Chapter 5

The rare favorable winds allowed the sailboats to speed along, their sails billowing in the sea breeze like giant white scallops or the white wings of seagulls, leading the entire fleet to cut through the waves and leave a long, foamy trail on the azure sea.

After a night's voyage, the French coastline had completely disappeared, replaced by the faint outline of Great Britain appearing in the sea.

As Mary walked from the cabin below to the deck and watched the sunrise against the sea breeze, she heard the passing crew and helmsmen discussing the rare good weather and smooth sailing, while Boswell, the commander of the Scottish Guard, was patrolling back and forth with his hand on his dagger.

This caused Mary's brow to furrow slightly.

She still remembered when she returned to China in her previous life, as soon as the sailboat left the harbor, she saw a small boat that was not sailing well crash into the rocks and then sink into the sea. Soon after, the sea breeze gradually stopped, leaving the crew to rely on manpower to sail.

This is a good omen, Mary thought to herself.

Her maids and friends had secretly gossiped that ever since Her Majesty the Queen fainted at the funeral, she had lost all trace of her former kindness, enthusiasm, joy, and courage, replaced by an icy calmness and sharpness. It wasn't that she was bad, but it just felt too...unfamiliar to the Four Marys.

Only Mary herself knew that she was not as confident as she appeared to others; on the contrary, the closer she got to Scotland, the more uneasy she became.

She had already suffered a devastating defeat once, both because of Elizabeth I and because of her own foolishness, and she dared not guarantee that she would not fail a second time.

But no matter what, she will never give up the fight against her fate.

Soon after, the maid Mary Beaton also came out of the cabin, wrapped in thick squirrel fur and carrying a white mink cloak, which she draped over her shoulders.

“Your Majesty, it’s too cold. Please put this on,” Beaton said.

“I feel fine, and now I’d rather walk around on the deck and relax,” Mary said, bowing her head obediently as Beeton helped her fasten her ties.

The feeling of sleeping on a rocking sailboat is hard to describe. If you were to use her other half of her soul as an analogy, it would be like taking a nap on a pirate ship in an amusement park. You can't sleep well at all, and your whole body is stiff and sore, and you desperately need to move around.

“I just asked the captain, and if all goes well, we’ll be in Scotland tomorrow… Good heavens, Your Majesty, there’s a ship sinking!” Mary Beeton suddenly exclaimed.

Because of these ominous words, Mary's heart sank as well. She frowned and followed Beeton's gaze. On the sea painted with the colors of dawn, a sailboat billowing thick smoke was teetering on the brink of collapse. Every now and then, gray-black planks fell into the sea. Barrels and containers were scattered all over the deck, burning and coiled by fire snakes.

At this rate, the ship will sink completely to the bottom of the ocean in just over ten minutes.

The two ships were not too far apart, and Mary could not see if there were any people moving on them, nor could she hear any shouts. She was unsure if there were any survivors.

Boswell removed his hat and stepped forward to inquire, "Your Majesty, should we approach and assess the condition of that ship?"

"Sail there immediately and see if there are any survivors who need to be rescued..." Mary thought for a moment and then said, "...have the guards go with the crew in case there are pirates or other dangers."

The massive sailing ship flying the royal flag immediately turned at the Queen's command, and soon approached the ordinary wooden boat. After a commotion, several soldiers carried a dying young man out of the wrecked ship amidst thick smoke.

Boswell led the way, and after ordering the soldiers to place the young man on the deck, he came over and whispered to Mary, "Your Majesty, something is not right."

“How so?” Mary asked.

“Everyone on the ship is dead, and all of them have fatal wounds…” Boswell said, running his hand lightly across his neck and grinning. “…The technique was professional; they were all aiming for the neck and other vital areas. They were dead in just a few moves. The person who killed those crew members was definitely a veteran.”

“Could they be pirates?” Mary asked.

“Impossible. I checked. Dozens of barrels of fine wine and silk and furs were not taken from the ship. Your Majesty, the pirates would not abandon these.” Boswell said, then clicked his tongue slightly, sounding somewhat regretful.

Those goods were worth a lot of money, but unfortunately the ship was about to sink, and there was no way to salvage them.

Mary had mixed feelings about Bothwell, her third husband from her previous life, just as she did about Lord Darnley. She rarely spoke a word to him except when given orders, but she absolutely trusted his judgment as a seasoned military man. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened on the ship.

The sole survivor was still lying on the deck. An old sailor with some medical knowledge was busy removing the crossbow bolts from his body and bandaging his wounds, large and small, with clean gauze to stop the bleeding. The four Marys gathered around the old sailor to watch the spectacle, holding their breath and staring intently at the bloody scene they had never seen before, both afraid and curious.

