Chalice of Roses

by Jo Beverley

  “Perhaps we took shelter under an inadequate tree.” David pulled on his wet trousers as he studied the cliff face. “I can’t believe we came down that path without breaking our necks.”

  “ Needs must when the devil drives,” Jane said. “And Krieger was a pretty fair approximation of the devil.” Her eyes narrowed as she gazed out to sea. “Do you think he’s a better man for his time with the Grail?”

  “With evil no longer filling his soul, perhaps grace will fill the empty places.” David looked at the firth. “Or perhaps not. That’s where free will comes in.”

  “I think the U-boat found him, so he’ll have time to change if he wants to.” Jane smiled. “I’m giving thanks that my power has been restored. For a brief time that felt like forever, I thought it was gone permanently.”

  David wrapped the chalice carefully, buckled it into the bag, and handed it to Jane. “You take this. It looks more natural for a woman to be carrying something.”

  She slung the canvas bag across her back. “Now that we have the chalice, what do we do with it?” she asked. “You’re the Grail warden.”

  “We return it to Rosslyn,” he said promptly. “We’ll know what to do with it once we’re there.”

  Jane nodded, then started up the cliff with a great deal more care than she’d come down. By the time she reached the top, she was panting and covered with sand. When David joined her, she said, “How fortunate that I was already a complete wreck, because I don’t suppose I look any worse now.”

  He took her arm and gazed down at her eyes, his expression intent. “You look quite entirely beautiful, my Lady Jane. Now, shall we find some tea?”

  Chapter 6

  The cottage David had seen was about a quarter mile away, prudently set back from the sea winds. Chickens foraged around the yard, and a wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, so with luck, someone was home. David knocked and hoped.

  They were almost ready to give up when the door opened and a tired-looking middle-aged woman opened the door. “You’re early. . . .” She frowned. “Sorry, I was expecting someone else.”

  “We’re sorry to disturb you,” Jane said with disarming warmth. “But David was forced to land his biplane over by the cliff because of the weather. Since we were both drenched, we were hoping we might get a spot of tea before flying home again.”

  The woman’s gaze went over them both, lingering on David’s flying jacket. “You’re a pilot, then?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, laying on his Canadian accent. “My name is David Sinclair, and I fly for the RAF down in Kent.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Churchill said, ‘Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few.’ You’re really one of the Few?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, embarrassed. “And so is Miss Macrae’s brother.”

  The woman stepped back. “Then you are both welcome in my home, and God bless you. I’m Mrs. Innes.” Her voice lowered. “My son is resting, so I’d be grateful if you keep your voices down.”

  “Of course,” Jane replied as she stepped inside. “Our thanks for your hospitality.”

  David followed her into the neat parlor. Portraits of King George and Winston Churchill hung above a fireplace where blocks of peat burned fragrantly.

  “Would you fancy a plate of eggs and potatoes with your tea?” Mrs. Innes asked. “A lot of things are in short supply, but I have plenty of those.”

  “That would be lovely.” David smiled at their hostess. “I’m on leave for a fortnight, and Jane offered to show me a bit of Scotland. And Scottish weather. I never saw such a storm come out of nowhere. We were lucky to land safely.”

  “We have braw wild weather here,” Mrs. Innes said, not without a certain pride. She studied their saturated garments. “If you have an hour or so, I can lend you some clothes and we can dry those things of yours in front of the fire.”

  They agreed with alacrity. After Mrs. Innes produced some worn but clean garments belonging to her and her husband, Jane and David took turns changing in the lady’s bedroom. The other bedroom presumably belonged to her son.

  Within a few minutes, their wet garments were steaming gently in front of the fire and David and Jane were dry and well on their way to being warm. He thought that she looked like a damp Pre-Raphaelite angel in a vastly oversize blue robe, her wet auburn hair finger-combed straight and drying on her shoulders.

  It took Mrs. Innes only a few minutes to serve large platefuls of gloriously crisp fried potatoes with onions, and eggs scrambled with cheese. Grail chasing gave a man an appetite, so David fell on his food like a wolf. When he’d cleaned his plate, he said, “Mrs. Innes, you are my mother’s equal when it comes to feeding the hungry.”

