Also known by those in his close circle as Bertie.
“What have you done to our cousin?” the prince demanded. “She’s in a ripe mood now.”
“I turned down her advances and refused to propose,” Henry responded quite bluntly.
Bertie nodded as he paced the room. “Yes. I did hear rumors of bands being read in church, announcing your upcoming nuptials with some Scottish lass. So, it’s true?”
Henry nodded, standing straighter with a sense of pride and ease. He was happy with his choice. Content. Elizabeth would make a fine wife, a wonderful, caring queen and a good mother of future Scottish rulers.
“Henry. Think sensibly. A union with Isabel would be much more beneficial than a union with some Scottish lass.”
Before Henry could snap a response, the door banged open again and Queen Victoria glided in with purpose, anger evident on her face. “You have deceived me, Henry. You have deceived us all. I am disappointed in you. What do you mean, you’re marrying someone other than our Isabel?”
“Exactly, Cousins.” Henry chose to address both. “I firmly believe in keeping my interests, my country’s interests, within my borders. Besides, I believe Elizabeth MacGregor is a better choice all around. She cares about my country and my people. Isabel does not.”
“What does it matter about your people?” Bertie snorted, pausing only briefly from his frantic pacing, hands clasped behind his back. His pause was long enough to shoot a glare at his cousin. “You are the king. Not the people. You get to choose what’s best for you, your country and your people. Not them.” He pulled one hand from his behind-the-back clasp and waved it fashionably about to emphasize his point.
“Exactly, Bertie. It is my choice. And I choose Elizabeth.”
“I suppose you love the girl.” The queen, unlike her son, chose to stand, poised, hands clasped in front of her, as she glared at her opposition, a programed tactic, one she frequently used to unsettle her foe. It didn’t work with Henry. Not any more. He was his own man, now. He knew how to stand his ground. He knew it was important for Scotland now and well into the future.
“Love. What does love have to do with anything?” Bertie shook his head in disbelief. “Marry for the country, do your duty and seek your pleasures elsewhere.”
“Like you have? To my eternal disgrace?” Victoria quickly flashed a look of disgust at her son, before returning her attention to Henry. “Well? Do you, Henry? Do you love the girl?”
“Yes, actually. I do love Elizabeth.” A blush crept up his neck as he glanced over the queen’s shoulder and noticed Elizabeth standing in the doorway. He held out a hand, beckoning her in. “You, my cousin the Queen of England, should understand the importance and the power behind loving your partner. After all, didn’t you love Albert?”
The queen visibly shuddered at the comparison, compressing her lips together in a firm scowl. She said nothing. Her gaze moved from Henry to the Scottish lass, as Bertie called her. Elizabeth’s pace was slow. Calculated. Her eyes remained rivetted on her betrothed. Her king. She had heard his last words. He loved her. He had chosen her. She was honored. Yes. She loved him, too. Always had.
The moment was shattered when another figured barged into the room, shoving Elizabeth out of the way. “Move, trollop. How dare you block my entrance?” It was Isabel.
Henry moved to catch his intended before she fell flat on her face. “Isabel. This is uncalled for. I gave you no promises.”
“You betrayed me!” She spat each word with punctuated exaggeration. “And for what? For this …” she waved her hand viciously in Elizabeth’s direction. “For this plaything of yours?”
“I would be careful, if I were you,” Henry warned. “You are speaking to the future Queen of Scotland. In front of the King of Scotland. On Scottish soil, no less. You tread on dangerous waters, lady. Guard your mouth.”
“He’s right, Isabel.” Bertie, ever the peacemaker, came to Henry’s defense, albeit reluctantly. “This is not your place to protest. And not your right.”
“But my child?” she whimpered.
Henry blanched. “What child? Are you pregnant, woman? Not by me. Definitely not by me.”
“Isabel?” Victoria repositioned her pose and focused her attention on the raging woman. “Are you with child?” Isabel nodded. “Henry’s?” The woman’s eyes flittered back and forth between Henry and Bertie. Victoria cleared her throat. “You need say no more. You are a disgrace. And to think you would pass this unborn child off as Henry’s.” She tut-tutted. “Bertie. A word.” Noticing his hesitation, she added more emphatically, “Now!” He followed his mother, like a puppy caught in a naughty act, his tail caught, dropping between his legs.
Victoria stopped abruptly at the door. “Isabel.” The woman jumped. “You, too.” The queen caught Henry’s eye. “My apologies. It would appear my son had other ideas on how to put an English lad on the Scottish throne. Not the way I would have planned it. We shall leave before the day is out.” And she made her grand, sweeping exit.
A memory flashed through Henry’s mind. The DNA test. In the future. He never did follow up. Didn’t need to now. He knew the truth. Edward never was his. In so many ways, Edward would always be his.
