Stunned silence hung over Jedburgh's Great Hall. Arabella scarcely breathed. Her eyes were fixed on the messenger's face, their burning gaze so intent they seemed to want to enter the other woman's skull.
"You're saying my father is dead, Mistress Dacre?"
"With the deepest regret, I am, My Lady. His Majesty was escorting Queen Anne's body home from Lisbon when his ship went down in a summer storm off the Portuguese coast. Both His Grace's and Your Highness's lady mother's bodies are missing, I'm sad to say."
A low moan rippled round the room at Lady Dacre's words. Albion reeled. Both their beloved sovereigns were dead. Their beloved sovereigns were dead and they couldn't so much as bury them. How could God be so cruel?
Hearing the murmur of discontent, Mistress Dacre rushed on, "However, I do carry a message from Queen Isabel. She begs me to assure Your Highness – and the Court – that she has every hope of recovering your parents' bodies. Should that happen, Her Majesty will of course have them sent on to Albion with all due honour as soon as Her Grace can be sure of a spell of clement weather. Indeed, Queen Isabel also wishes to inform you, Lady Arabella, that she and Prince Francis both entreated your lord father to wait for better weather before he sailed himself. Their sea captains and astrologers knew the weather was ill-starred for such a momentous sailing and so Their Highnesses begged King James to stay until it cleared. Sadly, His Majesty was too determined to bring Queen Anne's body home. He wouldn't rest until they were both safe home, God rest his soul."
The ripple of grief rose to a crescendo, yet stilled as Arabella, stony-faced, held up a hand.
"I see. Thank you, Mistress Dacre. You have served Albion well by bringing us this news so promptly, grievous though it is. Go and bathe and rest. My Lady Chamberlain will ensure there is a bed and a hot meal waiting for you when you have need of it."
"Thank you, Lady Arabella."
Lady Dacre curtsied and withdrew. Arabella watched her go, then rose to her feet. There were whispers of shock at how calmly she was taking the news, but she ignored them.
"There will be Requiem Masses said for my lord father's soul in the Abbey Church this evening after Vespers."
Having nothing more to say, she left the hall, heedless of the gossip that instantly rushed in her wake.
Her older brother, Alexander, fell into step beside her halfway down the passage outside.
"You're very calm, Bella," he commented, "You handled that very well in there. Your behaviour was very queenly. Rachel wouldn't have taken the news half so well."
Arabella turned to him. Her eyes were blank, so blank, in fact, that even Alexander took a half-step backwards.
"That's as may be, Alex. But then, Rachel would have broken down with grief and mourning, especially with this coming so hard on the heels of our lady mother's death. But why, brother, would I mourn a man who has never loved me?"
1526
"Her Highness the Lady Arabella!"
Arabella ran forward at the herald's call, her grey eyes bright.
"Mama! Papa!" she chirped, her arms opening to invite Papa to hug her.
There was laughter behind her and her heart soared. The courtiers were pleased by her. That meant Papa would be pleased too. He was always telling them how important it was to please the people.
But, when she looked up at him, Papa wasn't smiling. Why wasn't he smiling? What had she done wrong now?
"Lady Arabella!" Lady Douglas's voice rang out in an angry hiss behind her. And then she remembered.
She'd forgotten to curtsy.
Her heart sank. She'd been so determined to be good, this time. This time when she'd finally been allowed to greet her parents publicly at Court, instead of in the privacy of the nursery like a baby!
Tears burned in her eyes as she sank down, but she wouldn't let herself cry. She was a Princess. Aunt Maggie was always telling her so. Princesses didn't cry in public!
She held her curtsy as still as she could, willing Papa to look down and see how graciously she could do it now, how much she'd grown since they'd last seen her.
James heard the indulgent laughter at Arabella's excitement and sighed inwardly. If the Court hadn't laughed, he could have let the moment pass. But now that they'd laughed, he couldn't. He couldn't risk them being charmed by Arabella, and encouraging her to push herself ahead of Rachel.
Not for the first time, he half-wished Arabella had been born a boy. It would have made their relationship so much easier.
Steeling himself, he looked over her bent golden head to Lady Douglas.
"That will do, Lady Douglas. You may go. We'll speak later."
"As you wish, Your Grace. Madam. I am at your service," Lady Douglas curtsied and swept out of the room without a backward glance. James watched her go, then glanced down at Arabella, careful to keep his face blank.
"It is a pleasure to see you, daughter," he greeted, waving her up, "Go and give your lady mother a kiss."
Relieved – she'd been beginning to think Papa meant to keep her in her curtsy forever - Arabella scrambled up and over to her mother's side.
