She allowed the chants to die down, then took the time to greet each clan chief and lord personally by name. It was important that she noted everyone, that she recognised everyone for who they were and whom they represented. She had a scribe sitting next to her taking down everything she said and everything said to her. She would have her meetings well documented for her own reference, as well as for a historical record. It was important, something she learned while working at the publishing house in the future. Every meeting was well documented and every nonfiction book of any note was well researched and footnoted. The written word was proof not only of her existence, but also of the importance of all that she did for her country.
After the acknowledgements were complete, she started with the first order of business. “I know my people do not want an increase in taxes. In fact, I am sure that they do not want taxes at all. Unfortunately, if we want our country to be safe and secure from foreign threats, and if we want certain things accomplished within our country for the overall good of our country, then we will need taxes of some sort to pay for these expenses. As everyone well knows, money does not just appear out of nothing. However…” She could almost see the thoughts swirling around inside their heads. Based on what she had just said, they were thinking she was going to impose yet another tax on the citizens of Scotland. But Queen Mary Elizabeth had other ideas and she knew they would be well received, even appreciated. She also knew that it would garner more love than hate from her people.
Raising her hand to ward off any objection, which she noted from several members who had started to move about restlessly in their seats, she quickly added with a slight smile evident at the corners of her lips, “I have made some calculations and I have enough in the royal coffers to cover this upcoming battle with my brother, to secure our borders, and perhaps make some improvements on the roads and other parts of our infrastructure.”
Mary Elizabeth had yet to search for her father’s buried loot, if indeed there was any. In the meantime, however, she was well off, by seventeenth century standards. During the course of her stay in the Orkney’s, her grandmother, Lady Mary Catherine, and Jamie had all made frequent jumps to the 1920s and invested quite heavily in the ever-growing stock markets of the era. They had done exceedingly well, and converted the earnings to gold to bring back to the seventeenth century and finance Mary Elizabeth’s campaign. It had all been safely hidden away in Holyrood House and Mary Elizabeth would keep her stash well hidden and protected until needed. She didn’t plan on making exorbitant purchases for herself. She did need a few gowns, but there were official robes from her mother’s era, and even some left behind by her sister-in-law, Queen Anne. She didn’t need much and she certainly wasn’t planning on supporting a large household. She would make do with what she needed and nothing more.
She had to confess, though, and with a certain amount of pride and pleasure, that she could afford to hire a cobbler in Edinburgh, one that came highly recommended from a couple of sources. She wanted several pairs of serviceable boots, like the ones she still had from the twenty-first century that had definitely seen better days. The delicate lady’s slippers that were all the craze in court were not especially practical for riding, walking, or mounting a military campaign. The most popular lady’s slippers of the early seventeenth century were the backless pantofles, which were totally useless for the outdoors.
Mary Elizabeth had supplied the cobbler with her well-worn boots. He had been impressed with the design and the manner in which the boot was laced and buckled up the leg. The slightly higher-than-standard, one-inch heel surprised him, but he made no comment, as he saw in this commission not only a good, steady source of income if he did the job satisfactorily, but also a means to attract other customers, as the ladies of the court would seek to imitate the queen’s style, even in outdoor footwear
It had taken only a week, but the queen was quite happy with the cobbler’s boots. She had already ordered several more pairs. She wiggled her toes under the table, relishing in the soft, pliable leather of a boot made especially for her in her specific foot size.
Bringing her thoughts back to the business at hand, the queen continued, “I do believe we could offer our people one full year free of any taxing. That should help boost the economy, as well as help individuals get a little step ahead. However, after the year is over, we will have to revisit this issue and see what needs to be done and how we can effectively go about financing our plans.” She studied each of the representatives in turn. “Do we have an agreement on this proposal?”
It was ayes all around and some fervent nods of approval.
“I want to make it clear that, even though I am now your anointed queen, I am here to work with you, not to order you about and take all of your resources for my own coffers.” This met with more smiles and nods of approval.
“Now, on the issue of Prince Charles…” Her brother still hadn’t shown any concern about his younger son being in the court of the one he called Pretender. He had sent messages, private correspondence or missives to either Prince Charles or the young prince’s caretakers. Although Charles’s health had improved since the illness that had prevented him from accompanying his family on their journey south, no demands had been made for his speedy return to his father’s court. Mary Elizabeth found this exceedingly odd and wondered if her brother cared at all for his offspring, other than the obvious role of continuing his royal line. King James certainly had not taken his sister’s threat to claim the Scottish throne too seriously. If he had, he would have thought twice about leaving behind his son.
“Keep him as a hostage,” the MacGregor clan chief bellowed before anyone else could speak. There were several ayes to support his motion.
The queen nodded in agreement. “I rather like the boy, actually. I will not keep him prisoner, though. If he stays at court, he remains with me and learns the way of the court. He will be king one day, only not King of Scotland.”
“But he has an older brother, Prince Henry,” the MacLean clan chief challenged.
“Older brothers do not always live long enough to claim the throne,” Mary Elizabeth pointed out. “Look what happened to Queen Elizabeth’s uncle, Prince Arthur.”
