23 September 1614

William Sinclair smiled as he sat down, keeping his back straight in preparation for the imminent arrival of Her Majesty. The parchment was free of any wrinkles, the ink was the highest quality one could buy, and the quill had been sharpened so much that you could stab a man with it. Everything was in place. All that was missing was the Queen he was meant to interview.

After a few more minutes, the clock chimed for 4 in the afternoon, and the door opened. A man dressed in a smart blue uniform entered and nodded, signaling to William that he should stand up. As he did, an elderly woman walked into the room, slowly, a cane tapping out her footsteps. She was shrunken with age, and bent over a bit, but Mary, Queen of Scots was still an impressive figure for being 72 years old, her face dusted with a light coating of white powder, and a bright red wig over her head, reminiscent of her more youthful days. Even then, she was still several inches taller than William, a man in his mid 20s, and as he came up from his bow, he still looked up at her. She'd long transitioned from being "beautiful" to being "dignified", but that in no way detraced from her presence.

She smiled and nodded for him to sit. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Sinclair." Her voice showed age as well, but still carried some of the old strength it once did. "I trust you have everything ready for our little...discussion?"

"Yes, your Majesty." He smiled and sat down as she did, the older woman's bones creaking just a bit with age. "So...I suppose we should begin in your childhood."

"Everyone knows my childhood. I was a young girl once, haven't been for a long time, but there are plentiful records of my early life. I've already got my court constantly reminding me 'you are still as lovely as you were at 16!', or 'you still carry your poise and dignity!' I hear enough of my youth. I want to record my later life."

William was taken a bit aback, but smiled. "Very well, your Majesty. Where do you want to start?"

"My return to Scotland."

"Ah, just after the death of King Francis, yes?"

"Yes, then."

3 July 1562

As the boat came to dock in Scotland, a tall young woman with bright red hair and a fine dress smiled as she laid eyes on Edinburgh. It wasn't her first time in the city, nor was the city as impressive as Paris by any means, but she was glad to be home. Especially after a vision she'd had on her way home.

"A...a vision, your Majesty?"

"Yes. A vision of the Lord himself. A vision that gave me my purpose."

"I'm...I'm sorry, I don't think I understand."

"I remember it so vividly...I could never forget. The Lord himself, coming to me in a dream...he told me what I needed to do."

As she stepped off the boat and onto Scottish soil for the first time since she was a young girl, she was met by a fine carriage bearing two white horses. The coachman smiled and bowed to the young Queen. "Greetings, your Majesty. We are prepared to take you to the Castle on your command."

"Excellent. And as soon as you can, have the man named John Knox come to see me."

"John...Knox? The preacher?"

"Yes, him. I must speak with him."

He was quiet for a moment, but smiled. "I'll make sure your order gets to the right people, your Majesty."

Mary smiled and watched the city of Edinburgh go by. It wasn't impressive at all. In fact, as the capital of an entire nation such as Scotland, it was pitifully lacking. At the very least, some of the streets were paved. The carriage made its way through the main center of the city, where a jubilant crowd had gathered to meet her and welcome their Queen back to the country after her long stay in France. They waved handkerchiefs and crudely-stitched representations of the Cross of St. Andrew, the same flag that flew alongside the Lion Rampant on the Castle they approached. It filled her heart with joy, joy at the prospect of ruling her nation with God's will at her back, blowing her forward like a ship at full tack.

"And what did you think of Father Knox?"

"He was a lovely man. Very concerned when he first came to see me, but we warmed soon enough. I can clearly remember his first meeting with me, there in the main chamber of Edinburgh Castle..."

The first impression that Queen Mary had of the priest who called himself John Knox was that of an impressive man. He was dressed entirely in black, with a long, long grey beard that spilled over his front and almost entirely hid his mouth from view. So, she thought, this is the man eroding the Pope's influence in Scotland.

He approached the Queen and bowed deeply. "Greetings, your Highness. It is an honour to have you home in Scotland once again."

"The honour is mine, Father."

He looked up into her eyes, keeping direct contact. "My Queen, would you enlighten me as to why you have called me here?" He was half worried that she would have him executed. After all, she was Roman Catholic, and endangered her rule in a nation that was rapidly turning to protestantism.

"Mr. Knox, I want to know of your teachings."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "I'm sorry, your Majesty?"

"I have heard of several of your writings, I've been reading the ones that I received just before leaving France. And I will admit to you, in confidence, that I have received divine inspiration from them."

"Your Majesty...I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

She smiled. "The Lord. He has given me a vision, and told me that your writings are rather transformative in the interpretation of His word."