  The older woman chuckled over her cup of tea. “I know how young men eat.” Her gaze strayed to the second bedroom door and her levity faded. “It’s glad I am that you came here, and no mistake.”

  “You’ve certainly fortified us for the flight back to Dunrath,” Jane said fervently as she set knife and fork across the plate.

  Since she’d eaten only about two-thirds of her meal, David asked, “Are you going to finish that? Or does asking mark me as a hopeless peasant?”

  Jane smiled and exchanged their plates. “It’s exactly what one of my hungry brothers would do, and a good thing. I hate to see food wasted.”

  As David tackled her plate with enthusiasm, Mrs. Innes said wistfully, “My boys all ate like that. I wish Bobbie had his old appetite—” She stopped short, glancing at the bedroom again.

  “Your son is ill?” Jane asked softly.

  The older woman sighed. “He was in the merchant marine, and was injured bad when his ship was torpedoed. Burns. When the doctors gave up, I brought him home. At least he’ll be able to . . . to . . .” Her voice broke.

  A knock sounded at the door. Mrs. Innes pulled herself together and got to her feet. “That would be my sister-in-law coming for some eggs. She was the one I expected earlier. If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I’ll go out and collect them for her.”

  “Can I help?” asked David. “I’m well acquainted with chickens.”

  Mrs. Innes shook her head. “That old rooster of mine will attack anyone but me. You young folks go ahead and finish your tea. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She pulled on a jacket and opened the door. Her sister-in-law made a remark about the eggs, then asked how “wee Bobbie” was doing. Mrs. Innes replied heavily, “It won’t be long now,” before closing the door and cutting off the conversation.

  David sighed. He’d had friends who had suffered horrible burns when their planes crashed. “It’s a bad way to die.”

  As Jane nodded, her face troubled, a thin, agonized voice called from the second bedroom, “Water. Please, Ma. Water.”

  Jane picked up the bag containing the Grail, which had been sitting by her feet. “I’m going to take him some water, and . . . maybe more can be done.”

  “I’ll go with you.” David stood and pumped water into a pitcher that sat by the sink. Then he followed her into the darkened bedroom.

  Bobbie Innes was a mass of stained bandages. Though his face was almost entirely covered, David guessed that he was very young, probably under twenty. The youth turned his head when they entered, moving like a man heavily sedated.

  Jane said soothingly, “Your mother is gathering some eggs for your aunt, so we thought we’d bring the water.” She sat on the chair by the bed and opened the bag, then unwrapped the Grail. “My name is Jane Macrae, and this is my friend David Sinclair, a Canadian fighter pilot in the RAF.”

  Bobbie’s gaze cleared a little. “One of the Few?” he asked in a raw voice. His Scottish accent was so thick David could barely understand him.

  “Yes, but I wish people wouldn’t say that as if we’re special heroes.” David poured water into the sacred chalice, wondering if it had the power to heal. “Just about everyone in Britain is serving in one way or another. Like you. Without th
e merchant marine bringing in vital supplies, we’d have had to surrender by now.”

  “Aye . . .” It was a whisper. “I done my part. . . .”

  Jane held the chalice out to the boy, and David put an arm behind his back to raise him to drink. Bobbie sipped a bit, swallowing with difficulty.

  Then he sipped more, and swallowed more easily. In a stronger voice, he said, “That’s good water. Pretty cup, too.”

  Jane offered him more. “Drink as much as you like. This cup is an antique that is said to have ancient healing powers. Just a story, I thought, but who knows?”

  “I do feel better,” Bobbie said with surprise. He swallowed the rest of the water. David quietly refilled the chalice and the boy drank more.

  “May I try something?” Jane asked. “I’d like to moisten a handkerchief and pat some of the water on your face.”

  Bobbie shrank back against the pillows. “No! Don’t take off my bandages!”

  “Of course not,” Jane said, soothing again. She accepted the folded handkerchief David handed to her and dipped it in the chalice. “I meant to pat over the bandages. It will be cooling.”

