"What do we do, Alex? The will reading has bled our support away. The Sinclairs rode away three days ago, the Gordons left this morning. If we lose the Douglases as well, we're lost, and you know it."

Arabella heard her aunt sigh and leaned in closer against the door. She'd suspected for a while that her aunt and brother were holding secret conferences without her. Now she had the proof of it.

Part of her wanted to storm in there and accuse them of keeping secrets, but a stronger sense of wanting to have the upper hand kept her rooted to the spot. Storming in there would be a child's reaction and she wanted to react like a Queen. Better to gather all the information she could and keep it close to her chest, so as to plan a course that truly suited her interests, rather than those of the nobles who surrounded her.

"I know, Aunt Margaret. I'm not blind! I knew we'd lose the Sinclairs – they're related to the Duchess of Lancaster, for heavens' sake. They might be rebels now, but you mark my words, they'll find a warm welcome down in London, if they play their cards right. I was surprised they rode with us at all, to be honest."

"I wasn't. Do you really think a woman as canny as Lady Sinclair would miss the chance to play both sides, if she could? You know how quick she was to court the young Duchess's favour when she first came north. She's never been a woman to ignore those who are on the rise, if she can help it. Of course she would have fought for the possible Queen of Scotland… at least as long as she found Arabella's cause plausible."

"So their leaving means they're confident enough in Rachel's victory to risk putting all their eggs in one basket. God help us." Alex paused, "And I won't deny losing the Gordon force is a blow. One I wasn't expecting, to be honest. Goodness, George was the first to raise his sword in Bella's cause."

Alex exhaled and Arabella could almost see her brother rubbing his face with his hands, as he often did when he was frustrated.

"If only we'd crowned Arabella at Stirling or even Scone. If she was already an anointed Queen, it would make our lives so much easier."

"We couldn't have done that. You know we couldn't have done. We didn't have the support for it."

"You say that, but did we actually try?"

"I did, as a matter of fact. There was no point asking Her Grace of Dunfermline, but I sounded the Abbess of Argyll out about it. She refused to even countenance crowning your sister until she'd had the approval of the Flamenica. We both knew she wasn't going to get that, so I dropped the matter. Besides, Arabella's too proud for a rushed coronation. She would have wanted one with all the trimmings and we had neither the time nor the money for that."

"You couldn't have bribed Her Grace of Argyll to agree? Or Heavens above, forced her?"

"Bribery wouldn't have worked. Her Grace of Argyll is widely known for being upstanding and never accepting bribes to sway her principles. It's partly why I wanted her to be the one to crown Arabella. To have her on our side would have lent a lot of force to our cause. But it wasn't to be. And as for forcing her, of course not! What do you take me for? Everyone knows oaths taken under duress have no weight in a court of law. It would have done us no good at all, if it came down to it. Worse, it would have been far too overreaching. If we'd been seen to violate the sanctity of the Church, it would have cost us everything!"

"What, and trying to seize hold of the young Duchess of Carnarvon isn't a bold move? One that may well cost us everything?" Alexander snapped, before his voice tired. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm just exhausted. I didn't need the Gordons running away. Do you think we can do anything to bind the Douglases to us?"

"Well, yes. We could always offer to marry her to their son Charles. The lad's only three years older than her."

"Oh. It's a possibility, I suppose, but you know how proud the Douglases are. If we give them royal connections, they'll become insufferable."

"Their pride is precisely why offering to make one of their own Prince Consort would keep them with us."

"Yes, but a nobleman for a husband hardly gives Arabella any prestige to counter Rachel's, does it? I was sort of hoping to offer Arabella to Brittany or perhaps the Papal States in exchange for some foreign mercenaries…"

"It was good enough for her mother and besides, we haven't got time to wait for foreign aid. We're losing, badly."

"All right, all right. I'll speak to the Countess. But if they don't play ball…"

"Then, frankly, we need to try to salvage what we can of this."