Even under his beard, Mary could see Knox's face spreading into a smile. "My Lady, I am honoured to hear this."

"Mr. Knox, I want to make use of your services. Would you be accepting of a position in my court?"

"My Queen, I would be honoured." He smiled brightly under his beard, and Mary returned the smile. "Does...this mean that you are receptive to the idea of abandoning the Catholic faith?"

"As my subjects do, so shall I. I will need your guidance for this, though, in creating the Scots Church. I have almost no knowledge of reformist teachings, and you will prove quite useful in this regard."

Sinclair smiled. "I must say, your Highness, that might have been the best choice to make upon returning home."

"I thank the Lord everyday for giving me the vision that spurred me to it. Without it, I doubt that my reign should have continued for much longer. Catholic rulers of Protestant nations have tended to have their reigns cut short. Much like Mary of England, when I think of it."

"Yes, tell me about England. Your cousin, Queen Elizabeth, she was an ally, was she not?"

"Ah, Elizabeth." She spoke the name with a sort of fondness, the kind that a sister might use in longing for a lost relative. "She was indeed a strong ally. Perhaps my best."

17 October 1563

My dearest cousin,

I am most pleased to hear of your nation's progress in recent days. I had prayed that you would have God's favor in your reign, and I was sorrowed by your loss of your husband in France. While I had no personal favor for the late King Francis II, your love for him was heartening to hear of, and your loss equally as heartbreaking.

Nevertheless, if you will forgive my saying so, I am gladdened to see that your life since then has improved markedly. For too long, the Kingdoms of England and Scotland have been at war, an infernal machination that ruins lands and their people. It is pleasing to know that for the time being, our sister nations will remain at peace. I hope dearly for the cooperation between our two nations to be amicable and tactful.

Should this letter arrive before my diplomats, I have dispatched a party to greet your court on my behalf, to send a gesture of friendship to the Kingdom of Scotland and her people. If this letter should arrive after them, I hope you have found my gift agreeable.

God be with you,

Elizabeth R

"What was it she sent you?"

"She sent me a fine portrait of herself. It hangs in this very room." Sinclair looked up over the fireplace at a portrait of a stately woman dressed in fine cloth, with hair as red as the Scottish queen's once was. So that was Queen Elizabeth, was it? It was true, she definitely carried a regal air, even in her portraits. Queen Mary continued. "I once met with her, not too long after that. Yes, the Queen of England herself. And she was just as lovely in person, that I can tell you for sure."

29 October 1564

The two Queens had finally come face to face. The "Good Queen Bess", in the same room as her cousin, for the first time in their lives. They were quite a sight. Not only was Queen Mary almost a full 8 inches taller than Queen Elizabeth at least, she was also 9 years younger. Nevertheless, Mary felt that the two were on much an even keel politically, as Elizabeth had only been coronated not long before Mary had returned to Scotland, even though Mary had technically been Queen for much longer, inheriting her throne at the mere age of 6 days.

Elizabeth bowed first, as the guest, and Mary returned the bow. Once they had finished that formality, they both smiled wide. "It's an honour to have you here, Bess." There were few people who would have dared use the English Queen's nickname even in the most relaxed function, but she was with family.

"It's an honour to be your guest, Mary." They both sat at the table, the world outside hidden behind a shade. As soon as they had sat, a servant brought a porcelain jug of something that looked like discoloured water. "What is this?"

"The Portuguese call it 'chá', but the men of my court prefer to call it 'tea'. It's quite good, very invigorating stuff."

Elizabeth took a testing sip, and found it quite agreeable as well. It must have taken a fortune for the traders of protestant Scotland to get any amount of a good from the catholic Portugal, but it appeared to have payed off. "Tell me, have you heard of the recent threats from Spain?"

"Yes, they are worrying my Parliament greatly."

The Queen of England sometimes had to remind herself that Scotland had a parliament as well, they simply didn't mention it as often. "What do you think of them?"

"I think that Spain doesn't have a leg to stand on. There are those who still insist I should press a claim to your throne, but since my divorce from the Roman church, I've heard that the Catholics in England are turning to King Philip II of Spain."

Elizabeth's eyes filled with fire. "I will be cold in the hard ground before I see that man take the throne which is mine by right."

"So with England on your side, you could grow the colonies?"

"Yes, indeed. I can't tell you how much the nobles were after me to create a colonial dominion overseas. Now, we weren't rich at all at the time, and it took a lot of time and effort. But oh, how it paid off." She smiled wistfully. "Are you familiar with the name 'Duncan Bruce'?"

"How could I not know it? Everyone who is aware of the Empire knows of that name."

