The Scottish Rose

by Jill Jones

  Robert Gordon was duly overwhelmed with the remarkable history lesson he had just translated. In little over twenty-four hours, he had come to know, and respect, the queen whom historians had often treated poorly. Perhaps he would be the agent responsible for restoring Mary to her deserved respect in history.

  He looked at his watch. It was almost time to meet the antiquarian. It was Doggett’s turn to decide if the diary was authentic.

  But in Robert Gordon’s mind, there was no doubt.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Duncan’s eyes followed Taylor until she became only a tiny speck at the base of the black cliffs on the far side of the cove. She did not turn, nor wave, as they had agreed, for if the enemy noted her progress, her farewell would give away that she had rendezvoused with someone from the castle. He felt as if his heart was being torn physically from him when she disappeared behind the rock formation. He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer that she would make her way safely back to Kinneff Kirk with her heavy load.

  He believed she would, because he’d learned to believe that, at least in this matter of the Honours of Scotland, history had been recorded correctly.

  There was nothing he could do now but wait. Seated on a flat rock, he leaned back against the cliff wall and allowed his thoughts to consider Taylor Kincaid and what, if any, future they might share. He wanted to marry her, but was she interested in getting married? She was such a beautiful woman with an obviously healthy sexuality. How had she remained unattached for all of her thirty-three years? Surely, she must have had men lined up and could have taken her pick. She must have chosen to stay single. But why? Was her career really all that great? And if it was, could he compete? He had nothing special to offer her, except a love that would be true and a husband she could always count on. Would it be enough?

  It seemed to Duncan as if they were living in some kind of a storybook world at the moment, complete with kings and castles and crowns, and he wondered, when she returned to her real life, would this princess leave him for good? Was their love only make-believe, or would it last for all those years Taylor said she believed awaited them…?

  Not wishing to return to the castle and the miserable plight of those therein, Duncan spent the afternoon with thoughts of his hopes for a future with Taylor comingling with plans of how to make their escape. At last the sun dropped behind the western horizon, throwing its rays eastward to deflect in rosy, golden splendor against whipped cream clouds piled high into the sky. This celestial delicacy was itself then reflected in the quiet waters of the cove, where peacefully at anchor lay their best hope for escape. Could he pull it off?

  At deep twilight, Duncan ascended the narrow path to the castle and made his way as quickly as possible to the dining room. He was anxious to conclude his negotiations with Governor Ogilvy, but he joined the small group gathered at one end of the long table, enjoying their first good meal in months and celebrating the successful scheme they had pulled off in smuggling the Honours out of the castle. Ogilvy stood when Duncan entered.

  “Come in, come in! We were hoping you would arrive in time for this wonderful repast for which we have you to thank!”

  Duncan bowed. “I am honored, sir,” he replied, and took a seat opposite Elizabeth Ogilvy, who looked at him expectantly.

  “Well,” she said with unconcealed delight. “Was Janet surprised to see you? Did things…go as planned?”

  With a hint of amusement, Duncan winked at the woman. “Aye, Madam, and better.”

  She tittered into her napkin. “Captain, I am filled with hope. Now that th’ Honours are rescued, and ye are safely returned, surely th’ next good news will be that our lookout will sight th’ king’s ships coming t’ save us!”

  The amusement fled from Duncan’s face. How he wished he could reassure this steadfast woman that her hopes would be fulfilled, but indeed, he knew just the opposite, that the king’s ships would not sail for Dunnottar Castle, that her husband would eventually be forced to surrender, and that when General Overton discovered that Cromwell had been cheated once again of the Honours of Scotland, Dunnottar would be ravaged of all its rich treasures.

  He would not allow himself to think about the fate that lay in store for this valiant governor, nor especially for this good woman, Elizabeth, who had so befriended “Janet” and Pauley. He could barely stand to meet her eyes. He turned instead to her husband. “May I have a word with ye, Governor, after dinner?”

  “Ye can have anything ye want, Captain. Ye are th’ hero of th’ day.”

