by Jill Jones
Craigmillar
November 1566
We are still quite weak from our near-fatal illness in Jedburgh, and our troubles with Darnley continue to plague us, so much so that often we simply wish to be dead. We have acquiesced to the wishes of Moray, Argyll, Bothwell and Maitland and retreated with them to the privacy of this gloomy pile of rocks where tonight we have discussed our mutual dislike, or rather hatred, of the king, and what, if any, resolution can be had. Maitland approached us saying that some means could be found for us to divorce Darnley, but as always, his offer came with a steep price…that we pardon Morton and Ruthven and the other vile conspirators who killed Riccio. So desperate are we to be rid of Darnley, we agreed to his demands. What difference will it make? We have already allowed our own disloyal brother to return. We want with all our heart to be forever free of Darnley, a man we once thought we loved but whom now we hate with a passion. But we must be certain that such a divorce will not prejudice our son’s claim to the throne. Maitland suggested there might be other means to get rid of Darnley, but he has assured us that whatever ensues, nothing will cause dishonor upon us, as all will first be approved by Parliament. Tonight we may sleep soundly for the first time since we met Darnley, thinking that happily he will soon be out of our life forever.
Oh, my naive Queen, Robert Gordon thought. It was a fault she never overcame, trusting in those around her. Quickly, he thumbed through the history book to the reference to the secret meeting between the queen and her nobles at Craigmillar. Yes, he thought it was so—Bothwell had been there as well. But she made no mention of him in her diary. Odd, thought Gordon, since her reputation was about to be destroyed by accusations that Bothwell was her lover and together they had plotted the death of Darnley. Of course, those charges could have been false.
Or the diary could be a fake.
Sleeting rain slanted against the door to their quarters, and Duncan saw Taylor shiver where she stood by the fireplace. Her hair, recently brushed, fell softly across her shoulders, its pale blonde burnished by the firelight and gleaming with an almost angelic halo from the backlighting. She wore a white nightgown, perfectly modest, and yet the silhouette of her body beneath the puritanical gown aroused him more than if she’d been wearing sexy lingerie.
He looked away, feeling again the apprehension that had gnawed at him since he had made love to her just over a month ago.
What if Taylor was pregnant?
In the heat of his passion, he had given protection only a passing consideration, but in cool afterthought, he had agonized over losing his control. He had been short with Taylor the morning after, a response she neither understood nor deserved, stemming from his own conflicted emotions. But if he’d made her pregnant, it would mean she must endure that condition alongside the cold and hunger he knew lay ahead for those inside Dunnottar Castle, an environment that could threaten her life and that of the baby. And he wouldn’t be here to help.
It had been one hell of an irresponsible act on his part.
In less than two days, he was due to set sail for France with John Keith and an emergency plea for help that he’d remembered would not be answered until too late. If he thought the journey would be successful, Duncan would have been anxious to get under way, but his foreknowledge that it was an exercise in futility made it difficult for him to muster any enthusiasm for the trip. Especially if Taylor’s condition was what he suspected it might be.
Duncan had been married for fifteen years, and he knew a woman’s cycle. Although since he and Taylor had made love he had tried to distance himself as much as possible from her by volunteering for the night watch, it was unavoidable that they should spend some time together in the intimate chamber that they shared. And he’d seen no sign that his suspicions were unfounded.
He must know, he decided, tormented, and he must know tonight. If she was indeed pregnant, maybe he should reconsider going on the perilous ocean voyage. He was torn between duty to the governor and duty to Taylor. In his heart, he knew he belonged here, by her side, to protect her from the villagers and do what he could to provide food for her and the rest who were cooped up here under desperate and hopeless conditions. But his honor called him to serve as he’d promised Oglivy.
But wouldn’t that duty be better served by finding more food for the besieged Scots? he silently argued the point. He’d already made several forays by boat into the towns and villages beyond the circle of Cromwell’s encampment and had managed to bring in enough rations to sustain the raggedy troupe and their families, but only minimally. They needed not just food, but medicine and blankets and clothing, all those things so readily available in the 21st century, so missing from this one, he thought sadly. With him away, there was no boat, no captain to scavenge for the meager supplies that were available.
Taylor took a seat and invited Pauley into her lap with a smile. They had learned some rudimentary sign language, and the pair seemed to have no difficulty understanding one another. She had been trying to teach him that speech existed, as his own voice continued to emit only spontaneous grunts when something surprised him. Duncan watched her place his little hand on her throat, and then she spoke aloud. “I love Pauley,” she said, then signed the words.
Could the child understand the concept of love? Duncan wondered, knowing the boy had likely never been loved by anyone before. But his doubts were answered by the child’s response to Taylor. Pauley made a valiant effort to speak, although it resulted in not much more than a gurgle. But he signed “I love you” to her, then planted a wet kiss on her cheek.
Duncan felt a hard knot at the back of his throat. Here before his eyes was all that he had ever asked of life. A woman who cared, a child he could love.
But if the three of them returned to the future they’d come from, would it be the same? Or would Taylor take off on her television adventures, leaving him to find a proper home for Pauley? Or…would she take Pauley with her?
