Chapter Fifty-Six
Another Chapter has arrived! Thank you all so much for your support on everything. It is greatly appreciated. I hope you all Review or send PMs, because i love reading your comments. This particular year was definitely not the easiest, but we all got through it. Please Read and Review and enjoy Chapter Fifty-Six!
5 September 1559
Hampton Court, England
The Royal Gardens
Queen Lillian of England was enjoying a beautiful stroll in the gardens. She enjoyed the late summer and loved her walks outside. It was nearing exactly one year since she lost her beloved father and she was slightly sad.
Suddenly, she heard someone crying. It didn't sound like an adult, but a child. Lillian put her hand up at her two ladies-in-waiting, signaling them not to follow her. She walked forward s few more steps and saw her youngest stepdaughter, Princess Margaret, sitting on a bench in the Garden, crying.
Lillian walked forward and sat down.
"Meg, sweetheart, what is the matter?" Don't cry." she said, as she held the young girls, who continued to weep.
Several moments later, the nine year old Princess finally stopped crying and wiped her tears.
"Forgive me, my Lady Stepmother. I wanted to cry alone without being a nuisance to anyone." she said timidly.
Lillian wiped her face.
"You are never a bother to anyone, darling. You are a joy for everyone, especially to your Father and I." she said, with a smile.
Margaret gave her a small smile. Lillian took her hand.
"I know how it feels. I felt the same way when my older sisters were married." she said.
Margaret looked at her stepmother.
"Did you feel left behind? Lonely?" she asked.
Lillian nodded her head.
"Of course I did. My sisters were all very much older than me. My eldest sister, Maria, stayed in Spain. However she was nearly an adult when I was born. She had her own family and duties. However, we are still loving. Matilda and Eleanor both love you and you will see Owen again. You know who else will feel our pain?" she asked.
Margaret shook her head.
Lillian held her hand again.
"Mary will know the pain you have. However, when you are in Vienna, you can still be a wonderful sister to her, just as Matilda and Eleanor will be for you." she said.
Margaret hugged Lillian tightly.
"I love you, Stepmother." she said.
Lillian hugged her tighter, fighting back tears.
"I love you too, my sweet Meg." she said.
12 September 1559
Archbishop's Palace, Madrid, Spain
Lady Jeanne Dumane, Duchess of Lautrec's Bedchamber
Lady Jeanne was lying in bed bed, drenched in sweat and exhausted. It had been an exhausting day for her, but she was happy. The twenty-two year old Duchess had just given birth to her and her husband's second child. She had conceived while the Spanish Court had been in mourning for the late Emperor Charles and her pregnancy had been confirmed not long after the coronation of King Luis and Queen Elizabeth. Her only child, three year old Lord Albert, was her and Alex's pride and joy and they had prayed that they would have more children. Jeanne had always wanted a big family, since her only sibling, a brother, died as a baby when she was only two years old.
Lady Sancha smiled, as she walked up, holding the moving bundle and handing it to Jeanne.
"She's a beautiful child, Lady Jeanne. A true beauty." she said.
Jeanne smiled.
"Thank you, Lady Sancha. Is she healthy?" she said
Lady Sancha nodded.
"The midwife said that she will thrive into a healthy young lady." she said.
The door opened and Jeanne's husband, Alex Dumane, Duke of Lautrec, walked in, with a smile.
"Is this our daughter, my love?" he asked.
Jeanne nodded.
"Are you pleased with her? I know a second son would have been better." she said.
Alex took his newborn daughter into his arms.
"I wouldn't trade this beauty for one thousand sons." he said.
Jeanne smiled and then remembered something.
"Isn't this where Queen Elizabeth's late mother was born?" she asked.
Lady Sancha nodded.
"It is. The King settled the Court here for that very reason." she said.
Lady Jeanne smiled.
"It seems fitting to name our new daughter Catherine, after our Queen's late mother." she said, looking up at her husband.
Alex looked shocked, but nodded his head. He thought that their daughter would be named Margaret, after his wife's mother, but as he looked down at his little Catherine, he knew the name was perfect.
18 September 1559
Turkey
Suleiman I, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, was perplexed about what to do. Nine months ago, a young European princess and an older woman were sold to him by pirates, and he was no closer to learning the truth of their identities than he had been at the time, despite the clues he'd been given about the young girl's parentage. He had written to his ambassador to Italy but had not heard back from the man three months later. Perhaps something had happened to the rider he had sent out.
He had sent for his wife, Hurrem, to see what she would advise. Hurrem had been brought to Turkey as a slave from Poland many years ago, and she had captured the Sultan's attention with her beauty and her kindness. He had fallen in love with her, and as a result, defied tradition and set her free. They were legally married once she was a free woman, and he cherished every moment he spent with her. Although he still kept a harem, he never visited the other women in the way that other sultans had in the past. Since their marriage, he was hers, and only hers.
Together, they had five sons and one daughter. Their eldest surviving son was Selim. Selim was married to Nurbanu Sultan, and they had three sons and a daughter, ensuring the continuation of Suleiman's legacy. Although their eldest son, Sah, was to inherit the throne once his grandfather and father had passed away, it was their youngest, Murad, who was Suleiman's favorite. Murad was a quiet boy and very thoughtful, showing his intelligence rarely, but when he did, he amazed all those who heard him speak. He was only fourteen, but everyone in his grandfather's court knew he had the temperament to become a great leader.
A knock on his chamber door indicated that Hurrem had arrived. Suleiman was surprised to see that she had Murad with her when they entered the room. He turned his attention to his grandson first. "Murad how are your lessons?" he asked.
"They are going well, Grandfather," the boy responded. "I have been studying the heavens with my tutors, as well as the laws of Islam."
"Good," Suleiman answered. "Pay attention to both, but especially to the laws of our faith. They will guide you when you face uncertainty." The boy nodded, and the Sultan turned his attention to his wife. "I have not heard from the ambassador."
"Concerning the little Princess?" Hurrem asked.
"Yes."
"Perhaps the rider was ambushed?" Hurrem suggested.
"I was thinking that might be the case," her husband said. "Perhaps I should write to this Pope that you spoke of directly and inquire with him concerning the little girl?"
"That sounds reasonable," Hurrem agreed. "We shall leave you to it. I promised Murad that he could meet the girl under supervision."
