Entwined

by Elizabeth Marshall

  “I have to, that’s not all,” she said. “This other guy asked about the kid.”

  “And what did Angus tell him?” Simon asked, his eyes as sharp as a blade of steel.

  “He said that it was as good as dead.”

  “Rose, you can tell us this another time.”

  “No,” she said, her voice stronger and steadier. “At first I thought this guy was going to help the woman. He pushed the knife against Angus’ throat.”

  “What happened to the baby?” Simon interrupted.

  “The guy lit a candle and disappeared with the kid.”

  “He took the baby?” I asked in dismay.

  Rose nodded.

  “And Angus? What did he do?” Simon asked.

  “He grabbed my arm and lit a candle. Before I knew it, we were back here.”

  “Thank you, lass,” Simon said, fixing a cold look of disgust on the corpse of his brother.

  “Just find him. Please?” Rose said, feeling a sudden frantic need to know what had happened to the child.

  “We don’t know enough about this child.”

  “We can’t just leave him with that guy. I mean, can’t we, like, go back there or -? Oh I don’t know,” she said with an exasperated shrug. “Just do whatever it is you guys do.”

  “The child could be anywhere. By your own admission, you have no idea who its mother is, or even what time she is from.”

  “He’s a kid, for God’s sake. It’s gotta be worth trying.”

  “I can’t see what harm it would do, Pa. The search might even lead us to my real mother.”

  I recoiled at his words, immediately recalling what the Stag had said to me. Duncan had never spoken of his blood mother. I had never thought of his need to know her. For all of his young life I had been his mother. The one who had loved him, cherished him, protected, and cared for him. He had no need for the woman who had borne him, had left him for dead, abandoned on the banks of the River Ouse. I stared at him, a broken woman, because his words had reminded me that I wasn’t - and never would be - his real mother.

  “Finding this baby would be no easy task. It is probably dead. As for the woman you call your mother? I have already searched for her,” Simon said.

  “Just because a task is difficult, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be attempted,” argued my son.

  “Aye, and I will try, but I warn you not to raise your hopes. We have other more pressing issues,” replied Simon, rubbing his hands thoughtfully through his untidy mass of black curls.

  “And they would be?” I asked.

  “I believe we owe Rose an explanation,” he said, turning to face the girl. “Do you have any questions you would like to ask us?”

  The girl nodded slowly, her dark eyes a stark contrast to the powdery white of her face.

  “I would like to know where you are from.”

  “I will tell you, Rose, but you have to understand that no matter how absurd and bizarre the story may seem, it is the truth,” I said, taking a deep and deliberate breath. “Will you trust me?” I asked gently.

  “I’ll try,” she replied.

  “Well,” I began, playing nervously with my hands, “A long time ago there was an attack on my village and I fled into the mountains to hide,” I paused and lifted my head to look at her, “I should have died.”

  Rose held my look, her head cocked slightly to the side, her narrowed eyes intensifying her gaze.

  “How did you survive?” she whispered.

  “A Stag found me,” I said, drawing a long breath.

  The girl’s eyes were now wide with surprise, her pupils shifting uneasily from side to side but her look spoke of fear not disbelief.

  “And Simon,” she asked, “What’s he got to do with it?”

  I scuffed at the floor with my shoe, watching the dust as it rose around my foot.

  “Simon was a soldier, a Redcoat and a child of the Campbell Clan. He was one of the men sent by the King of England to destroy our village.”

  “Never,” she whispered.

  “But Simon couldn’t bring himself to carry out the orders, so he deserted his post and fled the army as a traitor.”

  “So, how did you meet him?”

  “I was shot and Simon pulled me into the alcove of a cave.”

  “That is so romantic,” she sighed.

  “Not exactly,” I replied curtly. “At first I thought he was going to kill me.”

  “So how did you guys get together?”

  “Simon helped me flee the village. We escaped to Dundee but then Angus found us and we had to flee again.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “We went to York, and that is where we found Duncan. That was a good time. A happy time.”

  “What went wrong?” Rose asked.

  “Angus caught up with us again.”

  I stiffened defensively, lowering my eyes to the ground in an attempt to avoid his corpse.

  “At first I thought he was a Redcoat, pursuing Simon for his desertion. But then I discovered that he wasn’t just another British Redcoat - he was Simon’s half brother.”

  Rose stood motionless, staring at me intently, her eyes dark and confused.

  “I know this must be impossible to believe, Rose, but the simple truth is that - we are all from another time and place, and for some unknown reason, fate has placed us here, with you.”

  A look of relief crossed her face as she gazed intently at me.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked, fumbling her way out of the storeroom towards the front of the shop. Then turning to face a spot to the right of the door, she fixed her eyes on a portrait.

  “I believe your story, Corran,” she said, pointing at the faded image on the painting.

  “Where did Angus get it?” I whispered.

  “It was mine.”

  “Yours?” I asked with shocked surprise.

  She didn’t reply.

  “Where did you get if from, Rose?” Simon asked with a low, dangerous growl.

  Rose turned slowly to face my husband. “It was my Gran’s.”

  “Then how did Angus come to have it?”

