by Pam Binder
The waitress bit back a smile. “He gave them a choice. Stay in the café and he’d use them as practice dummies, or leave. I overheard one of the men say he recognized the guy as a rugby player, which, given his appearance, is not surprising. Not everyone would have stepped in to help these days.”
Irene couldn’t help but smile as she followed the waitress to a table not far from the rugby player. “Good for him.”
“I couldn’t agree more. My name’s Bridget, by the way.”
“I’m Irene,” she said, holding out her hand. She was starting to feel more relaxed.
“Very pleased to meet you. Hot cocoa, then? You look chilled to the bone.”
Irene nodded as she settled on the bench seat and began to unwrap her scarf. She paused. “Oh, could you add sprinkles?”
Bridget turned around so suddenly her earrings sang like wind chimes.
Irene pulled the scarf slowly from her neck. “Sorry. That sounded silly. Never mind. Sprinkles are for children. I’m not sure why I asked,” Irene said in a rush, fingering the snowflake charm on her necklace. “The young woman at the ticket booth suggested it, and for some reason it sounded fun. No worries if you don’t have any. Plus, sprinkles are for children.”
Bridget’s smile broadened. “Ah, now, that would be my sister Fiona who suggested the sprinkles. We have a saying in our family: never lose the child within. I’ll be sure to add a generous dash on your whipped cream. I love your locket, by the way. Did you purchase it in Scotland?”
Irene felt her voice catch. “It’s not a locket. It was actually a set of earrings our mother converted into pendants for my sister and me a long time ago.” Irene held it toward Bridget. “See, the snowflake is soldered to a silver disk.”
Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Of course. My mistake. I’ll bring your hot cocoa straight away.”
Chapter Four
The atmosphere in the café held a note of quiet expectation as Irene cupped the warm mug of cocoa. The whipped cream was so thick it looked like a swirl of ice cream. As promised, there was a generous topping of chocolate and sugar sprinkles. The room was so hushed, she imagined she could hear snowflakes drift over the windowpanes. More people had entered the café, but there was a subdued quality about them, as though they were in church.
The rugby player had joined the elderly couple at a table not far away from hers. The older gentleman fed soup to his wife, even though his hand was so large he had a difficult time holding the small spoon. Although his wife opened her mouth to accept the broth, her eyes were vacant, and her skin was the color of parchment. But the tender, loving expression the man gifted his wife took Irene’s breath away.
She sighed as she drew the mug of cocoa to her lips, savoring the taste of the rich whipped cream and sprinkles. A low chuckle drew her attention back to the rugby player and his parents. He caught her gaze and smiled at her. As his smile broadened, he touched his fingers to his nose and then his mouth.
She felt the instant warmth of a blush spread from her neck to her face. Was he flirting with her? She cast a furtive glace over her shoulder to make sure he was looking at her and then it registered.
Irene tested her tongue on her upper lip. It was covered in cream. She snatched up a napkin, feeling the heat of the blush deepen. She ducked her head to the side and wiped the cream off her face. He’d been staring at her. She sat up a little straighter. When she turned back, his attention had been drawn to his parents. The moment was lost.
What are you doing? Irene took another sip of cocoa, careful to avoid wearing the whipped cream this time. You vowed to give up on relationships. Remember? Besides, knights in shining armor who are also devoted to their parents are either married or engaged. You are here to unlock your mother’s secrets. You are not here for romance.
With that thought in mind, she reached for the diary in her tote bag. The cloth cover was the shade of meadow grass and so worn it was held together by rubber bands and oversized binder clips. Newspaper and travel magazine clippings were pasted on many of the pages, and a few had drawings or quotes. There were even recipes and photographs.
Her mother had touched these pages. Holding the diary and re-reading her words made Irene feel closer to the memories. The three of them, she, her twin sister Louise, and their mother, used to say that anything was possible as long as they stuck together. Even after their mother had married, fifteen years ago, the bond between them hadn’t wavered.