Suleiman nodded his approval, and with that, the pair left the room. He sat at his desk, contemplating what he would say to this Pope. He would write the letter himself, then send it to his recorder, who would then translate his words into Italian.
'To the leader of the Catholic church in Rome, from Suleiman I, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire,
Some nine months past, a young girl was brought to Turkey by men of disputable reputation. She was finely dressed, and I was informed that she was a Princess of a nation in Europe, who's mother was never supposed to be a queen, but was.
I have no desire to keep this child from her family. If you can assist me in finding her home, I would gladly return her to whence she came, with nothing asked from her parents, other than safe passage for those who bring her to them.
Suleiman I'
He signed the letter, then folded it. He took it to his guards and asked them to deliver it to his recorder for translation. Hopefully, by the grace of Allah, it would reach the hands of this Pope in Rome and soon the little girl would be reunited with her family, wherever they might be.
22 September 1559
Stockholm Palace, Stockholm, Sweden
The Great Hall
Princess Matilda and Queen Katherine were enjoying wine and having a conversation with each other. The two twenty-four year old women enjoyed a close relationship.
Matilda sighed.
"I don't understand him, Your Majesty. He complains that he's upset that I'm not with child again, but he spends all of his time with his whore. I can't believe she's with child again." she said.
Queen Katherine sighed.
"He is acting out of the ordinary. Most Swedish Princes who have a mistress will dismiss her upon his marriage. I can tell you that my husband, the King, does not approve of how Erik is acting. He was outraged that the whore is pregnant." she said.
Matilda nodded.
"I am just happy that my son is healthy. I can not believe that he is seven years old." she said with, pride.
Queen Katherine smiled.
"I love my little Kristina as well. She will most likely be my only child." she said.
Matilda looked at her stepmother-in-law.
"You are still young." she said.
Queen Katherine looked at Matilda.
"It is not me that is the problem." she said.
Matilda looked at her, surprised.
"Are you saying that the King is... unable?" she whispered.
Queen Katherine sighed.
"Sometimes. It has happened a few times the last few months. He is not happy about it. We wanted another child together. I guess it wasn't meant to be." she said.
Before Matilda, could speak, they noticed that King Gustav, who had been walking and talking to many of the Courtiers, stumbled and fell into a seat near a window. Thankfully, no one else had seen. Queen Katherine and Matilda discreetly walked over to the sixty-three year old King.
Matilda was going to ask how he was, but Queen Katherine held out her hand.
"Your Majesty, I am feeling rather tired. Would you mind escorting me to my Chambers and staying the night with me?" she asked.
King Gustav smiled, took his wife's hand and they both departed the Great Hall. As she watched them leave, Matilda knew what the Queen was doing. She didn't want the Court to know of any weakness in their King and she was protecting his pride.
30 September 1559
Rome
Pope Pius IV was sitting in his study going over some papers from various rulers among the Catholic faithful in Europe. It had been a long day, and from the look of the letters he was reading, he was going to be there for quite a while still. He was reading a message from the Archbishop of Toledo, explaining how the reestablishment of the Dutch nobility had gone, when someone knocked on his door.
"Come," he commanded.
The door opened, and one of the cardinals walked in carrying more papers for him.
"Your excellency, you have received more correspondences," the man said, placing the new messages on one empty corner of his desk.
"Thank you," the Pope said. "I will get to them soon."
"I was asked to bring your attention to the top of the pile," the man replied. "It is from Turkey, from Suleiman I."
"The Ottoman leader?" the Pope asked. "What would he be writing to me about?"
"The contents are unknown, but the messenger who delivered it said it was of the utmost importance," the Cardinal said.
Pope Pius nodded, and the man left, closing the door behind him.
He thought for a moment, picking up the letter. It was indeed from Turkey, but Pius couldn't fathom what the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, a Muslim, would have to write to him about. He stood up from his desk and went to the altar in his room, where he could pray on whether or not he should receive the word of a heathen that he knew he could never convert.
After several moments, he felt he had received his answer, which was nothing. He took it to mean that God did not want his eyes to fall on the words of the Sultan, but his human curiosity held him back.
He picked up the letter, turning it over in his hands, but stopped. 'No,' he thought, 'if our heavenly Father wanted me to read this, He would have sent me a sign.'
He walked over to the fireplace in his chambers and threw the letter into the flames, watching it disintegrate in front of his face. In a few moments the words of the Sultan were burnt into ash, and the Pope returned to his desk, satisfied that God was pleased with this action. He gave the letter no more thought as he continued to pour through the messages from good, Catholic rulers who believed in the one true God.
When he was ready for bed, he prayed again, thanking God for his guidance on the matter, then put the thought aside and fell into a peaceful sleep. What he didn't know was that the letter from the Sultan contained vital information about Princess Joan of France, and with his actions, he had sealed her fate, whether he realized it or not.
3 October 1559
Italy
The halls of the manor house were unusually silent. On a typical day, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Ferrara was filled with chatter and music. The Duke was a patron of the musical arts of Italy, employing several talented musicians who favored his home with their compositions, hoping to gain his patronage in their endeavors. However, today was not a typical day.
The Duke, Ercole d'Este, was dying. For the past several weeks, the fifty-one-year-old man had been in bed, suffering from a fever and delirium. No one knew why he was ill, or what illness it was, but it was clear from his rantings that his fever was higher than ever before, and the doctors were baffled when it came to helping him.
His only surviving son, Alfonso, would soon be the new Duke of Ferrara, and his wife, the boy's stepmother, would be a widow with two teenage daughters. Luckily, the Duke had secured betrothals of a reputable nature for both girls, and his two children by his first wife, the late Princess Renee of France, were already married with children of their own.
His second wife, the former Lady Catherine Sforza, was at his bedside as she had been for the entirety of his illness. They had married in 1540. Their life together had been emotionally difficult, losing four of their six children at young ages, but their daughters, Laura and Beatrice were their constant joys.
His son was also there, sitting on the opposite side of his father's bed. Alfonso was ready for this to happen logically. His father had taught him well when it came to managing their estates, the money, and leading the family forward. What the older man could not have prepared his son for was the emotion that would accompany this moment; the moment he knew his father was gone, and that he had to step up into a new role.
Ercole opened his eyes and looked around the room. He knew where he was, and he knew who was with him. The priest had already given him last rites. He remembered that. He knew he was going to die soon. He looked at his wife first.
