by J. L. Jarvis
Relieved, Robert let his eyes close.
The monk shrugged impatiently. “A shopkeeper found it beside him.”
His words ended abruptly when Robert grabbed the pail and was violently ill.
When he could speak, Robert said, “Violet.” He searched about until his eyes settled on her. “You’re safe.”
Violet grasped his hand and sat beside him, confused. “Yes, I’ve been here all day, safe and sound.”
Robert sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “I was worried about you.”
“About me?”
He grasped her hand weakly. “After they attacked me, I thought they might have done something to hurt you too.”
The monk beside Violet said, “Nae doubt they were expecting you to collapse well past the city.”
“I came back for Violet.”
Violet shook her head. “I’m safe. Please don’t worry about me.”
Robert pulled her close enough to whisper into her ear, “Be on your guard, lass. You may not be safe here. As soon as I’m able, we’re leaving. Be ready. Until then, you’re no safer than I.” With a cautious look, he released her to sit back up. He tried to get up but leaned back again.
Violet dabbed a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. “Rest now. We’ll talk later.”
His eyes closed.
One of the monks touched her shoulder and beckoned for her to follow him. In the corridor outside Robert’s room, he spoke in hushed tones. “He must have kent he was poisoned and come back for help. He slid off his horse in a close outside a shop, where the shopkeeper found him and sent word to us.”
Violet spoke softly. “Will he recover?”
“I dinnae ken. It is up to God now.”
God was fine, but she wouldn’t mind bringing in a modern doctor for a consult. But that couldn’t be, so she went back inside and sat beside Robert while he slept. He was fitful. She blotted beads of sweat from his forehead. The monks went to supper and left her to tend to him, provided a monk remained with them for the sake of propriety, or so she assumed. After what Robert had said, she doubted the motives of everyone around them.
Violet Quinn was a practical woman. As an accountant, she did her best work with numbers and logical patterns. There was an inherent order to numbers that could always be relied upon. They could be managed and balanced until everything fell into place. She liked order in her life. That wasn’t to say that she had no feelings, but she always felt best when her emotions were under control. But now she had lost all control. She found herself in a place where nothing made sense. Her journey through time had disrupted her sense of balance—both physical and emotional—and with what little remained, Sir Robert de Mallay had finished the job. He made everything else seem unimportant, which was why she needed more distance between them. She needed her head clear to think. But he was sick and in need of her help. He trusted her, and she wouldn’t let him down.
To his credit, Robert had been quick to receive the message that they would be no more than travel companions. It was Violet who couldn’t seem to live with her decision. Something inside her came to life in his presence. The sound of his voice drew her notice to the exclusion of others, and when he was in sight, every gesture, no matter how slight, enthralled her, for it was all part of him. She couldn’t get enough of his presence, or touch, or the way that he listened and respected her wishes—such as when she asked him to leave her alone. Well, he hadn’t done so well with that, but no one was perfect.
Violet whispered his name. She lifted his hand to her cheek. “Come back.”
A soft sound came from his throat. She looked up. His eyelashes flickered then closed. Violet brushed the damp hair from his forehead then blew softly on his feverish brow.
They were never alone. She had tried to persuade the monks to go on with their usual duties, but the issue was nonnegotiable. Despite that, she wouldn’t leave his side. So a monk sat in the chair, and she sat on the floor beside Robert’s cot.
In the gray haze before dawn, she succumbed to her feelings. How could she deny that she cared? She had pushed him away because of her feelings for him, and it had worked. She had regained a sense of control over her emotions but at what cost? Would she miss out on a chance—perhaps her only one—to know love? No matter how short, this time could have been theirs. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She had wept when Jack had betrayed her, which was more than he had ever deserved. But this man deserved her tears and more. Her heart was so full of him that she could no longer hide from the truth. With a soft smile, she whispered his name.
“Don’t leave me.” She laid her head on the edge of his bed, and she wept.
A hand touched her head. Violet looked up to find Robert watching her. She clutched his hand and kissed it then rose to her knees and touched his forehead and face. Smiling through her tears, she looked at the monk then back at Robert, whose gaze rested on her.
“You’ve come back!” she said.
He tried to smile. “Are you weeping for me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” But she knew the relief in her eyes belied her words.
He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. She held his hand to her cheek, gazing into his eyes with unguarded affection. The corner of his mouth turned up a bit, then his eyes closed and he went back to sleep.
Monks came in and out through the day, checking on Robert as he slept, then speaking outside the room in hushed tones. At first Violet paid them no heed, caring little about their medical opinions—except to be ready to step in if they thought about doing something like bleeding him. But with increasing concern, she noticed their talk growing quieter, more urgent, and more secretive. Something was wrong, and whatever it was, they were not telling her.
When Robert woke next, one of the monks brushed past her and sat beside him. He spoke in tones too quiet for Violet to hear.
When he had left, Robert looked at Violet and forced a weak smile. “Would you fancy a walk?”
“You can barely sit up.” The fact that he even suggested it made her question how lucid he was.