  “He noticed it in my house and asked if I would consider selling it to him. The picture didn’t mean much to me, aside from the fact that it had been Gran’s. It’s not like I knew who the people in it were,” she said cynically.

  She turned to me, her face drawn and pained beyond her years.

  “I knew I recognized you the first time I met you. I just couldn’t think where from.”

  “When did you realize?” Simon asked.

  “In the storeroom, when Corran told you and Duncan that she’s pregnant,” she said, turning back to stare at the portrait. “I believe you Corran, but I don’t understand you.”

  “It’s not an easy thing to understand,” Simon said gently.

  “Why would my Gran have a portrait of you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Rose, tell me about your grandmother,” Simon said abruptly.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything you want to share with us.”

  “There isn’t much to tell really. Gran and my mother came from Scotland…”

  “Oh aye,” Simon interrupted, raising his eyebrow.

  I shot him a disapproving look but he ignored it and returned his attention to Rose.

  “Where in Scotland were they from?”

  “I don’t know. Mum spent most of her life here in York and I think Gran must have too.”

  “Are you sure?” Simon asked with a thick note of skepticism to his voice.

  “As sure as I can be. We never left the city, not once, not even for holidays.” She hesitated. “At least none of us had until two years ago.”

  “What happened two years ago?”

  “Gran said that she wanted to go home for Christmas.”

  “Home? Did she not tell you where home was then?” Simon asked.

  “No. I was gobsmacked when she said that s
he was going. I proper hated the idea of her not being here for Christmas. I mean, this was her home, we were her family. She’d never left us before.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. Mum said she went walking in the mountains and got lost.”

  “Do you know which mountains she was walking in?”

  Rose shook her head sadly. “No, and they couldn’t find her body either. I know she was strong for her age and all, but it was a stupid thing to do.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  “Leave her, Simon. She’s been through enough.”

  “It’s OK,” Rose said softly. “Mum went to look for Gran’s body, but she never came back either,” she paused briefly, “I miss them both so much.”

  “Did your Mum say where she was going?” Simon asked.

  The girl shook her head slowly. “No… well, kind of… but it was wrong.”

  “Wrong?” I asked, bewildered.

  “She left me a phone number for the hotel she was staying at, but when I called the number, it didn’t exist.”

  “Could you have written the number down wrong?” Simon asked.

  Rose shook her head. “I didn’t write it, Mum did.”

  “Was there an address?”

  “No. The police asked me all these questions at the time. I don’t know where she went.”

  “What about your father?” Simon asked, abruptly moving the conversation on, “Where is he?”

  “I don’t remember him. He died when I was little.” She hesitated. “A boating accident, I think.”

  “That’s a nice locket,” I commented, noticing how Rose had raised her hand to her chest and instinctively closed it around the silver heart shaped pendent. It reminded me of the locket I had found in Angus’ shop and I wondered absently if he had given it to her.

  “Thank you. It has a picture of my Gran in it. Would you like to see it, Corran?”

  Simon nodded in my place. “Aye lass, we would like to see your grandmother.”

  Rose opened her fist around the locket. Carefully prizing the catch open she held it out for us to see. Simon moved in swiftly; stooping slightly to study the object. My view was obscured by the broad width of his shoulders, so I hung back patiently. The room fell silent as he studied the image. Slowly, his frame straightened and he turned to face me. His dark eyes flickered with a moment’s confusion and his hands shot up to ruffle the thick mop of curls on his head.

  “Thank you, Rose,” he said, glancing back at the locket with a puzzled frown. “Would you mind showing that picture to Corran, please?”

  He stepped aside as I leaned closer to the tiny image. It came ever more into focus until stark recognition struck. A beautiful woman with long golden hair stared back at me. I gasped in shock, taking a startled step backwards.

  “It can’t be,” I mumbled, reaching out and steadying myself against the back of an ancient chair.

  “Can’t be what?” asked Duncan straining to see the image.

  Rose snapped the locket protectively closed and pressed the palm of her hand flat against the base of her throat.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked bluntly, her eyes moving uneasily between Simon and me.

  I lifted my head and stared at Simon. Would she believe us? For a moment no one spoke. Only the gentle ticking of a clock could be heard as we waited for someone to break the silence.

  “It is my opinion…” Simon started, stopping himself mid sentence.

  I held my breath waiting for his next words. A heavy tension fell upon the room, everyone stiffened in anticipation.

  Heaving a pained and reluctant sigh, he started again.

  “If that picture is indeed your grandmother, then she is known to us.”

  “What do you mean you know her? You can’t. She disappeared long before you came to York,” Rose said bemused.

  “Perhaps, lass, but that doesn’t change the fact that she is known to us.”

  Rose cupped her hands over her face, sighing deeply before lifting them away to display tear filled eyes.

  “I’m so confused,” she mumbled. “Gran never mentioned any of you, yet she had this portrait and now you tell me you knew her. How? She never left the city, she was always with Mum and me.”