The thought of either of them leaving his life again filled Duncan with the same desolation as when his family had been wrenched from him by the accident, and he realized with a start that somewhere along the way of this misadventure, he had done the forbidden.
He had allowed himself to fall in love with Taylor.
And to love the frail youngster who had been deposited into his life by this strange twist of fate.
And now, was there to be another child in the picture?
Duncan wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it—loving a woman, having a family once again. He’d been there before, and the pain of that loss was carved on his heart forever. He stood at a crossroads. He did not have to take on any of this. He could get on the ship, head for France, and never look back. If he didn’t ask, he would never need to know if Taylor carried his child. He could simply disappear over the horizon, into the mists of time.
Even as he entertained these thoughts, however, he conceded their folly, for to run away was against everything Duncan Fraser stood for.
And the family in front of him, as make-believe as it was, represented everything he’d ever wanted. Watching Taylor rock Pauley gently, he knew that if she were pregnant, the child would be a joyous addition to his life, despite the difficulties it would present. He had to know! He tried to figure how best to approach the subject.
“Care for some wine?” he asked at last, breaking the protracted silence.
“The stuff tastes like vinegar,” she replied, making a face, “but it’s better than nothing, I suppose. Sure.”
He filled a metal goblet and handed it to her, but she made a face and set it aside after only one sip. “I’d call that ‘self-rationing’ wine,” she laughed. Then she looked up at him, a question in her eyes, as if she knew he wanted something of her. “What is it, Duncan?” The woman seemed to have an uncanny ability to read his thoughts. “Come, talk to me.” She motioned to the other chair.
“You know I’m supposed to sail tomorrow at midnight,” he began, sitting next to her. She remained silent, a listener. He
continued. “Before I go…there’s…something I need to know.”
Taylor tilted her head slightly. “What’s that?”
Duncan slugged awkwardly through his embarrassment. “It’s rather, uh, personal,” he said, finding this more difficult than he had thought. She raised a brow but nodded for him to go on. He hesitated a moment, then continued. “You know, last month, when we…made love?”
Taylor’s wide, blue eyes seemed to melt, their expression changing from curious to tender. “How could I forget?” she replied softly, and in those eyes he read a clear invitation for him to come into her arms again. Since she had not spoken to him of her feelings about that incident, nor had she touched him again, not even for a neck massage, her unmistakable welcome came as a complete and disconcerting surprise. And it made things damnably more difficult.
He took both of her hands in his and felt the smoothness of her skin against his own calloused fingers. Caught between the two adults, Pauley grinned with delight at the perceived attention he was getting. But Duncan’s concentration was totally upon Taylor. He cleared his throat. “What I need to know is…well, is there any chance that you might be…that you are…uh, pregnant?”
Her smile vanished, and she stared at him. “Pregnant? Why…why do you want to know if I’m pregnant?”
“Because, if you are, I don’t think I should leave.”
High color stained her cheeks. “What the hell difference would that make?” She dropped his hands and stood up abruptly, setting Pauley on his feet.
“I…well, it would be extra difficult on you if…”
“It’s difficult on me now, and I’m surviving,” she pointed out. “If you’re thinking of changing your mind, do it because it’s more important for you to be here than off on this wild goose chase. Not because you’ve got a guilty conscience about possibly having fathered a child.”
“Guilty conscience!” Duncan was bewildered by her inexplicable indignation. He, too, stood up, almost knocking his chair over. A curt reply sprang to his lips, but the truth cut it short.
He did have a guilty conscience.
Guilty for loving her. Guilty for leaving her. Guilty of not wanting to go. Guilty of looking to her for an excuse. And yes, guilty of possibly having fathered a child. If Taylor was pregnant, he didn’t blame her for being furious with him.
He turned away and ran his hands through his hair, his emotions a confused mess. He didn’t know what to say next. At last, he faced her again.
“Look, Taylor, I only want to do my duty by you…,” he started, even though the words sounded lame in his ears, but she saved him the effort of continuing.
“Your duty! I thought your duty was to take John Keith to France to get the king to rescue us from this godawful situation.” The way she emphasized the word “duty” left no doubt of her scorn of the ill-fated trip.
“You are more important than John Keith, or King Charles or any of the rest of it,” he almost shouted. “Don’t you know that by now? If you’re going to have a baby, I should be here to provide food and safety for you.”
“And if I’m not, you’re off to France, and I can fend for myself?” Her voice was icy.
He saw her point immediately and understood why she was so upset. Why was he only willing to change his plans if she was carrying his child? She needed his support regardless of her condition. Damnation, he hadn’t meant to imply that she was more important to him if she was pregnant than if she wasn’t! He wished he’d never started this conversation. He wished he’d never agreed to make the voyage.
But he’d signed on as Ogilvy’s captain, and suddenly he was chagrined that he had let emotion get in the way of that duty. He had never in his life evaded his responsibilities. “Yes,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I am going to France.”
“Well, I suppose a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” she snapped with a toss of her blonde tresses.
“Look, you know this wasn’t my idea,” he snarled, losing patience. “Don’t make it any harder than it already is.”
