The Heir and the Spared

Chapter Two

Author's note: Thank you for reading this story!  Thank you so much to those of you who have followed, voted, and left feedback. I so appreciate you!  Hope you enjoy Chapter Two!  

The queen rose early the next morning. She knew that by all rights, she should have rested longer after how late the ball had gone. However, her mind had been much occupied, and sleep eluded her.

After Sarah was summoned, Mary was dressed in a rich blue gown, and a strand of pearls placed clasped around her neck.

"A simple chignon will be fine for now," the queen murmured. "I will come back after chapel to have it done properly. I wish you to remain here until then."

After all, she must always be presentable, so her dress was impeccable as ever, but the prayer veil she wore would cover her hair.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Sarah said quietly. She lifted the weight of the queen's hair into her hands and looped it carefully but swiftly, then secured it in place. Finally, she arranged the veil delicately over the queen's face.

"I will return in some time," Mary said.

Sarah curtseyed, and shut the door softly behind her.

Nodding to the guards who were posted outside her door, the queen lifted her skirts and started down the familiar path to the chapel. She had tread this particular corridor many, many times in her years as queen at St. James' Palace. Often, she had come to the chapel to pray for a son. Sometimes, too, she had come to pray for her husband's soul - at the very least, that it would be protected from the sins of adultery.

This morning, however, as she entered the sanctum of the chapel, her mind felt shuttered. She knelt in front of the altar and closed her eyes, willing the words to come. She had prayed for over ten years for a healthy son to secure the throne - and prayed that a baby would finally place her back squarely in James' affections.

Soft footfalls sounded behind her, and she opened her eyes to see the resident priest kneeling beside her. Thank God it was the priest, and not one of the Protestant pastors kept around for the more misguided lords and ladies.

"Your Majesty," he said kindly, bowing his head to her. "May God bless you and keep you."

Mary bestowed a wan smile upon him, the best she could muster. This priest, Father John, was her favorite; he had prayed with her through many years of sorrow, even when she had not spoken her request specifically. No doubt he could have guessed the source of her shame, just as the rest of the kingdom could.

Sighing softly, she said, "God has been kind to me, Father John, in all respects but one."

She lowered her head, feeling tears start to form in her eyes, and glad for the veil that covered her face and preserved her dignity. Closing her eyes momentarily, she lifted her head once more; no tears had escaped, and she would not let them.

"You may speak at liberty, Your Majesty," the holy father said gently.

"A child," Mary whispered. Regaining her composure, she added more clearly, "A son. I still long for a prince to secure the holy lineage of a Catholic Stuart on the throne of England."

The priest was quiet for a moment. "In such times, when the answer to a prayer seems so beneficial, we can only wonder why God has not granted it."

Tenderly and paternally, he laid his hand upon the queen's, and she laid the fingers of her other hand gratefully on his.

"Your Majesty, if I may, is in good company. Think of how Elizabeth longed for a son for years, only to have God grant her John the Baptist. There was Sarah, who birthed Isaac in her old age, and gave rise to many nations through the fruit of her womb. And Rachel, who for years prayed for a child, only to be blessed with Joseph, savior during a famine. You are still young, Your Majesty. And your miraculous child may yet glorify God."