Gran waved in response and sorted through the contents, pulling out a long, dark gown of thick velvet. “We should wear dark colours,” she suggested. “In respect for my daughter.”
“Were you there?” Mary Elizabeth asked in a soft voice. “Were you with my mother when she was…” She couldn’t bring herself to say that dreadful word, beheaded.
“Yes,” Mrs. D replied in little more than a whisper. “I was there. Amongst the crowd, at the back. I did not want to be there, but I had to meet with Lady Jane again. There were more items I wanted to retrieve from the castle for you. I had not meant to witness the sad demise of your mother, Princess, but I was pulled along by the crowd and I could not escape without being noticed. I met up with Lady Jane later that day. She was obviously distraught. Not just for the death of her mistress, but also because Queen Elizabeth has ordered Queen Mary’s attendants arrested on multiple counts of treason.”
“What?” Mary Elizabeth gasped. How could Queen Elizabeth treat her cousin’s attendants as criminals? “That is outrageous!” Mary Elizabeth started to pace the small space in which they stood. “I must do something. I must see my cousin, the queen.” Noticing the other women shake their heads vigorously, she crossed her arms in front of her and took the pose she had so often used as a child when she was determined to get her way. “I will see her! And I will insist on their release!”
Her insistence was met with stony silence. Gran was the first to break it. “Well, first things first. You cannot walk all the way to London to see the queen.”
“I will ride Queenie.” Mary Elizabeth said. “Much better than walking.”
“And how will you manage to obtain an audience with the queen?” Mrs. D asked. “She will not believe your claim. At best, she will have you arrested, thrown in the tower, and beheaded like your mother.”
Tears broke through the corners of the young woman’s eyes. She couldn’t take anymore. First, she started travelling through time and witnessed her own birth; then she met her mother for the first and only time; and now she had to run for her own life. Nothing made sense. She was confused, hungry, and extremely tired. Mary Elizabeth flopped down on the pile of coverings in the corner, buried her head in her hands, and let loose a cascade of sobs.
“I must and I will!” She stormed through her tear-stained hands. “I must and I will.”
“First, we get you fed and rested.” Gran sat down next to the princess and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, hugging the young woman close as she had done so often when Mary Elizabeth was just a girl. “Then we will meet up with your army and make plans.”
Mary Elizabeth glanced up, rubbing the moisture from her cheeks. “My army? What army?”
“Jamie will explain.” Gran patted her lightly on the shoulder. “But for now, let’s get into some warm, dry clothes and go see if supper is ready. I do not know about you, but I am starving. That wonderful bowl of stew feels like hours ago.”
“I want to see my father, too.” Mary Elizabeth wiped her eyes dry with the corner of her sleeve. It was still damp from being out in the snow, but at least it managed to blot the accumulated moisture.
Gran started to push herself off the soft coverings, when her granddaughter’s comment stopped her. “He is dead, you know.” She veered to face Mary Elizabeth. “And you did see him, long ago. Do you not remember that time you had a nightmare and you were in a dark room with a scary bearded man who claimed to be your father?” Mary Elizabeth nodded as she remembered that terrifying night when she was about eight. “That was not a nightmare. That was your first adventure in time travel.”
“He mentioned something about an inheritance.” Mary Elizabeth started to recall the conversation she had thought was part of a nightmare, like Gran had insisted it was at the time. Perhaps she didn’t want to confuse a little girl with notions about time travel. “Something about his castle. Something that will finance my battle. I did not understand what he was talking about at the time, but I must go to Bothwell Castle? Or Dunbar Castle where he kept my mother safe? Which one? Or both? I am so confused.”
“Never mind that now,” Gran said. She pushed herself off the ground and proceeded to change into dry clothes. “You must change, Mary Elizabeth. You are soaked right through. The last thing we need right now is for you to get sick. You know how easily you catch chills.”
Mary Elizabeth nodded. She remembered all too well the many times she had fallen deathly ill. She had spent more of her childhood in a sick bed than outside with friends. One of the lingering handicaps of being a preemie, she figured.
