Secrets in Time: Time Travel Romance

by Alison Stuart

  ‘Colonel, the patrol is back,’ said a man’s voice from behind the closed door.

  Nat straightened, the soldier once more. ‘If I am correct, I will be told that the enemy is approaching from the north. My orders are to prevent them reaching Northampton.’ He gave me a lopsided smile. ‘To do that, I must deny them Chesham Bridge.’

  There it was. His fate lay between us, a dead, unspoken weight in the air.

  ‘Nat...’ My voice died. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t prevent what was to happen. I couldn’t change history.

  Chapter 8

  The Battle of Chesham Bridge

  I stand by the window and watch the familiar scenes of my life. Above the horizon there is the faintest lightness in the sky, the slight purpling that heralds a warm day but the air is heavy as if God himself presages my fate.

  Already the servants are astir. I can hear their voices rising from the kitchen block and young May, the dairymaid, crosses the courtyard, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. I can see lights in the barn where my men are making their preparations. We will ride within the hour.

  I dare not turn around and look at the woman asleep on the bed. Jessie, my witch. If I close my eyes I can see the round softness of her shoulders and the honey-gold hair that lies tangled around her face.

  Somewhere in the house my grandmother paces the floor.

  ‘Alice, you have told me to trust you, but I am afraid I will never see her again.’

  She sighs. ‘Nathaniel, trust in me, trust in God.’

  I smile. ‘I’m not sure God approves of your work here, Grandam.’

  ‘I will answer to him in good time. You understand now, what is to happen?’ I incline my head. ‘Yes. I can see your purpose. Make it so.’

  ~*~

  I joined the household, which had gathered in the great hall to bid the troops farewell. An air of expectancy hung over the room like a pall. Nat entered, tall and straight, dressed much as I had seen him on our first meeting, only this time it seemed right. I was the odd one out.

  He moved easily, familiar with the heavy clothes, a sleeveless buff leather coat his only protection against what was to come. His metal breastplate hangs in a glass case in the twenty-first century.

  He must not have been wearing it at the time of his... at the time he… today.

  He gave his orders to his officers and then turned to his family. He took time with each one: Mary, Dame Alice. When he reached the two little boys he went down on his knees and held them so close they began to squirm. He rose and turned to me and I saw the indecision in his eyes. All he had to do would be to stay here, let the parliamentarian force cross the bridge at Chesham. Would history be changed by all that much? Probably not.

  But I knew in my heart the words I had uttered yesterday were true. He could not evade his fate. It was written in stone in a little chapel.

  Nat took my hands, and tears pricked my eyes. He laid a finger against my lips and shook his head. Taking my face between his hands, he bent his head and kissed me--a lingering, loving kiss that left me breathless. The strength and tenderness in his hands stopped the very breath in my throat. He stood back and put a finger under my chin, smiled and without a word, turned and walked from the room.

  A noiseless sob shook my shoulders. I wanted nothing more than to turn and run to my bedchamber, throw myself on the bed and howl but I was conscious that I was the center of attention and had to maintain decorum.

  Mary, standing beside me, turned to face me. I saw no warmth or sympathy in her face as she demanded in a low voice, ‘Who are you? What is your business with my brother?’

  All I could do was shake my head. If I had tried to speak, I would have dissolved into tears on the spot.

  Dame Alice touched her granddaughter on the arm. ‘Peace, Mary. Take the little ones outside to wave their father farewell.’

  Mary looked from me to her grandmother, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead. She squared her shoulders and took the children by the hand.

  With a last suspicious glance at me, she said, ‘Come. Let us go and wave to Papa and the brave soldiers.’

  Dame Alice and I were alone in the great hall.

  A choking sob escaped and I felt Dame Alice’s hand on my shoulder. ‘Come to my stillroom. You and I must talk.’

  In the privacy of Dame Alice’s lair, I slumped onto a low stool and buried my head in my hands, trying to hold back the tears.

