Knight Errant: A Highland Passage Novel

by J. L. Jarvis

  THE GLEANERS

  There was no city named Perth near Violet’s home. The only place walled-in like this was the nearby Greenhaven Prison, but this wall was different. Instead of cement, it was made up of stones, like the medieval stone walls she had seen around old castles in Scotland. She fell into step with a stream of people passing through the main gate. Apparently there was some sort of Renaissance Faire going on. She hoped that, once inside, she might find a phone or someone willing to offer directions. She had already asked a few people, but they looked her up and down, crossed themselves, and walked away without saying a word. They could stare all they wanted, but they were the ones who looked as if they had leapt off the canvas of Millet's The Gleaners. She shrugged off their reactions and went on her way.

  As she walked down the High Street, she had no goal in mind, but she felt sure she would find her way home just by walking until something looked familiar. A low murmur grew to a din as a crowd rounded a corner and moved steadily toward her. It looked as though they were reenacting a mob of angry villagers. All they needed were some torches. She wanted to laugh, but they looked awfully serious—a point that was driven home the closer they came. No, they weren’t joking. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, they were coming straight for her. She had to get out of their way, so she plastered herself to the wall of a shop, but the mob spanned the street from wall to wall. A door opened, and a firm hand grasped her wrist and yanked her into a shop. The door closed as quickly as it had opened.

  With no explanation, she was pulled toward the back of the shop, where a thin ribbon of light from a shuttered window revealed her cliff rescuer. “Robert?”

  Looking past her toward the front, he said, “Are you mad?”

  “No, I'm lost.”

  “Aye, that much is clear.”

  “I thought I'd ask someone for directions.”

  He eyed her strangely.

  “Look, I know it's a foreign concept to men, but I—” A loud thud at the front door startled her into silence.

  Robert glanced toward the door but ignored it and returned his gaze to her.

  Violet said, “The thing is, I don't know where I am.”

  He studied her, his brow creased. “Where were you before we met?”

  “In the cave.”

  “And before that?”

  Violet met his intense gaze, which made her lose her trust in him, although she couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was because Jack had had the same sort of intensity when she first met him. She’d later realized that the riveted look that made women blush was no more than a parlor trick—one that had worked on her.

  Instead of answering, she said, “Where were you?”

  “I was at the bottom of the hill when I looked up and saw you.”

  A man called from the rear of the building, “Robert, we'd best leave before it's too late.”

  Still grasping her wrist, Robert peered deeply into her eyes then turned and led her through the back door of the shop, where a monk waited with two horses.

  “Henry, Mistress Quinn is coming with us.”

  Henry leaned closer to Robert and lowered his voice. “'Tis a bad idea, and you ken it.”

  “We cannae leave her here alone.”

  Henry opened his mouth to speak, but seeing Robert's narrowing eyes, he shook his head instead. He glanced toward the creaking front door. It would give way to the crowd before long. “We've no time to argue.”

  Violet stepped closer to the arguing men. “Excuse me, but shouldn't I have a say?”

  Robert met her determined expression with one of his own. “I'll not leave you here. You dinnae even ken where you are.”

  Before she could answer, the crowd broke through the door.

  Robert hoisted her onto his horse. “Here's your choice: if you want to live, come with us. If not, stay here.”

  The din of the crowd convinced her he might have a point. Henry grumbled about how this would slow them down, but Robert ignored him and leapt up behind Violet.

  As they rode, Robert leaned over, scooped up some clothes draped over some bushes to dry, and handed them to Violet. “Hold these.”

  Violet took them and said, “Why?”

  “You can put them on later.”

  “Why?”

  “Look at yourself. Dressed like that, not to mention your strange speech, you'll be tried as a harlot or a witch.”

  Violet smirked. “Sure, John Proctor.” When he failed to share her amusement, she said, “Look, thanks for the ride, but I can walk from here.”

