“No more than her grandfather, Henry VII.” Mary Elizabeth knew her history and she knew it well. “Or the many pretenders who tried to sneak into England and steal the throne away. In this life and in the next, we are all pretenders. It is the ones that are the most convincing who succeed.”
“With a little bit of luck,” Gran argued. “It was pure luck that kept you alive when the Lord of Loch Leven Castle wanted you dead before you even drew your first breath. It was pure luck that kept you safe all these years. It is pure luck that has allowed you to make it this far unharmed and with a large army at your back.”
“And it is pure luck that will keep me safe in Greenwich Castle, which is where I understand she is currently holding court.” She paused to take a sip of her wine. Having satisfied her thirst, she stared intently at each one in turn. “I will take six of your finest and most loyal soldiers, along with Jamie and Lady Mary Catherine. Grandmother, you must stay here with Lord Thomas. If something goes wrong and the queen does decide to lock me away, you must come to my aid. And, Lord Thomas–” She studied the captain of her guard, a fine-looking man with a few gray hairs at his temple and the firm, strong build of one who had seen many battles. He was an older version of his son and a loyal man that she knew she could trust. “If something does go wrong and I do not return, you must send the order for the rest of my army to march south.”
Mary Elizabeth swallowed the remainder of her wine and set her empty cup on the table. “Now we must all get some sleep, for tomorrow will be a busy day.” She stood up and everyone followed suit.
“Yes, your Highness,” the group chorused in unison and dipped their heads in acquiescence.
Chapter Twenty-Six
GREENWICH CASTLE, SUMMER, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1587
“It sounds rather noisy in there, does it not?” Mary Elizabeth asked the queen’s guard who held the door, awaiting his signal to present the next guest. “What are they all arguing about? Me?”
True to form, the guard said nothing. The twitch at the corners of his lips suggested he wanted to smile, but was forcing his expression to remain stoic.
“Perhaps you should just announce me and we shall see what happens next.” The princess flashed him her prettiest smile, accompanied by a wink. “I presume you have a voice strong enough to carry above all this cacophony.”
The guard flushed as he opened the doors, but he said nothing to the princess. “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.”
Mary Elizabeth had insisted on the full account of her ancestry. The guard had hesitated, but when Jamie handed over several gold coins, they had quickly disappeared inside the guard’s tunic. He was true to his word and recited Mary Elizabeth’s introduction word for word. The silence that greeted his announcement was deadening. You could hear a pin drop at the far end of the room, it was so quiet. All faces were focussed on the open door. Everyone wanted to see this Scottish princess who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, or so it seemed.
The lords and ladies parted, creating a path down the centre of the room as if Moses had raised his staff to part the Red Sea. As Mary Elizabeth walked forward, head held high with a look of determination upon her face, the wave of people moving back continued to flow, until the far end was clear all the way to the throne upon which sat a scowling Queen of England. The princess almost stumbled when she first caught a glimpse of her, but she maintained her composure and locked eyes with her cousin’s. A flash of mutual admiration ever so briefly flickered between the two, then was gone. The fire of mutual distrust returned.
The princess placed each foot in front of the other, marvelling at the quiet touch of her silk slippers. Her dress, white and full in its bountiful layers of silk and lace, swished in time to her pace. She was reassured that Jamie was nearby, armed and ready. Lady Mary Catherine was also just steps behind her. The walk, however, was one she had to take on her own and she did so, with head held high, the long train of her rich deep blue velvet cloak pulling gracefully on the floor rushes behind her. She couldn’t hear them; she couldn’t hear her two loyal guardians, but she sensed their presence. Her armed guard stood ready just on the other side of the door, waiting further instructions, eyes glued on the one they had sworn to protect.
There was no sound other than the rustle of her gown and a soft murmur as it trailed elegantly behind her. She reached the raised dais and paused briefly before executing a most perfect curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she said loud and clear with grace and conviction. “Cousin.”
The queen 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. “How dare you come here and claim to be a princess of Scotland and my cousin?” She waved her hand almost violently in front of Mary Elizabeth’s face.
“I dare,” the princess answered, “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.”
“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, and an angry old woman at that.
“Yes, my rights.” Mary Elizabeth matched her glare with the queen’s and held it strong. “I am Princess Mary Elizabeth of Scotland, daughter of Queen Mary of Scotland, your cousin, the one you murdered!”
There. She had said it. It was out. The silence in the room couldn’t be more overwhelming. She waited. The queen waited, her pallor bleached whiter than the powder that fluttered off her cheeks. Eyes glued to each other, there was a battle of wills at play and whoever blinked first would lose.
“So you claim.” The queen waved aside the princess’s declarations. “If that 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 lengthy labor? Can you explain all that for me?”