“Not to mention her grandmother’s brother, the Duke of York,” someone offered from the rear of the room.
“The Pretender,” the queen agreed. “Something many English people are calling me.”
“But you are our queen, our chosen queen,” came the rallying comment from another clan chief. “You are for Scotland and that is what we want. Not some distant king who sides with the English.”
A thunderous round of, “Ayes!” circulated the room.
“Then we shall keep Prince Charles with us for now,” the queen decided. “Until such time as his father decides to recognise our claims.”
Another round of ayes, followed by, “And then we still keep him as leverage.”
“Aye!” was the unanimous response.
“Now for other matters of business.” The queen glanced quickly at each man present in the room, catching their eyes, one at a time. “Do we have a quorum to go ahead with marching south? We need to defend Scotland, our country, our home, our people.”
“How far south?” Clan Chief MacGregor asked. “Where do you propose establishing the border between the two countries?”
“Hadrian’s Wall.” She was pleased to notice the startled looks on her gathered clansmen's faces.
“Hadrian’s Wall?” several voices questioned in unison.
“Why Hadrian’s Wall?” It was the MacGregor again. He appeared an able spokesperson, and Mary Elizabeth was quickly recognising in him a certain amount of confidence and dependability that she needed for her inner circle of advisors. He garnered considerable respect from the others and he was well spoken, not in the least bit afraid to speak up or to speak his mind.
“It was built for a reason,” the queen stated simply.
“It is just a mound of packed dir
t and rubble,” came several voices.
“Not all of it,” another voice argued.
“It is so far south. Why not Adrian’s Wall instead?” others queried.
“Oh, it is much more than that,” the queen reasoned. “It is the perfect choice. There is a significant length of wall that still stands to this day, and the rest can certainly be built up again. It makes a good line of defense, as well as a defining border.”
“But the steep ditch is on the northern side, hindering our defenses, not the English.” It was a valid point.
“Then we shall fix that,” she argued. “And as soon as possible.”
“But why so far south?” the question was presented again.
“We have several supportive northern English lords, including the Earl of Northumberland,” the queen explained, keeping her eyes roving around the room, noting the various expressions on the faces of her governing lords. “They supported my mother’s claim and fought for her freedom, in many cases only to lose their lands and titles. They have thrown their lot in with us and it seems only right we accept their request for Scotland’s rule over their lands and their people. They want to be Scottish.”
“I told ye, lads,” Mary Elizabeth’s cousin, Patrick, from Kirkwall spoke his peace. “There have always only been two kinds of people in the world: those who are Scottish and those who wish they was.” That brought a round of chuckles and a few back slaps from those sitting close to Patrick.
“I believe our queen has a valid point.” The MacGregor spoke seriously, abruptly stopping any further joking around. “If the English and King James have an issue with this border between our countries, we shall gladly take them to task to defend our side of the border.”
“Aye! Aye!” A strong chorus of accolades supported the MacGregor’s statement.
“And it will be our point of first contact,” the queen continued. “We shall meet my brother at Hadrian’s Wall, just south of Alnwick Castle. And there shall our rights as a nation be defended. Once and for all. For now, and forever.”
“For now, and forever. For now, and forever.” The chants were accompanied with considerable foot stomping and pounding on the table surfaces. The room was ignited with the passion of Scottish pride.
Chapter Forty
ALNWICK CASTLE, LATE FALL, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1603
“I cannot marry you, Mary Elizabeth.” Jamie paced the rooms at Alnwick set aside specifically for the queen’s use. The castle had been restored over the years, a special project of the Earl’s. The damage from the fire hadn’t gutted the castle’s innards as they first suspected. The outer shell had remained firm and strong.
Jamie and the queen were alone in her chambers. Or, at least almost alone. Lady Jane sat at the far end of the room, next to the burning hearth, working diligently on her needlework. She respected the queen’s privacy and remained far enough away to hear only distant voices mixed into the crackling sounds of the logs in the hearth. She was present for propriety only. There would be no rumors flying about this queen. Mary Elizabeth was determined to be forever careful of her dalliances. In fact, she preferred to respect men from a distance only and use them as a power to secure and protect her throne, nothing more.
“It would be my greatest wish, my dream come true,” Jamie continued, knowing he could speak openly with the queen when they were alone like this. It was the only time they could speak like equals and call each other by their given names, instead of addressing the other by their rank and privilege. “But, for the good of Scotland, Mary Elizabeth, Queen of Scotland and queen of my heart, I cannot.”
“Why, Jamie?” The queen studied Jamie closely, trying to ascertain his reasoning, trying to accept his answer. She had finally taken a leap of faith and made her feelings known, asking him to be her partner in marriage, to father her children and heirs, and to help rule Scotland. It had taken a lot of courage. She never knew what others thought of her and, now that she was queen, it was even more of an unknown. To say that she was shattered by Jamie’s quick and negative response would be an understatement. If not Jamie, then who? Who would make a good royal partner? “It cannot be because the clan chiefs and lords are already making a fuss about your influence over me, can it?”