Elizabeth stood beside her int
ended, the two now alone in the room. Henry walked over and shut the door. He took the woman in his arm and rubbed her back fondly, erasing the shudders shivering continuously along her spine.
“Henry. That woman. She was going to pass Bertie’s child off as yours?” She shuddered again. “To be our heir, our next King of Scotland? I can’t believe the audacity.”
“Nor can I.” Henry was quiet, thinking of his Edward. His son. In so many ways, he believed he was, but what had been revealed here, in this room, just moments before, added a dash of doubt in his thoughts. In more ways than one, he had definitely dodged the bullet.
“Are you sure I’m the best choice, Henry?” She pushed away all the while intently studying Henry’s eyes, looking for reassurances.
“Yes, Elizabeth. You are definitely the one for me. And the one for Scotland.” He lowered his lips to hers and relished in a feeling he had never felt with Isabel, past, present or future. This was definitely his choice.
Epilogue
Stirling Castle, Spring, Year of Our Lord 1879
Henry stood by the window and gazed into the courtyard below. His twin sons, Robert (the oldest by ten minutes) and Albert, now age four, were sparring with wooden swords, the sword master patiently guiding them through their paces. The boys weren’t listening. They seldom did. They had minds of their own and enjoyed doing their own thing. The crack of wood and the shouts of childish banter was evidence enough.
“Father.” Henry nearly jumped at the sound of the voice. He moved away from the window and glanced at the man who spoke. He thought he was alone. Obviously not. It was a rare privilege for a king to be left alone. Not as a father, either, as the boys were constantly seeking his attention. His praise. His encouragement.
“Edward?” Henry studied the young man standing before him. He shook his head in disbelief. “How is this possible?” He stood, rooted in place. Frozen. Unable to move. “You died in my arms. Six years ago. Yet, here you are, a young man of what? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-seven, Father.”
Rubbing his forehead, Henry continued to gape at this fine young man standing before him. He certainly didn’t have the appearance of a Stuart. Not surprising, as he wasn’t one. He had the look and air of Bertie at the same age. Bertie. The boy’s real father. “How is this possible?” he repeated. “The implants were removed. Time travel expelled.”
Edward chuckled. “You truly believe Cecil would give up entirely? No, Father. Cecil has been working on improvements. I’m his test subject. And, yes, I died in your arms. But, before the battle, Cecil ushered me into the future. Well into the future. The forty-fifth century to be exact. They have cures for my disease in the future. That’s why I still live.” He studied his father closely. “I wanted to see you again. I know, now, you’re not my biological father. But you are my father in every other sense of the word.”
Henry nodded, moving towards his son. Words escaped him as he pulled the young man into a fond embrace. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “Edward. My son.” The men hugged. Henry was the first to pull away. “I did as you asked. I named my first born, Robert. He has a twin brother, Albert, after my mentor, Prince Albert.”
Edward just nodded. “I know. I have all the history within my grasp.”
Henry chuckled. “Yes, I guess you do. Then you probably know I have another son, still in the cradle. Only months old. I plan to christen him, Edward. After you. Edward Cecil. What do you think?”
“A fine name.”
“So, what do you do in the fortieth century?”
“Forty-fifth century,” Edward corrected. “I work with Cecil. I’m very good in the sciences, it would seem. Much like my grandfather, Prince Albert.” Henry was jolted again with a startling realization: as Bertie’s son, Edward was also the grandson of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. Bertie did have a habit of getting himself embroiled in relationships with the opposite sex. And not always in his favor.
“Are you married? Children?”
Edward shook his head. “Not in the sense you would approve. It will be centuries before same sex marriages are both legal and morally accepted universally. And no children. I didn’t want to pass on my genes and infect another generation of hemophiliacs.”
“Who is he?” Henry tried to mask his shock and, given his era of living, his disgust. His own son. Well, not in the flesh and blood sense, but still Edward was his son. Married to a man. It was unconscionable. Rumors of English dalliances with the likes of Oscar Wilde, the Irish poet and playwright the English had long since claimed as their own, were big news items. But his son? Edward?
“Cecil?” Henry almost didn’t hear him. Edward’s voice was so soft.
“Cecil?” He exclaimed when the realization hit him full force. “He’s old enough to be your…” He let the rest drop.
“I know,” Edward chuckled softly. “In many ways, he is old enough to be my father, or, at times, my grandfather. And, you have to remember he was born centuries after my birth here in this timeline. But time travel has brought us together at a similar age. He’s now only ten years my senior. We work together. We are so attuned to each other. There is no one else for me.” Edward started to pace the room. “I didn’t come to squabble over my choice in a partner. Cecil thought I should come. I have been begging to come visit for some time now. But Cecil didn’t think it wise. Not until he had fine tuned a few more things with his device. We have more control now. It’s safer and no one can steal it from us.”