Louise was the artist in the family. She’d leave slips of paper around the house with lines of poetry beneath her sketches. When Irene announced she was going to law school, Louse had said she was going to be a New York Times bestselling children’s book author. They’d both accomplished their goals.
Her sister had wanted to come along on this trip but had just found out she was pregnant. Irene was doing this for both of them.
Irene felt her breath catch in her throat as she opened the diary and turned to the entry she’d read in the taxicab.
Dear Diary,
One of my favorite movies as a child was Brigadoon with Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse. I always wondered what it would be like to discover a love as strong as theirs. And then I visited Scotland, the place where this wonderful legend took place, and met Connor. The last lines in the movie seem to have been written with us in mind: “…when you love someone deeply enough anything is possible. Even miracles.”
“That’s beautiful.”
Startled, Irene lifted her gaze toward Bridget, then quickly swiped at her wet cheeks and tucked the diary back into her tote bag. “It belonged to my mother. She passed away.” Irene pulled the tote bag closer to her on the bench. Now why’d she say that? It was unlike her to share so much with strangers. She sat up straighter. “The hot cocoa is wonderful. Thank you.”
Bridget’s smile broadened. “It’s a family secret. Our mother used to say she added a dash of magic before it was served.”
“My mother said things like that too, when she baked.” Irene tightened her hold on her bag. “Whoa, not sure why I’m sharing. I blame the jet lag. I’m usually not this talkative.”
Bridget’s laughter was as soft as a whisper. “It is understandable. The memories of those we’ve loved are always closest to us this time of year. When you’ve finished your cocoa, you can proceed to the line. Our sister, Lady Roselyn, will explain everything you’ll need to know about the tour once you’re inside.” She handed Irene an antique-looking key with a red velvet ribbon attached. “This is for the locker where you can store your clothes after you’ve changed into a costume appropriate for thirteenth-century Scotland.”
“Costume?”
Bridget pushed the key closer to Irene. “Fiona must have forgotten to tell you. She’s been a little distracted of late. She was recently betrothed. She…” Bridget waved aside whatever else she had intended to say. “Anyway, dressing in the clothes of the period enhances the adventure. It’s actually my favorite part. The tour becomes more than a museum-like experience.” Bridget hesitated. “But if you’d rather not, you’ll still enjoy our more traditional tour. However, you should make your decision soon. Those with the keys are lining up on the far right.”
The café had indeed come to life. The families, along with about a dozen others, had decided against the costume option and were headed to an entrance on the opposite side of the room. Everyone else was navigating to the men’s and women’s changing rooms Bridget had indicated.
Irene had traveled to Scotland to get away from everything and everybody, in order to find answers. That was what this Christmas pilgrimage was all about. Shedding her modern clothes seemed like a great idea, if only for a few hours. She gulped down her cocoa and grabbed the key before she changed her mind.
Chapter Five
The changing room was a stark contrast to the café, evoking the rich textures and colors of a forest at dusk. Candles and an amber fire cast their glow over gowns and headpieces. Irene guessed they were replicas of thirteenth-century costumes
. Clothes in shades of berry red, pine needle green, and starlight silver were draped over chairs, a sofa, and hung from gilded dividers.
A young woman about Irene’s age, with short clipped dark hair and a face that reminded Irene of a cute pixie elf, snatched a bundle of gowns and disappeared behind one of the partitions. The rugby player’s mother was the only other person in the room, and she seemed as confused as Irene felt.
“I think they want us to choose a costume,” Irene said as she moved toward the older woman.
The woman’s brow furrowed. Irene fought the impulse to reach out and guide her toward a chair. Irene didn’t know how the woman would react to a stranger. She looked lost.
“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Irene.”
The woman turned toward her slowly and focused on Irene’s outstretched hand, but there was little or no understanding behind her eyes. Irene wondered if she even knew that she was in a castle, let alone on a tour that required costumes.
