Queen Mary's Daughter

by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

  Mary Elizabeth had made an occasional jump to the future, more to ease her mind from the boredom that ensued on this isolated and rain soaked island. Even the sun, when it occasionally did shine, didn’t do much to ease her restlessness. She had made a few jumps back in time, to when her parents were still alive, before she was born.

  She followed Lord Bothwell, hoping to determine the hiding place of his treasure, the one he claimed would finance her campaign. They hadn’t had the opportunity to search on their journey north. Jamie claimed it was too dangerous to take the risk, especially with the current Lord Bothwell, who was in no way related to her father, hot on their tail. She was determined to find the cache, though. She believed now that she knew where to look. And when they journeyed south to claim her throne, she would retrieve it. If it was still there.

  She had also made a few visits to the English and Scottish courts, just to keep in touch with her cousin and her brother, to remind them of what lay at stake. Queen Elizabeth did not age well in spite of the wigs and white powder makeup. Even her brother did not look well, but perhaps the stress of keeping a male lover secret from the court and from his new Danish wife, Anne, was more than he could manage. When the taunts of Queen Jamie reached his ears, in his wife’s presence no less, it was all he could do not to demand the culprit executed on the spot. His queen knew; she had confided in Mary Elizabeth. After all, what would a visit to the Scottish court be without a heart-to-heart chat with her sister-in-law and a doting aunt’s visit to the Royal nursery?

  By jumping forward and backwards in time, Mary Elizabeth was able to appropriately adjust her return time to Kirkwall, but she had to admit that she did notice some raised eyebrows at her sudden appearances after a long absence. It took all her creative power to explain, not knowing for sure if what she said in her defense helped or hindered her cause.

  Even with the occasional jump through time, the days and the nights were long and lonely. Lady Jane, her mother’s maid, whom the princess had met the night before the execution, had chosen to attach herself to the princess. After much nagging and repeated visits to the English court, the princess had managed to secure the release of her mother’s attendants, held prisoner since the execution. It had taken time, but once released, Queen Mary’s followers had flocked north to Scotland, as far north as Mary Elizabeth had ventured, seeking refuge in the princess’s court in the hopes of a position in her royal court once she became queen. Over the years, Mary Elizabeth and Lady Jane had become quite close. There was a bond and a strong sense of trust she didn’t feel with anyone else, except perhaps her grandmother, Lady Mary Catherine, and, of course, Jamie.

  Lady Elizabeth Grace, her host’s eldest daughter, had also attached herself to Mary Elizabeth. The princess wasn’t sure if she was a spy for her father or a genuine friend, so she kept her secrets safe and watched what she said in the lady’s presence.

  There were other attendants as well, male and female. Some had served in her mother’s court, others, like the Earl of Northumberland’s family and followers, had taken up the princess’s noble cause. She was blessed to have a large and lively court and, from the few, infrequent missives that she did receive from the other royal courts, she knew that she was developing a presence that threatened both Queen Elizabeth and King James.

  The thought always made her smile. Her cause was making an impact on the entire United Kingdom, not that it was known as that in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. But if King James succeeded in uniting Scotland to England and Ireland under one crown, in spite of promises to maintain individual governments in Scotland and Ireland, then the Brexit of the twenty-first century had the potential of blowing all of Europe totally off balance as Scotland challenged the powers to regain its independence.

  Mary Elizabeth shuddered, wishing she could just walk outside without getting soaked. Or, better yet, take a long ride over the rocky landscape that surrounded the small Royal Burgh of Kirkwall. It would certainly clear her mind and settle her restless spirit, at least temporarily. The castle was more than a few hundred years old, not that old for this part of the world and certainly not in the sixteenth century. It was built by Henry Sinclair, a well-known sailor in the fourteenth century, who was offered the Earldom of Orkney by King Hakkon of Norway, under whose rule the Orkney’s were governed. Being a sailor, it was only fitting that the new Earl would build his castle overlooking a harbor and use wood imported by his impressive battle fleet. Its position certainly made the castle feel like a ship. The gales that rolled off the straits rocked the building and rattled the windows and rafters as if they were being thrown around at sea. Even the shape of the castle reminded the princess of a ship. Its rectangular shape certainly suggested the looming hulk of a ship’s hull. But other than being a castle, it was nondescript in many ways.

