Queen Mary's Daughter Read online

  This was where the queen had resided for almost a year. Not a pleasant abode, even if the walls had once been adorned with tapestries and the window openings covered with thick, leaded glass.

  A gust of wind threw Mary Elizabeth off balance. Cries could be heard from above. “Mary Elizabeth, come quickly,” a woman called from the top of the stone stairs that now appeared.

  Mary Elizabeth studied the space around her. The walkway on which she had entered was gone. She was standing on a stone floor, a progression of stairs along the far wall, led upwards. It was dark. Candles were secured in sconces on the walls. The door behind her was closed tight; the door that hadn’t been there earlier when she entered.

  “Mary Elizabeth.” The voice was more insistent. “Come. The queen needs you. She needs all of us. Now.”

  Mary Elizabeth started to climb the stairs, warily at first and then with purpose. Whatever was happening had happened for a reason, and there was only one way to find out what the reason was.

  “My goodness, child,” the woman exclaimed when Mary Elizabeth reached the top landing. “Where on earth did you find that outfit? Didn’t you think to dress appropriately before coming to see your Queen? Here.” She tossed a cloak over Mary Elizabeth’s shoulders. “That should do for now until we can find you something decent to put on. Right now, we must attend to the queen’s needs.”

  A scream pierced the walls and echoed from one stone wall of the square tower to the other.

  Chapter Six

  LOCH LEVEN CASTLE, MID-SUMMER, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1567

  Mary Elizabeth wrapped the cloak securely around her waist with the sash that the older woman provided. She pursed her lips as she surveyed the young woman’s finished look before shaking her head. “It will have to do for now. At least it is night and the light is not so good. Come along.”

  She opened the door behind her and motioned Mary Elizabeth inside, closing it tightly after they had both entered. The room was indeed dark. A fire sputtered in the hearth and candles were lit here and there, giving away shadows that sent chills up and down Mary Elizabeth’s spine. She hadn’t spoken a word since her world toppled precariously, jostling her into this unknown place and time. She was too baffled to make any sense of what was happening to her, not to mention what was happening around her.

  A bed against one wall was covered in disheveled sheets. A figure writhed and moaned and there was blood on the sheets, on the floor, and on the hands and gowns of the women who hovered nearby. Another scream pierced the room and Mary Elizabeth had to fight the urge to cover her ears. She wondered if she could escape, if she could just turn away and run out the door she had just entered. This wasn’t her place, after all. She didn’t belong here.

  A squeak, almost like a kitten’s muffled whine, broke the silence that had followed the last scream. The ladies hovering by the bed spoke in guarded whispers. Mary Elizabeth struggled to make out what they were saying. She took a step closer, feeling the urge, the pull, the need to be a part of what was happening in this room. As she approached the bed, she started to recognise what was being said. The women were speaking French, an older version of the French she had studied while at school.

  “She lives,” one woman whispered, a tiny pink blob nestled into the palm of her hand.

  “It’s not possible,” another woman all but gasped. “Too soon. Much too soon.”

  “Too soon!” the first woman echoed. “Too small, too. She will not live long.”

  “But it is possible.” The old woman who had beckoned Mary Elizabeth elbowed her way next to the woman holding the whimpering creature. Continuing in French, she added, “Hand her to me. We must keep her warm. Was there another baby?”

  The woman holding the baby handed her to the old woman, who quickly wrapped her in a soft, warm cloth. “Yes. It was blue. No life. A boy.”

  The woman in the bed stirred. “Mon bébé.”

  The old woman gently placed the tiny, wrapped bundle in the reclining woman’s arms. “Keep her warm, my lady. She is fragile.”

  “Will she live?”

  “Not here, my lady. The lord gaoler will see to that. We must spirit her away. Tonight. Before anyone knows that the baby lives.”

  “Not yet. I must hold her for a few moments. She is mine. My precious baby. My precious little princess. Mary Elizabeth. She must be called Mary Elizabeth. Princess Mary Elizabeth.”

