"My Lady, please! Surely Your Majesty must see that you cannot allow this defiance of you to stand! Your late parents made it clear throughout their reign that Your Royal Highness was to be considered their primary heiress, that you were to inherit both England and Scotland. Their Act of Midsummer 1522 declared it high treason to voice or act on an opinion contrary to that. By the terms of that act, Prince Alexander, Mistress Drummond and the Lady Arabella are traitors all. As are those who stand with them. For pity's sake, have proclamations sent out declaring them to be such and offering rewards for their capture."
"Did I hear you correctly, Lady Hastings? You'd have me declare my own sister – your royal Lady – a traitor? Impossible! I won't do it," Rachel shook her head, jaw set, "My parents would turn in their graves."
"Their Majesties…"
"Would understand why I cannot do what you ask of me, Ladies," Rachel cut off the protest before it had properly begun, "Need I remind you that my late mother was gracious enough to, in the face of my blood father's adultery, create the elder of my Rose half-sisters Baroness Rose of Blackheath and Chelsea, despite the fact that Lady Matilda's mother was an avowed betrayer of her Queen? She, I know, would not want to see me brand the Lady Arabella a traitor."
"That was different, Madam. The Lady Rose was an innocent child who took no part in either Mistress Sarah's or the Prince Consort's actions."
"So too is the Lady Arabella an innocent child!" Rachel snarled, mask of calm dropping for an instant. As her councillors flinched back, she exhaled, regaining control of herself, "You cannot tell me, Ladies, that a single one of you truly believes that Her Highness is acting of her own volition? No. I'll tell you who lies behind these actions of my sister's. It is Mistress Drummond and Prince Alexander. Their dislike of me is hardly a secret. They've always resented my unprecedented position as Crown Princess of Albion. No doubt they've persuaded my sister that our father was planning to change the Scottish Succession in her favour once our mother died. And who could blame the Lady Arabella for being taken in by their promises? What little girl does not, in her heart of hearts, dream of being a Queen? Besides, Her Highness adores them both, particularly Mistress Drummond. She'd never want to countenance the fact that her favourite aunt might be lying to her. So, you see, none of this is the Lady Arabella's fault. All we need to do is find a way of separating Her Highness from those who hold sway over her. Then she'd listen to reason, I'm sure of it."
David watched Rachel lay her reasoning for Alexander, Margaret and Arabella's actions before her council and admired how she did it. Gone was the shaken woman who had wept disconsolately in his arms not twenty-four hours earlier. With some food and a night's sleep in her armoury, Rachel looked every inch the poised young Queen. What's more, she was living up to the moniker the poets had once bestowed upon her as a child, 'The Princess of Peace'. She'd taken a council who were spitting nails at Arabella's audacity and persuaded them that, for now at least, words, not weapons, were the best way to proceed. David didn't think he'd ever been prouder of her.
He stayed in his seat beside hers at the head of the table as Rachel charged Lady Pembroke with sending an envoy to Arabella and then dismissed the Council. The ladies curtsied and filed out. Rachel was about to stand herself when he caught her hand.
"That was very well done, darling. Mama and Papa would have been very proud."
"Do you think so?" Rachel's voice was low, too low for anyone else to hear, "I'm glad you think so. I know I can't afford to admit it to anyone but you, but I'm groping in the dark here. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that we're in this mess. I meant what I said to Lady Hastings. Mama and Papa would be turning in their graves if they could see us now; could see that Arabella had risen in rebellion against me."
"If anyone can steer us safely out of this quagmire, it's you. After all, you've ruled Wales for seven years without a major mishap and God knows the Welsh are a proud, prickly people."
"Is that supposed to be a comment on our younger sister's character, or is it a compliment?" Rachel arched an eyebrow, but couldn't quite suppress a chuckle. She pushed back her chair and made to stand, bestowing a swift kiss to his cheek as she did so.
"Come to my bed tonight."