  The castle was, quite bluntly, bone chillingly cold, damp, dark, and dreary. Mary Elizabeth wanted desperately to jump back to the future, to Toronto, to Gran’s house, all nice and warm with indoor plumbing and the ability to have a hot shower every day. But Gran and Jamie, and even Lady Mary Catherine, had advised against jumping back and forth too often. Those who believed in Mary Elizabeth’s cause would not understand her ability to appear and to disappear through time. It wouldn’t help her if the locals and the northern lords who supported her decided she was a witch and a dangerous foe, rather than a kindly princess.

  Although she was becoming quite fond of Lady Elizabeth Grace, Mary Elizabeth chose to be especially careful around the entire household at Kirkwall Castle. Her host, the current Earl of Orkney, Patrick Stuart, was another Stuart relation, of sorts. He was the son of another illegitimate son of King James V. In effect, Patrick was Mary Elizabeth’s cousin, a definite blood relation. Unlike Jamie, whose connection to the princess was more distant, through other branches of the Stuart family tree.

  A knock on the door startled the princess out of her misery. Lady Jane poked her head in and was pleased to see her mistress up and about. She entered when Mary Elizabeth beckoned and proceeded to stoke the fire in the hearth and add another log.

  “There is a messenger in the grand hall,” she announced. “Shall I help you dress to go and greet him?”

  Mary Elizabeth sighed. She was constantly being primped for show and she found it wearisome. “How could a messenger possibly get here in this storm?” she asked, resigning herself to Lady Jane’s ministrations.

  “Well, apparently there have been several others who drowned in their attempts to reach Kirkwall,” Lady Jane admitted. “This is the worse spring they have experienced in years, though how they can tell, I do not know. The weather here always seems so dismal.”

  “Any idea what news?” The princess tapped her foot with impatience. She didn’t want to wait for all the formalities to be done, yet again. She just wanted to hear the news.

  “I overheard the conversation between the Earl and your Jamie,” Lady Jane said, a twinkle of mischief in her eye.

  “Jamie? He is here?” Mary Elizabeth couldn’t help the blush starting to creep up her neck. She had been through a lot with Jamie over the years of battle, espionage, and just waiting. After a rocky start, they had started to bond. When Gran had suggested she seek a strong Scottish lord to be her partner and to father her children, the heirs to the kingdom of Scotland, Jamie had been her first consideration. She didn’t like the idea of being a broodmare, but the whole purpose of her battle was to ensure the safety and independence of Scotland for generations to come. She couldn’t do that if she didn’t have a child of her own to carry on her legacy. And, she had to admit, she wouldn’t find it such a hardship to marry Jamie.

  The other Scottish barons might be jealous and argue against it, trying to persuade Mary Elizabeth to seek a foreign prince as her consort to solidify her claim to the throne, but the princess knew from her studies in history that the in-breeding of the Royal Houses of Europe was one of the biggest causes of their eventual downfall. All the in-breeding resulted in weak
rulers, sometimes even mad rulers. She wanted a long line of strong Scottish heirs to lead her country into the future.

  Other Scottish suitors had approached her. Even the Earl of Orkney had staked his claim for his son, Rupert. Mary Elizabeth liked Rupert. He was strong enough for a northern Scotsman, but, as she tactfully pointed out to the Earl, they were too closely related. Although the Pope might give dispensation for first cousins to marry, Mary Elizabeth, not being Catholic herself, didn’t think it was a good idea. She suggested to the Earl and his son that she had more noble prospects for Rupert’s eventual marriage, and they would have to be content.