"Catherine," he said, "you have been my constant companion during these past nineteen years, and I couldn't have asked for a better one. Soon, you will be free. I ask only that you wait for our daughters to marry before you move on with your own life, but I do want you to remarry if you find someone who loves you as you deserve to be loved."
Catherine nodded, clasping his hand tightly. They may not have had the most romantic marriage of the period, but it was one built on mutual admiration and respect. She would truly miss her husband when he was gone.
He turned to his son. "My dear boy, I have taught you everything I know about running our estates. You have helped me during these past few years, and I know you will do well by the family in the future," he said, gasping for breath.
"Father. . ." Alfonso started to reply, but the old man cut him off.
"Take care of your sisters until they are married, and of your stepmother until she moves on," he commanded.
"I will, Father, I promise," the younger man responded. He did not want this to happen, but death was inevitable. It was the price that all men eventually paid for living whatever type of life they had been given by God, and now, it was his father's turn.
The sun started to set in the sky. Lady Catherine went to see about dinner for their daughters, while Alfonso stayed with his father. There was a noise outside of the window that he couldn't place. Seeing that his father was sleeping, he went to investigate, only to find that one of the branches of a nearby tree had fallen in the wind that was picking up outside. Alfonso turned back to his father's bed. There was no movement from the older man's chest. Ercole, Duke of Ferrara, had paid the price and now was at eternal rest.
11 October 1559
Scotland
She was in the throne room of Holyrood, one of her daughter's favorite palaces. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd gotten there, but she knew where she was and felt safe within its walls, even if she was chilled. Had she had a spell where she couldn't remember something? She just didn't know.
"You sent her to France," a man's voice said from the shadows. She knew that voice, but it couldn't be who she thought it was. That man was dead. "You sent her to French court to marry their heir, without regard for what was best for Scotland."
"Be gone," she said. No one, not even a ghost, could intimidate her. She was Marie de Guise, Dowager Queen of Scotland and Queen Mother. She wouldn't take that type of behavior now, not when her daughter was Queen, happily married, and safe from her enemies, as well as the barbarians of her own nation.
The man laughed with a ghostly echo that chilled her, but she didn't show it. "My mother knew what was best for Mary," he said.
"Your mother knew what was best for herself," Marie spat out, turning to look at the area of the room that the voice was coming from. She saw nothing at first. "All Margaret even wanted was to rule England when her brother died. She wanted to be the saving grace of the isle, despite the fact that another brother survived."
"Women can rule successfully with or without a husband," he said.
"Well, hasn't your tune changed since you died?" Marie replied.
"I see things differently now, its true, but I always knew that women could handle themselves without a husband. It's just not what is accepted, so as a diplomat, I kept my opinions to myself," he told her. "That's a skill you could learn."
"Why would I need to learn that exactly?" she questioned. "MY daughter is Queen of Scotland, the Future Queen of France, and happily married to a man who adores her. Soon, she will give both France and Scotland heirs to be proud of and the two nations will survive as one under MY grandson's rule."
"Aye, Mary is happy. She is also in love. Both are true," he responded. "But happiness does not last, promises are broken, and young men die."
"Young men?" she asked. "Francis is going to die?"
"Did I say that?"
"You implied it in your typical uncivilized way of doing things," Marie said. "Tell me, ghost, is my son-in-law going to die young? Will Mary be a widow before she succeeds as the Queen of France?"
The man just laughed. He would not tell her the answer to that. No, she deserved to worry about the future she had enforced on her daughter without considering what was best for Scotland. She deserved to suffer through the agony of not knowing. He would make sure she did. He laughed even harder, then faded from her sight.
"Arthur, you cannot leave this place without telling me," Marie said.
But where he was before, there was only darkness and silence. "Arthur?" she questioned. "Get back here you devil of a man! You will tell me what I want to know!" But her voice was the only one in the room, and the chill had vanished.
Marie de Guise sat up in her bed, sweating from the encounter. She looked around, unsure of where she was at first, then she realized she was in her chambers and had been dreaming. Arthur was never really there; it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. She was fine. Mary was fine. Francis was fine. She shook it off and laid back down on her pillow, but before she drifted back to sleep, she could have sworn she heard a light chuckle come from the corner of her room. It was a sound that the Dowager Queen of Scots wouldn't soon forget.
18 October 1559
France
Francis, King Consort of Scotland, was sitting at the desk in his chambers, reading, when his wife walked into the room. Mary was Scotland's reigning Queen. They had only been married for six months, but they'd been nearly inseparable since their marriage. Most of the time, royal children, and especially heirs to thrones, were married to people that they didn't know, and almost never did they love each other from the beginning of their relationship, but Francis and Mary were the exception to that standard.
They were betrothed by an agreement between his father and her mother four months before they were formally introduced. Mary had arrived off the ship from Scotland, and when her eyes met Francis', that was all it took. She knew from that moment that she was destined to be Queen of France once day, and that he was the only man she'd ever want.
It was much the same for him, though he might not admit it as quickly as she would. From the moment he saw her step off that boat, he felt as if there was nothing in the world around him but her. The ocean, the ship, even his personal guards had disappeared. She was the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and as he had come to find out once he got to know her, she was well matched with him in intelligence and sophistication, despite his mother having called Scotland a barbaric nation.
Mary sat down on the edge of his bed and watched him for a moment. He was aware of her presence, but it took a few more minutes of reading for him to put the book down. She assumed he wanted to finish the page he was reading, if not the chapter. Francis was a completionist, and when he started something, he did not stop until it was done.
Francis stood and walked over to his bed, sitting next to his wife. He looked at her intensely, wondering what was on her mind. As if on cue, Mary smiled, then told him what the answer. "I was wondering if you had given any thought to how many children you'd like to have?"
Francis smiled, chuckling under his breath a little. "Dozens," he told her.
"Dozens?" she asked, a little surprised at the answer. "Don't you think that's a bit excessive?"
"Not at all," he replied, kissing her softly. "I like the activities that lead to children being born, and since I have no intention of ceasing those activities with my beautiful, intelligent, wonderful wife any time soon, I figure that dozens would be the outcome."
"Francis!" Mary exclaimed, pretending to be shocked at his words. He laid her back on the bed and smiled.