The words were out before David could stop them. Halfway out of the room, Rachel froze, slowly turning to stare at him. He'd never asked her that before. Their marriage wasn't like that. They didn't voice their desire for one another, even though they both knew full well it was mutual.
He shrugged, answering her unspoken question, "You have to admit it's been a while, darling. And besides, if Arabella truly is set on challenging you for the throne of Scotland, then surely, whoever's instigation she may be doing this at, the best way to thwart her ambitions is to ensure we secure the Succession for good by giving Beth a sister?"
The levity in his voice eased the tension in Rachel's shoulders and she smirked back at him.
"I suppose you're right, my Lord. Very well. I shall see you tonight. Now, I ought to go and talk to Lady Pembroke. She needs to know what terms I'm willing to offer Arabella if she surrenders."
"Don't let me keep you then. My Lady Queen," David bowed flamboyantly, as he had often done to make her laugh when they were children. It had the same effect now – he was rewarded by a bright peal of her merriment as the doors swung shut behind her.
Alexander recognised the Howard Griffin on the horse's caparison the moment he rode into the yard at Lithlingow and saw it standing there. His throat seized. What was a messenger of Rachel's doing here? It was far too early for them to be talking terms. Oh, Stirling and Lithlingow were theirs, yes, and he had high hopes of the Highlanders coming out for them, if they offered them the right incentives, but all the same, they needed to be in a much stronger position before Arabella tried to demand anything from her older sister.
Trying – but failing – to hide the alarm in his face, Alexander thundered up the stairs to Arabella's private apartments. His aunt Margaret met him as he burst out upon the landing.
"Oh, good. You're here. I was just coming to look for you. Her Majesty wants to see us both."
"What on earth is an English messenger doing here?"
"I don't know. No doubt they've brought terms from Queen Rachel, but Arabella insisted on meeting with Lady Glamorgan alone."
"Alone?" Alexander's eyebrows went up and he frowned at his aunt, "I thought we'd agreed that one of us would always be with Her Grace, at least until we can be sure that she will behave as is best. Her Majesty is so young and impressionable, after all."
Margaret spread her hands, "Her Majesty would have it no other way. And well, I could hardly disobey a royal command, could I?"
At his aunt's words, Alexander blew out his cheeks, "No," he said heavily, as he rapped on the door, "I suppose you couldn't."
No sooner had the last words left his mouth than Arabella bade them enter. The doors swung open.
"His Highness Prince Alexander and Mistress Drummond to see you, Your Majesty," Arabella's herald announced. The pair sank to their knees.
Arabella stood and came over to them. She studied them for a moment or two before offering them her hand to kiss.
"My dearest brother. And Aunt Maggie. How glad I am to see you both."
She raised them up and embraced them both, before signing for wine to be brought. Alexander and Margaret exchanged looks. Something had changed since Rachel's messenger had arrived. They'd never seen Arabella this imperious before. Not when they were alone, at least.
They said nothing, however. Indeed, they considered the change in the young woman's behaviour a positive development. The more regally Arabella acted, the more people would believe her claim.
"I received terms from England an hour ago," Arabella began, as the three of them withdrew to a window embrasure, cradling goblets, "Rachel claims that, if I strike my standards, disband my men and send the two of you south to be tried for sedition, she'll invest me as Duchess of Gloucester and Ross, as my parents always planned to do, with immediate effect, with the title of Princess of Ireland to follow on my sixteenth birthday. Oh, and she'll send word to the Portuguese and ask them to allow my betrothal to Lord Charles to stand despite the change in circumstances since the contract was first mooted."
Arabella's words fell like stones into the silence. Neither Alexander nor Margaret dared breathe. These were far more generous terms than they'd expected Rachel to offer. What would they do if Arabella decided to accept them? Without her to be their figurehead, their rebellion would collapse.