  The women around her exchanged glances. It was obvious from their expressions that no one expected the baby to live, at least not long.

  “Is she here?”

  “Yes, my lady.” The old woman beckoned Mary Elizabeth closer.

  “Another Mary Elizabeth?” The woman in the bed studied Mary Elizabeth. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “No, my lady.” Mary Elizabeth adopted the formality of the conversation that she had just overheard. This woman on the bed was someone of importance.

  “Take her.” The woman handed Mary Elizabeth the tiny bundle. “Keep her safe. Help her live.”

  There was no time to respond. No sooner was the tiny bundle nestled into the crook of Mary Elizabeth’s arm than the door through which she had entered earlier banged open. The figure of a man filled the space, barely blocking the sudden gust of wind that followed in his wake.

  “The baby. Give it to me now.”

  Instinctively, Mary Elizabeth backed into the shadows and wrapped her cloak around the little creature, who wiggled gently within her arms. One of the women who had hovered over the bed carried a lifeless bundle to the man.

  “It is a boy, my lord,” she spoke timorously.

  “I heard a baby’s whimper,” the man bellowed.

  “The little prince died shortly after he entered this world, my lord. It was just too early.”

  “Humph! Take care of it then and clean up this mess.” He swung around as if to leave and then stopped abruptly. Without looking at anyone in particular, he barked a command. “I expect you to join us for dinner tomorrow. Make yourself presentable.”

  “Her majesty might not be up to joining you tomorrow,” the old lady remarked bluntly.

  The lord gave her a cold stare. “She is no longer ‘her majesty’. She is merely a guest in my home. She will join us for dinner.”

  “But my lord…” one of the other ladies tried to interject.

  “No but’s. Make it happen. This is my domain, not hers. She is nothing now. Just a lady of no means.”

  “But she is our Queen,” the old lady tried to argue.

  The lord spat on the floor at his feet. “She is not my queen. She gave up that right when she made us all a mockery for the world to see.” He spat again. “The Earl of Moray is our Regent until young King James is old enough to rule.” And with that, he stormed out of the room, banging the door behind him. Another gust of cold wind blew through the room before the closed door could block its progress.

  The room was deathly quiet, like a tomb. Cold as the grave, too. The old woman tugged at Mary Elizabeth’s arm. “You must leave. Now.” After taking a look outside the room to make sure the coast was clear, the old woman ushered Mary Elizabeth out of the room. “There is a boat waiting. We will take the baby away, you and I, before it is too late. This baby must live. Go. Now. William’s at the boat. He knows the rendezvous location. I will meet you there. Go.”

  “I do not understand.” Mary Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. “What is this all about? Who is that dreadful man? Who is that woman on the bed? Who is this baby?” She felt a gentle nudge pointing her toward the stairs. There would be no answers this night. At least, not yet. Now was the time for stealth and careful manoeuvres.

  Realising the gravity of the situation, even if she didn’t fully understand it, Mary Elizabeth wrapped her cloak tighter around the delicate bundle murmuring against her shoulder. She felt its warmth, tiny though it was. She didn’t believe for a moment that it had a chance to live, not in this time and place, whenever and wherever she was. The newborn must have b
een at least four months premature, much too young to survive in a cold, harsh world where even the fittest babies barely stood a chance. But she didn’t have time to think. Time was of the essence.

  She trotted down the stairs, her tread light against the stone surface. Mary Elizabeth found the door through which she had entered and made her way outside. It was night. Dark. Her eyes didn’t need adjusting as it wasn’t much darker than the inside of the tower room she had just left. She scanned the courtyard and then hastily made her way down the outside stairs, keeping as much to the shadows as she could. A cold wind whipped at her cloak. She pulled it tighter around her chest, keeping the baby secure and, hopefully, warm. Hugging the outer walls, Mary Elizabeth made her way toward the sound of water lapping against the rocks on the island’s shore. It sounded much closer than she remembered. Just as well. She wanted to get away from this place as quickly as she could.