  Duncan did get everything he wanted. And the governor’s blessing as well. “Godspeed, Captain Fraser,” he said, overcome with emotion. “We thank ye for all that ye hath done for us. Thy work here is completed. Go, with my blessings, and sail away with thy wife and th’ bairn t’ a safer harbor than ye hath known at Dunnottar.”

  Duncan was seized by the urge to encourage the Governor and Mrs. Ogilvy to come with him, to escape the grim destiny that awaited them. But he reminded himself of the dangers he perceived in meddling with history. Their fate was written already. History had assigned them their roles, just as it apparently had to him and Taylor, but unlike the two visitors from the future, the Ogilvies had not yet completed their performance.

  At midnight, by the light of an almost full moon, Captain Duncan Fraser, along with the skipper and crew of the ship he had commandeered, hoisted its anchor and slipped out of the cove and into the moon-washed waves of the North Sea. Once out of range of Cromwell’s heavy artillery, Captain Fraser ordered the skipper to head south.

  “Ye’ll soon have thy vessel returned to thy command,” he assured Mr. Young, who upon learning that Duncan was sailing to rescue his “wife” and child, eagerly joined the cause.

  Duncan, however, did not fill him in on the details of the final plans for their voyage.

  The muscles in Taylor’s arms shook from the strain of carrying her heavy burden, but she reached Kinneff Kirk just at sundown.

  “Aye, Mr. Grainger, she has come!” A cry of delight and relief fell through the open windows of the manse as Mrs. Grainger rushed out to greet her. “Ye were so late today, we began to worry…”

  Taylor handed her the basket, watching in weary merriment the look on her face when the weight of it almost toppled her to the ground. The minister hurried toward the women.

  “Are ye safely returned, madam?”

  “Look, husband, at what she hath returned with.” Mrs. Grainger handed him the basket in turn. His eyes grew large when he realized what he held in his hand and remained like saucers when he raised them to Taylor. “Doth ye mean…”

  “Aye, sir,” Taylor said in exhausted triumph. “‘Tis done,”

  “Thy toil is done, daughter,” he replied gravely, “but ours hath only begun.

  “Where is Pauley?” Taylor was eager to attempt to explain to the boy that Duncan had come back. The child had been ill when he left, and when Pauley recovered, he had not understood totally about the disappearance of the man to whom he had become so attached. Taylor had used the toy boat as an illustration, trying to convey that Duncan had gone to sea, but she realized that Pauley had no concept of there being a shore on the other side of the water, a place called France. When the child looked out to sea, all he saw was an infinite ocean. Taylor was unsure if she hadn’t just made matters worse, for she had caught the boy on a number of occasions staring out toward the sea, a look of deep melancholy on his face.

  She found him now milking the cow. Somehow, a bond had formed between the human child and the animal, although neither could speak. Pauley knew the milk he thirsted for came from the cow, and Mrs. Grainger had shown him how to squirt it into the pail. Taylor suspected Pauley got as much satisfaction from petting the warm, generous beast as he did from drinking her milk. The child was starved for love and sought affection wherever he could. Her heart skipped for joy, convinced that somehow, someway, she and Duncan would provide him with a better life in the future.

 
; “Pauley,” she said, touching his shoulder. The boy’s face lit up when he saw her, and he jumped into her arms. “Hey, kid, have I got some news for you,” she whispered. Taylor carried Pauley into the room they shared and picked up the toy boat. She made the same motions she had when trying to explain Duncan’s departure, only this time, she turned the boat and headed it toward Pauley. But the boy just looked at her blankly.

  She set him down and replaced the toy on the windowsill. Maybe it was just as well. How could she explain that Duncan had come back, but not to them? At least not yet.

  And how could she tell him that she didn’t know when she’d see him again? Or what they would do when they were reunited? Duncan had said he would take them away from here. But where would they go? Would he attempt to take them back through the Ladysgate? Or would they have to settle for a new life in this time, somewhere out of harm’s way?

  Either way, she hoped they would leave soon. She was tired and lonely, and she wanted to be with Duncan once again.