  I leaned towards her and wiped a tear from her cheek. For a moment I thought she might reach out to me. I wanted to throw my arms around her and promise her that everything was going to be alright. But I didn’t follow my instinct, instead I smiled weakly at her and dropped my hand from her tear stained cheek.

  “Corran has known your grandmother since she was born -” Simon said, pausing briefly to consider his next words “- and I have a feeling fate has had a hand in our knowing you, Rose.”

  I nodded, as if to confirm Simon’s words. “That is a picture of Giorsal, - somewhat older than she was last time I saw her, but I’d recognize her face anywhere,” I said, reaffirming my husband’s words.

  An utterly weary face turned slowly to Simon. “Even if you are right, it still doesn’t explain how you knew my Gran.”

  “Rose,” I began taking a deep breath and letting it out steadily, “the lady, Nansaidh, that Angus abducted with you. She is Giorsal’s mother and your great grandmother.”

  Her face grew pale, her eyes glazed and she started to sway. Duncan sprang from behind me to steady her. She leaned heavily against him resting her head on his chest.

  “Are you alright?” I asked.

  She nodded before taking a deep breath and straightening herself to face me.

  “I don’t understand but I want to,” she whispered.

  “Do you want me to carry on?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Yeah, I want to know everything.”

  “If you’re sure,” I said, taking a deep breath and steeling myself for the task. “Nansaidh, the lady who was here earlier, was my best friend. We grew up together in a place called Glencoe, in Scotland. You know how I said our village was attacked?”

  Rose nodded in response.

  “Well, Nansaidh escaped with Giorsal, into the mountains. Giorsal was just a small child. She was dying… but then I held her and prayed that she would live. Then her body warmed and she grew strong. The Stag came for your grandmother, Rose, and she survived. Just like I did.”

  A long silence ensued. It was not an uncomfortable silence, rather the kind one experiences when deep in thought or single-mindedly focused on an important task. It was broken finally by Simon, who, scratching his head in the way he tended to do in moments of serious contemplation, announced that it was time to dispose of the body. I had quite forgotten the bloody corpse and shuddered at its mention.

  “What are you going to do with him?” I asked quietly.

  “I’m going to send him to Hell.”

  “Do you need my help?” I offered reluctantly.

  “No. We need board and lodgings for the night. Will you see to that, Corran?”

  “I have some spare rooms,” Rose offered.

  Simon turned slowly to face the girl, his brow arched in disbelief.

  “You would have us stay with you - after everything you have heard and seen today?”

  She nodded.

  “I’d like it, actually.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lass, you are too trusting for your own good,” Simon chastised.

  “Yeah, maybe, but I like you all. So I’m offering. If you want them, the rooms are yours.”

  “Thank you, Rose. We would like that,” I said, without any attempt to hide the relief her words had brought.

  Rose opened her bag and pulled out a pen and a small notebook. She wrote something on a page, tore the page out and handed it to Simon. “Here, this is my address. There is a taxi rank in front of the Minster on Duncombe Place opposite the Dean Court Hotel.”

  “Thank you, Rose. Duncombe Place?” replied Simon.

  “Yeah, top of Stonegate, turn left onto High Petergate, past
St Michael le Belfrey, then turn left onto Duncombe. The taxi rank runs along Duncombe; there are usually cars there. Look for the York City Council coat of arms on the doors.”

  “I remember, thank you, Rose.”

  Returning her pen and notebook to her bag, Rose pulled out a small, scented green bag and turned to me.

  “Here, you might want to use these.”

  “What is it?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Make-up remover wipes. They should get the worst of the blood off your hands.”

  ******

  CHAPTER 2

  The city rested in its hushed lull between the end of a business day and the start of the evening revelers. Some things time didn’t change. We walked on in silence, Rose and I, having left Simon and Duncan to dispose of the body. We headed towards Ouse Bridge. Down its steps, past the Kings Arms tavern and over Skeldergate Bridge.

  This part of the city was new to me. It had been pastures and fields and a route to the city gallows in my time.

  “These houses look old. When were they built?” I asked, casting my eyes out at the sprawling sea of homes, crammed cheek to jowl in never ending rows.

  “The latter half of the eighteen and early nineteen hundreds – for the workers of the Rowntree factory.”

  “Rowntree factory?”

  “Yeah, you know, the sweet makers.”

  I didn’t, but nodded all the same.

  Nestled in one such terrace of houses, behind a privet hedge, Rose’s home resembled every other of its period. I stood on the stone step outside the house, nervously watching as she unlocked the front door. My rational mind told me that no one could know what had happened, what I’d done, yet still I trembled. Finally the door swung gently open.

  “You have a beautiful home,” I said, admiring the colorful mosaic floor tiles as we moved through the long, thin hall and into the kitchen.

  “Ta. It was once, but now it’s just kinda empty,” she said, reaching for a frying pan and sliding it on to the hob.

  The meat sizzled as it hit the hot surface of the pan, and the smell of cooking filled the room.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You can peel the spuds. I don’t have a peeler. Mum doesn’t - didn’t get on with them.” Her eyes filled with sadness. “I don’t understand what’s going on, Corran. What happened to them? I mean, do you really think my Gran was imm…?” The words stuck in her throat.