Mrs. D twirled her hand, motioning the princess to turn around. With her back to the older woman, she felt the tug of straps being loosened and the damp cloth pulling away from her skin. With help, she shrugged out of the damp and muddied dress and let it drop on the floor. Mrs. D held out a clean set of quilted petticoats. Mary Elizabeth tugged off her boots and changed into the warm, dry undergarments. As the warmth enveloped her body, she let out a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realised how cold she was. She eagerly stretched her arms upwards so Mrs. D could slide a heavier gown over her head. As it unfurled and the hem dropped to her feet, the princess ran her hands over the warp of the fabric: thick, dark blue velvet.
“It is so beautiful,” she exclaimed, turning around again so Mrs. D could fasten up the straps. “And so warm.”
Fully dressed, dry, and warm, Mary Elizabeth scurried to the cubbyhole that held her treasured box. She dug under the cloth and rags covering the opening and pulled it out. “Safe.” She sighed, running a hand gingerly over its surface. She returned to her stash of weapons and reached down to retrieve the bag she had taken from her victim.
“Do not use that,” Mrs. D warned. “We shall find you a better bag. That one may be bugged.”
“So what do we do with all these things from the future? Including our dead spies.” The young woman’s gaze moved from her grandmother to Mrs. D and back again. “Should we send it all back to the future and let them deal with it?”
“That may well be Jamie’s plan.” Gran nodded in agreement. “But for now, we must wait out the storm and hope they do not send another troop of spies our way until we have had the chance to escape. We shall make our way north to Northumberland, specifically Alnwick Castle, the seat of the Duke of Northumberland.”
“I thought my cousin executed Thomas Percy, the seventh Earl of Northumberland and the first Baron Percy back in, what was it, 1572? He supported my mother and I believe he plotted to have her liberated.”
“All true.” Gran beamed at her granddaughter. “You remember your history lessons well. The English queen has confiscated Northumberland’s title and estates, but there are still supporters, not to mention his son, another Thomas, who should be the eighth Earl of Northumberland. All that being said, for the time being it is the safest castle from which to launch your campaign.”
“My campaign?”
“Well, for starters, I thought you wanted to confront Queen Elizabeth.” Gran raised a questioning eyebrow at her granddaughter, carefully holding down the corners of her lips as they threatened to creak upwards into a smile. She knew her granddaughter too well, but she didn’t want to let her know that.
“I do!” Mary Elizabeth agreed, not noticing, or perhaps ignoring, her grandmother’s facial expression. “I must meet with my cousin, the English queen. I must secure the release of my mother’s attendants. And I want to make my cousin aware of my existence and the threat that I pose her.”
“All in good time,” Gran admonished her granddaughter. “Like I said, you need an army. And the only one ready at our disposal is at Alnwick Castle, or at least close by.”
Chapter Nineteen
MALMOHUS CASTLE, DENMARK, APRIL, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1578
“Come here, child.” It sounded like Gran’s voice —soft, caring, compassionate —but there was an echo in this tiny, dark, cold room. There was only one window, a tiny crack high up in the wall. No light could possibly i
nvade the space from outside, at least not through the miniscule hole.
Mary Elizabeth’s feet moved of their own accord, pulling her forward. Her grandmother was beckoning her toward a long bench, covered in lumps of rags. The bundle moved and the girl jumped back with a shriek. She covered her mouth and then made a quick dash toward her grandmother, burying her face in the long velvet drapery of the older woman’s skirt.
“Marie de Guise, as I live and breathe,” the lump spoke in a deep throated, raspy voice. It rose to a sitting position and hands reached up to its eyes, rubbing them as if to clear the vision. “I thought you were dead. All these years and I thought you were dead. May as well be, now that your daughter is imprisoned. And for what?” He let out a bitter half sob, half grunt. “So that she could love a man like me, and a good, sturdy Scotsman at that.”
