by J. L. Jarvis
He went to the burn for some water. When he returned, she was gone.
“Violet? Are you all right?” he called.
From behind some brambles, he heard, “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”
Robert stood for a while by the horse, then he walked to a nearby tree and leaned, arms folded, waiting. A long while passed. “Are you almost ready?”
“Making progress.” Her voice sounded strained.
Robert sat on a log, growing impatient. When he could stand it no longer, he said, “Come, Violet. We must go now.”
Violet slowly emerged, her face flushed with frustration, clutching her bodice about her with one hand in back and two detached sleeves dangling from the other. Her eyes burned with frustration. “How do women get into these?”
Robert shook his head then dragged his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I dinnae ken. I suppose they have servants to help them.”
“Great. Well, let me know when mine gets here.”
Her hair fell in uncombed tangles over her shoulders. The wind caught her skirts, and the bodice was crooked. Robert wanted to smile, but her glaring eyes stopped him.
His eyes betrayed only a hint of amusement. “Would you like me to help you?”
“No.” She looked away long enough to roll her eyes. “But I haven’t much choice, have I?”
He went to her and turned her around. She had fastened a few of the bodice hooks at the waist, so all he needed to do was fasten the rest, which he started to do. His fingertips brushed her skin, soft as satin. She had no shift on underneath, for he’d taken none for her. His eyes swept over the trail of skin between the rows of unfastened hooks and eyes.
She turned partway around. “Is everything okay back there?”
Brought back from his reverie, he said, “Aye. I’m just trying to—” Do something other than touch your bare skin. “I'm trying to line up the hooks with the eyes. Ah, here we are.” He worked quickly to fasten her up before he succumbed to an opposite urge. “There.” He turned her about. “Now for the sleeves.” With those tied in place, he stepped backward to appraise his work.
When he failed to utter a word, Violet gave him a questioning look. “Well?”
With a perfunctory nod, he said, “Fine.” She looked beguiling—more so than was good for either of them. “See what you can do with that hair,” he muttered as he turned and went to his horse.
“Do with it? Like what?”
He waved his wrist. “Confine it somehow.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. They had agreed to keep their feelings in check, and his clearly were not. He tried to force his thoughts elsewhere and failed. The unfastened bodice. The soft skin inside it. They would dispose of the dress as soon as they reached Edinburgh. Not only was it too enticing on her but it was red, which, under the sumptuary laws, should only be worn by the upper classes. Even if he could pass her off as a foreign aristocrat, as bonny as she looked, she would draw too much attention. They needed to blend in, so that would not do. As soon as he could, he would get her something else to wear—something shapeless and drab would be nice. But no clothing was plain enough to quell what he felt for her at the moment.
* * *
TRUE TO HIS PLAN, their first stop after arriving in Edinburgh was a shop just off the High Street, where Robert bought Violet some clothing, complete with proper undergarments and a bodice that laced up the front, so she could dress herself without his help. He could not very well leave her outside while he shopped, so he told the shopkeeper that Violet was mute to avoid exposing her telltale modern American speech. He claimed the clothes were for a servant and was thankful the shop owner was discreet enough not to ask why he hadn’t sent the servant to fetch her own clothing.
They made their way next to the Blackfriars Monastery, where they were taken in. A monk escorted them to rooms they referred to as cells. They had missed supper but were brought porridge to eat in their cells. After making quick work of the porridge, Robert lay on his cot. He was exhausted and hoping to rest, but thoughts of Violet on the other side of the wall interfered with his plans. As dusk settled, a monk came to escort him to vespers. They stopped at Violet's cell, and she emerged dressed in her new peasant clothing of muted earth hues.
When Robert stared for far too long, she touched her shoulders and looked down to smooth out her skirts. “Have I done something wrong? Do I look all right?”
“Aye,” he said gruffly and walked away.
“Gee, thanks,” she muttered.
Once vespers began, Robert found himself soothed by the music, at home in the familiar routine, until he saw Violet looking at him with a look he couldn’t quite decipher. He leaned closer.
“I’m not Catholic,” she whispered. “What do I do?”
He leaned close to her ear. “Follow me.”
That forced him to be aware of her for the purpose of easing her discomfort, thus increasing his. She watched him and followed his lead, kneeling and standing whenever he did, and when it was over, she touched his arm lightly and thanked him.
After that, they were parted. One monk led her to her cell while another led Robert away. The abbot had summoned him.
* * *
THE ABBOT HAD delicate features and a quiet manner that put Robert at ease. A well-traveled man, the abbot now sounded more English than Scottish. He had just offered Robert a seat when a quiet knock at the door interrupted their light conversation. A monk brought in Robert’s quiver containing the scroll and handed it to the abbot, who ignored a sharp look from Robert and turned it over, examining it.
