The Heir and the Spared

Chapter Twenty

"Why do we not go on a royal progress?"

James looked up from his reading to glance at Mary. She was standing in front of their bedroom window and watching him.

"I think, my love, there is a very evident reason why not," James replied with a wry smile.

Mary sighed and let her hand fall from her belly, which she had been stroking softly without realizing it.

"Yes, there is that; but other queens of England have gone on a royal progress before when they were close to their time," Mary pointed out. If her mother had not encouraged her to learn royal history before she had left Italy, then she had certainly learned enough of it in the last fifteen years to make up for any deficit.

Edging away from the window, Mary eased into a seat. Though she wished to remain standing, her body had grown tired. In the last month, her body had become easily wearied. In only two months' time, she expected to hold a baby in her arms. While she did not want to admit it, James was right: she was not in a condition where she would be comfortable traveling miles and miles to a different palace. Whitehall, one mile away, was not far enough. Hampton, about ten miles away, might have done nicely...

Though James' face had darkened slightly, his tone remained even. "That queen gave birth early, to a daughter," he reminded her. "Besides that, her heathen and adulterous ways pulled Henry from the true faith; I will thank you not to compare yourself to her."

It was true; she was very little like Anne Boleyn - at least as far as anyone suspected. If anything, she had been encouraging James in his Catholic faith, not drawing him away from it. No one would call her seductive - least of all in her current state. And she had hardly been the adulterous one in their marriage. In court, she doubted anyone would call her calculating, except for the Protestants like Fitzroy who were only searching for a reason to hate her.

And that was precisely why she wished to leave London: Fitzroy.

"Besides, Mary, we've scarcely been back at St. James' for four months," James continued. "Don't you want our child to be born here, in view of our courtiers?"

Certainly not. Mary pressed her lips more closely together.

"It would be one last trip, just the two of us," she murmured. "But I will assent to your wishes, my lord."

James sighed and rose from his chair. Taking a few steps closer to her, he settled his hand on her middle. "I'm getting old, my sweet - far too old for twice-yearly jaunts around the countryside."

Lightly, his fingertips traced over the swell of her belly. For once, their child was not stirring; the babe only seemed to sleep when Mary was awake, and only to wake when Mary was trying to sleep.

"And it would not be safe for you to travel in your condition, I am sure of it."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Mary said quietly. She would not protest further; she would not beg.

...Yet she wondered just how safe she would be here.

"Come, my love," James murmured; "tell me what plagues your mind."

Her eyes lowered; he knew her too well.

"It is Fitzroy," she confessed. "Your nephew is displeased that we may have a Catholic heir."

"Well, of course he is. Were I in his shoes, I would not like to have my only tenuous claim to the throne eliminated."

"I mean, James, that he may agitate."