"I also think we need to do something about our current sleeping arrangements."
"What?" Mary asked, not understanding his meaning.
"I do not like the fact that you are not in my bed every night, darling wife," Francis said, kissing her neck.
Mary giggled. She loved how open and honest he was with her about all things, including their activities at night. "I have to admit, the idea of waking up next to you every morning does sound wonderful," she told him.
Francis smiled. "You have no idea," he said, the paused. "Mary, I knew that my father would arrange my marriage from the time I was young, but I never thought I'd end up married to a woman who would also become such a part of who I am. You are. . . I never imagined. . ." He was at a loss for words, but she wasn't.
"Never imaged that you'd love your future spouse?" she finished for him. He just nodded. "If I'm honest, I didn't either, but I spent my life believing I'd be married to the Prince of Wales and become Queen of England, not France." She looked out the window for a moment. "You know, I fell in love with you that day at the docks, but I saw you at the funeral of Queen Juana of Spain. You caught my attention then, and I don't know why, but I felt something, even then, before we met."
Francis tried to recall that day, but he drew a blank. His father must have had him occupied with other things. He didn't remember anyone other than ambassadors and nobles. Instead of telling her that though, he just kissed her again. He didn't want to hurt her feelings at not having noticed her. Then, he stopped. He looked into her eyes. "You were standing with my sister and another young noble girl, but I'm not sure who she was. Your hair was down." Mary nodded.
Francis ran his fingers up and down her arm, then kissed her fingertips. Mary smiled at him softly. He moved his hand to her stomach and kissed her lips, slowly at first, then more passionately. Mary knew where this was going, and she couldn't deny wanting him too. However, it was the middle of the afternoon. People would likely be looking for them in the near future. She sighed, then got up from the bed and started to walk towards his door.
"What?" Francis asked, teasingly, "You're just going to leave me like this after coming in here looking so inviting?"
Mary nodded and blew him a kiss before exiting his chambers. The King of Scotland lay back on his bed, alone, tormented by the fact that his young wife was so tempting, and he wanted to make love to her all day, every day, but even more so by the fact that he loved her so much that it emotionally hurt him not to be near her at times. However, he also knew that they were lucky to have what they had with each other, something that most royals never saw in their lifetimes, much less experienced for themselves with their spouses; a love that was never ending, and one that they both thought would surpass anything that the world could throw at them.
25 October 1559
Archbishop's Palace, Madrid, Spain
Queen Elizabeth of Spain's Privy Chamber
As she was writing to her Council in Navarre, Queen Elizabeth was thinking to herself. She was in the very same Palace that her beloved mother had been born in and she felt very close to her. She was happy that Luis agreed to hold Court here, until they returned to Navarre.
Suddenly, Lady Sancha walked in and bowed.
"It's a letter from Navarre, Your Majesty." she said.
Elizabeth took the letter, smiled at her friend and began to read its contents. As she read, her face began to show worry and anxiety. She couldn't believe what she was reading.
She quickly stood up.
"Is the King in his study?" she asked.
Lady Sancha nodded.
"Yes, my husband was just with him. He's very proud that the matter with Holland is solved. Is everything well, Your Majesty? " she asked.
Elizabeth shook her head.
"No, but it will be." she said, as she left her Chambers.
King Luis I of Spain's Study
King Luis was reviewing important documents and was was thinking to himself. He still had to make preparations for the journey to Navarre, that was scheduled for January.
The door opened and Elizabeth walked in.
Luis looked up and smiled at his wife.
"Darling, I wasn't expecting you to come by my study. I should be done very soon." he said.
Elizabeth took a deep breath.
"You know that I would not disturb you like this. However, I do need your help." she said.
Luis stood up and walked over to her, with concern on his face.
"Is something wrong? What is it?" he asked.
Elizabeth handed him the letter and he began to read the letter. He developed a shocked look on his face.
He looked up.
"This illness has already hit ten families?" he asked.
Elizabeth nodded her head.
"Yes. That's why I need your help. Is it possible to send two more doctors to Navarre to help with this? I can't let my people suffer. They trust me." she said, as tears rolled down her face.
Luis hugged her and wiped her tears away.
"Don't cry, my love. We will send however many physicians they will need. Navarre is Spanish and we will not let them suffer." he said.
Elizabeth smiled and kissed her husband and then placed her forehead against is. She knew that they would always be together, through any troubling time.
31 October 1559
Somewhere in France
She sat at a table in her rented room, wondering what went wrong with her well-thought-out plan. She had prepared for just about anything, but the man who'd rescued Princess Victoria was not something she'd envisioned. She knew from court gossip that the King believed the man to be a messenger of God, sent to bring their daughters back to them, but she knew better than to believe in the supernatural. She had been raised differently, to understand how the world worked instead of in fantasies about all-powerful beings that didn't exist. Of course, she couldn't let anyone know that she did not believe in the Catholic concept of God, but she definitely did not.
She had paid the pirates a lot of money to take the girls out of France. She hated the Queen, and that hatred grew each passing day. The woman was not of royal birth, but King Henri's father had insisted his second son marry her because the Medici's did come from money, and France was in debt at the time of their marriage. The Queen's dowry was enough to pay all of those debts, with some to spare, if the rumors that had spread were true.
Then there was a matter of the children. The King was expected to father heirs with his wife, so they were legitimate, but did he have to father so many with that Italian whore? She still couldn't wrap her mind around that, especially when they'd had so much trouble in the beginning of their marriage when it came to conceiving. Had King Henri failed to produce legitimate offspring, perhaps the crown of France would have reverted to yet another noble family that would have been better suited to rule in her opinion. The Valois were definitely not that family, with their strong Catholic ties.
She hadn't ever tried to harm the children that were born to the King and his wife, but she didn't want them to exist. When their eldest son, Francis, was a baby, she had slipped herbs into his food in an effort to make him sleep more, so he could have been taken as well in the night without waking and crying for his mother. She had left the girls alone for the most part because they were useless as anything other than marriage pawns. Her husband had taught her that a long time ago. However, the King's sons were not, and she had focused on removing them from the picture.
She had succeeded when it came to their second son, though not in the way she wanted. Louis had been destined to become the Duke of Urbino, and was supposed to have been sent to Italy, once Francis was married and had a son, to take over the Medici fortunes left by his grandfather. They thought it was a chill that had ended the poor baby's life, but it was the effects of a subtle poison. She hadn't meant to kill the child, but no one knew that he was already suffering from weakened heart. His death was unfortunate, but his absence was preferred.