After a while, the maids suddenly burst into a gasp of surprise.

“Good heavens, we’ve brought back a sun god Apollo!” Miss Livingston exclaimed, covering her mouth, while the other three maids wholeheartedly agreed.

Mary had just finished discussing various speculations with Boswell and was walking towards the surviving young people.

As the crowd gathered around saw the Queen approaching, they immediately parted to make way, exposing the faces of the young people on the ground to the morning sunlight.

It was indeed a face that could be compared to the sun god Apollo. His light golden hair shone like sunlight, and his features were deep and beautiful, reminiscent of the marble statues unearthed on the Greek coast. Even his exposed figure was not like that of most nobles today, who were pot-bellied, but rather revealed beautiful muscle lines, which made Mary pause slightly when she first saw him.

"Does he have any noble coat of arms to prove his identity?" Mary asked.

Ordinary people are not considered. Given the current living standards, ordinary people are all thin and pale. After years of hardship, they may not even be over 1.6 meters tall, let alone look like this young man.

"There's nothing there, Your Majesty," the old crew member said, trembling with fear.

Mary lifted her skirt, squatted down next to the survivor, and then pried open his fingers, revealing the thick calluses on them.

Mary asked Boswell, "What can you tell?"

“A skilled gunman, a swordsman, and a spearman—the kind who’s trained since childhood,” Boswell said, examining the calluses.

"Looks like I've rescued a guy with a mysterious background. I'll have to wait until he wakes up to find out," Mary joked.

"Assuming he survives, Your Majesty, usually, someone who has lost so much blood and suffered such injuries will be in heaven within a few hours. Having someone treat him is a complete waste of time... I apologize, Your Majesty." Boswell realized his words were disrespectful halfway through, immediately stood up, took a few steps back, gave a slight bow, and then straightened up again.

The old sailor secretly agreed with the man's words.

Mary knew, as everyone present knew, how unreliable the medical skills of that era were, far inferior to even a fraction of those of later generations. But since he was still alive, out of the moral conscience of her other half, she couldn't let him lie there and wait to die. So she said to the old sailor, "You are responsible for taking care of this survivor. Go and add some sugar and salt to the boiling water, and keep feeding it to him. If he develops a fever, wipe his body repeatedly with Scotch whisky, and re-bandage his wounds with clean gauze every day... Take him down there and take good care of him. If he dies or wakes up again, come and report to me."

“Yes, yes, old Tom will obey your orders, Your Majesty,” the old sailor said, trying to remember the Queen of Scots’s instructions.

After saying this, Mary stood up to leave. Just then, the young man's fingers twitched slightly, and then he half-opened his unfocused pupils and said in a weak, almost inaudible voice, "...Are you the angel who has come to receive my soul?"

After the survivor finished speaking, he immediately closed his eyes and fainted again.

When a person is delirious, they will always use the language they are most familiar with, and what they say is not English or French, but Italian.

Mary speculated that this person was likely an Italian nobleman.

...

After two days and one night at sea, the fleet finally arrived at Ritter, a small town on the east coast of Scotland.

It was sunset, and in the gradually dimming light, the empty port town could be seen at a glance. In the crowded and narrow alleys, ordinary people gathered in twos and threes: fishermen who had just returned from fishing and were selling their salted fish, farmers who dragged a few sheep and pigs and were loudly hawking their wares, and several female workers who were buying wool who had started arguing for some reason, rolling and tearing at each other in the muddy streets, accompanied by harsh Scottish slang.

But as the fleet drew closer, everyone in the small town was drawn to it. Dusty people gathered at the harbor or on the rooftops, watching with a mixture of fear and curiosity, asking each other who had such a grand spectacle.

Apart from that, there wasn't a single lord dressed in aristocratic attire in the port.

On the deck of the sailboat, as they gradually came into view of the harbor, the initial excitement of the women standing with the Queen—Mary the Fourth, the two ministers, Commander-in-Chief Bouswell of the Guard, and the many soldiers—gradually cooled, replaced by bewildered expressions and anger.

"What's going on? Wasn't a letter already sent out stating His Majesty's return date and location? Why isn't anyone here to greet him?"

Mary Seton was both shocked and furious, and was the first to voice everyone's thoughts.

What else could it be?

Of course, this was a show of force by the Scottish nobles who did not welcome the Queen's return.

Standing in the center of the deck, surrounded by people, Mary answered in her heart.