  Then there was the Earl of Northumberland’s son, Thomas. It might be beneficial to have a northern English lord in her court, but she believed she already did. Thomas wasn’t hard on the eyes and the two frequently enjoyed friendly banter, but Jamie held the candle to her eyes and no one had dimmed his light. If it weren’t for Jamie she had to admit, yes, she would seriously consider marrying Thomas.

  “Aye.” Lady Jane fussed with the princess’s hair as she talked, tucking in a few loose strands. It was good to have someone take care of her needs, someone who understood the princess’s restless pacing. There would be no wardrobe change. The dress Mary Elizabeth had donned earlier this morning would suffice. “He came with the messenger. It appears your brother is on the move. South, to claim his new crown. The queen is dead. Long live the king. And long live the new Queen of Scotland.”

  “Finally!” She brushed Lady Jane away. She knew she was already groomed well enough for the day. She didn’t want to change her clothes yet again, or have her hair re-done. She braced her shoulders back, lifted her head high and made her way to the door like the true princess she was.

  As she entered the grand hall, the guard at the door made the announcement, “Her Majesty, Queen Mary Elizabeth of Scotland.” The princess almost stumbled at the words. She clearly wasn’t expecting the elevation so soon. She had been princess for so many years and now she was queen?

  As she walked gracefully toward the gathering at the far end of the room, everyone bowed respectfully, some muttering, “Your Majesty.”

  “Jamie.” She held out her hands toward the man who had helped her find a place in this time.

  He was on bended knee, his head bowed. “Your Majesty.” His voice was louder and more convincing than the others.

  Mary Elizabeth hardly noticed. Looking behind him, she noticed two ladies seated comfortably by the hearth. “Grandmother. Lady Mary Catherine. This is an added pleasure.” She moved beyond Jamie and made her way to the hearth where she planted a kiss on Gran’s cheek and flashed a welcoming smile at Lady Mary Catherine.

  The two women appeared to be their age, though it was difficult to determine what that was exactly, considering all the years they had skipped through, the time travel loops they had travelled. Gran was particularly old-looking and somewhat feeble, something the princess had never noticed before. Concern etched across her brow. She was about to speak, then noticed Lady Mary Catherine catch her eye and shake her head almost imperceptibly.

  Turning around, a broad smile on her face, the princess asked, “What brings everyone here?”

  “Other than the foul weather?” Jamie chuckled. Clearing his throat, he quickly added, “News is what has brought us, my Queen.”

  “Queen?” Mary Elizabeth arched an eyebrow.

  Jamie didn’t wait. He announced clearly, in a loud, firm voice for all to hear, “On the twenty-fourth day of March of this year of our Lord, 1603, Queen Elizabeth the First of England and Ireland left this earthly existence and entered into a place of higher reverence. Upon knowledge of her death, King James VI of Scotland quickly assembled his army and headed south, claiming the throne of England as King James I of England, Ireland, and Scotland. The people of Scotland have no desire to be mere pawns to the King of England. Although King James has assured that Scotland will maintain their own parliament, judiciary, and laws, he has also assigned English lords, southern English lords who are loyal to the English crown, to oversee the governance of Scotland. The Scottish people have no desire to be unequally yoked to English tyranny. The people of Scotland are raising armies as we speak to proclaim the princess Mary Elizabeth, daughter of Mary Queen of Scots and sister to King James I of England, Ireland, and Scotland, to be the one true monarch to lead Scotland. I have been sent here as spokesperson to the Scottish Council of Lords to ask the Princess Mary Elizabeth if she will accept the crown of Scotland and the title of Queen Mary Elizabeth of Scotland. Let us keep our country free, now and forever.”

  Before Mary Elizabeth could answer, there was a loud cheer and many voices calling out, “Long live Queen Mary Elizabeth of Scotland. Long live the queen!”