“Ah, James. My dear Lord Bothwell.” Gran let out a deep sigh and Mary Elizabeth peeked hesitantly from behind her. She was small for her age, and timid. She always felt safer when she was close to her grandmother. “Always my faithful lord and my good man. The only one who stood up for my daughter, the only Scotsman who tried to keep her safe.”
“I did try, did I not?” There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “How is she? Still imprisoned by that wicked Queen of England?”
“Aye, my Lord,” Gran said with a trace of sadness in her voice. “But she still loves you, you know. She remains faithful to you, a love she never thought she could truly have, being the lonely queen of a country divided by religious factions.”
Lord Bothwell nodded in sad agreement. He gazed directly at the girl and Mary Elizabeth quickly buried her face once again in her grandmother’s gown. “And who is the child?”
“Your daughter, Mary Elizabeth.” Gran reached behind her and gently pushed the girl forward. “Mary Elizabeth, you have always wondered about your parents. This is your father, James Hepburn, Lord Bothwell, your mother’s last husband.”
“Queen Mary’s daughter?” The Lord studied the girl and her grandmother. “But they told me the baby was born dead.”
“One was, but there were two, and we kept this one safe. For Scotland.”
“For Scotland.” Lord Bothwell struggled to place a friendly smile on his face. He held out his hands to his daughter. “Come here, Mary Elizabeth. Come sit on an old man’s knee and tell him about yourself. I do not have long to live, but I know I will die a happy man having made your acquaintance.”
Mary Elizabeth walked across the room toward him. “Are you my father?” she asked quietly, timidly.
“So your grandmother says,” the Lord replied. He lifted the girl onto his lap and brushed a strand of reddish-blond hair back from her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. “You look like your mother, but you have the strong blood of a pure Scotsman. You will be a force to be reckoned with, and you will make your family and your homeland strong and proud.” His eyes focused on Gran. “For Scotland.”
“Aye. For Scotland.”
Mary Elizabeth sat on her father’s lap, studying him closely, taking note of the scraggly long hair and beard, the dirty clothes, and, yes, the smell. She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to be rude, but this man did smell bad. And what was this place? It was so dark and dingy and she heard the scurrying of little feet and saw dark lumps scooting across the floor.
“Rats?” she asked. “Are those rats?”
“Aye!” The girl shuddered. “My only cell mates. ‘Tis the life I now lead. I was once a grand lord in your mother’s court, and before that in your grandmother’s court.”
“In Scotland?”
“Aye, in Scotland.” He lifted his tarnished hand, etched with claw marks, chapped and bleeding. Mary Elizabeth tried not to flinch as he ran a finger down her cheek. It was rough and scratched her fair skin. “So soft. Just like your mother’s skin, so soft.” He ran his finger under her chin and stopped to gently pull her face forward, facing him full on. “And how old are you now, my little princess?” he asked softly. Gran remained standing in the centre of the small room, observing the interaction between her granddaughter and her son-in-law.
“Eleven,” the girl answered. “At least, I will be eleven in the summer. That's when I was born.”
“Eleven years,” the man said pensively. “Has it been that long? She was a good woman, your mother, and a good queen. She was never given much of a chance. Her half-brother, the Earl of Moray, made sure of that. He was always jealous of her; he felt he deserved the crown being the last king’s son. But he was illegitimate, you see. Although there were those that claimed Queen Elizabeth was illegitimate as well and she became queen. Does she rule still?”
He gazed at Gran, his mind foggy. She nodded her head. His questions had a repetitive ring to them, but she answered as if she had not broached the subject before. Gran was good at that: being cognisant of another person’s feelings. She would never be rude and tell them that she had already answered the question. Instead, she formulated a slightly different, but equally true, response. “Aye, both Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary are still alive. My daughter continues to be her prisoner, but she is kept in much better rooms than this.”
Lord Bothwell nodded sadly. “That is good. She would not fare well in a place like this. Malmohus Castle, they call it. The Danish King Frederik has kept me prisoner in this —”
“Watch your language,” Gran interrupted with a stern warning before he could say anything more. “My granddaughter has sensitive ears.”