Candle flames rippled as a woman entered and stepped between Irene and the older woman. The only splash of color on the newcomer’s midnight-blue gown was a red plaid sash draped over one shoulder. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun covered with a starched veil, but rebel strands of hair had escaped to frame her face, hinting at a thick mane of curls. She reminded Irene of her firm’s principal stockholder, who wore only blacks and charcoal grey and after a lifetime of making difficult decisions considered smiling a foreign concept.
The woman who’d entered folded her hands in a tight grip at her waist. “Good. You are all here. I apologize for being late. Business concerns. You may address me as Lady Roselyn. I believe you all have met my sisters, Fiona and Bridget. And as you can see, we have provided costumes in a variety of sizes and shades. Most of our guests begin with a conservative choice and then change later into formal attire for our Christmas Eve ball at midnight. There is no sense starting out like peacocks. What would come after? A gown fit only for a Mardi Gras float?”
“I happen to adore Mardi Gras,” said the pixie-faced young woman as she emerged from behind the divider. She wore a form-fitting red silk gown that complimented her complexion to perfection as she twirled around in a circle to show it off. “In New Orleans they know how to make a good first impression.”
“As do you, Julia,” Lady Roselyn said with the hint of a smile. “I stand corrected. You have made an exceptional choice. Now for introductions.” She turned first toward the rugby player’s mother. “Ann,” Lady Roselyn said softly, “we are honored you’ve joined us, and we have your selections set aside.” Lady Roselyn hesitated for a moment as though waiting for a response. When there was none, she continued, “Julia is the lovely woman in the red dress, and Irene is to my right. Remember that in the thirteenth century it was the fashion for a lady to wear a head covering. We have a selection of simple veils, such as the one I’m wearing, or the more elaborate, conical-style hats. Oh, and two of our rules is that we address each other on a first name basis only, and that we never, ever, ask guests their occupations.”
“Rules,” Julia said, with an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t you and your sisters ever get tired of them?”
Lady Roselyn ignored Julia as she guided Ann over to a selection of gowns with matching hats and veils. “Rules are what make the tour experience operate smoothly. You should be pleased there is not a rule against our guests returning time and time again.”
The tension between them mounted into a good old-fashioned stare-down contest.
Ann broke the silence as she flung one of the head coverings to the ground. “I hate hats.”
Everyone in the room was too stunned to react. Ann hadn’t said one word to anyone since she’d arrived. Irene had never thought it was because Ann couldn’t talk. The more likely reason was that she hadn’t had the desire. Her mother had also behaved that way toward the end.
Lady Roselyn regained her composure first and reached up to unpin her veil. She then tossed it aside. “I loathe them as well. I never understood the appeal. Very confining. I proclaim that, from this moment on, hats and veils are optional.”
Lady Roselyn’s dramatics seemed to calm Ann. She sat back down and folded her hands in her lap, resuming her distant gaze. Lady Roselyn kept her attention on Ann for a few more moments before turning back to Irene and Julia. “Now, if there aren’t any more questions, you are free to make your selections.”
Chapter Six
In the end, Irene chose a pale grey gown with a matching pointed hat and starched veil. She’d debated about wearing a head covering, partially since it appeared she would be the only one. But when she tried it on as an experiment, she knew it was perfect for her. A hat and veil served a dual purpose, as far as she was concerned. They contained her unruly long curls and helped make her feel invisible. The downside was that the costume made it hard for her to turn her head. Evidently that was the price of being in fashion, for a woman in the thirteenth century.
Lady Roselyn had brought out many gowns for Ann, but the only color she would agree to wear was black. She settled on one with long fitted sleeves. Despite the severity, it brought out Ann’s sky-blue eyes and highlighted the beauty of her snow-white hair.
“You look lovely,” Irene whispered to Ann.
For a moment Irene thought she noticed a flicker of life behind Ann’s eyes, but as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.