His eyes narrowed. “A walk in the courtyard would do me good.” He slung the quiver containing the scroll over his shoulder. It hadn’t left his side since he had returned.
When he struggled to rise, Violet leaned down and whispered, “Have you lost your mind?” She took hold of his arm and helped pull him up.
Once standing, he smiled, leaned close, and spoke quietly. “We cannae talk here. Help me walk outside.”
They passed two monks and walked through a stone arch to the courtyard. Violet helped ease him onto a stone bench.
“We must leave here tonight,” he said.
Violet shook her head. “No, you’re not strong enough yet.”
He whispered, “But I will be alive—as will you. If we stay, neither of us will be for long.”
Her eyes opened wide. Robert chuckled and cast a furtive glance toward a monk who was looking their way.
“Smile,” Robert said. “Now lean over and whisper to me.”
Violet did as she was asked. “You are scaring the crap out of me.”
Robert laughed with what looked like genuine enjoyment, then he said softly, “I’m quite sure Henry knew the two men who attacked us and killed him.”
“How do you know that?”
“After we arrived, two monks were sent to Perth to give Henry a proper burial. They found him where we’d left him, his throat cut ear-to-ear. But before they arrived, someone had gone back and cut off his hands and his feet.”
“Why?”
“’Tis a Jesuit act against those who have betrayed them,” Robert said.
“Henry?”
“Aye. He may have been planted to spy, or to find something they want.”
Violet nodded. “Like the scroll.”
“Exactly.” Robert watched a monk walk through the cloisters from one arch to the next. “If he was a spy, he betrayed them when he fled with us.”
“
Then he betrayed you, as well.”
“At some point, yes. Perhaps he had a change of heart, or he may have been spying on the Jesuits all along. All I ken now is that they’ve followed us here, and they’re watching the monastery. No doubt they’ve got spies in here, as well.”
A wave of dread passed through her, but she tamped it down and remained still. A telltale flush burned her cheeks as her heart pounded. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“I have the scroll. There must be something on it—or they believe that there is—that they dinnae want to be known. And since you’ve been with me, they’ll assume that you’ve seen it as well.”
Violet looked about the quiet courtyard, unable to reconcile the peaceful surroundings with what he was telling her. “They want to kill us? People here?”
“’Tis why I was attacked and why you’re no more safe than I.”
Violet looked at the monks all about, carrying on with their daily activities. “But here?”
He covered her trembling hand with his. “Do you trust me?”
She lifted her eyes, and his gentle look bolstered her courage. “Yes.”
“I ken that you dinnae like to be told what to do.” She inhaled, about to protest, but was interrupted when he said, “But if we’re to survive, you must trust me and do as I say.”
“Okay, but—”
“Without argument.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
“We can argue all you like at the end of the day when we’re safe.”
She frowned.
With a crooked smile, he said, “I should warn you though, if we make it to the end of the day, then I will have been right. If not, you’ll not have the chance to remind me.”
“Well, that’s just not fair.” She nearly smiled, but it was a nervous and futile attempt. She steadied her gaze on him. “I don’t have a choice. But if I did, I would still trust you with my life.”
He tightened his hand about hers. “And I will protect it with mine.”
THE LEGACY
In the pre-dawn darkness, a drizzle sent darkening streaks down the stone walls of the Edinburgh buildings. Arriving at last on the cobbled streets, it left a damp sheen and the smell of wet stone. The uneven rolling of pushcarts was only beginning to awaken the city. From the bell tower, the abbot watched two robed figures slip through the friary gate and make their way through the long shadows, along narrow streets and even narrower wynds. At the same time, two more monks walked through a gate in the wall, and on the opposite side of the friary, a third pair of monks set forth on foot.
All of the monks were well on their way when dawn broke and a stable boy led a packhorse through the gate. He led his horse down the cobbled streets until he reached the edge of the city. From under a blanket, a man sat up and reached out his good arm to help the stable boy mount behind him. They rode south toward Roslin while, back in the city, three pairs of monks slipped back inside the friary gates.
After hours had passed, Robert and Violet pulled off the road to a place where water rushed down a hill and over some rocks. The horse needed water and rest, as did they. Robert helped Violet down then handed a bundle to her. Hiding behind a tree, Violet changed from her stable boy’s clothes into her peasant bodice and skirts, while Robert pulled off his monk’s robe. He tried to look strong and healthy, but he fooled only himself. He looked pale. She made sure that he ate some bannocks before they were on their way again.
For a long while, they rode in quiet, breathing the scent of fresh grasses. Morning sun barely shone through the faint veil of mist still clinging to the round wooded hills.
When Robert wearily exhaled, Violet said, “You’re tired. You could use another day’s rest.”
“Whisht, woman. You worry too much.”
“You must be feeling better, as grouchy as you are.” She gave him a wry sideways look.
His only answer was an impatient grunt.
Violet suspected he was more fatigued than he would admit. If he wouldn’t rest, she would try to distract him. “So how did you become a knight?”
