by Jill Jones
The Castle of Dunnottar appeared clean and fresh under a light blanket of snow, the whiteness of which hid the dark suffering of those who weathered the winter siege within. Starvation had taken the lives of some, and others hovered on the brink between life and death, their bodies too weak to throw off the ravages of winter illnesses.
Taylor rarely left the protection of the Countess’s suite, but she heard the stories of the terrible conditions suffered by the refugees and the soldiers in the garrison. She thought guiltily of the precious medicines she kept hidden in the wooden trunk, the tiny vials of antibiotics and ointments from the 21st century that had saved Pauley’s life and could likely save others. More than once she was tempted to bring the medicine forth, but Duncan’s warning rang in her ears.
The villagers were desperate to blame their plight on someone, and Taylor had learned she was “it.” She and Pauley. Elizabeth Ogilvy had warned her of the rumor that was being spread among the peasants that it was her fault, and Pauley’s, that food was scarce, that the winter had been extraordinarily harsh, that Cromwell’s troops had come in the first place. The good woman feared for their lives if they ventured out of the protection of the Earl’s private living quarters.
Taylor tried to resent these accusations, but instead, found she was deeply sorry for these superstitious people who firmly believed, thanks to Greta, that she was a witch. If they needed a scapegoat, she didn’t mind being it…but from a distance. Using modern medicine, however, would definitely be considered magic, and though the bearer of magic might work miracles, she might also be condemned to death.
It was this kind of folk tradition that she had so deplored and even mocked in her TV show, more so than the tales of flying saucers and monsters from the deep. This kind of superstition preyed on the fears of primitive peoples even in the 21st century and kept them enslaved to their ignorance. But unlike in that age, which seemed like many lifetimes ago to Taylor, there was no forum like Legends, Lore and Lunatics from which to uproot these beliefs.
The ever-present hunger in her belly and threats on her life, however, were nothing compared to the terrible anxiety for Duncan that grew more intense as each day passed without word from him. He had been gone for over six weeks, and she was discouraged and filled with despair although she refused to believe the worst.
Everywhere, gloom permeated the castle. Tempers were short, and even Governor Ogilvy began to lose hope. If she didn’t have Pauley to care for, Taylor thought she would completely lose her mind.
A sharp rap on the door interrupted her morose thoughts, and Taylor turned her gaze away from the empty ocean. “Come in.”
Mrs. Ogilvy, followed by a woman Taylor had met several times, Christian Grainger, the minister’s wife, hurried into the room and shut the door securely behind them. “Janet, my husband has decided we must remove th’ Honours from th’ castle. There are rumors that Colonel Leighton is stirring up th’ garrison t’ pressure Mr. Ogilvy to surrender.”
“Surrender!” But it’s not time yet, Taylor wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. Unless Duncan’s memory of history was in error, she knew it would be spring before the governor finally capitulated.
“Aye. Th’ coward ought t’ be horsewhipped.” She turned to Mrs. Grainger. “But there are those among us,” she smiled at the woman warmly, “with courage enough for all. Christian has a plan to save th’ Honours, but it will take great daring. Tell her, my dear. You can trust Janet completely.”
The woman blushed beneath Mrs. Ogilvy’s effusive praise. “As you know, I have been visiting Mrs. Ogilvy regularly these past few weeks. The English Colonel Dutton allows me t’ enter the castle, for he is a Christian gentleman, even though an Englishman, and I have told him I come t’ bring th’ Lord’s word t’ the governor and his lady. The colonel has become used t’ my presence, and I believe it would be possible for me t’ smuggle th’ Honours out on my person.”
“But my husband thinks this is too risky,” Mrs. Ogilvy broke in. “He does not wish t’ endanger th’ life of this good woman, who would surely be put t’ death should she be caught.”
“Does he have another plan?” Taylor asked innocently, although she knew full well what was about to unfold. Her heart began to beat harder in spite of her efforts to control her excitement. It was happening! She was about to witness the rescue of the Honours of Scotland! Where was her film crew when she needed them? But she sobered quickly at the thought of Barry and Rob. She was certain by now they had not gone through the Ladysgate, and she prayed they were safe and sound in their own time.