“You’re the one who is making it harder on all of us, going off on a totally impossible mission…”
Their quarrel suddenly was interrupted by the sound of crying. Duncan saw Pauley crouched in the corner by the door and realized to his horror that even though he could not hear their words, had been watching them, and the child clearly understood a fight. Before either of them could stop him, he lifted the latch and dashed out the door into the icy, wet night.
Chapter Eighteen
“How is he?” At midmorning, Elizabeth Ogilvy stepped through the doorway and entered the room where Taylor kept a silent, and solo, watch over the small, unconscious figure on the bed.
The boy had managed to evade their search for over an hour, long enough to suffer from severe exposure to the icy wind and rain. When Duncan had at last found Pauley and brought his almost lifeless body back to their quarters, they had worked together feverishly to dry him and warm his skin, although the child remained unconscious. Neither of them had spoken a word.
When they’d done all they could, Duncan had left abruptly, and Taylor had taken it as his way of laying unspoken blame on her for the child’s condition. She had, after all, started the fight by senselessly overreacting to his question.
Before taking his leave, Duncan had removed her belongings from the old chest that held their meager possessions, and Taylor guessed he was taking the trunk for his sea voyage. Since she had not seen him again, she assumed he was gone for good. Grief knifed through her heart.
She wished to God she could rewind that horrible scene and play it again differently. His question about her being pregnant had caught her totally off guard, for she had thought he was asking to make love to her again before he left. It was an offer she was not going to turn down. Instead, he had raised the issue that she had begun to dwell upon more and more as her feelings for him grew—his possible desire for more children and her inability to bear them. If he felt strongly enough about her being pregnant to forgo his sworn duty to Governor Ogilvy, didn’t that say volumes about his desire for more children?
Damn.
Taylor knew he meant well in offering to stay behind if she was pregnant, but her heretofore carefully concealed, even denied, fury at him for going at all and leaving them alone in this godforsaken place had erupted, taking over her senses. She’d nursed her anger throughout the night, holding onto it to keep her alert in case Pauley should need her.
But as night rounded into morning and she’d begun to think more rationally, she realized she was angry with herself, not Duncan. She was angry at her own weaknesses. At being afraid to stay behind alone. At allowing herself to love Duncan, as she knew now that she did. At wishing, after all these years, that she could get pregnant.
She hoped that Duncan hadn’t boarded his ship yet and would return so she could explain why she’d lost her temper. He needed to know. If he wanted children, he’d have to find another mother for them. She could give him a lot of things…love, companionship, an interesting life partner, money even.
But not children.
It hurt, and it might well mean the end of their budding relationship, but then, she thought bitterly, better to nip it now with the frost of truth than let it go on under false pretenses.
Marriage, and motherhood, both still carried a lot of ambivalence for Taylor. For all its reputed blessings, she reflected, looking down at Pauley on the bed, being a mother was a lot harder than she’d thought. Caring for a child meant more than making peanut butter sandwiches and reading bedtime stories. Especially caring for this particular child.
“He’s not doing very well, I’m afraid, madam,” Taylor answered Mrs. Ogilvy, her heart like a rock of ice.
Elizabeth handed her a covered dish, and Taylor accepted its welcome warmth between her freezing fingers. “‘Tis a thin broth,” the governor’s wife said, “made of th’ heart of th’ last sheep in th’ castle. Perhaps when he awakes, he can partake of it, and it
will give him strength.”
“Ye are most kind, madam.” Taylor made herself smile, even though her throat was constricted painfully and her eyes stung with tears she could not shed. “I’m sure it will do him much good.”
Elizabeth started toward the door, then paused and turned to Taylor. “Janet, when thy husband embarks for France, ye shall be alone. Would ye consider moving with th’ bairn into th’ room adjoining my quarters? ‘Tis warm there, and we can see t’ th’ lad together.” She hesitated. “It would give me great comfort,” she added, “for without thy husband t’ protect ye, I trust not those who wish ill upon both ye and th’ bairn.”
Taylor nodded. “I accept with deep gratitude, madam,” she said. She meant it sincerely, for she, too, suspected that Greta and Company would take Duncan’s departure as a sign for increased harassment. “I share thy fears.”
“Then have Captain Fraser bear th’ bairn t’ my chamber before nightfall. He will be safe there, and I will look after him myself, in case ye would like t’…take leave of one another in private.”
Elizabeth Ogilvy kissed Taylor lightly on the cheek and was out the door before Taylor could admit that no such leave-taking was in store. Alone in the room, Taylor placed her hands on the knot in her stomach and started to allow her tears their much-needed release when almost immediately, Duncan banged through the unsecured portal, opening it before him with the old chest.
“Close the door behind me and throw the latch,” he said urgently. Taylor’s joy that he had returned spilled out in a spontaneous cry. She asked no questions, just hurried to lock the door, then turned to see him place the large wooden box on the floor in front of the fireplace. “We haven’t much time,” he said. “There are some things here I’ll need to teach you to use.”
Taylor blinked in surprise when he opened the lid and brought out an orange plastic container that looked very much like a fishing tackle box.
“What in the world?”