Mama was always softer than Papa. She accepted Arabella's kiss happily and gave her a little squeeze, "It's good to see you, darling," she whispered, before nudging her towards a padded stool at her feet, "Sit there."
Arabella purred in response and nestled into Mama's skirts, inhaling her scent. Lavender and roses. Mama always smelled of lavender and roses.
The seconds stretched out and Arabella began to relax. Even Papa seemed to lose some of his hard edges. Arabella turned towards him nervously, reaching for him.
"I'm sorry I forgot to curtsy, Papa," she whispered.
"Hmm? What's that?" He leaned down towards her…and then the heralds blew on their trumpets again. Arabella, startled, jumped at the noise, then immediately pretended she hadn't. She was a big girl now. Only babies were scared of trumpets!
"Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess of Albion!"
Arabella watched intently as her older sister came down the hall. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Rachel. She caught her breath. Rachel's dark hair was loose down her back and it swung into her face as she swept down into a curtsy.
"My Lady Mother. My Lord Father. I am delighted to see you again," Rachel greeted Mama and Papa in a voice that almost sounded like she was singing, but Arabella hardly heard her. She was stunned to see Rachel spring straight back up again as Papa went towards her. Spring up and throw her arms around his neck. Arabella would never dare do that. Even at just four, she knew she was supposed to hold her curtsy until Papa let her rise. Rachel should know that too. She was a big girl of eleven!
James hesitated as Rachel hugged him. She ought to know better than to be so casual with her parents in public. It was unbecoming of her age and her station. On the other hand, if he let it pass without comment, it would be seen as a mark of favour. No one would doubt which of the girls he preferred then. Besides, Lady Warwick was enough of a harridan about things like this anyway. Rachel would no doubt be punished enough by one of her tongue-lashings. He didn't have to make an already bad situation worse.
That in mind, he simply wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.
"My beautiful girl," he greeted her, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
There was a ripple of pleasure at how fond the father and daughter were of each other and James was content. Things were as they should be, with Rachel charming her future subjects. Rachel, not Arabella.
The embrace over, he turned to face his wife with Rachel tucked snugly into the crook of his arm. He frowned as Arabella made no move to rise and curtsy to her older sister.
"Aren't you going to curtsy to your older sister, Arabella?"
His voice was sharper than he intended, so sharp in fact, that even Anne flinched. He bit down on his temper, but frowned at her before she could intervene. They'd had many a discussion about the necessity of having Arabella curtsy to Rachel. Anne, unused to the idea of there being strict formality in the royal nursery, had protested, but he'd insisted. The governesses' reports had already hinted at Arabella being far too wilful for his liking. The sooner she learnt to accept that Rachel took precedence over her, the better.
Something snapped in Arabella when she saw how Papa was cuddling Rachel. It wasn't fair! Rachel had broken Papa's rules, and yet she was being cuddled, when Arabella had done her best to be good and yet Papa didn't seem to care! It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair!
"No!" she screamed. "It's not fair! I won't! I won't!"
James glared at his younger daughter. Why did she always have to make things so difficult?"
"Arabella, do as I say, please," he said warningly. In answer, Arabella threw herself to the ground.
"I won't! I won't! It's not fair! It's not fair! I won't!"
In another instant, Papa's patience ran out. He let go of Rachel and pounced on her, snatching her up from the ground easily even though she made herself go limp. He glanced at Mama.
"Excuse us, Anne, Rachel. Arabella is clearly too tired to be anywhere other than the nursery right now."
Before either of them could say anything in return, he carried Arabella out.
"I'm going to give you one more chance, Arabella," he hissed, when the doors had shut behind them, "Make your apologies to me for your deplorable behaviour and come back in and curtsy to Rachel and we'll forget this ever happened. One more protest, however and I'll make sure you regret it. Which is it to be?"
An older child might have stopped to consider, but Arabella was too young and too angry to do anything other than react.
"Why should I curtsy to Rachel? I'm a Princess too!"
Papa froze at her words. Without a second thought, he slapped her across the face, heedless of the fact that someone had just come up behind them.
"No, you are not! Who's been telling you that?"
If Arabella had told him, she might have saved herself her punishment, or some of it, at least. But, angry and too stubborn to want to please Papa just after he'd hit her, she simply jutted her chin out.
"I'm not telling you!"
James snarled under his breath, but he wasn't about to waste any more time on his wayward younger daughter. He thrust her at the nearest guard so hard the observer behind him couldn't stifle a gasp.
"Take the Lady Arabella back to the nursery," he snarled, "She clearly can't behave as she ought to at Court, so she'll stay in the nursery until she can."