“Aye. Mr. Ogilvy believes that since th’ English have become lax in their vigilance with Mrs. Grainger, they might also become unmindful of a peasant woman who wanders th’ shore at th’ foot of th’ castle gathering dulse in her creel.”
Taylor nodded, encouraging the woman to continue the story that she had already been told by Duncan.
“After a time, when they no longer pay attention t’ th’ gatherer of dulse, we can lower th’ regalia over th’ castle wall t’ her, where she will hide th’ crown, sword and scepter in her creel and take them away safely to Kinneff Kirk. Mrs. Grainger and her husband have sworn t’ hide th’ Honours in th’ church and t’ protect them with their lives.”
“It sounds like a good design,” Taylor remarked, masking her excitement beneath an outward calm. “When do ye plan t’ begin th’ scheme?”
She saw the other women exchange a glance. Then Mrs. Ogilvy took Taylor gently by the arm. “Sit down, my dear. We have an idea t’ discuss with ye.”
An hour later, Mrs. Grainger stood and bade farewell to Janet. “Goodbye for now, my new ‘kinswoman,’” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “My husband and I shall make ready for thy arrival in a few days.”
When she left the room, Mrs. Ogilvy looked at Taylor, who was astounded at what had just taken place. She had hoped to observe the rescue of the Honours, like a reporter covering a late-breaking story. But now this!
“Are ye certain ye wish t’ carry out this plan?” Mrs. Ogilvy asked, her eyes searching Taylor’s, seeking the slightest sign of hesitation. “‘Tis a dangerous assignment should it go afoul.”
Taylor stood and went to the window, hoping but not expecting to see a tiny dot on the horizon that might be Duncan’s ship returning home. Finally, she voiced her thoughts to her friend and employer. “For two months, madam, I have watched in vain through this window for my…husband’s return. For two months, I have paced this floor, unable t’ relieve my anxiety even by a walk in th’ quadrangle for fear of being attacked by those whose superstitions have slain my reputation. For this time and longer I have worried for th’ life of this child. And now ye offer me not only escape from those who would harm me and th’ bairn, but give me a means to repay thy kindness and hospitality.” Taylor turned and took the hands of the governor’s wife. “Oh, Mrs. Ogilvy, I vow t’ ye I wish fervently t’ carry out this plan for ye and Mrs. Grainger. Two kinder, braver women I have never known.”
She was still dumbfounded at this latest turn of events, but she meant every word of her vow. Duncan had sailed for France out of a sense of duty; she would participate in this scheme for much the same reason. But also, she hoped, it would distract her from the constant and growing fear that Duncan Fraser had perished.
“Good,” Mrs. Ogilvy replied, obviously satisfied that her serving woman was honestly eager to participate in the perilous plan she and Mrs. Grainger had laid out. “I will inform my husband, and the necessary preparations will be made. But first…”
She went to the privy closet that was separated from the main part of the room by a velvet curtain. “There is something more I would ask of thee…”
Taylor watched with growing curiosity as the matron dug around among various items of household goods and clothing stashed in the tiny room, at last retrieving a tattered pouch of some sort. She turned to Taylor, a strange smile on her face.
“All the world knows of the crown, sword
and scepter,” she said, “but only a few loyal women in Scottish history have known about this, a sister in the royal regalia.”
Taylor held her breath, hoping but not daring to believe what Mrs. Ogilvy might have in the pouch.
Elizabeth carried the small parcel to the bed, where she sat down and untied the drawstrings with great care. “What you are about t’ see,” she continued dramatically, “is a legacy from Mary Queen of Scots. She called it her ‘Scottish Rose.’”
And with that, she produced an exquisite if somewhat battered golden chalice uniquely shaped in the form of a rose. Only one large ruby remained of the five that had apparently at one time adorned the petals, and the enamel had chipped from the sepals and leaves. Still, it was a remarkable object.
Taylor’s throat tightened, and blood sang in her ears. So it was true! Those artifacts she’d inherited were authentic! “My God,” she whispered. “What…? Where…?”
“Would ye like t’ hold it?” Mrs. Ogilvy said, presenting it to Taylor. “For ye are truly a brave woman of Scotland, and I am about t’ ask thy help in preserving this secret regalia from th’ English as well.”