Alex scoffed, "Is there anything to salvage? We're traitors, each and every one of us. I can tell you now, Rachel will never show me any mercy. We've hated each other since the day my father carried her into the nursery at Stirling!"

"I doubt she'd be generous to me, either. My hatred of her mother is too well-known for that, even if I hadn't been at the forefront of fighting her sister's cause. But Arabella? Now, she might have a chance. If we can persuade Rachel that we were the ringleaders, that Bella was just our puppet… I can't see Rachel harming her sister. She's too soft-hearted for that. Everyone knows how much she favours her father's love child. If she can be so kind to a woman whose mother betrayed her own, well, she's hardly going to hurt her true-born sister, is she now?"

"No." Alex paused, "Do you think we should get someone to write to Rachel behind Arabella's back? Just in case? Test the waters, so to speak?"

Arabella had heard enough. Pain lanced her heart, as quick and sharp as a snake bite. The very idea that Alexander considered her cause lost enough that he was seeking to shape a future beyond it stung her as little else had ever done. Alex had never left her in the lurch before. Never. He'd always been her knight in shining armour, just as David and George had been Rachel's.

As swiftly as the pain of betrayal had come, however, it faded, leaving behind it a fury that crystallised into a cold, hard determination. So, Alex thought her cause was lost, did he? Well, what did that matter? Arabella had been fighting for everything she'd ever had her entire life. She'd be damned if she'd stop fighting now. She'd just have to go about it a different way, that was all.

Mind whirling, Arabella turned around and padded back the way she'd come before anyone ever realised she'd been eavesdropping.

"Are you absolutely sure we can't hold out, Sir John? Even just for a few days so that I can get word to Queen Rachel and Her Grace can send a force to relieve us?"

Bessie knew she was begging and she hated herself for it, but the Princess's – her cousin's little daughter's – life might well depend upon it.

Sir John Fiennes shook his head, grief and shame dark in his eyes.

"It pains me to say it, Your Grace, but I fear we cannot. Broughton was not built to withstand a siege. I couldn't make out the details of Lady Arabella's troops in the early dawn, but if Her Highness has siege engines with her, then we're doomed. One blow from one of those and we won't be standing here. The castle will have been razed to the ground and we'll have gone with it."

For a moment, Bessie searched his face, hoping to find some hint of a lie, but she found none. She sighed.

"Well, we can't have that. Especially not with the Princess in residence. Very well. I'll go and see if my cousin is open to the idea of a parley."

Glancing over her shoulder as she spoke, Bessie was relieved to see that the few maids she had brought south with her had silently fallen into step behind her the moment she had made up her mind. She trusted those women with her life. They had been with her since Aunt Anne first gave her a household of her own, all those years ago. At least, if the worst came to the worst, she wouldn't be facing Arabella alone.

To her relief, however, when she reached Broughton's battlements, she realised her eyes had been playing tricks on her during her last visit in the predawn mist. Arabella didn't have a full army with her at all. Far from it, in fact. In the cold light of day, Arabella's force was little more than the kind that used to be used to patrol the northern borders; that might, if push came to shove, fight a skirmish or two, but no more than that.

Instantly, a weight fell off her shoulders. Arabella's lack of men seemed to suggest that she'd be more open to negotiation than everyone seemed to think she would. That, in turn, would make Bessie's job easier. Though, as Duchess of Lancaster and little Princess Elizabeth's godmother, it was far beneath her to admit such a thing, it was tearing her apart to see her younger cousins so at odds. They were sisters. They should be each other's strongest allies, not tearing each other's throats out like this.

Oh, Bessie knew why they were doing it. She'd watched their childhoods; she knew only too well who'd raised them in such a way as to set them so relentlessly against each other. She couldn't say as much, though. Not when the only thing that actually united Rachel and Arabella was that they both idolised their father.

Catching herself, Bessie quickly shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. James of Scotland was dead. Damaging though his legacy was, at least he couldn't do his daughters any more harm. Besides, thinking of him would only send her own thoughts into a needlessly bitter spiral, when she needed to have her full wits about her to deal with Arabella.