  Returning Pauley to his milking, Taylor helped Mrs. Grainger clean the seaweed from the regalia. The bonnet, she thought after scrubbing it with her best efforts, would never be the same again. They placed the three pieces beneath the mattress at the bottom of the Graingers’ bed for the moment, wanting them out of sight in case Taylor had been followed. But later that night, working by the glow of a single rushlight, the minister, his wife, and Taylor dug up a pavement stone squarely in front of the pulpit.

  “They’d be less likely t’ look in th’ most obvious place,” Mr. Grainger declared. They placed the crown and the scepter into the hole and covered them with a cloth, then replaced the stone, dusting it and arranging it so when they were finished, it looked undisturbed.

  The sword was situated in a similar grave at the west end of the kirk beneath some “common saits” as the reverend called them. To Taylor, they were very reminiscent of modern-day church pews. This work was accomplished in almost complete silence, the three intent on finishing the task as rapidly as possible lest anyone discover their royal secret.

  By the time Taylor crept into the bed beside Pauley, the large silver disc of the moon shone brilliantly through her window, and she wondered just before she drifted off into much-needed sleep if Duncan was looking at the same moon and longing for her as fiercely as she was for him.

  She awoke the next morning to the sound of the wind lashing the budding tree branches outside her window. Gray clouds portended an early spring storm. Over a breakfast of oats and milk, Taylor told the Graingers about Duncan’s return to Dunnottar in a ship he had “commandeered”—he seemed to like that word better than “stolen”—and that he had brought much needed food to the castle. They wanted to know if she was going to return to the castle now that he was back, but she shook her head. “I’ll not place Pauley in that danger again,” she replied. “As for my…husband, I shall hear from him in time,” she said, ignoring the looks on their faces that questioned a wife’s decision to remain apart from her husband. “This he promised me, and I await his will.”

  Early in the afternoon, Taylor was alone, the Graingers having gone out, braving the rainstorm to go about their missionary work. She was wiping the plates and cups from the noon meal when she heard the sound of horses’ hooves beating rapidly toward their door. “Oh, damn,” she uttered a low curse. “How did they find out so fast?” Quickly, she gathered Pauley and ducked into the dark, stable-like room that was cordoned off from the back part of the house with a curtain. “Move over,” she nudged the cow, crawling beneath it, hoping it wouldn’t kick them.

  And there they crouched, Taylor’s heart slamming against her chest, her arms clasping Pauley in a death-grip. At any moment, she expected to hear the rough voices of Cromwell’s men, searching for her and the treasure she had stolen from them right beneath their noses. She heard a knock on the door. Polite raiders, she thought, not expecting such courtesy from what she’d heard of the troops. The door opened with a small squeak, and over the sound of the wind, she heard the thud of boots on the planked floor.

  And she couldn’t believe what she heard next!

  “Janet! Janet Fraser, are you in here?” Duncan’s deep voice boomed through the tiny manse.

  “Duncan!” she whispered, her heart flooding with joy. She grabbed Pauley’s hand. “C’mon,” she said, dragging the thoroughly confused child out from under the cow. Still cautious, she peered around the edge of the curtain. Filling the room with his presence, Duncan Fraser looked around him in curiosity and dismay, obviously thinking the place deserted. But before he could call out again, Pauley saw him and dashed from his hiding place and into the large, strong arms that he knew would protect him.

  Taylor wasn’t far behind.

  “How did you get here? Where did you get horses? How did you get out of the castle?” Breathless with relief and excitement, she shot questions as fast as bullets. Duncan laughed and embraced her with his free arm, kissing her soundly. “Now you’re the one asking too many questions.” Then he grew serious. “Come quickly. We have only a short time before the tide leaves us stranded in Catterline.”

  “You came by boat? What boat?”

  Duncan nodded through the window at the other rider who was holding the two horses beneath the shelter of a large tree in the yard. “Yon skipper, Mr. Young, continues to cooperate with me. It was his ship that brought me to Dunnottar. It will be his ship that will hopefully get us out of here.” He brought something out of his coat pocket, a bag of sorts made of a scrap of material that looked vaguely familiar to Taylor. “Governor Ogilvy said you had taken all our belongings with you in the chest. Are they here?”