Taylor felt herself shift into overwhelm. Her hands trembled as she accepted the lovely cup from Mrs. Ogilvy. “What is the story behind this?” she managed, wanting more information than what she’d learned in the photocopied letter.
“Let me read it from the hand of Queen Mary herself,” Elizabeth Ogilvy replied. She went to a writing table and turned the key to the inlaid wooden box that rested there. Inside lay a small, loosely bound book. Taylor thought she might faint. For although it was newer, in far better condition than it had been in Robert Gordon’s office, it was the same diary she had inherited. The diary that in her own time was hopefully locked away securely in the lawyer’s vault, unless he was working on the transcription.
“This letter accompanied the diary of the Queen when Mrs. Drummond gave it and the rose chalice into my safekeeping,” Mrs. Ogilvy said, taking a separate page from between those that were bound.
Taylor wondered if Robert Gordon had this letter as well. He hadn’t mentioned it. But before she had time to ponder the question, Mrs. Ogilvy’s voice commanded her attention:
Edinburgh, Scotland
By command of Her Royal Highness Mary, Queen of Scots, inscribed on this the first day of June in the yeare of our Lorde 1566.
The bearer of this letter is hereby charged with the duty of protecting and defending the Queen’s Scottish Rose, the golden chalice which has served and sustained her Grace during her reign in these times of peril and provocation. It is the most sincere wish of Her Majesty that the warring factions in this land will unite and peace will at last reign throughout the kingdome. In the event that Her Majesty will be unable to witness these goode thingis in her own time, she hereby charges the Keeper of this chalice to protect and preserve it as a symbol of Her Majesty’s Royal Spirit, that Spirit being of peace, good will, and tolerance toward all religions. When these thingis are accomplished, the Keeper of the Rose is to join it into the company of the known Honours of Scotland, that is the croun, suord and sceptre, so that the Scottish Rose will reign alongside its brother regalia in a place of honour for all time.
Until this time of peace be achieved, the Keeper is charged with secrecy lest the enemies of peace find and destroy this symbol.
Mrs. Ogilvy looked up at Taylor, obviously relishing her role as Keeper of the Rose. “It is signed, ‘Marie R.’ and sealed with the device of Mary, Queen of Scots.”
Taylor stared dumbfounded at the paper in Elizabeth Ogilvy’s hands, knowing that somehow she had become involved in perhaps the most intriguing and important Scottish legend of all. At last, she said in a quiet voice, “What is it ye wish of me, madam?”
Chapter Twenty
Amsterdam
Duncan surveyed the sailing ship that was supported by huge wooden beams leaning against each side of it in the shipyard, wondering how any clear-thinking sailor would ever venture forth across the ocean in such a tub. And yet he’d done exactly that over two months ago, when the boat had been in even worse condition. And he was about to do it again, as soon as he and his mates could launch her again.
The trip south from Dunnottar had been dangerous and would have been deadly under the command of a less experienced captain. They had left in a storm which followed them out to sea, where it buffeted the ship mercilessly until most aboard were sick and wet and miserable. They were blown off course, and with holes in the rotten wood of the ship, it was a miracle they had managed to stay afloat long enough to wallow into a port in Holland. John Keith had taken off for France by land in search of King Charles, and Duncan had set about the task of repairing the ship. With little money and few allies, it had not been easy, but his knowledge of boat-building, so far advanced from the shipwrights of the day in Amsterdam, had secured him work that sustained his personal needs and provided scrap materials with which to repair his own ship.
Every day away from Taylor had been lived in agony for her safety. He’d heard bits of gossip from time to time, sometimes relating that the castle had fallen, at others that the governor had defeated Cromwell’s army. Duncan tried to believe neither but to remember instead what he had read in his history books, that the seige lasted until the spring. He must return before then and somehow get Taylor and Pauley out of harm’s way.
During this time away from her, Duncan had come to realize not just that he loved Taylor, but how much he loved her. And how certain he was that, if she felt the same, he wanted never to be away from her again. Ever. In their short and difficult time together, she had somehow not only cauterized his old wounds but also rekindled the fire of his spirit. She had taught him to live again, to feel, to love.