  “Over here,” a voice called out in little more than a whisper.

  Mary Elizabeth followed the voice. She treaded carefully as she made the descent toward the water. The rocks were slippery. She didn’t want to careen down the slope into the cold, unforgiving water of the loch. She could just make out the shadow of a small rowboat with a figure waving at her. As she approached, the figure reached across the side of the boat and helped her climb aboard. She settled on a bench and wrapped the cloak more closely around her. The wind threatened to whip it off her shoulders and she knew she had nothing else to help protect the little Princess. For that was what she was. It hit Mary Elizabeth with full force. She was rescuing a baby princess. The woman in the bed, the woman who had given birth, had called her Princess Mary Elizabeth.

  “We must be off.” And with no further comment, the man pushed the boat away from shore. It rocked precariously from side to side as he took his place and picked up the oars. The sound of the wind and the rough waves rushing against the island’s shoreline drowned the gentle dipping of the oars, and the boat made its way across the loch. The shadowy outline of the island castle drifted further away as the dark night seemed to swallow up everything around them. There was just Mary Elizabeth, the man in the boat, whom she assumed must be the William that the old woman had mentioned, and a tiny baby, probably wondering if she would ever have her first feeding. With a jolt, Mary Elizabeth realised that she would have to find a wet nurse, and soon.

  As she pondered the urgency of finding appropriate care for the newborn, the boat slowed and the man brought the oars alongside, allowing them to drift. He stood, rocking the boat, and jumped out, landing in the water with a splash that sent a shower Mary Elizabeth’s way. She blinked the water from her eyes and took notice of the darkened shadows of a thick grove of trees that lined the shore. The man tugged the boat over the gravel as close to the shoreline as he could.

  “Here. That’s the best I can do. You’ll have to wade through the shallow water to shore. Come along.” He reached out his hands to steady Mary Elizabeth as she stood and made her way forward before stepping over the side. He grabbed Mary Elizabeth at the waist and lowered her into the water. Once steady, he guided her by hand until the swishing of the water gave way to solid footing. “Into the trees and rest a bit. I must push the boat off so it floats downwind, away from us. Don’t want any pursuers to find our landing spot.”

  Mary Elizabeth did as she was told. She approached the treeline and found a sturdy trunk to lean against. Careful of her bundle, she slid to the ground, content to allow the lingering sensation of the rocking boat to give way to the more secure sense of standing on solid ground. She heard a horse nicker nearby, followed by another. Had they been discovered so soon? Where had William disappeared to? She jumped when a shadow suddenly appeared, looming over her.

  “Come along, now. Horses are ready. You can ride, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” Mary Elizabeth uttered her first word.

  She shadowed William deeper into the woods, following the restless stomping of horses’ hooves and the occasional nicker. She felt the muzzle of a horse nibbling the top of her head before she could actually make out their shape in the looming darkness of the woods.

  “Here. I’ll help you mount.”

  Mary Elizabeth felt awkward as the man from the boat half lifted her into the saddle. Normally, she was quite capable of mounting by herself. She was a proficient horsewoman—her grandmother having made sure that she received weekly lessons at a nearby riding stable during her growing up years. This was different, though. She had her arms wrapped around a living treasure.

  Once settled in the saddle, one not as comfortable as the saddles used in her early riding days, Mary Elizabeth picked up the reins. She felt a connection with the horse between her legs as she nudged it forward to follow William, who had mounted as well.

  There was no conversation as the darkness enveloped the two riders. The only sound was the horses’ hooves and the occasional snort. They rode at a casual pace, in spite of their need to increase the distance between them and the loch’s castle.

  Finally, William pulled his horse around to face Mary Elizabeth’s. They were in a clearing, of sorts. The shadowy outline of a building was barely visible straight ahead. The smell of burning peat was evidence enough of a dwelling nearby.