  After wary consideration, Bobbie said, “All right, then.”

  Infinitely gentle, Jane pressed the wet handkerchief to the boy’s face. It took only a minute or so to dampen all the bandages.

  “Feels good,” Bobbie murmured. Strength exhausted, he settled back onto his pillow and slipped into a doze, his lips curving in a faint smile.

  Dipping again, Jane moistened the bandages on the boy’s neck and bandaged hands. One of the bandages had loosened on his wrist, so she pulled it up and put the wet handkerchief directly on the ugly burned flesh.

  To David’s amazement, the burn slowly transformed into healthy skin right before their eyes. Jane gave a nod of satisfaction and got to her feet. “He’ll do now. Time to return to being good guests before Mrs. Innes comes back inside.”

  David glanced over his shoulder at the wounded sailor as he ushered Jane back to the sitting room. “Should all his burns be treated with chalice water?”

  “I have a strong sense that drinking the water is all that’s necessary, but I thought direct application might speed the process. It certainly wouldn’t hurt him.” Jane set the pitcher back in its place by the sink.

  David shook his head in wonder. “Truly amazing.” He checked the drying garments on the rack. “These are just about dry. I’ll change first.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll do the washing up.” Jane packed the chalice in the canvas bag, then turned her attention to the dishes.

  As David changed in Mrs. Innes’s bedroom, he heard their hostess come in and say, “There’s no need to be doing those dishes, Miss Macrae!”

  “It’s the least I could do in return for your hospitality,” Jane said mildly. “You’d be insulted if we offered money, but what woman will turn down dishwashing?”

  Mrs. Innes laughed. “You’re right there, lass.”

  David finished dressing and stepped back into the main room. As he did, their hostess glanced toward her son’s bedroom. Jane said, “Bobbie called for some water, so I took a glass in. He’s resting now.”

  Mrs. Innes looked as if she was going to protest. Then she shrugged. “I suppose that seeing a pretty girl will do him no harm.”

  “And no girl is prettier than Jane Macrae,” David said warmly.

  “Are you two fixing to marry?” Mrs. Innes asked.

  “Heavens, no!” Jane stopped short in the process of removing her clothing from the drying rack. “The wing commander and I have known each other less than a day.”

  Lord, that was true, David realized. At this time yesterday, he was just arriving at Rosslyn Chapel. “My mother would say I need to know a girl for at least twenty-four hours before proposing.” He checked his watch. “So—six hours more before I can.”

  Jane turned red and escaped into the bedroom to change while Mrs. Innes chuckled. “You seem to be very together for two people who just met. Don’t waste time, lad. Not in days like these.”

  “Excellent advice, Mrs. Innes. Now to persuade Jane.” She might think of their relationship as true but brief. David had other ideas.

  Jane emerged looking cool and aristocratic despite the wrinkled garments. “Thank you again, Mrs. Innes.”

  As they left the cottage, a door opened and they heard Mrs. Innes exclaim with amazement, “Bobbie, you’re walking, lad!”

  “I feel a lot better, Ma,” her son said in a strong voice. “And hungry enough to eat stones. Could you fry me up some eggs and chips?”

  “It’s soup for now, lad!” Mrs. Innes said joyously. “But tomorrow, if you keep improving, I’ll make your favorite steak-and-kidney pudding if I have to steal the beef from the butcher!”

  Grinning, David closed the door behind them, and they headed back toward the biplane. “We’ve just seen a miracle, Jane.” After a dozen steps, he said, “I don’t suppose we could take the Grail to military hospitals to treat other boys like Bobbie.”

  “A miracle by definition is rare. Today, perhaps the Grail wanted to celebrate its rescue. There are Guardian healers who sometimes perform miracles, but never very often.” Jane lifted the military bag from her shoulder and handed it to him. “The Grail must return to its home, and so must we. I think it wants to be with you.”

  He chuckled as he slung the bag over his shoulder. “Is that your intuition, or just a way to get me to carry it?”

  “Intuition.” She gestured toward the bag. “I felt the Grail tugging toward you, like a kitten seeking its mother. Because you’re the warden, there’s a special bond.”