  ‘Save your tears, Mistress Shepherd. They will not be necessary.’

  I looked up at her. ‘What do you mean? Nat isn’t going to die today?’

  ‘This has never been about Nathaniel,’ Dame Alice said. ‘You have confirmed what we have long suspected. Christian will not survive his childhood.’ Her chin came up. ‘Children die. That is a fact of our life, Mistress Shepherd, but in your time he can be saved. That is what you told Nathaniel. Am I right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I have the gift of foresight, Mistress Shepherd. I had seen Nathaniel’s fate so we agreed that, when the time was right, I would send him forward to find the cure for his son.’

  I blinked. ‘And if he didn’t, or couldn’t, come back, then what?’

  She shrugged. ‘A victim of our terrible war. But he did come back and he brought you with him. This is meant to be, Mistress Shepherd.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can send you back to your time but I ask you to take the boy with you.’ I stiffened, and she continued.

  ‘I understand the enormity of this boon. We are asking you to love Nathaniel’s son as if he were your own.’

  ‘But...but...’ My protests died on my lips. If I refused then the child would die and Nat’s death would be in vain.

  ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘In the stable, there is a horse saddled and ready for you. We have told Christian’s nurse that the child will leave with you and she has packed a bag for him. She thinks you are taking him to London.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ ‘To Chesham.’

  My mouth fell open. Chesham was the last place on this earth I wanted to go, today of all days.

  ‘No, I can’t. I don’t want to see Nat...I couldn’t...’ I couldn’t watch my lover die. The tears I had been fighting back began to trickle down my face.

  Dame Alice raised her hand to still my protests. ‘For an intelligent woman, Mistress Shepherd, you can be remarkably dull. I am giving you a chance to save two lives.’

  I dashed at my damp face with the sleeve of my gown. ‘You mean Nat? How?’

  She shook her head. ‘That is up to you.’ She smiled. ‘I assume you can ride a horse?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied with a quaver of uncertainty in my voice.

  ‘Then, go. They are waiting for you at the stable.’

  As I turned to leave, she said, ‘One last thing, Mistress Shepherd. Nathaniel does not expect you to support his child without his help.’

  ‘I have money.’

  ‘Jessica, he is a proud man. How long do you think he will accept your charity?’

  ‘It won’t be charity.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Nathaniel and I have discussed the matter and we will make provision for the child.’

  ‘You’re going to leave a pot of gold on my kitchen table?’ I asked.

  ‘No, under your hearthstone,’ Dame Alice replied.

  ‘My hearthstone?’

  ‘You have wondered why the cottage is so important?’

  I stared at her. ‘There are three hundred and fifty years of occupation between today and my time. Whatever you leave is sure to be found.’

  She just smiled. ‘Does it look as if your hearthstone has ever been moved?’ I shook my head.

  ‘Well then, trust me. Now, Jessica, you must go. Godspeed.’

  ~*~

  At the stables I found Christian and his nurse standing beside a stable boy who held the reins of an elderly, dapple-gray mare. The nursemaid held Christian close and I could see she had
been crying.

  ‘You’ll take good care of him?’ she exhorted me as I swung myself into the saddle and arranged the bunched skirts as best I could, slinging my handbag across my back. I held out my arms for the child, wondering how I would manage a horse and a wriggly two-year-old, but Christian came to me meekly.

  I encircled him with my arms and he looked up at me with wisdom beyond his years in his eyes. The same color as his father’s eyes.

  ‘We’re going on a long journey, Christian,’ I whispered. He curled against me and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  The maid sniffed. ‘I’ve put his things in the saddlebag, ma’am. His favorite wooden horse...’ She trailed off and the tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.

  I leaned down and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll take good care of him, as you have done.’

  The stable boy handed me the reins and I put my heels to the horse. Of course I knew how to ride. I had been through my ‘horsey’ phase as a teenager but it had been many years. I hoped I would recall the basics as I urged it forward. The little animal proved to be biddable and responded to my touch.