“Are we ready, ladies?” Lady Roselyn announced. When everyone nodded, she continued, “As Bridget may have told some of you, when you pass through these doors, you will enter Stirling Castle as it was in 1297. To assist you in having the best possible experience, we have devised a few rules.”
Julia groaned, and Irene pinched her lips together to keep from smiling. Lady Roselyn didn’t miss a step. She gave both Julia and Irene a glance that would have melted a glacier.
“As I was saying. Rules. One, no cell phones or modern electronic devices of any kind. You can leave your belongings in the lockers located near the double doors. Two, stay in character at all times. You are guests for the laird’s daughter’s wedding. The bride’s name is Caitlin. Three, do not mention that you are visiting from the twenty-first century. If asked, you are allowed to say Italy or France or even Britain. The Americas haven’t been colonized yet. Last, and the most important, you must not try to leave until the tour has ended and my sisters and I have escorted you back to these rooms. My counterpart, Liam MacDonald, has already counseled the men on these rules. One more thing before we leave,” she said as she moved toward the double doors. “We will be traveling down a steep flight of stairs, so please be very careful.”
As Irene gathered her clothes and tote bag and started putting them away, Julia slipped in next to her.
“I thought I wouldn’t be nervous,” Julia said, “but I’m shaking like a leaf. Are you nervous?”
The comment caught Irene off guard. Of course she was nervous. She might discover a secret about her mother she didn’t like. But this was just a tour. Why was Julia nervous?
She started to ask, but Lady Roselyn clapped her hands for their attention.
“Come, ladies,” Lady Roselyn said. “Our tour is about to begin.” She flung opened the thick oak double doors that were each covered with images of Scottish thistles. Mist and the far-off sound of bagpipes filled the entrance.
Irene stepped up to the threshold and hesitated. Did she really want to do this? Maybe her ex was right and she was just chasing dreams. Her mother didn’t have secrets, just a vivid imagination.
Julia threaded her arm through Irene’s. “We shouldn’t keep Lady Roselyn waiting.”
“I thought you were nervous,” Irene said.
Julia smiled. “I am, but sometimes you have to take a leap.”
****
On the threshold, mist swirled around Irene’s feet as thick and clingy as white cotton candy. The distant bagpipes vibrated through her and conjured images of another time and place. Momentarily drawn into the fantas
y and excitement of pretending to visit another century, she hesitated and stifled a laugh. Whoever was responsible for arranging this tour had a real skill for the dramatic.
“What are we waiting for,” she whispered to Julia.
Julia shook her head slowly. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, and Irene had the impression the woman hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Irene saw men emerge from a room next to hers. One was Ann’s son, another Ann’s husband, plus two more men Irene didn’t recognize. Ann’s husband and son were engaged in a heated debate. Irene caught bits and pieces. Ann was missing. The son put his hand on his father’s arm as though to restrain him, and then gazed toward Irene.
“We didn’t see my mother leave,” he shouted over to her. “Would you mind checking on her?”
“Not at all,” Irene said and retraced her steps.
When she stepped back over the threshold, the changing area looked different. Instead of a large room, draped with gowns, ribbons and hats, it resembled a maze. Of course, everything had happened in such a blur, maybe she’d not paid close attention.
Irene called out Ann’s name. When there wasn’t a response, she moved in farther and raised her voice. “Ann? Are you in here?”
There was always the chance Ann had changed her mind and returned to the café. Then Irene remembered Ann’s vacant expression. She’d recognized the worry in the father’s and son’s eyes. She’d seen that same look in the expression of one of her clients when he’d talked about his mother’s failing memory and the doctor’s diagnosis. The more troubling possibility was that Ann had left the café and was now wandering out in the freezing cold.
Irene plunged into the center corridor of the maze-like room with its bank of lockers. “Ann? Please answer me. Your son’s worried. He asked me to find you.”
From a short distance away, Irene heard a locker shut, then a few mumbled words. Irene rushed toward the sound. Ann was sitting on the bench as though she were waiting for someone to fetch her. Beside her was Irene’s diary.