Charles and Alexandre were harder to target because of what had happened with Louis. Eventually, she had turned to the youngest son, Hercules, wanting him to vanish without warning, but he had been born in 1555, and the Queen was pregnant again within four months of being churched. She had been told that the King was no longer visiting the Queen in that way, but apparently, the court gossips were not well-informed or were lying.
Then, it happened. The Queen gave birth to twins and was informed that if she fell pregnant again, it would end her. She thought that this would cause the King to stop having sex with the Queen, since he didn't much like the woman anyway from what was said, but that wasn't the case. Apparently, the King of France liked sex with any female who would have him in her bed, and that was quite a few.
The twins became her target because they were the last children the Queen of France would ever have, and she knew that it would cut the woman to pieces by losing them, even if it wasn't through death. Unfortunately, that man, whoever he was, had recognized what was going on and snatched the older twin, Victoria, bringing her back to her parents before anyone realized what was going on. Joan was still missing, and with any luck, the Sultan that she had been sold to would never figure out who she was.
The woman couldn't figure out exactly what had gone wrong with the kidnapping. She didn't have all of the details, but she did know that should Princess Joan ever be returned to her parents, the Queen of France would have more influence than she did now, and that would be devastating to all who weren't Catholic. It would be taken as a sign that the King and Queen of France were definitely in favor with the God they all believed in, and they would become nearly untouchable as monarchs and as parents, and that was one thing that could never be allowed to happen.
8 November 1559
Archbishop's Palace, Madrid, Spain
Queen Elizabeth of Spain's Bedchamber
Queen Elizabeth was lying in bed, not feeling well, but still trying to read her favorite book. For the last few days, she had been ill and didn't understand why. She hoped it wasn't anything serious. They would be returning to Navarre soon and she wanted to be well for the journey.
The door opened and Lady Sancha and Princess Giovanna, Duchess of the Infantado, walked in.
"Good Morning, Your Majesty." Sancha said.
Elizabeth sat up.
"It is morning, but I will not agree with you that it is good." she said.
Giovanna walked forward.
"Are you still not feeling well?" she asked, as she placed a hand to Elizabeth's forehead.
Elizabeth shook her head.
"No. I still feel dizzy when I wake up and I get really tired at inopportune times. I nearly fell asleep at the last Council meeting. I can't have the people of Spain think that their Queen is bored and does not care about the problems that are here." she said.
Giovanna cleared her throat.
"Your Majesty, I beg your pardon, but have you had your monthly bleeding?" she asked.
Elizabeth nodded her head.
"Yes. I didn't last month, but I bled last week." she said.
Giovanna looked at Elizabeth.
"Forgive me for speaking like this, Your Majesty, but I believe the midwife should examine you again. When I was expecting my daughter, Maria, I bled a little bit as well, but the midwife still told me I was with child." she said.
Elizabeth looked at the Italian Princess, with concern.
"Bring my midwife, but please be discreet. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up." she said.
Giovanna nodded her head and left the room.
Elizabeth was being examined by her midwife. She knew that she wasn't with child again. She felt terrible for wasting the midwife's time. She reminded herself to pay more than usual for this situation.
The midwife stopped doing what she was doing and smiled at Elizabeth.
"You are definitely with child, Your Majesty. There is no doubt in my mind about that." she said.
Elizabeth looked at the woman, in shock.
"I'm with child? What about the bleeding I had last week?" she asked.
The midwife nodded.
"Sometimes you will bleed as the child nestles into the womb. I assure you that everything is going well and you should be brought to childbed in June, Your Majesty." she said.
Elizabeth smiled and placed a hand on her stomach. She was carrying another child. She silently thanked God for this blessing. She was already falling in love with this child. She was blessed that the Succession of her and her husband's Kingdoms wasn't an issue with their two healthy boys, three thriving girls and now this unexpected gift from God.
Giovanna and Sancha smiled at their Queen.
"God is smiling on Spain, Your Majesty." Giovanna said.
Sancha smiled harder.
"The Lord could bless you with twins again, Your Majesty." she said.
Elizabeth rapidly looked at her best friend.
"Sancha, that is a prayer I hope is not heard." she said.
The two women laughed at Elizabeth's joke, making her smile and laugh along with them.
16 November 1559
St. Hilarion Castle, Kyrenia, Cyprus
Queen Christina of Cyprus' Bedchamber
Queen Christina was watching her youngest son, Prince Yiorgos, sleep. The infant baby boy was almost three months old now, but was still sickly. He was prone to fevers and coughs that would rack his little body. Prayers were said daily at the command of King Janius and the Queen was fervently hoping that God would hear them and spare her precious baby boy.
Her bedroom door opened and King Janius walked in and put his hands on Christina's shoulders and kissed her cheek.
"How is he, love?" he asked.
Christina looked up at him.
"He is still not as strong as he should be. The wet nurse says he feeds well, but he isn't as strong as Nicholas was as a baby." she said, worriedly.
King Janius wrapped his arms around her.
"Don't worry. He will thrive. We just have to keep praying and caring for him." he said.
Christina sighed.
"I just want him to be stronger. I love him dearly." she said.
Janius nodded his head.
"I do as well. Sweetheart, he will make it." he said.
Christina had tears fall down her face.
"I do not know if I could survive if he didn't." she said.
Janius hugged her tightly. He tried his best to be strong, but his green eyes betrayed him and he realized he also was crying. It hurt to see his young son so weak. It caused him an insurmountable amount of pain and as a King, he was expected to remain stoic, but with his beloved Christina, he wasn't King Janius. He was a nineteen year old father, who was afraid for his son.
20 November 1559
Pembroke Castle, Pembrokeshire, Wales
Lady Catherine Stokes, Marchioness of Pembroke's Bedchamber
Lady Catherine was lying in her bed, weak and feverish , with her family around her. For several months, her health had been rapidly deteriorating. The physician said he could do nothing any further, besides making her comfortable and relieving her pain. Catherine had written her will out and was prepared for her Heavenly transition.
She looked at her, Lord Adrian Stokes, her husband of five years. He had remained faithfully by her sickbed for months and was helping her go over her estate, although he couldn't keep a dry eye.