"Well, I can tell you that we had a lot riding on him. When he left for what we call New Caledonia, very few people had any faith in him. But three years later, long after everyone had given up, he came back." She chuckled. "Well, he silenced any qualms then."

"Can you tell me more about it?" He re-inked his pen and prepared.

"Happily."

10 April 1569

Mary, Queen of Scots sat on her throne, overlooking the royal hall of Edinburgh Castle, overlooking many of her courtiers and several guards. One of them walked right down the middle of the hall and called out, in a loud voice: "Your Highness, a Mr. Duncan Bruce has called for an audience with you."

That set everyone chattering. Duncan Bruce? He was supposed to be dead. How was he back here, in the Castle of all places?

Mary nodded in assent. "Very well, bring him in."

A tall man with ginger-brown hair and dressed smartly in the fashion of a nobleman walked down the hall, accompanied by several people carrying chests that were full of something that couldn't be seen immediately. "Greetings, your Highness. I'm sorry I'm late, but I really couldn't come earlier."

"Well, you certainly make an entrance. Tell me, why have you chosen now to return, if you've been gone for these last three years?"

"I won't lie to you, there were complications. Many. The colony nearly froze to death, the land we have claimed is far colder than even Scotland. But...it is not without rewards."

"Have you found gold? Or silver?" Those two metals were on anyone's mind when the words 'colonization' were said. The Spanish had had an immense fortune in harvesting gold and silver from its colonies, and it had made them incredibly rich. If Scotland had her own source of gold or silver...it would propel them to immense new heights.

"Alas, no. The land we thought would be rich in gold or silver...has proved to have very little, if any. But...riches have come in other forms." He motioned for one of the chests to be brought forward. "While the Spanish toil in their mines, our brave colonists have discovered a new source of wealth." The chest was opened, to reveal several very dark brown pelts, that appeared to be very thick. "The beaver, here in Europe, is depleted. But in the lands of America, they are bountiful beyond measure. What you see here was the work of two week's time, a feat that would take several months in Europe."

True, it wasn't immediate riches, but it had impressed the court nonetheless. Mary perhaps most of all. "If you please, may I feel this material?"

Bruce smiled and bowed as he approached, handing her one of the pelts with both hands. Mary felt over the fur, and marveled at how thick it felt and how soft it was. "This is marvelous...and the beavers of America...they are incredibly common?"

"Common enough to make rats in Edinburgh jealous."

She smiled. "Mr. Bruce, I may have to ask for a dress of this material."

Here he smiled again. "Ah, that is where I have thought ahead, your Majesty." He motioned forward, and a man brought up a dress that had been made from the material, holding it up for her to inspect. It was a beautiful thing, dark brown with white trim, and clearly sewn by hand with great love and care. Whoever had made it clearly had known that it would be a gift for the Queen. Mary stood up and smiled, going down to inspect it closer. Somehow, they had managed to sew the design of a saltire into it. It was a magnificent piece of clothing, that was certain.

"Well, Mr. Bruce, you certainly do impress." She was already thinking about what he had brought. "Spain...they hold a stranglehold over gold and silver, not to mention tobacco and sugar in the new world. But these...while we have no gold or silver from the new lands, we could easily trade for them with these...yes, I think that these furs can make us quite rich indeed." She smiled. "Mr. Bruce, I'm in a mind to have you knighted for your service."

"A...a knighthood? My Queen, I would be honoured." He was smiling from ear to ear. Mary was smiling too.

"Oh, and I must ask. What have you named our new...colony?" That was the first time she had referred to it as such. Everyone had spoken of the "venture" or the "settlement", mostly in derogatory tones as it had been assumed to have failed. But now, it was an actual colony.

"Your Highness, I have named the lands 'New Caledonia', in honour of our great land and home."

"That was just the start, yes?"

"Oh yes, yes indeed. Sir Bruce later went about colonizing several islands in the Caribbean that the Spanish hadn't gotten their hands on, islands we still own to this day. He named them all after saints, you know, that's why we have islands named St. Guinoch, St. Margaret, and of course St. Andrew."

"Right." A church bell outside rang for 5 o'clock. Mary stood up, and Sinclair did as well. "I think that will be all for today, Mr. Sinclair. I must go and have a rest now. I can guarantee, though, that I'll be here tomorrow to talk some more. Have you got enough in your notes?"

William smiled. "Yes, My Queen, I can start writing right away. Should we meet again tomorrow at the same time?"

"That sounds lovely." She nodded, and walked out of the room accompanied by the click of her cane. William smiled and shuffled the papers in his lap back into position. It had been a productive day.