“I was overseas,” Mary Elizabeth answered quite honestly. “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. She might claim ignorance to these plots, but the world secretly believed she was behind them. And she couldn’t talk her way out of Queen Mary’s execution.
The princess knew she was being studied closely. She knew the ever-observant queen would recognize the similarities she bore to the Scottish queen. Even though Queen Elizabeth had never met her cousin face to face, the princess knew that she had seen images of her. The similarities were evident in the princess’s eyes and the sweep and colour of her hair! Swept back in all its reddish-blonde thickness, it glistened with sparkling jewels fastened to silk ribbons. The crown on her head befitted a princess. But, then again, Mary Elizabeth recalled her history lessons that recorded so many other pretenders – young boys claiming to be King Richard, challenging Queen Elizabeth’s grandfather’s claim to the English throne.
This princess had no claims, no proof. If she was who she said she was, then she was second in line to the throne of Scotland. And, if King James married and had his own children, her place in succession would become further from the
throne. Holding the queen’s gaze, the princess broke the silence, declaring, “I come bearing gifts.” She waved a hand and her faithful page boy, the Lord Thomas‘s youngest son, Edward, trotted up quickly from where he had stood beyond the door with the guards. He had an elegant box in his hand, long and sleek with gold inlay featuring the Stuart crest: an argent pelican, winged and feeding her young in the nest. Underneath were the elegantly engraved words, “Virescit Vulnere Virtus." Courage grows strong at a wound. It was appropriate, especially considering the contents inside the box.
The boy bowed to the queen and then to the princess, as he had been instructed to do, and handed Mary Elizabeth the box. She accepted it and, with great pomp, handed it to the queen. Elizabeth was reluctant to accept the so-called gift, but curiosity overruled her resistance. She reached over to take it from Mary Elizabeth’s hands and, once holding it close enough to study, she read the inscription.
Pursing her lips, she sent a glower at the princess, then returned her attention to the box, opening it cautiously. Queen Elizabeth shrieked as the box and its contents were tossed aside, crashing profoundly at her feet. The bloodied silk gloves of the beheaded Queen Mary were lost in the floor rushes as the rosary beads broke from their binding threads and scattered helter-skelter across the floor.
“HOW DARE YOU!” The queen spat out the words, each with individual emphasis and accentuated force. Spittle flew from her mouth as she grabbed the arms of her throne and pushed herself slowly into a standing position, overlooking the princess and the entire court. Some of her spit flew in Mary Elizabeth’s face as the queen rose from her throne and pointed a threatening finger. “Arrest her. Arrest this pretender.”
“I dare you,” Mary Elizabeth responded as calmly as she could, given the outburst from the queen. She had expected as much and was pleased to notice that her gift had been well received. Her voice rose as her impassioned speech, well-practised the night before, gained in momentum. “I dare you to arrest me like you did my mother. I have an army in the thousands at the border, awaiting my summons to venture south. I dare you to arrest me, knowing that you have already done enough damage to your reputation by beheading my mother, your cousin, an anointed queen. I dare you to arrest me, because I know there is not a prison in this land or any other that can hold me, and as long as you keep me prisoner, your realm will never again be safe.”
A man stepped forward from behind the throne. The princess hadn’t seen him earlier, as in his stooped pose, the throne hid his presence. She knew who he was. Dressed as a royal courtier, and a pampered pet, in velvets and silks, he appeared withered from his years of waiting and hoping and wondering if his love would ever take notice. The queen did notice him, in her own way, but this man wanted more. He wanted the woman and the crown, and Queen Elizabeth was determined to give him, or any other man, neither. Though, rumors had it that she did share her bed with him on occasion.
The princess flashed her most brilliant smile at the man. “Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. What a surprise to find you here, at your lover’s beck and call no less.”
There was a collective gasp from the lords and ladies who continued to keep their position in the royal chambers, not wanting to miss a heartbeat of the action. No one dared voice their opinions of the queen’s dalliance to her face, or even in her presence.
Mary Elizabeth was not daunted. She firmly believed she had the upper hand. “You are looking rather old, my dear Earl. Not the spry young man that history books will document for centuries to come, the dashing man of the court who captured a queen’s heart, but not her crown.” Another collective gasp. “By the looks of you, I suspect you will be dead and gone within the year.”
The queen was livid. “Enough!” Mary Elizabeth pulled her gaze from that of the old man she had just taunted. She studied the queen, pleased with her results so far. The queen shook from head to toe, her red-headed fury in full force, even though it was becoming increasingly evident that the queen’s real hair hidden beneath was actually white, given the precarious slipping of her wig.
Lord Dudley, unfazed, chose to ignore the unsettling taunts. He raised his hand to garner attention. Turning from the princess to the queen, he stated as carefully as possible, “Perhaps she could be your guest for a time.”