  When the cheers and accolades dimmed, the princess, now Queen of Scotland, greeted her countrymen and women assembled in the chambers of the small castle in Kirkwall. “People of Scotland,” she announced in a clear, bright voice. “I accept the crown and the title. I vow to keep your land, our land, safe from English tyranny and unwanted dominance from any other foreign nation. We are a strong people. We are a free people. Strong and free we will remain now and forever.”

  The room erupted in cheers.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  HOLYROOD HOUSE, JULY FIRST, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1603

  Young Prince Charles sat in the window alcove, pondering the scene in the courtyard below. Even though he was only three, he desperately wanted to join the melee playing out before his eyes. Armored men on horseback, archers on foot, and the royal Stuart banner flashed in the breeze beside the lone rider who prepared to take the lead. What young boy wouldn’t want to be part of the action? And he had a new pony to ride, too, a gift from his Aunt Mary Elizabeth.

  He didn’t fully understand the conflict that existed between his father and Aunt Mary Elizabeth. She seemed nice enough to him and she was his aunt, after all. Plus, Charles was a Stuart and this was a Stuart event. But he was only the second son of King James; his older brother, Prince Henry, would one day rule, not him. If something were to ever happen to Henry, then Charles would inherit the throne. He already knew how he would rule. He might be young, but he had definite ideas about ruling. He was a firm believer in the Divine Right of Kings. In short, he was a young boy who liked to have his way, all the time.

  He sat up a little straighter, feeling quite pleased with himself. Yes! He would rule with full control. None of these so-called counsels or governments of the people interfering. He paid attention to what was going on around him, even if he didn’t fully understand the extent of the ruling monarch’s power. Bottom line, it was his will that mattered and only his will.

  He was startled from his ponderings by the opening of the door to his chambers. “Who is it?” he challenged in the best ruling monarch voice he could muster. It came out as a little boy’s squeak, a scared little boy at that. “Who dares enter without permission?”

  A woman’s soft chuckle blanched his attempt at self-control. He missed his mother. She and the rest of the family had gone south weeks ago so that his father could be crowned King of England. He was already King of Scotland, but with the death of their cousin, Queen Elizabeth, he now could claim another throne. Only, in the process, he was losing his grip on the Scottish crown, or so it would seem. It was confusing. His aunt was determined to undermine the combined rule of her brother. Charles' warders and tutors, left behind to care for him, had instructed Charles to hate his aunt, but she seemed nice. She was family and she was here, whereas his mother was not.

  It hadn’t taken long for the young prince to favor his aunt over his warders. Without his mother’s presence, Aunt Mary Elizabeth had wormed her way into his affections, especially since he was a little disgruntled at being left behind. He had been sick – he knew that – but the family could have waited a few more days at least.

  “It is me, Charlie, Aunt Mary Elizabeth.” He had bristled at being called Charlie, but somehow this woman had the abilit
y to make the name Charlie sound special, to make him feel special. And he wanted to feel special. He didn’t understand why his parents had left him alone in a large, frightening court of royal plotters.

  “I came to see if you were ready.” She walked gracefully into view. Her long white gown and deep blue velvet robe swished on the floor rushes as she moved. “I do so want you to be at my side when I address our people, the good people of Scotland. I had your pony saddled and made ready. The two of us will look spectacular on our matching white horses, do you not think?”

  Charles nodded warily. “I do not know if I can.” He tried to keep the whine out of his voice. He did so want to be part of the festivities, and especially to ride his new pony next to his aunt. “My father might be cross with me. He might call me a traitor.”

  Mary Elizabeth slid into the alcove and sat next to her nephew. She reached her hand to clasp his and held his gaze intently. “We have been through this before, Charlie. Your father is not here, I am, and we are all family. I could order you to attend, then you would have no choice, but I would rather you came because you want to.”

  “I do want to come, Aunt Mary Elizabeth,” he said. “I do.”

  “Then let us go. Our horses await. And your father will not think poorly of you, I am sure. He will just assume that you had no choice.” Taking the boy’s hand, she stood up and led him out of the chamber and down the grand staircase to the courtyard and the waiting horses.