  As I looked back at the house, I saw Dame Alice standing on the doorstep. She raised her hand and I inclined my head, hoping against all things logical that her power would not fail her today.

  Keeping a grip on the child made the short journey by necessity, slow. I picked my way through countryside bearing no relation to twentieth-century Northamptonshire and I trusted to my instinct alone that we were on the road to Chesham. Relief flooded me as I saw the familiar church spire of St. Matthews rising above the trees.

  As I turned down the lane toward the river, I gave an involuntary cry as I recognized my cottage, still readily identifiable, although somewhat more rustic than its modern incarnation. The same weathered stone wall ran along the lane. Smoke curled from the chimney and chickens picked through the refuse in the yard that would become my garden in three hundred and fifty years.

  I turned the pony off the laneway into the woodlands running down to the river. I knew the place that would give me the best vantage point to see the bridge and the village and wait for whatever would happen next.

  I dismounted from the pony and lifted Christian down. He looked up at me with his large, trusting eyes and my heart shattered into pieces. I had saved the lives of many children but this one demanded my love and I knew in that instant he had it, completely and unconditionally, as if he had been my own child. I found a flask containing some sort of ale, a couple of apples and a large piece of pie in the saddlebag.

  ‘Horsey?’ Christian asked and I found the little wooden animal and gave it to him.

  He sat with a thump, his bottom well padded by his heavy skirts. A funny little bundle of boy, I mused, as I spread my skirts, laid out our picnic and sat beside him to wait.

  Wait for what?

  Above me dark clouds had begun to gather, foreshadowing a storm within the hour. I drew back under the shelter of a large oak tree and hoped the rain would not be too heavy. Umbrellas were yet to be invented and we were likely to get soaked.

  From my vantage point, I could see the bulk of Nat’s men lined up on the far side of the river. A smaller reserve would be on this side of the river. Their voices carried across the water and I scanned the ranks, seeing Nat’s wide-brimmed hat with its distinctive feather. A tall man for his time, I might have known he would have been at the front and center of his men. Why wasn’t he wearing a helmet? Had foreknowledge made him careless of his life?

  The enemy was out of my line of sight but I sensed from the tense alertness of Nat’s troops, they were not far away.

  The parliamentarian forces fired the first sally and several of Nat’s men crumpled and fell. A wounded man screamed in agony. All my instincts as a doctor cried out for me to help but I knew I could not interfere. I didn’t exist in this time and my priority played beside me, making little neighing noises, impervious to the sound of battle.

  Some part of me had thought the battle of Chesham Bridge would be just like one of Alan’s musters. How could I have been so naive? I hope never to see a real battle again.

  A mighty yell went up, and for the first time, I saw the red-coated soldiers as they bore down on the thin line of Nat’s men. I knew from Alan’s account of the battle Nat’s men were outnumbered three to one. In the cold light of the twenty-first century, that was just a number. In the fading light of a summer day in 1645, it meant everything.

  The parliamentarians hit the line with a palpable thump. Above the inhuman screams and yelling, the battlefield faded in a haze of smoke from the muskets. I jumped to my feet, desperate to keep that red feather within my sight, but it had disappeared.

  Christian looked up at me and began to cry. I picked him up and held him close, whispering quietudes in his ear as he sobbed into my shoulder. All the while, I was scanning the far bank for a sight of Nat.

  His men broke, running across the bridge toward the village. I saw Nat, bareheaded now, leap onto the parapet of the bridge and urge his men to the safety of the pre-prepared defensive positions on the village side of the bridge. Hard on their heels, galloping horsemen cut the men down as they turned to run.

  Nat didn’t move. My arms tightened on the child, I wanted to scream at Nat to run, to hide, to save himself. Not until the last of his men had crossed did he jump down and begin to run.

  ‘Now!’ I heard his command as a single shot rang out from the far side of the river.

  Nat checked his stride, stumbled and fell to his knees.