Schooling her face to remain impassive, Bessie nodded to the sentry who stood near her, awaiting his orders.

"Very good, Simon. Let's see who we can raise, shall we?"

"Yes, My Lady Lancaster," Simon inclined his head in a half-bow and then gave three sharp blasts on his halboy.

Two watchmen down below jumped at the noise, glanced up and then moved towards them suspiciously.

"Yes?!" The taller of the two hollered, "State your business."

Simon glanced at Bessie and she nodded, "You've a stronger voice than me, Simon. Tell them we seek to parley with the Lady Arabella."

"As you wish, My Lady," So saying, Simon cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "We seek to parley with your mistress, Her Highness the Lady Arabella!"

There was a definite pause. The sentries looked askance at one another.

"Who's asking?"

"Her Highness's cousin, the Duchess of Lancaster. Her Grace assures me that no harm shall come to the Lady if she agrees."

An even longer pause this time. An answer finally came drifting up.

"We'll pass the message on. Godspeed."

There was the faint sound of running footsteps and then silence.

Bessie waited another few seconds for them to disappear and then blew out her cheeks in barely-suppressed relief. She'd done all she could for the moment. The ball was in Arabella's court now.

Arabella's inner circle murmured amongst themselves as they listened to the sentry's report, casting furtive, apprehensive glances at their young mistress. They half-expected her to throw the sentry from her presence when he relayed the Duchess's message, especially considering the fact that, in reciting it word for word, he hadn't thought to alter her title from the one the Duchess had used. The Queen's temper when her pride was touched was legendary.

To their surprise, however, Arabella merely laughed merrily.

"Bessie wants to parley, does she? Well, why not? I've nothing against her, after all. Tell my lady cousin that I'll meet her halfway between here and the castle at Vespers, if she's agreeable."

Ignoring the murmurs, Arabella waved the sentry away, only to call out to stop him even as he was bowing his way out of the room.

"Kenneth?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"Tell Lady Lancaster that as a sign of my trust in her word that no harm shall come to me, I shall meet with her unaccompanied. I would greatly appreciate it if Her Grace would do me the same honour."

"Of course, Your Grace," Kenneth sank briefly to one knee before scrambling to his feet and hurrying off.

No sooner had the door swung shut behind him than there was uproar.

"Madam!"

"Your Grace!"

"It's far too dangerous, especially given that Your Grace ordered the majority of our forces to remain a day's ride away."

"What if the Duchess seizes you and hands you over to Queen Rachel?! We wouldn't have the men to rescue you!"

"Your Grace cannot seriously mean to speak to the Duchess alone? When everyone knows she's Queen Rachel's most fervent supporter? It's madness to risk yourself like this!"

"Enough!" Arabella sprang to her feet, moving so quickly she tipped her ornate carved stool over with a clatter. Eyes blazing, she stared each of the speakers down until they flushed and bowed their heads.

"I am the rightful Queen of Albion, am I not? If I say I shall meet my cousin alone, then meet her alone I shall."

It took a moment or two, but the grumbling slowly died down. Exhaling, Arabella returned to her seat, a maid scrambling to right it for her.

"I am gratified to see you care so for my safety, but I assure you, I will be in no danger from Lady Lancaster. My cousin knows I think of her almost as a mother. She will not want to do anything to disabuse me of that trust, especially not if, as I am sure is the case, she still hopes to reconcile me with my sister."

Several of Arabella's generals still looked less than convinced, but their young Queen's manner brooked no argument. They subsided and Arabella returned to the book she'd been leafing through before Kenneth's arrival from the camp outpost.

Alexander, however, knew his sister well enough to catch the gleam in her eyes as she dropped her head to the pages.

She was plotting something. The sly undertone in her gaze gave that away clear enough. And that was before one took into account the way she'd divided their forces and taken the Duchess of Lancaster's referring to her as 'Lady Arabella' so calmly.

Alexander only wished he knew what that scheme was.