As if she could sense the shiver of fear that was travelling down their spines, Arabella moved to the table that stood in the centre of the room. She took up the parchment detailing Rachel's offered terms and held it out to them, "You want to know what I think of these, don't you?"
Before either of them could respond, she had ripped the parchment in two with a jagged tearing noise that reverberated around the stone walls of the chamber. Throwing the ruined fragments to the ground, she stamped on them, grinding in to them with her heel.
"Rachel treats me like a child who can be fobbed off with jewels and empty titles that don't mean anything. She doesn't even think I'm capable of coming up with anything this bold on my own. That's why she wants the two of you down South. She wants to separate us. She thinks it will take the sting out of my tail."
Arabella scoffed, tossing her bright head in disdain.
"That's why I called you both here. We need to discuss our next moves. I want to do something that will show Rachel that I'm not playing games, that will force her to take me seriously."
"Then we need to ride for Scone," Margaret said at once. She and Alexander had sat up late into the night, discussing what they thought Arabella's wisest course of action would be now. She was thrilled to see Arabella was willing to heed their council today. Sometimes, she would bridle at their advice, as Margaret supposed all fourteen-year-old girls just coming into their own power could do.
Even better, however, Alexander backed her up, using the kind of logic that Arabella could never resist, "Aunt Margaret's right, Bella. Every Scottish monarch since the dawn of our glorious nation has been crowned at Scone. If we go up there, it will lend your cause a legitimacy that Rachel will never be able to match."
Arabella's face lit up at the thought, "Then we must go at once. How soon can we ride?"
"First thing tomorrow," Margaret promised, "And when we get there, I'll swear on the Stone of Destiny itself that my brother always intended to invest the Scottish succession in your favour, that he only delayed because he knew how much he knew how much the idea of a united Albion meant to your mother and didn't want to break her heart."
The promise was an impulsive one, born of the heat of the moment, but as Arabella and Alexander gaped at her, scarcely able to believe their good fortune, Margaret knew she would have to keep her word.
"You'd do that for me?" Arabella breathed, "But everyone knows you can't lie in the presence of the Stone of Destiny."
"Exactly. You'd have all of Scotland behind you before the day was out."
Arabella's eyes gleamed.
"And then we'll ride for England. We'll secure Edinburgh and ride for England. My cousin the Duchess of Lancaster has always been good to me. She'll not stand in our way. We can sweep down through Lancaster, Coventry and Oxford and take London before Rachel even knows we're coming!"
The colour was high in Arabella's cheeks as her voice rang through the room. Margaret and Alexander exchanged a worried look. Ride for London? What was Arabella talking about? Their plan had only ever been to make her Queen of Scotland. With that, they stood a chance. If she insisted on fighting Rachel for England as well, they were doomed.
"Bella…" Alexander began. His younger sister tossed her head.
"Now, Alexander. You know that isn't how you address a Queen, much less a Queen twice over. I'll forgive you this time, but see you don't forget again."
There was a hard undercurrent to Arabella's jocular tone and Alexander gulped. "Madam, please," he begged, "Surely Your Grace must see that -"
"Must? Must? There you go again, Alexander. Take more care what you say. Must is not a word one uses to Princesses."
Arabella arched an eyebrow, but there was no mistaking the warning in her voice. Alexander swallowed hard.
"No, My Lady. But if I may… With all due respect… To stake a claim to the Crown of Albion at this juncture would be simply folly. It would alert your Grace's sister to our plans long before we were ready for her. I beg you, let us consolidate our position in Scotland before you seek to quarter your arms, as is of course your right."
There was a terrifying pause. Arabella tipped her head to one side, considering. Alexander held his breath. He didn't even know how they'd got themselves into this position. How long had Arabella been planning this without letting on?
"Very well," Arabella said at last, "We claim Scotland alone at Scone, and maybe even at Edinburgh. But mark my words, brother. When I ride into England, it will be to stake my claim to the throne of Albion."