  “I've no doubt.” He made no effort to slow down. They emerged from the wynd ahead of the crowd but just barely, and made it through the Highgate, trailing behind Henry.

  “You can let me down now.”

  His arms remained firmly about her as he leaned down and spoke close to her ear, “You must trust me.”

  “Last time someone said that, I shouldn’t have.”

  “Did I not get you down the cliff safely?”

  “Yes, but this is different.”

  “Aye, it's more dangerous. Look behind us.”

  Violet turned to see a crowd on foot heading toward them. “Are they following us?”

  “Nay, lass, but they may as well be, for it looks like they’re headed where we are.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “Ahead, to Blackfriars Monastery.” Once there, Robert dismounted and helped Violet down, and he left Henry with the horses. “Stay close, and do as I say.” Robert took Violet's hand and led her to a door where a tall, sturdy monk with graying hair waited for them.

  “Brother Thomas, this is Violet.”

  The monk’s gray eyes settled on Violet for only a moment, then he gave Robert a questioning look. He started to speak, but Henry joined them, and Brother Thomas stopped.

  Brother Thomas handed Henry a bundle. “John Knox has exhorted his people to cast down the idols of the kirk. I’ve gathered the most valuable ones here. Take them to the Sinclairs in Roslin for safekeeping.” His speech made it clear that he wasn’t from Scotland.

  Henry nodded and went back outside.

  When Henry was gone, Robert said, “Violet has come from the cave.”

  The two shared a knowing look, and Brother Thomas lifted an archer’s quiver. But instead of arrows, it held a rolled up length of linen. Thomas glanced sideways at Violet and spoke cryptically. “We once spoke of how this day might come.”

  A dark look came into Robert’s eyes.

  Brother Thomas put the quiver in Robert’s hands. “Guard this as you would your own life, for it may be more precious. Its secrets will be lost if you fail in your mission.”

  Robert nodded gravely and slung the strap diagonally over his chest so the quiver hung over his back alongside his own arrow-filled quiver. He turned to Brother Thomas. “They’ll be here soon. Will you not come with us?”

  “I’ve a hidden room here where I’ll be safe.” The monk clasped Robert’s hand in both of his. “I’ll not see you again.”

  Robert’s brow furrowed as he clenched his jaw and reluctantly nodded. “I dinnae ken how to thank you.”

  “To see the man you’ve become is enough thanks for me.” Brother Thomas gave Robert’s shoulder a firm grip then released him.

  Robert turned to Violet. “Come, lass.”

  She started to follow him, but Brother Thomas put his hand on her arm. “Take care of him.”

  Violet wasn’t sure how to respond. She began to protest and explain how things were, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the warm light in the older man’s eyes. “I will,” she replied.

  As they rode away, Robert said, “He was like a father to me.”

  Behind them, the mob of reformers arrived and began to loot Blackfriars Monastery.

  The three rode in silence until Henry looked back and called to Robert, “Do you see them?”

  “Aye.”

  Violet looked back and saw two horsemen in black gaining on them.

  Robe
rt circled her waist and pulled her back against him. “Stay close against me so I can shield you.”

  “Shield me?”

  An arrow flew past them. As Robert urged his horse on, something fell from the bundle tied to Henry's saddle. Henry pulled on the reins.

  Robert cried, “What are you doing?”

  Henry ignored Robert's cry and went back for a jeweled chalice that had fallen.

  Robert wrapped Violet’s hand around the hilt of a dirk. “Hold this tightly and be ready to use it.”

  Violet clung to the saddle as Robert pulled an arrow from his quiver and turned to shoot at the oncoming riders.

  “Leave it!” Robert cried to Henry.

  Ignoring him, Henry slipped from his horse and grasped hold of the chalice. As he turned to put the chalice back in its sack, an arrow struck him in the back. His back arched as he gripped the saddle, gasping. He turned to face his attackers. With labored breathing, he reached toward them and opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came forth. He drew his sword and made a few feeble swipes and thrusts as the riders overtook him.