“When I was in Perth, a young nun lived at the Blackfriars Monastery. Sister Claudine.” The abbot paused, almost smiling. He looked at Robert and went on. “She worked in the garden, and she would talk with the monks while they worked. One monk, in particular, found himself drawn to her. He supposed she was lonely and needed a friend, which he was glad to be. But when he spied her behind a tree, being sick, he worried. Some days later, on a warm afternoon, she suffered a fainting spell. The monk rushed to her aid. As he helped her up, he put his arms about her waist, and there was no doubt that she was with child. Then she confided in him, telling this story.
“Long ago, in the days of the Templars, a young knight broke his vow to be chaste, and the woman he loved was a nun who had taken a vow of her own. Overcome by their love, they gave in to their desires.
“When King Philip IV rounded up Templars for execution, many scattered. But the knight wouldn’t leave his beloved behind, so he stayed with her, risking his life. The other Templars took all of the treasures with them, except for one item. They had overlooked a linen scroll that lay in the chapel behind the altar. It held secrets, that much the knight knew, although he didn’t know how to read it. But he knew one thing: the scroll had to be kept from King Philip. To do that, the monk would have to leave and return later to his love.
“Faced with losing her knight, the nun agreed to leave with him and begin a life together. But as they were preparing to flee, the king’s men broke in. The knight wouldn’t leave without the scroll, so he went back to the altar to retrieve it. He had hidden it inside a quiver to protect it from harm. He was on his way out of the chapel when the king’s men saw him and called out. He stopped in the doorway and, unseen, gave the quiver to Sister Claudine.
“‘If anything happens to me, keep this safe,’ he told her. ‘It belongs to the Templars. Return it to them when you're able.’
“The footsteps of the king's men drew near. The knight opened a wooden panel in the wall, revealing a secret passage leading out of the monastery. With haste, he guided her into the passageway. ‘Go to the dolmen where we used to meet, and wait for me there.’
“She turned back to him. ‘Not without you.’
“He fixed his eyes upon her and closed the passageway panel as the king’s men entered the room.
“She did as he told her and went to the dolmen, but he never arrived to join her. One morning, she awoke in the
brilliant sunlight to find herself in a cave outside Perth, more than two hundred years later. She found her way to the Blackfriars Monastery in Perth, where she was taken in.
“On a rare cloudless night, stars peppered a sky of black velvet. Nearly lost in their midst was the faint silver curve of the moon. As Sister Claudine looked up and dreamt of the knight she had lost, she felt a twinge of pain, but it left just as quickly. When the pain kept returning, she walked down the corridor and found her friend, the monk. She spoke softly to him. He took her back to her cell. Once there, she showed him the scroll and asked him to keep it safe for her child if anything happened to her. He dismissed her pleas as the ravings of a woman in pain. She made him promise to safeguard the only legacy she had to give to her child. She said if anything threatened the scroll, it was to be taken to Roslin. The Earl of St. Clair would know what to do.”
Robert went to the window and looked out while he tamped down his emotions.
The abbot went on. “In the quiet hours before dawn, after the stars in the night sky had faded from view, she gave birth to a son. She did not live to see the sun rise. You know this story?”
With a backward glance toward the abbot, Robert said, “Aye. Brother Thomas has told it to me.”
The abbot fixed his eyes on the scroll coiled inside the quiver. “Shortly after your birth, the scroll disappeared. I had not seen it since, until now. It was her wish for us to raise you, which we have done. The Blackfriars have watched over you and will continue to do so. You are not alone.”
Robert turned from the window.
“Have you looked at it?” Father Abbot reached inside as though he might remove the scroll, but he glanced up at Robert and stopped.
“Once.” Before going on, Robert extended his hand with a questioning look, and the abbot handed the quiver to him. “But I didnae ken what it meant, nor was I ever supposed to. I'm to pass the scroll on. I'm no more than a messenger, really.” He met the Abbot’s knowing gaze as he slung it over his shoulder. “I’m on my way to deliver it.”
“Ah, well, I’ll not keep you. May God speed you on your way, lad.” He clasped Robert’s hand.
“Thank you, Father Abbot.”
Once back in his cell, Robert thought of the abbot’s story, which he had heard before. But there was more to it than the abbot had told him.
* * *
AFTER ROBERT HAD RETURNED from his days of rebellion in Perth, he had confronted Brother Thomas about the false relics, and Thomas admitted to what Robert had seen.
“I am not proud of it, lad, but we need the funds for God’s work.”
“Could God not provide the funds for you?”
“God gives us the ability to provide for ourselves.”
“By lying and cheating?” Robert asked.
“To accomplish God's work.”
They argued in circles for the rest of the evening. In the end, Brother Thomas agreed, to a point, but he said it was the way of the world. If they did it to serve God, then what was the harm? But Robert’s faith was harmed, and it would never again be the same.
As the months passed, they put their disagreement aside and grew closer again. One day, Robert was helping Thomas dust the relics. When they were finished, Brother Thomas told Robert to sit down. He proceeded to tell Robert a fanciful story about travel through time. He had always told Robert his mother had come from another place and time, but Robert had dismissed it as a tale meant to make a lonely young child feel better.