Alexander's jaw dropped. Arabella shrugged, "Why should it not be mine? I have centuries of royal blood in my veins from both my mother and my father. Who was Rachel's father? Some jumped-up Welsh nobody who couldn't even keep himself faithful to his Queen, that's who. I'd make a far better Queen than Rachel ever would. Her very blood is tainted. Besides, I'm a warrior. I've had to fight for everything I call mine, whereas Rachel has never heard the word no in her life. She's never lost anything she truly holds dear. She'll never be able to stand against me; she'll crumble at the first sign of adversity. I vow to you, here and now, that Albion is and will be mine."
Arabella swept out of the room, her words hanging pregnant in the air behind her. Alexander turned to Margaret, flabbergasted, "Did you see this coming? What have we done that's got us here?"
To his horror, his aunt looked equally pale. She was staring at the door that Arabella had just vanished through as though she'd seen a ghost.
"We've taught the lioness her own strength," she whispered, "God help us, we've taught the lioness her own strength."
The sun glittered in the sky, sparkling off the copper in Margaret's hair and the emeralds and rubies in her cloth of silver gown. With a huge gilt cross in her right hand and a book of hours in her left, she looked every inch the pious, trustworthy gentlewoman.
The great and the good of Scotland, many simply there for curiosity's sake, watched with eager eyes as Margaret processed to the open-air altar upon which the Stone of Destiny lay.
Laying aside her book of hours and shifting the cross to her left hand, she laid her right hand flat upon the Stone and turned to face the crowd. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, but when she took a breath and spoke, it was in a voice that rang over all their heads.
"By the Cross which I hold and upon which our Saviour died, and upon this, the stone which has ever formed Scotland's destiny, I, Margaret Drummond, sister to the late King James, hereby solemnly swear that my sainted brother once confided in me that he had long regretted adopting the Princess Rachel as his daughter and Duchess of Rothesay. His Majesty further confided in me that, were it solely up to him, he would invest the Scottish Succession in his only true daughter, the Princess Arabella. He swore to me upon the blood of St Andrew that the only thing that stayed his hand was the love he bore the late Queen Anne. His Majesty loved the late Queen Anne so much that, knowing how much her dream of a united Albion meant to her, he swore to hold his tongue during her lifetime, having no wish to break her heart. After Her Grace died, King James wrote to me, saying that he was coming home. He swore he was coming home to Scotland, not just to bury Queen Anne, but to change the Succession. Sadly, terrible mischance robbed my brother of his life before he could move to right the wrong done his only daughter. But it was in his mind. I know it was in his mind. I have writings to prove it. And so I say to you who are gathered here today, at this, our blessed nation's ancient seat of power, we ought to honour my brother's wishes. We ought to regard the Princess Arabella as our rightful Queen."
Pausing for breath, Margaret crossed herself and looked up to the heavens flamboyantly, "May God strike me down if I have spoken untruth!"
The crowd waited, holding its collective breath. But no lightning bolts descended from on high. The ground didn't open at Margaret's feet.
At length, the tense anticipation began to fade from the air. Before it could vanish entirely, however, Margaret seized the initiative. She thrust the cross into the air.
"Will you follow me, Scotland? Will you follow me in obeying your King?"
A deafening silence was her answer. The joyful gleam died in her eyes. She looked around in alarm. What was going on? She'd planned this to the hilt; ensured the majority of the nobles here were ones who had already pledged themselves to Arabella's cause. They should be screaming and cheering in wild joy, not staring at her in dumbfounded silence.
"Did you not hear me?" she demanded, "I said the late King James wished to see his daughter Arabella crowned his successor, not the Sassenach who is a cuckoo in our nest. Will you not stand with me and see his final wish made a reality?"
"If what you say is true, Mistress Drummond, then why did His Majesty adopt the Princess Rachel when he married Queen Anne? Ought he not to have waited, to see whether a true daughter would be born of their match, before naming the Howard heiress to stand in line to his throne?"