  “Alva.” William nodded before him. “The Glen is just over the rise of land behind the croft. You can hear the waterfalls. Beautiful sight to behold. One of many lovely vistas in Scotland. Much of the land around here is rugged, rocky, but lush with vegetation. Extremely difficult to make a living off this land, but we Scots are a tough people. We survive. We can stop here briefly,” William announced, reaching over to take the reins of Mary Elizabeth’s horse, and leading her toward what might be deemed a hitching post. He dismounted and tied the two horses before turning to help Mary Elizabeth and her bundle to the ground. “They are MacGregors, loyal to Queen Mary. This is one of their many crofts. The old lady you met at the castle is one of them. She should be here by now. If not, she will join us soon enough. Time to get that babe near a warm hearth. Does it breathe still?”

  “I think so,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. Her free hand felt around the baby’s chest until she found a pulse. “The heart beats, but it’s weak.”

  “The old lady will know what to do.” William said no more before leading her into the darkened cottage. Mary Elizabeth leaned against the doorframe as she entered, taking in the cold, hard surface of rough stone. It was a traditional Scottish croft dwelling, no more than a cottage. Mary Elizabeth had read about Scottish crofts. Gran had instructed her to read everything she could find on Scotland and Scottish history. It was her heritage.

  She gave a little cough as she entered, the smoky interior affecting her sinuses after the clear, damp air of the outdoors. The burning peat in the hearth provided the only available light. Already accustomed to the dark outside, it didn’t take much to make out the shapes of figures sitting around a table near the hearth. The rest of the room was indistinguishable as there were no candles lit.

  A voice called out in both Gaelic and English, “Ceud mile fàilt. Welcome.”

  “She speaks Gaelic, Callum.” Mary Elizabeth recognised the voice. It was the old lady. It took Mary Elizabeth a few minutes to catch on to the thickly slurred words, but it was like music to her ears. She had loved learning the language as a child, and it all came back to her quickly. Just as well, since the old lady continued to speak in Gaelic, as did the others in the cottage. But how did the old lady know that she could speak Gaelic?

  Further questions were banished when the old lady appeared before her. “Ah! You’re here at last.” She spoke softly in Gaelic. She reached out to welcome her, or perhaps to reclaim the bundle she had left in Mary Elizabeth’s care. “And how fares the baby?”

  “She lives,” Mary Elizabeth replied, the gentle burr of the Scottish native tongue falling easily off her tongue. She slowly unwrapped her shawl, revealing the tiny form. The old lady reached over and gently took the baby from Mary Elizabeth’s
arms.

  “I must take her from here quickly. There is no time. Were you followed?” she asked William.

  “I do not believe so.”

  Turning toward the hearth, the old woman motioned one of the shadowed figures forward. “Martha. Fetch that gown for Mary Elizabeth. She’s a fair bit chilled from the jaunt through the woods.”

  The figure moved toward the back of the space, disappearing into the shadows through what must be a doorway to another room. She returned with something draped over her arm. She beckoned Mary Elizabeth to follow her.

  “Go.” The old woman gave Mary Elizabeth a nudge. “You must look the part while you are here. What you wear underneath the cloak I loaned you will not do in this time and place and there is no time. It is only a matter of minutes before they track our movements to this cottage. I must leave at once to ensure the baby’s safety and her survival. And you must be dressed appropriately to play your part and to play it well.”

  “But where will you go?” Mary Elizabeth asked. “And what do you mean, play my part? What is my part?”

  “Not now. Another time, another place. You will know when the time is right, my child. For now, you must find your way back. You must go home.”

  “My way back?” Mary Elizabeth was confused. “What do you mean by that? I don’t even know for sure where I am now.”

  A clatter of hooves approached the building. Mary Elizabeth studied her surroundings with concern. “Go. Change. Quickly. Martha help her.” The old lady was quite insistent. “Go, Mary Elizabeth. Now. Before it is too late.”

  No one moved except Martha, who motioned her again into the back room. Mary Elizabeth surveyed the room again as the clatter of hooves and men’s voices shattered the night's silence just outside the cottage door. The old lady was nowhere to be seen.