"Yes, Sire." The guard bowed, hefting Arabella up even as she thrashed. Why was she the only one getting punished? Rachel had broken Papa's rules too. It wasn't fair!
"No! No! It's not fair! It's not fair!"
"Tell Lady Douglas that the Lady Arabella has shown the most awful behaviour tonight and is to be punished accordingly." Papa spoke over her screams as though he couldn't even hear them.
"The punishment chair, My Lord?"
Arabella froze. 'The punishment chair'. She hated those words.
"No! Papa, please, I'm sorry!" she begged, reaching for him.
"The punishment chair, a whipping and bed with no supper. That ought to teach this saucy madam her proper place in the scheme of things."
Arabella burst into tears. Why did Papa have to be so horrid? She'd said she was sorry!
"James, no! That's far too harsh. You've already slapped her; you've punished her enough! She's only little!" That was Aunt Maggie, speaking up for her as she always did. Papa whirled round, glaring at her champion.
"I don't believe I asked for your opinion, Mistress Drummond. Take Her Highness away."
Papa's face, hard with fury, was the last thing Arabella saw as she was carried off, kicking and screaming and sobbing.
As they reached the nursery, however, she slumped, exhausted. She already knew what Lady Douglas would say. She'd shake her head and smooth her voice with heavy disappointment and say, "Oh, honestly, Lady Arabella. What have you done now? Why can't you learn to behave? The Crown Princess was never so wilful." Arabella hated it when she did that. It wasn't fair! She wasn't Rachel, so why did she always have to behave like her?
"I command the Drummond forces. You're Prince of Scotland. The only Prince of Scotland, whatever grand titles your sainted father might have chosen to bestow upon David. Between us, we can muster enough men to lend Arabella credence if, as and when she raises her banners at Stirling." Margaret Drummond handed her eldest nephew a cup of hippocras, smiling at him. To her alarm, he didn't immediately take it, sending warning bells through her head, "It's worth a gamble, surely?" she said sharply, "Or are you telling me, Alexander, that you'd be happy to see Scotland cowed beneath the greedy fists of the Sassenach?"
Predictably, Alexander drew himself up, pride stung. "Of course not!" he snapped, snatching the goblet from her.
"Good. Then I'll leave writing the summons to you. I know the Gordons are with us, as are the Lindsays, the Beatons and the Sinclairs, but they'll answer to their Prince long before they answer to me."
Alexander nodded and snatched a quick gulp of wine and making a mental note to get on with the task the moment he left his aunt's company.
"And you're sure Arabella will play along? She won't balk at being used against her sister?" Aunt Margaret broke into his musings.
"You're the one who raised her to think of herself as a Princess," he retorted, before his face lit with leaping amusement, "But, to answer your question, no. If Bella's reaction to Father's death is anything to go by, she won't be balking any time soon. I'll wager she'd do anything we asked of her, if only to spite the old man's memory."
Stirling Castle loomed above the city, threatening seemingly invulnerable. Its grey walls were the thickest, most secure in the Scottish countryside.
They were also thick with memories for Arabella. Thick with unpleasant recollections of being second-best, of being shunted aside while her parents, her nurses, everyone in the entire blasted castle fawned over her raven-haired older sister.
But that was all over now. Everything changed tonight. Everything.
Fingers in her golden hair broke into Arabella's reverie and she glanced up to meet her Aunt Maggie's eyes in the mirror. She beamed.
"Ready, my Lady Princess?" the older woman whispered, as she arranged Arabella's tresses on her shoulders.
"My Lady Queen," Arabella corrected softly, her eyes betraying her glee for the briefest of instants, "My Lady Queen."
"Indeed," Aunt Maggie's lips quirked as she pulled Arabella's seat back for her and went around behind her to pick up her train, "Indeed."
The two of them descended the stairs to stand before the door of Stirling's Great Hall.
Through the door, Arabella could hear Alexander extolling her virtues. "She's the only true daughter of our late King James. Scottish blood runs in her veins, in a way it does not in Princess Rachel's. I tell you, my ladies, my lords. Scotland's independence, which I know we all cherish more than our own lives, would be safe in her hands."
Arabella steeled herself. Her hands clenched briefly into fists. She exhaled, forcing herself to flex her fingers.
"I'm doing the right thing. Scotland is my birth right."
Repeating that mantra in her head, she jerked her head at the guards. They threw the door open.
Time froze.
Every eye in the room flicked to Arabella. She returned the scrutiny steadily and raised her head a fraction. The arch of the doorway framed her; defined her. The new indigo taffeta gown she wore sent a three-fold message, none of which was lost on her audience.