"Have all my debts been paid, sweetheart?" she asked weakly.
Adrian nodded his head.
"Yes. You don't owe anyone anymore." he said.
Catherine smiled.
"Good. Did you send the small box of jewelry to my half-sister, Elizabeth, in Spain? They belonged to my stepmother and her daughter should have them." she said.
Adrian nodded again.
Catherine winced in pain. She knew she didn't have long and her soul was struggling to depart from her weakened body.
She took his hand.
"I need my girls, Adrian. The Lord is calling me." she said.
Adrian sobbed a little and went to gather his three stepdaughters and his young daughter with Catherine. It didn't seem fair or just that their darling Elizabeth was losing her mother at only four years old.
Moments later, he returned with all four girls. Little Elizabeth was in his arms and the three older girls were all in tears. They weren't prepared for this.
Catherine smiled.
"My four angels. My beautiful girls. You all have brought me such joy. The Lord blessed me with four beautiful girls. You all are so much better than even a boatload of sons. Thank you all for being wonderful daughters." she said.
The girls looked at their mother. She was the pillar of their family. After her first husband was executed, she held them together and they all found happiness that Henry Grey would never have given them.
The four daughters of Lady Catherine Brandon-Stokes each kissed their mother one last time and prayed with her, just like she wanted. The priest walked in and gave Catherine her Last Rites. After everything was concluded, Catherine wanted to sleep. Adrian held her hand the entire time. As she slept, Lady Catherine Brandon-Stokes, Marchioness of Pembroke, let her soul go and was no longer in pain and knowing her daughters would continue to prosper without her.
24 November 1559
France
Catherine de Medici, Queen of France, sat in her bedchambers looking out the window. It had been a year since her twins, Princesses Victoria and Joan, had been kidnapped from the very garden she was looking out at, and it haunted her that she wasn't able to get to them in time to save them.
She had been standing exactly where she was now, watching them play with their companions and their nannies when the men, who were dressed like Spanish soldiers, had come into the gardens, killing the nannies and taking the children. The other children were found eventually, with some minor cuts and bruises, but her daughters had both vanished.
Princess Victoria had been returned to the family at Christmas that year by a man that still had not been identified. The now three-year-old Princess was healthy and thriving. She was the darling of the court and awed everyone with her intelligence and beauty. Victoria and Joan were identical twins, the perfect combination of Queen Catherine and her husband, King Henri. Catherine couldn't help but wonder if Joan was still alive, but the idea that one of her daughters had died without her being there was unfathomable to the French Queen. She had to keep the faith that Joan was alive out there somewhere or else she would go mad.
Catherine was lost in her thoughts of what could have been done to save the girls from their fate when there was a knock on her chamber door. She didn't want to see anyone, not today. The knock came again.
"Enter," she commanded, still looking out the window.
The door to her bedroom opened and her eldest son, Francis, now King Consort of Scotland, walked into the room. "My Lady mother," he said, bowing to her.
Catherine turned around. She smiled. Francis was her golden child, her miracle. He was born ten years into her marriage to the King, after many attempts to have a baby. Finally, just when she was starting to accept the fact that she would never be a mother, the court physician confirmed that she was indeed pregnant. Catherine had been over the moon at the news, and she had done everything possible, even going overboard at times, to protect the baby. Nine months later, her efforts were rewarded with the birth of a son that they called Francis, after his grandfather, who was King at the time, and his late Uncle.
Francis was not the healthiest of infants, but with his mother's constant care and endless court physicians hovering over the little Prince, he had survived. He had several illnesses as a child but had survived them all. He was now married, and hopefully, soon, he would become a father himself. Nine other children, including the twins, had followed, and Catherine had only lost one of them. It was miraculous for the time, but it happened, and she felt blessed as a mother and as a Queen.
"Francis," she acknowledged, "or should I say, your Majesty now?" She was teasing him, but it felt good to finally call him that, even if he was just a consort for his wife's kingdom for now.
"Nonsense," he said, brushing her off. "I'm still your son, first and foremost."
She nodded. They had always had a special relationship, despite royal protocol. He came over to where she was standing and looked out the window. He knew what she was thinking about. "They will find her, Mother," he assured her. "Father's guards are still looking for Joan, and he's told me that he will never give up searching for her, not until his last breath."
Catherine looked at her son. "I know," she said. "I can't help but wonder if I could have done anything differently that would have saved them both, other than keeping them locked up in the nursery."
Francis just shook his head. "I don't think so, mother," he replied. "They were doing what we all have done over the years of our childhood. None of us were taken from this place, or any other palace we have lived in. It was simply something that happened, and there must be a reason behind it, but as you have told me so many times in my life, we don't always know God's plan, but we must always accept it."
Catherine smiled. She had told all of her children that at one time or another, and she knew it was true. God was not always clear in His reasons for things happening, but it was usually for the best, even if they did not agree with what was going on. "I hope she is safe, wherever she is," Catherine told him. "I don't think I could bare it if. . ." she did not finish that sentence, but she did not have to finish it. Francis knew how she felt about all of her children. Catherine de Medici may have been a lot of things that were not savory to the French people, but no one in France could ever claim she was a bad mother.
"She will be found, Mother," he told her calmly. "It may not be today or tomorrow, but I have every faith that my little sister will be found, alive and safe, and that she will return to us."
Catherine could just look at her son. Each day that passed made that possibility harder to hold on to, at least for her. "I hope so, Francis," Catherine replied, putting a hand gently on his arm. "I hope so with every fiber of my being."
8 December 1559
France
Mary, Queen of Scots, was seventeen years old. She spent her birthday with her husband, Francis, riding on the lands surrounding the castle, and he had surprised her with a picnic for the two of them in a clearing among the trees. There was a little snow on the ground, but so far, the winter had been mild in France, and it was a good sign that the harvest next year would be a good one.
After they returned from their ride, she climbed into a warm bath and started getting ready for the celebration ball that the King of France was holding in her honor. Henri II had gone all-out on the plans for his new daughter-in-law's birthday, including inviting every Scotsman of noble birth in France to join them for the festivities. Mary was looking forward to the party, but she also hated these events because a multitude of French nobles always brought their daughters, hoping that one of them would become Francis' mistress. Fortunately for Mary, Francis had eyes for no woman but her. That was the least of her worries.