He let out a deep sigh of frustration as he glanced down at his child. “And now I must live out my days in this prison for a crime I did not commit.”
A pounding on the door startled the young girl. She jumped off the man’s lap and ran for cover behind her grandmother. “What goes on in there?” a deep man’s voice called out in a language Mary Elizabeth had only just started to learn. “You talking to yourself again?”
“Aye!” Lord Bothwell yelled. “Now leave me alone to my misery, will you?” His expression was one of intense sadness as he gave Gran and his daughter a weak smile. “A bonny lass for Scotland.”
“Aye!” Gran agreed.
“Help her find my inheritance. It will support her cause….” The words faded, as did the image of the room and the man.
“For Scotland!”
Chapter Twenty
The aftermath of the battle left the princess in a daze. She wasn’t sure if it was the added warmth of more stew in her stomach, the blazing heat of the fire in the hearth, or the simple fact she was exhausted. She didn’t remember much of the evening. Everyone ate in silence, just as worn out from the day’s events. She didn’t even remember putting up a fuss about lying on the ground with the others, keeping near the hearth for warmth. She was used to soft mattresses for sleeping, not cold, hard dirt floors.
She woke up with a start, the remnants of her dream causing confusion in her head as the cobwebs struggled to clear out the fog of sleep. The blanket that someone had tossed over her provided little comfort. The cold from the bare earth beneath her seeped right through. She shivered as she sat up. The hearth was cold and the others still sound asleep. She needed to relieve herself, but didn’t know how or where. She didn’t remember an outhouse, or if that sort of thing existed in the sixteenth century. They certainly wouldn’t have, or even know about, the luxury of indoor plumbing. And chamber pots? Where would she find one of those and a place to do her business in relative privacy?
As if reading her mind, her grandmother’s voice intruded on her pondering. “Outside in the hedges,” she said, speaking in little more than a whisper. “I will come with you. One of the inconveniences of travelling through time is never knowing how or where to take care of your basic needs. Come along. Quietly, though, so as not to disturb the others.”
Mary Elizabeth pushed off the blanket, which was starting to itch terribly. She stood up and followed her grandmother outside. “The snow has stopped.” She paused briefly by the door and took in the scene that lay bef
ore them. The sun had started to rise, leaving a cheery glow of deep pink on the horizon as it sparkled across the snow-covered ground. “I feel like I have just entered Narnia when the White Witch starts to lose her powers and the world comes to life again.”
Gran patted her granddaughter fondly on the back. “Perhaps you have. Now let us get this business done quickly and get back inside. It is quite cold out here.”
Mary Elizabeth nodded in agreement and the two women finished their business just as Jamie appeared at the door, obviously wondering where they had gone. The women returned to the cottage, scratching vigorously. Jamie greeted them with a yawn and considerable scratching himself. “Fleas,” he grumbled. “The blankets are full of them, but it was either flea bites or frostbite. We will all suffer for days from the former.” He held the door open for them before taking off to do his own business. He returned a few minutes later with some logs to add to the fire. Mrs. Langley was already up and tending the hearth. She thanked Jamie with a smile as he added one of the logs to the sparkling coals that were starting to come to life again and placed the other logs beside the hearth.
Everyone else was starting to rouse themselves, all disappearing outside briefly. Jamie took a seat on the bench at the table between Mary Elizabeth and her grandmother. “What next?” the princess had to ask.
“We send the victims back to the future along with their personal affects and weapons, and then we burn the cottage and make tracks.” Jamie made it all sound so easy. “Only we try not to leave any noticeable tracks they can easily follow. With the threat of more snow on the way, we should have our tracks conveniently covered by mid-afternoon. Hopefully that will give us enough time before the next slew of dangerous spies are hot on our trail.”
“But the Langleys!” Mary Elizabeth protested. “This is their home. We cannot destroy it.”
“They have chosen to come with us,” Gran explained. “They want to serve you, Mary Elizabeth. They see in you a real princess, one who they would like to see on the throne of Scotland.”
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