Mary Elizabeth let out a full-bodied laugh. “You cannot be serious. You think I would fall for that line? I suppose you mean to make me a guest of the Tower. Never. Guest or prisoner, it is all the same in your court. I could easily list the number of royals who entered the Tower as a ‘guest’ and left without a head. And, I daresay, I will find my way free of whatever prison you use to claim my freedom.”
This time the collective gasp was tainted with several muffled chuckles, discretely covered with a cough or two. The queen glowered at the entire court before turning her gaze back to Lord Dudley and the princess.
“Perhaps,” she said with forced politeness as she lowered herself back onto her throne, “we should hear what the princess wants. I mean, she would not have risked her life so valiantly just to give me her dead mother’s gloves and rosary beads.”
“Tainted with her blood,” the princess added. “She wore those gloves and carried her rosary beads to her execution. The blood splattered everywhere.” Noticing the blanching of the queen’s face, yet again, she felt compelled to continue. “Do you realise how much blood is expelled from the body when the head is severed? And, to make matters worse, it took three strokes of the sword to completely sever her head. Three strokes! It should have only taken one, but the executioner was obviously supplied with a blunt sword. Cruel as it was to behead an innocent woman, oh caring and compassionate queen, the cruelty of the multiple strokes magnified the dire deed. And her lips moved in quiet prayer throughout it all. Probably praying for forgiveness for the one person she trusted and respected more than others, albeit errantly.” She paused for effect. Then, pointing her finger at the queen, she all but yelled, “You! She respected and cared for you! She even named me after you! And you killed her!”
The room was once again deadly quiet. The queen fidgeted with the lace at the end of her sleeves. Her eyes flicked from one set of eyes in the crowded room to another, and then back to the princess standing before her. A look of total disbelief, mixed with unsheathed anger, flashed across her face. “I never believed the rumors. I heard them all and I searched the kingdom high and low, but there was no sign of a hidden princess. Overseas, you say? Ireland? The Irish are well known to take pleasure in harboring someone with the potential to disrupt the power of the English throne. Just like my grandfather’s pretenders did all those years ago.” With considerable control, the queen forced her voice to remain calm. “Tell me what you want.” It was obviously a strain to make the appearance of calm.
“It is quite simple.” Mary Elizabeth was pleased with the progress she was making. “When you die, and you will sometime in the next twenty years or so–” Another collective gasp infiltrated through the room, “–my brother, King James VI of Scotland, is your one and only heir. Give him the inheritance with the stipulations that the crown of Scotland goes to me and Scotland remains free of English tyranny for centuries to come.”
Silence. This time it was the queen who started to chuckle. The sound transformed quickly into a full-out laugh. “You cannot be serious.” She almost choked when she had finally controlled her mirth enough to do so. “Ridiculous! And how could you possibly know when I, or Lord Dudley for that matter, am to die? You must be a witch. And we all know what happens to witches.” She snapped her fingers. “Guards.”
Mary Elizabeth merely shrugged. “I tried to warn you.” She didn’t resist when the queen’s guards appeared at either side. She chanced a brief look behind her. Jamie and Lady Mary Catherine were also surrounded by the queen’s men. Looking once more at the queen, she added, “When next we meet, I shall be at the head of a substantial army.”
“Not if I burn you first,” Queen Elizabeth said. “Take her away.”<
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Mary Elizabeth was led from the room, her followers close behind. As they rounded the corner, out of sight of the queen’s chambers, Jamie cleared his throat. A signal.
They were still on the site of Greenwich Castle, but it was smaller and definitely different. People milled about and made their way out into corridors, doors whooshing shut behind them. Mary Elizabeth saw the huge dome overhead and the gigantic telescope that would search the stars come nightfall, if it was a clear night. The castle of Queen Elizabeth’s time was long gone. In its place was the twenty-first century’s grandest piece of equipment for stargazing, the Royal Observatory.
The guards stumbled, baffled, as the workers started pointing at the group of people dressed in sixteenth-century period costume.
“Wow! Talk about real-life action!” One voice said nearby.
“What are they doing here?” another voice asked. “Where did they come from?”
They had to act quickly before contemporary security interfered. Jamie whipped his sword from his sheath. They hadn’t disarmed him during the arrest. He pointed the tip at one of the guards’ throats and took advantage of their confusion. Yanking a sword from one her own confused guards, Mary Elizabeth did the same. Before their escorts could react, Jamie motioned to Mary Elizabeth and Lady Mary Catherine. They dashed for the nearest door and barreled through it, following the corridor, heading, hopefully, toward an outdoor access.
Twenty-first century guards tried to block their exit, but they dodged them and made a hasty exit. Outside, they dove behind a line of hedges and found their mounts waiting for them in the sixteenth century. The sixteenth century guards would be an anomaly for the twenty-first century guards to deal with.
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