  I gave an involuntary cry, my heart jumping to my throat, tears already streaming down my face as Nat regained his feet. The first of the parliamentarians reached the bridge. Without looking backward, Nat hurled his sword across the span of the bridge in front of him. The world around me disintegrated in a succession of explosions that lit the darkening sky. Chesham Bridge collapsed into the River Nene.

  The force of the explosion knocked me to the ground and I huddled under the tree, curling around Christian to protect him from the shower of debris that reached as far as us. As history had related, Nat had mined the bridge. Had he also sacrificed himself in the attempt? Without daring to raise my head, I heard shouts, the whinnying of horses, screams from wounded men and the rattle of musket fire.

  Christian howled. Without moving, I cradled him as he sobbed inconsolably. I could feel my own tears running down my cheeks and splashing onto his soft curls.

  Chapter 9

  Back from the Past

  The water drags me down in my heavy clothes and my lungs feel as if they will burst. All I have to do is let go of the slender thread of life, but I don’t want to die. I have been living with the thought of my death for so long, now I know it can be defeated. I will not die, not today.

  I strike out and break the surface, taking a deep lungful of air with a grateful prayer to God who had spared me. The river has carried me downstream. I look back and see the shattered bridge rising above the river like a gap-toothed old man. I just need the strength to strike out for the bank and pray that Jessie the Witch finds me before it is too late.

  ~*~

  The rain began, first as the odd drop and then a summer downpour, soaking my heavy clothes. I raised my head as the exultant cries of Nat’s men told me I was still in 1645.

  Christian had stopped crying and I stood up, settling the child on to my hip. Hardly daring to think of what I would find I walked to the river bank with a heavy heart. If it hadn’t been for the child in my arms, I probably would have thrown myself on the grass and given into my grief. For all Alice’s fine words, Nat could not have survived the explosion.

  The familiar bridge across the Nene lay upstream, its middle span now a gaping hole. Across the river, the red-coated soldiers had pulled back a little distance, leaving the broken bodies of the dead and wounded lying on the ground before the bridge. My doctor’s instinct tugged at me again but I had a two-year-old child in my care and at best, I hoped, a wounded man of
my own to find.

  I did not have to go far. He lay face down in the flattened grass on a curve of the river about fifty yards downstream from where I had been sitting.

  ‘Papa?’ Christian pointed at the bedraggled figure.

  I set the boy, still holding his precious horse, on the ground.

  ‘You stay here, Christian. Don’t move. Okay?’

  He gave me a quizzical look. I don’t think he understood my strange speech patterns but he did as he was told.

  Dreading what I might find, I knelt beside Nat, and with professional efficiency, turned him over. His eyes were closed, his face deathly pale. Swallowing hard, I stilled my breathing and pressed my fingers to the pulse in his neck. Faint but still beating. An involuntary sob of sheer relief escaped my lips.

  Now my training as a doctor took over. I knew he had been hit by the musket ball but in the rain, and with the risk of discovery by either side, I could not even begin to examine him. I bent my head and kissed his forehead. It was icy beneath my lips and my Sleeping Beauty did not wake to my kiss.

  Instead I patted his face--hard.

  ‘Nat! Wake up. I have to get you home.’

  His eyes fluttered and a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I might have known. Jessica, my witch.’

  ‘Where are you hurt?’

  ‘Leg,’ he murmured. ‘Sweet Jesu, it hurts.’ Fully conscious now, he grasped my forearm. ‘Do you have Christian with you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then go, go now. You must get over the wall.’

  ‘The wall?’

  ‘Your wall...your garden wall. That first day...’ he grimaced as he tried to move his leg. ‘Not much time. Go!’

  ‘Not without you.’ Even as I spoke, I tugged at his right arm and placed it across my shoulder.

  Despite his protests, and with a supreme effort, I got him standing. I held out my other hand. ‘Christian, come with me.’

  The little boy took my hand, and we made a strange procession, staggering through the woods to the lane, still the narrow little dirt track down which I had ridden only a few hours earlier.