  “As long as it doesn’t require celibacy.” Not wanting to think about what the long-term effects of being warden might be, he looped his free arm around her shoulders as they continued walking. “We did it, Lady Jane! We recovered the sacred chalice from one of Hitler’s worst thugs.”

  She smiled. “You did most of the work, David. You’re the one who tracked the Grail, flew the airplane, swam through raging waves and won the chalice in hand-to-hand combat. No knight of the Round Table could have done better.”

  “A knight would sink in all that armor,” he said practically. “But we couldn’t have succeeded without working together. Your magical talent for putting pieces together, your knowledge of the Grail, and the airplane were all essential.”

  Jane slid her arm around his waist. “The Grail chose its servants well. I wonder if it does have some kind of awareness? My mother is going to love hearing about this and coming up with new theories.”

  “Is she at Dunrath now? I’d like to meet her.”

  “That won’t happen,” Jane said flatly.

  A little stung, David said, “I’m assuming you have reasons beyond feeling that a colonial farm boy doesn’t belong in a castle.”

  “If I didn’t need you to fly the Fox, I’d be tempted to knock you on the head with a rock,” Jane said without heat. “My mother is a mage as well as a mother. She’ll know we’ve been lovers, and she will be full of avid maternal interest. I . . . I can’t face that.”

  “I can see the disadvantages to having magical parents.” He was disappointed, but understood. It had been less than a year since she’d lost her fiancé, so he supposed it wasn’t surprising that she needed more time. Introducing a new and obviously besotted man to a parent was a major step.

  They reached the plane and he handed Jane up to the observer’s seat. He just hoped that time wouldn’t run out for them.

  The flight to Dunrath was unremarkable, apart from strong headwinds that slowed them down. By the time David landed the biplane, the sun was low in the sky. He taxied the Fox to the hangar, and Jane climbed out to open the doors.

  Inside, her note about taking the biplane lay on the floor where she’d left it. After David parked the plane and climbed out, she said, “No one noticed the Fox’s absence. I’ll restock fuel for the Fox and food for the croft when I’m at Dunrath.”

  “The Morris Mi
nor is just where we left it, too.” He patted the biplane’s wing. “A sweet little aircraft. I feel fortunate to have flown her.” He removed his helmet and handed it to Jane. His fair hair was deliciously tousled. “It’s too late to get back to Rosslyn Chapel tonight. Shall we go to the croft, or is there a better place to stay?”

  “The croft is best,” she replied. “Peaceful and private. I’ll pick up some fish and chips at a shop in the village on the drive back.”

  He nodded agreement, but she didn’t like his intent expression. At some point, they would have to have a discussion. She hoped to put it off until she was less drained.

  She’d rather put it off altogether. Easier to smile good-bye and leave without looking back. But even after less than a day’s acquaintance, she knew that David would not allow that. Unfortunately.

  The fish and chips were excellent. David finished off the last crunchy piece. “Wise of you to get a triple order. It’s been a very tiring day.”

  Jane covered a yawn. In the lamplight, she was achingly beautiful, with her auburn hair loose and her grave eyes. “I’m ready to sleep the clock around.”

  He stood when she did and asked mildly, “Am I to sleep on the floor?”

  “Of course not.” She came around the table and flowed into a hug, the whole of her slender body pressed against him. “Why waste the time we have left?”

  His body responded with such fierceness that it almost derailed his thinking. But not quite. As he buried his face in the silky strands of her hair, he asked, “Why do you act as if time is limited? We’re both on leave and can spend the next ten days or so together. You work in London. I work in Kent, just a short train ride away. Can’t we see each other again?” He glanced at his watch. “Better yet, since twenty-four hours have passed—please marry me, Lady Jane Macrae. Then we can book one hotel room without raising any eyebrows.”

  She froze in his arms. “No! I . . . can’t. After Philip’s death, I swore not to get involved in another serious relationship until the war is over.” She looked up at him with haunted eyes. “You know how swiftly death can strike during wartime. I can’t bear to give my heart and have it broken into pieces again.”