The main stress in their marriage was that she was not yet with child, and everyone seemed to know it. Some were wondering if the young couple would ever be able to have a child, or if somehow Francis' parents' problems early on their own marriage were inherited by the heir to the throne of France. Gossip was one thing that could always be counted on in abundance at French court, which Mary found tasteless. People in Scotland kept things to themselves most of the time.
After her bath, her ladies helped her dress in a stunning red gown with silver trim. Mary Flemming did her hair in a classic bun with her dark auburn hair loosely piled on her head. By the time Francis came to her chambers to escort her, she was ready, and took his arm, thankful to not have to attend alone, as she had so many parties in Scottish court. It made her feel more comfortable, having him by her side, and less like people were staring, but that may be something that happened simply because she was a Queen.
The ballroom was decorated with red and silver decorations, and there were bouquets of red flowers all over the room. Those had been Catherine's doing, as most men, even Kings, wouldn't have thought to add flowers to a party. The tables were lined with food and drinks, and there was a table for gifts near the thrones, with the center of the room open for dancing.
The herald tapped his staff when they appeared at the doorway, getting everyone's attention. "Her Majesty, Mary, Queen of Scots and Dauphine of France, and his Majesty, Francis, King Consort of Scotland and Dauphin of France!" Everyone applauded as they entered the room.
Francis lifted her hand, kissing it gently, then asked her to dance. She accepted, of course. After the song ended, he offered her his arm and led her to a table where drinks were being handed out by the castle servants, and they both stood there for a moment with their drinks, in silence.
Several nobles approached the young couple, introducing their daughters to Francis, and Mary watched them for a time, saying nothing. Francis looked at his wife, who was smirking, and laughed after one of the noblemen had introduced his thirteen-year-old daughter. Francis was inwardly appalled at the idea that anyone would want their daughter to give up her virtue to a man that she was not married to, especially knowing that man was married, but he knew better than to say anything that might offend them. Mary, on the other hand, was starting to get annoyed at the endless parade.
Catherine also noticed the look of frustration on her daughter-in-law's face, and realizing what was happening, she said something to Henri. Henri turned his attentions to Mary, then bowed to Catherine and went to see the younger Queen. He smiled at her, genuinely, then held out his hand, asking her to dance with him. She looked at Francis, who nodded, and she gave the King her hand, letting him lead her out on the dance floor.
"Are you enjoying your party, my darling daughter?" Henri asked.
Mary scoffed at the question. "I would be enjoying it more if your nobles could understand what marriage meant and accept the fact that my husband is not a toy for their daughters."
Henri chuckled. "It's just the way the world works, Mary," he replied. "You know that Francis is completely devoted to you and would never stray, no matter who was dangled in front of him."
"Of course," the Queen of Scots remarked. She never questioned Francis' loyalty to her, just as he never questioned hers. "It just gets agitating that they don't realize it."
Henri nodded. "Well, that will probably stop once you and Francis have an heir. The birth of sons has a tendency to keep men with their wives more faithfully, hoping that the next generation would follow that example," he said.
"One would think that the vows taken at a marriage would do that just as well," Mary replied.
"One would," Henri agreed, "but that is an idea suited better for a perfect world, not the one we live in."
The dance ended, and the King bowed to his daughter-in-law, who curtsied to him in return. Mary found her way back to Francis, a little more content, seeing that he was talking to his sister, Princess Elisabeth. The princess curtsied to the Queen of Scots, wished her a happy birthday, then left the young couple alone. Mary looked at Francis questioningly.
"She was talking to me about Prince Edward," Francis told her. "She wants to tell him that she loves him, and how deeply she feels that love, but she's scared to, since they aren't married yet."
"I can understand that fear," Mary said, sympathetically. "I was terrified telling you I loved you the first time."
Francis kissed her hand. "I'm glad you did."
"So am I," she smiled her warmest smile at him.
"You know, when you smile like that, it lights up the entire room," he whispered. "I want to take you back to my chambers."
Mary laughed. "Do you ever think about anything other than that?"
Francis smiled widely, like a child who'd done nothing wrong that day. "Not when I'm around you."
"Well then, shall we make up some excuse for our absence?" Mary teased.
Francis went and spoke to his parents without a moment's thought. He came back, took Mary's hand, and led her back to his rooms. They did not emerge until morning, both in much better moods than the night before.
15 December 1559
Hampton Court, England
Edward, Prince of Wales' Bedchamber
Prince Edward had just returned to Court. The Christmas celebrations were a little over a week away and he was excited, but something was also troubling. He had been Prince of Wales for seventeen months and the Welsh people still didn't know him. He didn't have his own Court and he was starting to become impatient. He was due to marry Elisabeth of France in eighteen months and he wanted his own him to bring her to.
As he was getting ready to kneel in prayer, there was a knock at his door. Edward turned around. He normally didn't get late night visitors, so this was a surprise.
"Come in." he said.
The door opened and Edward's father, King Henry, walked in.
Edward took a quick now.
"Father, I wasn't expecting a visit at this hour. Is there something wrong?" he asked.
Harry shook his head.
"No, my son. I just needed to speak to you alone. Sit with your Father." he said.
Edward sat down, still looking at his father.
Harry sat down as well.
"Months ago, you mentioned Ludlow Castle to me. I have been thinking and you are absolutely right. I was wrong. That is rightfully your home." he said.
Edward sighed.
"I did not meant to bring it up to you in a forceful way, Father. I just want the Welsh to know me and to have a home for Elisabeth and our future family. Everyone knew William. I just want them to know me." he said.
Harry smiled.
"I told you that you are not your brother. You are an excellent Prince of Wales and when the time comes, you will make a great King. God has decided you will succeed me and I know that when I look down from Heaven, I shall be proud. Now, about Ludlow, it is currently being rebuilt. It should be done in time for when your bride arrives and then you may start your own family there." he said, as he smiled.
Edward smiled.
"Thank you, Father. I promise you that I will always do my best to make you proud. I will be a just Prince of Wales, a loving husband and an attentive father. I shall never disgrace you or myself." he said.
Harry smiled and hugged his twenty-two year old son. He was proud of him. He knew that his Kingdom would always be in the best hands and he knew that England would fall in love with their Prince of Wales.