  Robert leaned over Violet. “Stay down.”

  She clung, trembling, to the saddle while Robert leapt to the ground, sword in hand. Only then did she notice that the two men wore black priests’ cassocks. One came at Robert with a dagger while the other swung a sword and sliced Henry's neck from ear to ear. Violet tried not to gasp as blood sprayed the swordsman.

  The two men then leapt onto their horses and rode away, leaving Violet watching them, stunned. A man had just been brutally killed before her. What sort of a world had she come to if that was the norm?

  “Are you all right?” Robert asked softly.

  She nodded, although she was as far from all right as she had ever been.

  “Take Henry's horse.”

  Violet stared at him in disbelief.

  Robert waved her toward the horse. “Go on.”

  “You want me to ride that?”

  Robert sheathed his sword and looked at her. “Aye.”

  “By myself?”

  He drew back, frowning. “Do you not ken how to ride?”

  “No.” She saw his disappointment.

  “You'll catch on.”

  “No, I won't.”

  “I can teach you.”

  Violet shook her head.

  Robert studied her for a moment. “First cliffs, now horses; you're a skittish lass, aren't you?”

  While she did not appreciate his characterization of her, there wasn’t much she could say to rebut it. He left her searching for words and went over to Henry’s horse. He said something too quiet to hear and gave it a smack on the rump to send it back toward the friary.

  Violet said, “Henry died for those treasures.”

  “Aye, and that's one person too many. Let them have their bag of trinkets. I'll not die for them, and neither will you.” He took her arm and led her to his horse. Without a word, he helped her up then mounted behind her and rode toward the hills.

  Violet's head swam for a moment, and she swayed. Robert must have felt it, for he put one arm about her waist and held her against him. He was stable and sure, neither of which she was. Perhaps, for now, it was enough that they were alive and riding into the cool, bracing mist.

  CROSS PURPOSES

  A small stream wended down a cleft in the hills. They stopped to give the horse water, food, and some rest. Exhausted, Violet drank some water and, in lieu of a highway rest stop, found a tree she could hide behind to take care of her personal needs. After the morning she’d had, what did niceties like plumbing matter?

  At this point, she wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t in the midst of some sort of psychotic break. Yes, Jack had hurt her—a lot, truth be told—but was it enough to cause this? Perhaps she was subliminally killing off substitute versions of Jack to internally vent her rage over being betrayed? Violet tended to overthink things.

  She returned to the clearing to find Robert's horse contentedly eating, but no Robert in sight. Violet lay down on a patch of soft grass and breathed in its sweet scent. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and blocked out the world. She had always slept well under stress. It was her way of coping. She dozed until the grass stirred beside her. She opened her eyes to find Robert seated nearby and studying her.

  She sat up abruptly and pushed thick brown waves of hair from her face. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Not long.” He looked away quickly, as though he hadn’t been watching her. She started to stand, but he touched her arm to stop her. “Rest. We must bide here for a time.” Violet wanted to ask why, but he spoke before she had the chance. “We’ll hide here for the night then head south, passing Perth, in the morning.”

  “Passing Perth?”

  “Aye.”

  “You know, I have been racking my brain trying to think of where that is. Do you mean Perth Amboy? New Jersey?”

  He grimaced and gave his head a slight shake. “Scotland.”

  “Scotland?”

  “Aye.” He tilted his head and looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

  She was inclined to agree with him, for how could that be? Of course she had noticed his Scottish accent, but it wasn’t so unusual to hear a variety of accents in the New York area. But there was no Perth in this part of New York, and nothing that she had experienced here could have happened at home.

  Even if there were a rational explanation for her being in Scotland, this couldn’t be the Scotland she had visited once. She thought back through all she had seen today. Not once had she seen a car or lights. Everyone had been dressed as though they had jumped out of the past—or she had jumped into it. As the idea sank in, Robert met her confused look with a calm she couldn’t share. Nor could she find words to make sense of it. She had gone beyond shock and felt numb inside.