  Taylor knew what he meant. He was talking about all their 21st-century belongings, such as the medicine box. “Yes, they are still in the chest, in our room.” She followed Duncan, who had to bend low to enter through the cramped doorway. He opened the chest and placed the orange plastic medicine box into the sack, which Taylor recognized now to be of the same one that was used the day before to lower the regalia to the beach. She laughed at the irony.

  “What else?” Duncan asked.

  Taylor reached over him to the bottom of the chest and brought out her jeans, sneakers, sweaters, and the waistline pouch. “Can’t forget this,” she said with a grin, dropping it into the gunny-sack. The rest of her things were of this century, and she would not miss them.

  “Let’s go,” Duncan said, taking Pauley beneath the oversized cloak he wore. Taylor donned her own mantle, and the three of them headed for the door. Taylor paused a moment and looked back into the room.

  “I wish I could have said goodbye.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Duncan noted that instead of subsiding, the tide had risen almost two feet from the time they’d borrowed the horses and left Catterline to fetch Taylor and Pauley. The strong offshore wind fought their efforts to row to Skipper Young’s vessel that rocked violently on the waves, testing the endurance of the line and anchor. It took every ounce of his strength to hold the small tender alongside the larger boat so that the woman and child could board safely, but Taylor’s courage and determination added to his physical efforts, and together, they all managed to climb the raggedy rope ladder onto the rain-soaked wooden decks.

  “Weigh anchor, skipper, and take her north again,” Duncan commanded.

  Mr. Young looked at him askance. “In this storm, sir, it will be dangerous to attempt to return to Dunnottar.”

  “We’re not going to Dunnottar,” Duncan replied. “Set sail, and I’ll return to take the helm shortly.”

  He guided Taylor and Pauley down the companionway to the relative warmth and safety belowdecks. “You two stay here,” he said. “It’s dangerous for you to come on deck.”

  Taylor shoved the hood of her cloak from around her head and shook her wet hair. “Don’t you think it’s too dangerous to set out in this storm? I mean, we’ve waited this long, can’t we wait for better weather?”

  Duncan c
onsidered this, but only for a moment. “You want to get back through the Ladysgate, don’t you?”

  “The Ladysgate! Is that where…?”

  “We’re going to try.” His face was grim. “Stay below and take care of Pauley. I’ll come for you when it’s safe.”

  Duncan returned to the storm-ravaged deck and took the helm from a white-faced Mr. Young. “Don’t worry,” he reassured the boat’s rightful skipper, “Ye’ll have your ship back soon enough.”

  He prayed he was right. As a ship’s captain, Duncan Fraser was not a risk taker. Safety was his watchword at sea, but what he was about to attempt was anything but safe. But it was, he thought, their only chance. The tide, already high because of the full moon, was running even deeper with the storm and the wind. Maybe, just maybe…

  Several hours later, he heard a cry from above. “Ahoy, captain,” shouted the lookout from the crow’s nest. “Yon lies th’ Ladysgate.” Duncan closed his eyes.

  God curse the Ladysgate.

  But then he took up the spyglass and searched the shoreline for some sight of the Intrepid. Was it still there? Still stranded? Or had Cromwell’s army come upon the “monster,” as he felt such a vessel would be considered by people of this day. Had they, in their ignorance and fear, dismantled it? Set fire to it?

  Through the slanting rain, the arch of the Ladysgate grew larger as the ship approached. And as it grew nearer, Duncan’s pulse pounded and a smile etched itself firmly into his face. Ahead of them, he could see the Intrepid, apparently intact. But instead of standing on dry land, waves now lapped around its base. But was the water high enough to float the heavy vessel? They would soon find out…

  He turned the helm over to the skipper with directions for his point of sail, then went below.

  “We’re almost there,” he said, sitting on a bunk beside Taylor, whose face was just this side of green.

  “Thank God,” she uttered. “I’m having a hard time holding it down…”