17 December 1559
Caserta Palace, Naples, Italy
The Royal Gardens
Prince Owen and Princess Lucrezia were walking in the gardens, enjoying their alone time together. They had now been married four months now and they were deeply in love and devoted to each other.
Owen looked at his wife.
"You are so beautiful." he said.
Lucrezia smiled and put her hand on her stomach.
"I hope you still say that in a few months when I am as big a war ship." she said.
Owen smiled. At the end of October, Lucrezia had discovered that she was expecting her and Owen's first child in May. According to the midwife, she most likely conceived on her wedding night. The young couple was excited to welcome their baby in the upcoming spring.
"Of course I will, sweetheart." he said.
Lucrezia smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek.
Owen sighed.
"Have you heard the rumors about your brother?" He asked.
Lucrezia nodded her head.
"Yes. It does trouble me. I can not believe that he does such things. I believe my brother is not well." she said.
Owen looked at his wife.
"Are you saying that he is...mad?" he asked.
Before Lucrezia could answer, she placed a hand on her stomach and slightly winced.
Owen looked at her, with concern.
"Are you well?" he asked
Lucrezia took a few breaths.
"I think we should go back into the castle. I need to lie down. I believe I just need to rest." she said.
Owen helped his wife inside and to her Bedchamber, so she could rest. He didn't like seeing his wife in discomfort, but he hoped that that her taking a nap would help her feel better.
Later that evening...
Owen didn't know that he had fallen asleep, untill he heard loud banging on his door. He had decided to read in his private chambers, so Lucrezia could rest.
Owen rose from his bed and walked to the door, slightly aggravated that his peaceful rest was interrupted.
He opened his door and saw his sister.
"Eleanor, what do you want? I was taking a nap." he said.
Eleanor looked at her brother, with sadness in her eyes.
Owen looked looked at her, in concern.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Eleanor sighed.
"It is... Lucrezia. Come quickly." she said.
Hearing about his wife, Owen ran down the hall, worrying about her. He didn't know what was wrong, but he felt so guilty. He should not have left her alone. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.
Finally, he made it to her Chambers, but he was shocked to see his mother-in-law, Queen Adriana, standing and seeing one of his wife's ladies carrying out sheets and linens, that were stained with blood. He felt his heart sink, as he walked slowly to his mother-in-law.
Queen Adriana walked closer to her son-in-law.
"I am sorry, Owen. Lucrezia will recover. However, the child..." she said, fighting back tears.
Owen felt tears in his eyes. He couldn't believe that he and Lucrezia's baby was gone.
"What happened?" he asked.
Queen Adriana sighed.
"She woke up in pain and bleeding. The midwife said it was a natural loss. It was no fault in her and there will be more children." she said.
Owen nodded.
"May I see her?" he asked.
Queen Adriana nodded.
"Of course. She's sleeping now, but I know she'll love to see you as soon as she awakes." she said.
Owen bowed and walked into his wife's chambers. The stench of blood was still present and Owen actually cried a bit. He walked over to Lucrezia and held her hand, as she was sleeping. Owen knew they would have a family one day. He prayed to God that they would never feel this pain again.
21 December 1559
Konigsberg Castle, Konigsberg, Prussia
The Banquet Hall
Princess Cecilia, Duchess of Konigsberg, formerly Princess of Sweden, was enjoying a glass of wine and had accepted her new destiny. She had just gotten married to Albert, Duke of Konigsberg and the second son of the Grand Duke. She was happy that he was handsome and polite enough to her and that they both were of the Lutheran Faith.
Suddenly, Her husband, Duke Albert, walked up to her.
"Would you care to dance, wife?" he asked.
She nodded and took his hand and he guided her to the dance floor. They began to dance and he couldn't take his eyes off his new bride.
"You are the most gorgeous woman on Earth. You are the Goddess Diana." he said.
Cecilia looked at him.
"How so?" she asked.
Albert smirked.
"You have hunted me and captured me, like a wild stag in the forest. What will you do with your stag, Goddess of the Hunt?" he asked, seductively.
Cecilia gulped, as desire overcame her.
"I shall not not consume him. However, he looks good enough to ride at my disposal. I shall keep him for that pleasure." she said.
Albert grabbed her close to him.
"Tonight, you shall ride the stag you captured. Let's dance, sweetheart." he said.
Cecilia smiled and began to dance the Prussian wedding dance that had been taught to her months earlier. Albert was probably not going to be faithful to her in the future, but she could tolerate his sins, if he always treated her this way.
25 December 1559
Stockholm Palace, Stockholm, Sweden
The Great Hall
The entire Swedish Court was in high spirits. Christmas had finally arrived and everyone had a smile on their face. Courtiers were dancing, drinking fine wine and music was being played. The ladies of the Court had put on a beautiful pageant for the entire Court and was applauded.
Crown Princess Matilda, who had played the lead in the pageant, had stopped dancing and having a glass of wine. She was enjoying the night. She loved the Christmas celebrations, especially the snow fall.
Her husband, Prince Eric, walked up.
"You did wonderful. You are so beautiful tonight." he said.
Matilda nodded.
"Thank you, Eric. I am glad you enjoyed the sight. Is there something you wanted?" she asked.
Eric sighed.
"I was wondering if I could visit your bed tonight. I do have care for you, Matilda. You are a good wife." he said, as he caressed her face.
Matilda smiled.
"Eric, you are my husband. If you want to visit me, just come. However, I think you should come to visit little Anna. She's nearly a year old and you have only seen her a few times. If you want to visit my bed, please come because you truly want me and not because your whore is big with child and can not empty your loins at your will." she said.
Eric sighed.
"Lady Agda has nothing to do with this." he said.
Matilda touched his face.
"You and I both know that it isn't true. Come and visit your daughter. Happy Christmas, Eric." she said, as she turned and walked away from him.
Eric looked at her, in shock. Matilda had never refused his touch. Did she not love him anymore? He knew he had a mistress, but he didn't want to lose Matilda either. He hoped that he would be able to mend it with her.
A/N Thank you all! We finally got through 1559! It was a journey for my writing partner and I, but we are grateful for your patience. I know you are all excited as to what will happen in the new decade and I promise you will not be disappointed. I hope you all are enjoying this long story. Don't forget to leave a Review! Chapter Fifty-Seven is in the works as we speak!