The Forgotten Queen by D. L. Bogdan

“My father . . . You recall how I told you that I was used against him. As a child I was kept from him by his enemies. In the Battle of Bannockburn they—they mutilated him, Maggie. They . . . you canna even imagine, you dinna want to imagine . . .” His face was stricken with horror. “And all of it in my name . He was made a brutal sacrifice to his enemies’ ambitions and I was the figurehead to which they attached themselves, hoping that through me they could rule. They learned soon enough that I would be ruled by none but God.” His voice wavered with conviction, tears streaming down his cheeks. I crossed to the window and sat beside him, taking his hand in mine while stroking his cheek with the other. “I canna pay enough for my part, the part I played in my father’s death. This is the least I can do, for his memory and for God.”
    “Jamie, surely you dinna believe you were at fault,” I cooed. “You were innocent—a child. No one was protecting you; no one had your best interests at heart.” I stroked his silky hair, then gathered him in my arms, pulling him to my breast and swaying from side to side. I recalled my father’s words, that to be a monarch is to be alone, without true friends. Those who secured Jamie’s throne for him did so out of self-interest. I trembled with fear as I wondered what forces could work against us and our future children should we displease our subjects.
    “Out of respect for my father, Maggie, I must bear this burden,” he told me. “I must continually demonstrate my regret at the treachery and violence that brought the crown upon my head.”
    “For whom?” I asked him. “For God? If that is so, be assured that He knows, Jamie. You dinna need to torture your poor body for this. You were a child! God knows your regret and forgives you.”
    He shook his head emphatically, squeezing his eyes shut. His shoulders heaved with sobs. “No!” he gasped. “No! You dinna understand! I must! I must! No matter how many years go by, no matter how fortunate and blessed I become, I must remember what it cost!”
    “Oh, Jamie!” I did not know how to comfort him. I never regretted something to such extent that I was inspired to resort to such extreme measures.
    I rocked to and fro, humming in soft tones, wondering if there was any way to heal my husband’s tortured soul.
    It was a way of thinking I did not understand, the need for pain. But Jamie needed it; he thrived off it.
    It accompanied him wherever he went, worn like a cloak.
    Or an iron belt.
     
    Bitter hot bile rose in my throat, filling my mouth, and there was naught to do but spew it forth into the basin my lady held out for me as she had done every few hours. I could hold nothing down. My stomach grew taut with pain and I ingested nothing but bread and broth.
    My throat was raw from retching, my temples pounding. Even my cheekbones throbbed and ached. My breasts were so tender I could not lie on my stomach anymore and no longer got any sleep, for that was my favorite position. I curled up in bed useless, burying my head in the pillows as the physician examined me.
    “I’m dying,” I told him. “Tell His Grace to find a new queen and she best be fat and hideous. If he chooses Janet Kennedy I’ll haunt him for the rest of his life,” I said in reference to his favorite mistress and mother of his son James.
    The physician laughed. “You are not dying, Your Grace. You are with child.”
    I sat up, raising my head. My eyes grew wide. “With child?” I breathed in awe.
    “You did not recognize the signs?” he asked.
    I had never seen the signs before. Besides taking to her bed with exhaustion, my mother was always composed during her pregnancies. If she was ever in such wretched estate she never let on.
    “No one told me,” I admitted in small tones, flushing in my ignorance. “I have been kept uninformed on a variety of subjects, it seems,” I added, thinking of Jamie’s children and mistresses.
    My