  Robert said, “There is a story that is told around fires on dark nights about a cave overlooking the river that is known as the Dragon Hole. There a dragon once lived. He terrorized the people below until one day a monk named St. Serf went to slay him. He climbed into the cave and confronted the powerful dragon. Praying to God, he was given the power to slay it. As the dragon died, a stone fell from the dragon's forehead. There it lay in the back of the cave for generations, until one day a man named Jamie Keddie happened upon it. He touched the stone and vanished.”

  “And your point?” Violet said dryly. When he did not answer, she looked at him. His expression pierced her veneer. She looked away, hoping to hide it.

  Robert said, “I’ve been inside that cave, and it took me to your New York.”

  “You're as crazy as I am.”

  “No, I'm not, and neither are you.”

  Violet shook her head. She wouldn’t look at him for fear she might believe him.

  He said, “I still long for the pizza.”

  “Whose pizza?” Violet narrowed her eyes.

  “Ray's.”

  She grinned. Of all the things he might have said, that made as much sense as any. The city was peppered with pizzerias all claiming to be the original Ray’s. “But how did you get to New York?”

  “'Tis a secret kept by the monks. I cannae say more, for I've taken a vow.”

  Violet tried not to groan. “You're a monk?”

  “I've spent my life preparing to be one.”

  “Of course you have.” Violet hid her disappointment. He would have made such a perfect rebound guy, dammit. How much worse could this day get? “So you've taken a vow to become a monk.”

  “No, not yet—just a vow of secrecy.”

  “Well, that sounds very ‘tinfoil hat.’” When he failed to react, she said, “Illuminati? Skull and Bones? Knights Templar?”

  At the mention of the latter, his eyes widened, but he quickly averted them.

  Violet leaned forward. “Get. Out. You are not a Knight Templar!”

  “No. I am simply a knight, but my father was a Templar.”

  “Does that mean you're Sir Robert?�
�

  He offered a humble shrug.

  “But the Knights Templar disbanded back in—”

  “1307,” he said without hesitation.

  “And it's now—”

  “1559.” Violet blinked slowly then stared at him until he added, “Today is the eleventh of May in the year of our Lord 1559.”

  “And we're in—”

  “Scotland.”

  “1559 Scotland.” Violet stared toward Perth, unable to fathom what he had just told her.

  He looked off into the distance. “My father was a Knight Templar in France. He did many brave and good deeds, but he committed one sin. He fell in love, and the Templars vow to be chaste. The woman he loved was a nun. When the Templars came under attack, my father chose his own penance, but before he did, he saw my mother safely on her way to a megalithic stone structure called a dolmen, which was known to the Templars to have the power to send people through time. With her safely embarked, he faced his accusers. Her journey brought her to the future in Perth, where she found her way to the Blackfriars Monastery. They took her in, and there I grew up.”

  Violet reached out to touch him but withdrew her hand. “And your father—do you know what happened to him?”

  “He was burned at the stake, along with more than fifty others.” Sir Robert eventually broke the long silence that followed. “And what of you? How did you find your way here?”

  Violet's brow creased. “This morning, I caught an early flight home from a business trip to surprise my boyfriend, but he surprised me. He was in bed with some woman.”

  “Och, the philandering knave! He’s a whoreson fit only for hell.” He hastened to add, “Forgive me. I spoke without thinking.”

  “Oh, believe me, I've called him much worse.” She met his eyes and managed a weak smile that was gone the next moment. “So after that, I left and got caught in the rain. I guess I was struck by lightning. And here I am.” She took in a deep breath and exhaled with despair. “I just want to go home.”

  “Aye, lass.” His sad gaze somehow comforted her until she suspected that his sympathy was caused by something he was withholding.

  She said firmly, “I have to go back.”

  With a slow nod, he said, “Aye, but we cannae go back there—not now.”