It was a lone voice, but to Margaret's shock, she saw several other heads nodding in response to it. Before she could say anything, a second followed the query up.
"Aye, adoption is sacred, we all know that well enough. King James would have known it too. Why would His Grace have set his seal to such a document, if he were only going to try to revoke it as soon as Queen Anne was dead? How could he even have been certain that he would outlive Her Grace of England?"
"Isn't it obvious? The man was run mad with desire for the English Jezebel!"
Margaret bit back a sigh of relief as George Gordon, brother to the Countess of Huntly, entered into the discussion. The Gordons were a powerful family who had always been uneasy about the union of England and Scotland, seeing it as a measure that might curtail their powers in the Border Marches. George Gordon could be counted upon to speak for Arabella – and to have the influence to sway others to her cause as well.
"Queen Anne, that greedy Sassenach, stipulated that the adoption of her daughter form part of the marriage contract. Our King, blessed be his memory, was made a fool of by love and desperation. He feared he'd never have a daughter, and saw the adoption of the Princess Rachel as his only option," George Gordon went on, speaking above the murmurs of the crowd, "I can't say I blame His Grace. Which of us here today has not been made a fool for love? But we have repented of our mistakes, and I say that our King of blessed memory should have the same chance. Queen Arabella is the only true daughter of the House of Stewart. Denying her right to the throne of Scotland makes a mockery of all we hold dear, of all our sainted Queens Margaret and Christina fought so hard to gain and keep. Are you, any of you, going to stand here, in front of the Stone of Destiny itself, and turn your backs on Arbroath?"
"Lord Gordon! We're not…" The speaker who countered Lord Gordon's impassioned speech, however, sounded far less sure than they would have done a few moments earlier. The young man cut the wavering words off scornfully.
"Yes, you are. All of you. That is what ceding Scotland to the clutches of Rachel of England amounts to."
George Gordon was breathing heavily. The crowd stared at him now, rather than at Margaret, but with more interest than condemnation. He whirled and threw himself to his knees.
"Mistress Drummond, I pledge my sword to the service of Queen Arabella, for I see striking a blow for Her Grace as striking a blow for Scotland's independence. And I think foul scorn of any man, woman or child who does not follow my example."
Margaret beamed down at Lord Gordon and helped him to his feet.
"I am delighted to hear it, Lord Gordon," she said gently, "Queen Arabella will be very pleased."
Strengthened by the young man at her side, she turned to face the crowd again.
"You have all heard Lord Gordon's view. Now, let me ask you this. Can we all agree that the Declaration of Arbroath, which named the Lady Christina Bruce our Queen, is a document sacred to our country and ought to be upheld at all costs?"
This time, the crowd nodded. That they could agree to.
"Can we all, secondly, agree that the Lady Arabella is, as Lord Gordon stated, the only true daughter of the House of Stewart, born with Scottish blood in her veins?"
Again, there were nods. No one was denying the Lady Arabella's parentage, after all, just her right to challenge her older sister to the throne.
"Then, if we can all agree on those two things, can you not see that crowning the Lady Arabella is only our duty as true, loyal Scots? Our sisters and mothers, fathers and brothers have fought and died to keep Scotland independent since time immemorial. This is not only about honouring my brother's final wishes. This is about what's best for our country. I beg you all to remember that, and hence to act in such a way as your consciences dictate."
Silence still greeted Margaret's words, but it was a far less ominous silence than the preceding one. Eventually, propelled by strategically-placed supporters of Arabella's cause, the crowd began to press forward. It wasn't quite cheering wildly, but neither was it rumbling ominously. Deciding that was the best she was going to get, Margaret scrambled down from her perch and hurried to join it. However little energy Arabella's cause might seem to have at the moment, at least it wasn't dying. If they moved quickly enough, they might be able to turn this into a success after all.