“Safer,” Henry shook his head, a look of disbelief washing across his face. He rubbed his brow and started pacing the room. “I don’t believe for a moment it’s safe. He was, and still is, tampering with people’s lives. All across the time spectrum. It’s not right, Edward. It’s just not right.”
Edward didn’t answer right away. He moved to the window and watched the boys still dedicated to their swordplay. “I missed this, you know.” He focussed his attention on the boys. “I never did get to play in the courtyard like they are doing now.”
“You were brought up in the twenty-first century, Edward. Hardly a place for swordplay in a castle courtyard.”
“True enough. It would have been nice to have this type of memory, though. A memory of this time to carry with me into the future.” He sounded sad, in a way. Despondent, but also resigned to his fate.
“You could stay.” Henry had ceased his pacing and joined the young man at the window. “It’s your choice.”
Edward shook his head. “No. My place is in the future. With Cecil.”
“Cecil and his unconscionable time travel devices.” Henry snorted, something he didn’t normally do. “It’s inhuman, you know. Goes against the flow of time and consequences. We all have our time in this world and we have to answer to what we do with our time when we reach the next world.”
The young man stood silently, watching the boys, pondering the king’s word. “Don’t you want to know what happens to their future?” he finally asked. “The wars they’ll have to face in the twentieth century. They’re horrendous. Worse than anything the English witnessed in the Crimea or even the Boer War. You think Cecil is mad. Insane. You’ll never get to see what madness and insanity can actually achieve. And all based on science. They’ll create a device in the mid-twentieth century with the potential of wiping out this earth for all of eternity. And you don’t want to stop it?”
“I can’t, Edward.” Henry placed a hand fondly on his son’s shoulder. “And neither can you. Some things in life are just meant to be.”
“So, if Cecil offers you another chance to try time travel, you’ll refuse?” It was a question, one masking a tone of hopefulness in the young man’s voice.
“I’ve made my choice, Edward. After our battles in the future, I chose to live out my life in this timeline. As did our ancestors, Grandmothers Marie and Mary Elizabeth, by the way. Cecil sent me to see how they were doing.”
“And ask them the same question you’re asking me now?” Edward nodded in resp
onse to his father’s revelation. “And they gave you the same answer I’m giving you now?” He nodded again. “I’ve made my choice, Edward. And so have they.”
Edward was silent. Henry sensed the boy had come to see him with high hopes. “I won’t be seeing you again then, Father,” he spoke in little more than a whisper, a catch in his voice revealing the anguish he was attempting to hold within. “You’ve made your choice and I’ve made mine.”
“Life is all about choices, son. What happens after we make our choice is called consequence. I hope what you have seen in the future can be averted, but some things we can’t change. Sometimes change isn’t for the better.” As he talked, he felt a void beneath the hand he had rested on his son’s shoulder. Edward was gone.
The boys chose the moment to glance at the window where he stood. He wiped away a tear leaking from the corner of his eye and braved a smile. He waved and nodded his approval.
Henry had made his choice. Many choices, in fact. His choice to marry Elizabeth had been the best choice of all. Their sons were fine lads to lead Scotland into the twentieth century. These wars Edward predicted in the future, a future only he knew about, obviously from his studies of history up to the forty-fifth century. If they were as bad as he said they were, then it would at least keep England otherwise occupied and less interested in its northern neighbor. Choices. Yes, life was all about choices. Choices allowed time to pursue its natural course of events. For better or for worse. For now and forever.
Acknowledgments
I don’t know if I would be here today as an award-winning author if it hadn’t been for the encouragement I received from family: my parents, my husband and, especially, my grandmother, Margaret Murray (Dickson) Downer (1902-1995). Gran, as we called her, shared with me a passion for reading and history, particularly Scottish history, royal history and, of course, the stories and facts which surrounded the ill-fated Mary Queen of Scots. This passion revealed itself in the first book of this series, “Queen Mary’s Daughter”. Gran and I frequently discussed the controversy over Scottish independence. Personally, I have always wondered at the wisdom of amalgamating Scotland with England. Certainly, history records multiple incidents of English brutality against the Scottish people. If, as “Queen Mary’s Daughter” suggests, there was another heir and another timeline existed with a clearly free and independent Scotland, then why not continue the Scottish royal line and add a few more valiant monarchs determined to follow the ideals initiated by Queen Mary Elizabeth I of Scotland. King Henry was introduced at the end of “Queen Mary’s Daughter” and my readers asked hopefully if his story would be told. So, here it is.
King Henry's Choice Page 20