The Forgotten Queen by D. L. Bogdan Read Free Book Online

story,” he told me, gathering me in his arms. I yielded to the rare display of physical contact; indeed I had always been a loving girl and eager for affection to such an extent that Grandmother had to warn me against the impropriety of sitting on priests’ laps when confessing as a wee girl. Now I flung myself into my father’s arms without restraint, nuzzling my head against his black velvet doublet, taking solace in the embrace for a long moment before he pulled away. He smoothed my hair against my face and offered a sad smile.
    “Come now, enough,” he cooed in soft tones. “Lie back and let me cover you,” he said as I settled back among my pillows. He drew the covers over my shoulders again, then reached out to stroke my hair. “Will you remember everything I your father the king tell you this night?”
    I offered a grave nod.
    He smiled. “From the very first day you were born I knew you would be Queen of the Scots. You were born on St. Andrew’s Eve. Saint Andrew, as well you know, is the patron saint of Scotland,” he added for good measure. I closed my eyes, trying to emblazon his low musical tone in my heart as he continued. How I hoped never to forget the timbre of his voice! “I had you christened the very next day at the church honoring Scotland’s Saint Margaret. It was fortuitous, I thought even then. Though it was yet to be addressed, I knew someday, somehow there would be a great alliance between the thistle and the rose through you. And thus it has come to be, and not without its critics,” he added with a soft chuckle. “When I was making the treaty there were those who feared that should the fates be cruel and my heirs stolen from me, leaving you to succeed to the throne of England, it would leave Scotland in control. But I was not in the least bit afraid of such a thing. I told them England will never yield to Scotland but Scotland to England and so it shall someday, and through you. Our crowns are destined to become one. I am convinced of it.”
    “How do you know?” I asked him in a small voice.
    His eyes were filled with wonder as he looked beyond me. “I have seen it in a dream. I have seen it and I believe it.” He reached down again to stroke my head. “You must be strong, Margot. What we Tudors are given to endure God gives us the strength to endure. Be a queen before you are a woman always. Always remember that you stand alone; monarchs have no true friends and must act with constant caution. No one will ever truly love you, my child, and I say it not to be cruel. It is a lonely business. . . .” He cleared his throat. “Do not be ruled by your passions; let your head govern you in all that you do. I fear for your brother in that regard.” His eyes clouded a moment as he sighed. “Oh, but you are so young. . . .” He shook his head, closing his eyes and biting his lip. “You will never know what it costs me to let you go. I can offer you all the jewels and gowns in my realm as parting gifts; I can give you palfreys and coaches and splendid litters, every material thing that could satisfy your desire. But it would not be enough; nothing in this world would ever be enough to show you how much . . .” His voice caught. “How much I love you.”
    I sat up, flinging my arms about his neck once more, feeling his tears wet my cheek. “Oh, Father!” I cried, and at once terror gripped me, terror of leaving all that was familiar, terror of governing a foreign land without any guidance, terror of being alone and unloved. . . .
    Father pulled away, seizing my chin between thumb and forefinger. Tears streamed down his high-boned cheeks unchecked. “I will never see you again, Margot,” he whispered, and for a long moment we sat, memorizing each other’s features. “Promise me something,” he said then.
    “Anything,” I sobbed.
    “Be the queen you were born to be,” he told me.
    “I shall,” I promised as he urged me to lie back among the pillows once more. He leaned