“No.” Jamie shook his head sadly. “If it were just a matter of what others thought, I would instantly accept your offer. But I cannot, Mary Elizabeth. I cannot.”
“Why?” She struggled to keep the whine out of her voice and to blink back the tears that threatened to escape the corners of her eyes. She did love this man. She didn’t know when that realisation had taken root, but it was there nonetheless. In spite of her staunch independent streak, Jamie was a man she could trust completely and absolutely, a man she could love without reservations.
“Because, my love, I have AML.”
Mary Elizabeth studied closely the man who had fought his way into her heart. She had noticed that his skin was unusually pale and he lacked the energy and enthusiasm he had displayed so vibrantly in the past. Why had she not taken greater care to learn the cause earlier? To insist that he get the treatment he needed?
“What?” she stammered, unsure exactly what AML was and why it should affect their decisions regarding marriage. The use of acronyms was more of a twentieth and twenty-first century thing, almost unheard of in the seventeenth century. Other than the often-repeated A.M., P.M., A.D., and B.C., there weren’t any acronyms in circulation. Having spent more of her life in this era than in the future, the remnants of her acronym overdose had withered away. Jamie’s use of an unfamiliar acronym unsettled her and she wracked her brain to unravel the mystery of AML.
“It is a form of leukemia,” Jamie explained. He took Mary Elizabeth’s hands and led her to the seat by the window. She followed, recognising the jitters that indicated that he needed to sit down. “Acute myelocytic leukemia. It is the most fatal form.”
“But it can be treated, can it not?” The queen’s glanced at Jamie with a sense of urgency. “Perhaps not now, but in the twenty-first century it can be treated. Chemotherapy, radiation.”
“Perhaps.” He nodded sadly. “But it has already affected my ability to travel through time. The last time I was in the twenty-first century, your grandmother all but dragged me to the doctor for a diagnosis. She was concerned. After the long run of tests, the doctors admitted they could treat me, but the probability of survival in my case was minimal. I decided then and there that I did not want to end my days as a test tube experiment. I would much rather fight on the battlefield than in a hospital, being poked, prodded, and drowned in chemicals. I had to come back to see you one last time and to make sure you were crowned queen. I almost did not make the jump. Your grandmother and Lady Mary Catherine used much of their energy to help me. I do not think I could go back to the future, even if I did decide to try the treatment.”
The tears that had only threatened her took course, cascading down her cheeks unchecked. “I do not want to lose you, Jamie.” He pulled her toward him and she nestled her head on his shoulder. “I cannot lose you.”
“I will always be with you, my love,” he murmured softly in her ear. “Always. Do not ever doubt that. My younger, healthier self made many jumps into the future, before I even met you. And all looks good. You will be a good queen for Scotland.”
“But can we not still marry?” Mary Elizabeth pushed herself back to look at her love with tear-filled eyes. “How long do you have?”
“Not long is what the doctors of the future claimed. So I will fight one last battle. I will fight for your honor and I will die on the battlefield. Much less painful and much quicker.”
“You make it sound so callous.” She dabbed her eyes with her fingers.
“Reality, not callousness.” He veered away from Mary Elizabeth to look through the paned glass window. The wide expanse of green landscape stretched in front of the castle, and, as far away as the tree line that marked the forest boundary, tents and armed men dotted the space, all a bustle wi
th activity as the men prepared for battle. “I would rather die a hero on the battlefield,” he repeated just under his breath, “than a vegetable on a metal slab.”
“But there are treatments,” the queen tried to argue. “There is bone marrow transplant, chemotherapy, radiation, all the wonders of modern medical science. Why not try?”
“I might not make it even if I do try. The doctors were not encouraging.” He returned the queen’s gaze with the same compassion. He let out a deep sigh, suggesting thoughts of the ever-present wonderings of ‘what if?’. “Besides, I have already seen my death, Mary Elizabeth. Like your grandmother and Lady Mary Catherine, we time travellers often have the ability to see where our lives will ultimately end. You will, too. We all have to die sometime.”
“I could be a time traveller and a time traveller’s wife.” Mary Elizabeth was reflective. “We could meet here and there throughout time and re-ignite our relationship each time we meet.”
Jamie released a deep sigh. “Alas, my love. I do not think that would bode too well for you as Queen of Scotland. There are already enough critics of your reign. And you do not want your subjects to catch onto the notion that you are a witch, as your brother continually claims.”
“No, I suppose you are right.” The queen let out a deep sigh. Tears started to leak from her eyes once again.
“I have seen my death, Mary Elizabeth,” Jamie repeated. “I have seen my death and it is glorious. I saw it long before I knew I would fall in love with you. Be happy for me. I will die a hero, fighting for a noble cause. I have also seen your death, my dear. Well into the future, thankfully. And you will die as you should, as your grandmother died, of old age. You will see it, too, in time, and you will be prepared as I am, as your grandmother was.”
The two sat in silence for some time, allowing the sunlight to stretch through the paned glass window and envelope them in its warm embrace. Jamie was the first to break the silence. “I have kept a journal, just as your grandmother did. I believe Lady Mary Catherine did as well. You must have those journals?” He lifted an eyebrow to mark his question.
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