Sir Thomas More and a young lady start a school at Whitehall for the children of the courtiers, and it changes their lives forever. Blame it on the plot bunnies.
Prologue-Running for Our Lives
Sir Thomas and his family run to safety in Scotland.
This has to be the scariest thing I've had to do.
I'm doing it, though. For Katie. For our Alexander. For my children and grandchildren that are following us.
We've packed all that could fit into two chests and a few crates of food since that's all we could get on a wagon. Everything else was abandoned in the house. Portraits, books, furniture, and other nicknacks were left as if the owner would return. But nothing could be further from the truth.
We're on our way to Scotland. It's safe there for now, or so I'm told. Anything can change at a moment's notice, which has been the case for the last couple of years. But as of right now, I just want a place where myself and my family can lie low in safety. For right now, that place is Scotland.
Why are we leaving? I couldn't swear that oath in good conscience, not in full. Katie told me our son needed his father alive to raise him and not dead as a martyr, so that left me with one other option. That option was leaving England, and everything I knew, for a new life.
We've made it to Saint Andrew's after many restless days and nights on the run. Nights where I had to stand guard over my wife while she fed our son. Days where my son John and I took turns standing guard as we fed and watered the horses and took meal and toilet breaks. That's not even taking into account watching out for the robbers, bandits, thugs, kidnappers, and heretics that roamed all along the way.
Katie knocked on the door. A man and a woman just a little older than me opened the door and greeted her with a hug. The man then let us all inside the house and offered us seats at the table.
"Uncle Alex, Aunt Marjorie, I want you to meet my husband Tom, my stepson John, and this is our baby, Alexander," she gestured first towards John and me and then held up the baby.
Uncle Alex shook my and John's hands and offered to hold the baby. It was the first friendly gesture I'd received from someone outside our little troupe in a week. It was also the most welcome.
"Welcome, gentlemen. Marge, take the baby. I'll help the men with their things and show you where you can sleep," the Scotsman told my wife as he handed Alexander to his wife and followed us to the wagon.