A difficult voyage lay ahead of him, but not an impossible one. He would return to Taylor, even if he had to swim to get there.
Taylor’s mind reeled, not only at the proof she continued to be presented that her inheritance was authentic, but also that she was actually on the scene when Mrs. Ogilvy’s letter had been written! Shortly after receiving her instructions concerning the Scottish Rose from the governor’s wife, Taylor attended her as she penned a desperate letter to the Countess, the one she would read again in Gordon’s office some three hundred and fifty years hence…
But only now, in this time, did she understand the full impact of her words…
“I fear that all in the castle may die for hiding the Honours, but it is our duty to protect these sacred emblems of Scotland…
With this letter, Mrs. Ogilvy passed to the Countess, Lady Keith, Taylor’s ancestor, the duty of preserving the knowledge of the existence of the Scottish Rose, but it was to Taylor she passed the responsibility for the physical safety of the chalice itself.
“I know a place, a secret cave in th’ belly of this castle rock,” Elizabeth told Janet, “where th’ rose will be safe until we can come back for it. Only ye and I will know of it, and I would die before I would give it away t’ the English. Will you swear th’ same?”
“Aye, madam,” Taylor answered without a blink of an eye. “But pray, Mrs. Ogilvy, why hath ye chosen t’ entrust this secret t’ thy serving woman?”
“The secret has been handed down through trusted servants since th’ time of Queen Mary,” she replied, taking Taylor’s hand. “But ye hath become more t’ me than my serving woman, Janet,” the woman added. “Ye are also my trusted friend. And I feel almost like a grandmother to thy ‘bairn.’ But,” she laughed, “there is another more practical reason why ye must be th’ one t’ secure th’ Scottish Rose in the cave. I am rather, uh, too stout t’ go into th’ tunnel, whereas thy slender body will easily make th’ passage behind th’ rock that guards th’ entrance t’ th’ cave.”
Taylor had to suppress a giggle. But she found no reason for laughter in Mrs. Ogilvy’s next words. “Ye might also find it difficult, however, once ye reach the goal. The portal to the cave itself is tiny. I knew it as a child whe
n it was easy for me t’ enter. I think it will take a child…” she looked directly at Pauley, “t’ enter it still. It is much I ask of ye, Janet Fraser, but t’ ensure th’ successful outcome of our task, I believe ye must make Pauley a part of th’ plan.”
Taylor was aghast at the idea in the beginning, but Mrs. Ogilvy gave her little chance to object. Pauley’s health had returned, she pointed out, and although he was still frail, he was stronger than he had been since Taylor brought him into their present quarters. Taylor knew that, in her own gentle way, Mrs. Ogilvy was calling in a chip for the kindness she had bestowed upon her and Pauley. She knew, too, that this errand must be extremely important to her or she wouldn’t have asked. Having lived and worked closely with Elizabeth Ogilvy since late August, Taylor knew the depth of the woman’s loyalty and dedication to that which she had pledged herself. “He will be safe,” Elizabeth assured her. “Ye’ll go under cover of darkness, by th’ light of a waxing moon, when th’ rest of th’ villagers are asleep. I shall send ye with an unlit torch and a lighting stone t’ show ye th’ way once inside th’ passage.”
Taylor dressed carefully for the mission before Mrs. Ogilvy came to fetch her. Beneath the blue woolen dress, she wore the jeans and long underwear that had come through the Ladysgate on her. She wished she could don her sneakers for more sure footing, but decided against it as being too dangerous in case she was caught. Beneath her apron, she carefully attached the zippered bag in which she carried Duncan’s flashlight, her camera, and the remaining candy mints, in case Pauley needed a little bribe along the way. Over all, she wore a dark, hooded mantle.
She believed the boy understood what was going on. She had signed to him as best she could what Mrs. Ogilvy was asking them to do. Together they had watched her draw a map of how to get to the secret cave, and Pauley actually pointed and nodded his head, as if he knew exactly what she was talking about. It was possible, Taylor supposed, that Pauley had been to that cave before, exploring his environs just as Mrs. Ogilvy said she had as a child. He was quick and surefooted, and, she thought with a bite of irony, she didn’t have to worry about him making noise.