“On a battlefield, after a battle.”
“You must have done something brave to be honored like that.”
“No more than any warrior would,” he said.
“But there must be more to the story.”
“No.”
Violet nodded. So conversation wasn’t going to happen. Silence settled once more between them.
By the time they stopped at midday, Violet could stand it no more. “What have I done?”
“Done?” Robert looked at her as though he doubted her sanity.
“Something’s wrong. You won’t talk to me. You’re clearly frustrated or angry with me, and I don’t even know what I’ve done.”
He leaned forward and set his elbow on his knee. “What you’ve done?”
He looked genuinely angry, but Violet didn’t regret having asked. At least now they could get it out in the open.
Robert looked away and heaved a deep sigh. “You've done nothing wrong.”
Violet cast a sideways glance toward him. “Well, that just isn’t true.”
He shot her a piercing look while he spoke in a voice that was quiet and measured. “I would never lie to you.”
Violet could neither think nor speak for a moment. When she did, it was all she could do to conceal the effect of his anger. She felt wounded, unsure, and a little bit angry. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand you.”
“There’s naught to understand.” He walked away to the top of the brae and looked out at the glen.
The wind blew through the gentle green grass, which hissed as it yielded to form waves of silver. Violet watched him walk away. The smart thing would have been to let him go, let him keep his dark moods and thoughts to himself. She was better without them—or him. And now who’s lying? She rose and went to him.
Without looking at her, he said, “I should have left you in Perth.” Violet took in a breath, preparing to argue, but he interrupted. “For your sake.”
“Really?” Now it was Violet’s turn to be annoyed. “You can't mean that.”
“But I do.”
“Have you forgotten that mob? I might have been trampled to death. Would you rather have left me to that?”
Robert nodded. “Possibly, but instead, you’ve been attacked—not once but twice—by what I believe are trained assassins. And now you are fleeing with a man whose good sense is clouded by his own foolishness.”
Mouth agape, Violet tried to find the right words.
Before she could speak, he said, “’Tis time we left.”
So that was that, according to Robert. Except that Violet was tired of him shutting her out. After what they had been through together, she didn’t think asking for just a bit more disclosure was too demanding. For although he was honest, he withheld more than he shared. Perhaps that wasn’t such a horrible trait, except when it left her in the dark, wondering what she had done or should do—or how he felt about her. Violet paused beside the horse before mounting.
She looked into his eyes. “Look, Robert, you’ve done everything right, and I’m grateful for it. I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you.”
He began to protest.
“No, now it’s my turn to talk.”
He stopped and gave her his rapt attention.
Violet inwardly smiled. “Thank you. Now, you’ve got to understand that you’re not the only one making decisions around here. Everything that I’ve done, I have chosen to do. So stop acting as though you’re the only one here making decisions—or making mistakes. We’re in this together. Well, for now anyway.”
They exchanged a look that was rich with emotions neither gave voice to. While she assumed she hadn’t convinced him to stop beating himself up over how things had turned out, he looked almost appreciative. Well, at least he looked forgiven. So Violet mounted the horse and sank into Robert's arms as they rode away.
* * *
ABOVE THE TREE branches a
nd leaves, pale gray washed the sky over Roslin. As they rode through the mottled shade of the woods, a dark-stoned Rosslyn Castle seemed to rise out of the solid cliff to form an imposing presence overlooking the trees rising out of a gorge. Robert and Violet rode over the bridge and into the bailey. The castle was a crumbling ruin with only portions of outer wall left. Robert took in the sight with a troubled brow.
Violet walked over to the only wall that remained of the keep and touched one of the vines twined into the stones. “How long has it been since anyone’s lived here?”
Robert shook his head. “Not for a while, I imagine.”
Violet looked about, shaking her head. “It would’ve been nice if someone had told us—to save us the trip.”
“Aye, I was thinking the same. Well, I’ll have a look about, then we’ll inquire in the village as to where we might find William Sinclair.” He walked over to a door that led to the most sound-looking portion of the remaining structure.
As he reached for the handle, a voice from behind him spoke with an English accent. “He’s away fighting border rebels.”
Robert turned, expecting to see someone from the castle or village. Instead he found four men in black Jesuit cassocks, one holding Violet with his hand over her mouth.
One of them stood in front of the others. “Sir Robert. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again.”
He had black hair and a scar under his left eye, and Robert recognized him as the priest he had pushed off the Brig of Earn. Robert looked straight into the priest’s dark eyes. “Leave the lady out of this.”
The priest smiled. “Oh, I wish that I could, but the lady is very much a part of it. But I will tell you this—if you give me the scroll, I’ll not kill her.”
“Nor harm her.”
With a sly smile, the priest nodded. “Nor harm her.”
Robert said, “I’ll need more than your word.”
“More than my word?” He assumed a wounded expression.
Robert eyed him with mistrust. “Swear to God, and by your Jesuit oath.”
“My what?” the priest scoffed.