I am young. I am strong. I am your future; your royal future.
Her grey eyes roved the room, fixing briefly on Alexander's face. He sent her an encouraging smile. She transferred her gaze to the rich velvet banner hanging above the dais. The banner of a crowned unicorn. The unicorn of Scotland.
She stepped into the room. Trumpets blared.
"I give you, Her Majesty Queen Arabella!"
Alexander's voice rang out above the crowd and Arabella couldn't stop her lips from curving into a smile. Bless her older brother. He'd ever been her champion.
1526
"Why do you have to challenge Papa so much, Arabella? He loves you, he doesn't want to have to be cross with you." Mama's hand ran over her blonde hair as she murmured softly to her.
Arabella kept her eyes tightly shut, pretending to be asleep. Part of her longed to open her eyes, to throw herself into Mama's arms the way Rachel had done with Papa earlier. To tell her mother everything and let her defend her the way Aunt Maggie did. But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to because it had been shameful enough when Papa had punished her. It would be even worse if her beloved Mama knew how badly she'd behaved, how harshly she'd had to be punished.
Anne wasn't fooled by her youngest daughter's behaviour. She knew Arabella wasn't asleep. But she'd never been any good at worming confidences out of people. And Arabella was the least trusting of her children.
Anne wasn't blind to her own part in moulding Arabella's character, either. She knew a lot of her difficulty connecting with her youngest stemmed from the first few months after Arabella's birth, when she'd been such a highly-strung little infant. She'd been so difficult to please. Just like Richard when he was little. It had brought back horrible memories. Memories Anne had been only too happy to repress by ignoring the howling baby and playing with the older children whenever she visited the nursery.
Sometimes, at moments like this, she regretted it. She'd missed so much of Arabella's early years. Too much. She'd never understand her youngest now. And that despite the fact that she'd intended to be such an affectionate mother to her to make up for the fact that she'd never have the throne of Scotland. The throne that some would doubtless say ought to be hers by right. But how could she have resisted James, when he'd been so determined that Arabella would never be like her own sister Mary? He'd suffered years of marriage to Mary, whereas she'd barely seen her younger sister since she was six or seven. He would have known Mary's character far better than she ever did.
Anne stopped that train of thought before it could go any further. There was no point in after all. She couldn't change things now. Powerful as she was, even she couldn't turn back time.
Sighing, she removed her hand from Arabella's head and stood. She dropped a light kiss on the child's forehead.
"Good night, darling. Sleep well. Things will look better in the morning. I promise."
As soon as her mother had left, Arabella rolled over, pulling a face. Mama was wrong. Things wouldn't look better in the morning. But how could she tell her that?
"Bella?" There was a whisper at the door and she sat up.
"Alexander!" she cried joyfully.
"Shh!" Her older brother put a finger to his lips, "We'll both be in trouble if they realise you're still awake."
Nonetheless, he climbed into bed beside her and pulled her up into his arms. Arabella burrowed into him and inhaled his scent. Her tiny shoulders slumped and she began to cry, cry so hard her shoulders shook like branches in a gale.
"Hush, Bella, hush. It's not your fault. It's not. I promise you, it's not."
"But Papa had me whipped and put in the punishment chair. I should have just done as I was told!"
"No, no. No, you shouldn't. You did the right thing. You shouldn't have to curtsy to Rachel. You're a Princess just as much as she is. "
"Papa punished me so much!"
"I know, I know. But that's his fault, not yours. He was so mean to you, not because you were naughty, but because he's scared."
"Scared? Papa, scared?" It was a new thought for Arabella and she pulled back from Alexander, staring at him. Surely Papa wouldn't be scared of anything. But Alexander nodded.
"He is scared. He's scared people will like you more than Rachel, that they'll want you to be their Queen, like you should be. That's why he always punishes you so much and not her. He wants them to think she's perfect and you're bad. But she's not. She's not perfect and you're not bad. You're just as good as Rachel is. You're just as good as she is, and you ought to be Papa's Princess of Scotland."
Suddenly, she bumped into the dais. Shaking her head slightly, she pulled herself from her memories. Aunt Maggie arranged her train, pooling it around her feet as she sat.
As her aunt stepped back, Arabella took in the crowd with its hushed, expectant faces. There were more there than she'd ever dared hope there would be.
"Her Majesty Queen Arabella!" Alexander repeated.
Silence reigned. Arabella held her breath.
All of a sudden, there was a rush of rasping steel. Men dropped to their knees, swords held high above their heads.
"Queen Arabella!" The cry seemed to echo from a thousand throats, "Queen Arabella! Queen Arabella!"