“For years, people have speculated about the secrets of the Templars, never guessing that the greatest secret had naught to do with treasure or wealth. It was knowledge passed down through the ages.” He peered into Robert’s eyes. “They knew the secret of traveling through time.”
Robert shook his head. It was madness.
“What better way for the Templars to control the world than by being able to travel backward and forward through time? The Templar treasures were the least of it. Think of the power and influence they could exert.”
“And the scroll?” asked Robert.
“I don’t know all of its secrets, but I believe it could be a sort of map. I believe there must be stone structures scattered in key places throughout the world, and one of those places is the Dragon Hole outside of the city. Your mother appeared there and found her way to us from the year of our Lord 1307.”
Robert shook his head. It could not be true. But one morning, when the sun shone brightly, he set out for the cave and soon found himself hundreds of years in the future in a land called New York.
THE SECRET SCROLL
After a night of fitful sleep in the monastery, Violet went to breakfast with the monks. She didn’t see Robert there, which left her more disappointed than she cared to admit. After breakfast, she went to his room. When he wasn’t there, she grew uneasy and went to the stables. His horse was gone. Growing concerned, she looked about and found a stable boy who couldn’t have been older than ten. He admitted that he had seen Robert ride away.
“When?”
“Before dawn, mistress.”
Violet looked at the horses with no small amount of fear. Knowing that she would be safe here, he had left her alone. What choice did she have? She could find him, which was highly unlikely, or she could stay and make a life with the monks, which was even less likely. If he didn’t return—and she doubted she would—there was no point in lingering here. She would have to ride back to the cave.
“Would you saddle a horse for me, please?” she asked.
With wide eyes, the boy said, “Oh, mistress, I cannae do that.”
“Yes, you can, and I need you to do it right now.”
He looked down. “I’m sorry. I cannae. He said—”
“Who?”
The boy lifted timid eyes. “Sir Robert. He told me I wasnae to let you near a horse.”
“Oh, did he?” That provoked Violet’s ire, but she tamped it down, for it wasn’t the boy’s fault. With forced calm, she said, “Did he say where he was going?”
The boy shook his head. “I’m sorry, mistress. I was mucking the stalls, and he paid me no heed when he left.”
She let out a frustrated cry. Robert had left her alone with no assurance that he’d return. The boy’s eyes opened wide with distress.
The sight tugged at her heart, for she knew she had caused it. “I'm sorry. What’s your name?”
“Will.”
She smiled softly. “I’m sorry, Will. You’ve been very nice, and I haven’t. Please forgive me.”
A smile bloomed on his face. “Oh, no, mistress. You’ve no need to be sorry.”
“Tell me, did he happen to say anything else?”
“No. Well, I think he said something about coming back tonight.” The boy frowned, still trying to remember.
Violet’s mouth hung agape at that key bit of information, until she remembered herself and gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, Will.”
A monk came around the corner and joined them. “May I help you, mistress?”
Violet shook her head. “No, I was just talking with Will.”
The monk nodded. “Well, when you’re finished, the lad has work to do.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
The monk turned away, and she made a face that drew a smile from the boy.
She whispered, “Thank you.”
“Aye, mistress.”
She walked away, thinking only of where he could have gone. If she knew the area, she might be able to catch up with him, but she did not. Nor did she know how to saddle a horse, let alone ride off in search of him. With a sigh, Violet realized there was nothing she could do except wait. He was gone, and she was trapped, forced to wait for him to return—if he returned. For if he felt the need to leave her behind, he might have been expecting some danger. She was safer here, as was he without her—wherever he was. She hated to admit it, but he may have done the wisest thing. Her presence might have prompted him to protect her at the cost of his life.
* * *
LATE AFTERNOON SUN filtered in through her small window. Violet bolted upright on her cot, disoriented. She had dozed off. The events of the past two days had caught up with her. But what had woken her was a commotion of scraping feet and bumps on the wall from Robert’s cell. She was on her way to the door when someone knocked on it. She opened the door to find one of the monks with an urgent expression.
“I’ve been sent to fetch you,” he said.
She followed him next door to find Robert on the cot, leaning back against the wall and barely conscious.
“What’s happened?” Violet rushed toward him, but the monk who had fetched her held her back.
A second monk held Robert while he vomited into a pail. “He was attacked riding out of the city.”
“It was only a scratch,” Robert protested.
“Aye, but your skin’s cool and clammy, and your heart’s racing.” The monk turned to Violet. “The blade must have been poisoned. They waited until he was out of the city to strike.” The monk helped Robert lie down on his pillow.
Robert struggled to breathe. Violet broke free of the monk holding her shoulders and went to Robert’s side.
“My quiver. Where is it?” he said between breaths.
“Where’s the quiver?” Violet looked from one monk to the other.
The one by the door nodded toward the bed. Violet looked underneath it.
“He has no use for it now,” said the second monk as he wiped Robert’s brow.
Violet tossed him a burning look then put the quiver under Robert’s blanket. “It’s here, right beside you.”
