The Scottish Rose

by Jill Jones

A short while later, Duncan and Taylor, Kenneth, Greta, and their cow and two chickens joined the others from the town who had chosen to take refuge in the castle. The raggedy band gathered at the foot of the hill, milling about with mounting anxiety as they awaited others they expected to join them. Duncan was aware that he and Taylor were the focus of many curious stares, but it appeared that Kenneth’s sponsorship prevented any overt challenges to their presence. After what Duncan had learned about events in the not too distant past that had nearly destroyed their village and their lives, he couldn’t blame them for distrusting strangers. Spies, he had been told, were commonplace in this time.

  At last, the motley crowd seemed to have swelled to include all that were expected, and Kenneth, as sheriff, gave orders. “Stay together,” he warned. “We will be allowed as a group to enter the castle, but once we are admitted, th’ gates will be locked behind us. See t’ your bairns and womenfolk.”

  Duncan leaned over and spoke in Taylor’s ear. “Are you okay?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Okay? What’s okay? They don’t say ‘okay’ in this time, do they?”

  The stress of the last two days and his own frustrations at not having a plan of escape left Duncan with little patience for Taylor’s petulant behavior. He took her roughly by the arm and led her away from the crowd and into semi-privacy behind a large bush. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded, furious.

  “What’s wrong?” she shot back. “What’s wrong is that instead of trying to get us back to the boat and our own time, you seem to be taking some perverse pleasure in joining in this jolly little war that’s about to happen. I can’t believe you’ve got us going off to spend the winter behind the walls of that creepy old castle with a bunch of ignorant, superstitious peasants who would just as soon burn me for a witch as look at me.”

  “Burn you for a witch…?” Duncan decided Taylor clearly had snapped. But before he could press her to explain herself, footsteps sounded nearby, and they turned to see a small, wraithlike figure vanish into the shadow of a nearby building.

  “Wait here,” Duncan ordered and ran after whoever had been watching them. But turning the corner, he saw no one. He paused, listening, and thought he heard a faint sound, like someone’s rapid breathing. Silently, he moved in the direction of the sound and jumped in alarm when a small brown creature darted from behind a heap of foul-smelling rubbish and dashed down another street. It looked to be a child!

  Wanting to catch the youngster and reunite it with its mother before it was left behind, Duncan pursued the child, quickly overtaking it and grabbing it in his strong arms. Thin arms and legs kicked and flailed at him, and the creature grunted unintelligibly as it struggled.

  “Pauley!”

  Duncan heard Taylor call out from behind him and turned to face her. The child, a filthy, stinking boy of about ten, stopped his struggle momentarily when he saw her.

  “You know him?” Duncan asked, startled.

  “Oh, my God,” Taylor replied, rushing toward them. “They’re going to leave him behind.” She reached over touched the boy’s face. “His name’s Pauley. He’s an orphan,” she explained quickly, then glanced around to see if they were observed. “They say his mother was a w-i-t-c-h,” she spelled, not wanting the boy to understand the ugly, ignorant slur Greta had made against his mother.

  “Surely you are joking,” Duncan said, incredulous. “Who told you that?”

  “The same good woman who warned me that I might be accused of being a witch, our kindhearted hostess Greta,” Taylor said grimly, taking a small piece of hard bread from her pocket. The morsel was eagerly snatched by hands that hadn’t been washed in days..or months. Maybe never. The child ate like a ravenous beast. “That dreadful woman said he was ‘touched’ and that the villagers believe he is the child of the devil.” Her voice was strained, husky, but she continued. “She told me he…wouldn’t survive the winter, and that…it was a good thing.”

  “Good Lord,” Duncan replied, shocked at such cruelty. And yet, remembering when and where they were, a chilling reality struck him. Witchcraft was a common belief in these times. Persecuting so-called witches was a way of getting rid of those who did not fit in with the local society. Like this boy.

  Like Taylor.

  He wished now he’d never left her alone with Greta, who had obviously entertained her with tales of Scottish witch-hunts. But a dilemma now loomed large before them. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “Well, we can’t leave him here,” Taylor pronounced. She stood and faced Duncan, defying him to argue with her, and he was surprised at the determination in her eyes. She hadn’t seemed the motherly type, until now.

  “But Taylor, if these people have left him to starve on the streets, which it appears they have, what makes you think they will allow him to go to the castle? Food there is going to be even more scarce, and…”

  “Screw the castle,” she flared. “If we go to that castle, we’ll never get out of here.”

  Duncan understood her point, but she did not understand their options. “We may not get out of here anyway,” he returned harshly. “We may not be able to float the Intrepid. And if we do, it may not take us back to our time. Do you want to be huddled here in Stonehaven when Cromwell’s troops arrive to burn the place down and…and who knows what else?”

  “I can always put my jeans back on so I’ll look like a man,” she snapped. And then she sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, in a calmer voice. “But what about Pauley?”

  Duncan could see it was no use arguing with her, and he himself had no wish to leave the child to die of hunger. But from what Taylor had just told him, he doubted that the superstitious people of Stonehaven, his own kinsmen included, would agree to take the boy.

  He hoisted the wiggling, grunting bit of humanity to his shoulder and together, the three of them headed back to the others. As they approached, he heard a murmur begin to sweep through the crowd, and he knew things could turn ugly. His heart went out to the urchin, who through no fault of his own was feared and hated by the villagers. He thought fleetingly how unfair life was, in this time and his own. This child had lost his mother; Duncan had lost his children and their mother. The world, he decided, could be a cruel place, no matter what time you lived in.

  “Hist! See who comes yon, husband,” Greta cried out loudly enough for all to hear. “I said t’would be a bad business t’ let th’ pair of them come.”

  The undertones grew louder, and Duncan heard for himself the hateful charges against the waif named Pauley.

  “Son of a whoring witch, he is!”

  “Should’ve been drowned when he was born.”

  “The divil’s in him.”

  “Tha’s wha’s wrong with him, tha’s why he canna speak.”

  Duncan stopped in his tracks and automatically reached one hand behind him to shield Taylor. He glared at the gaggle of snarling citizenry. “What say ye against this lad?” he demanded, summoning all his theatrics and his fiercest expression. “What hath he done t’ deserve thy scorn?”

  Kenneth stepped to the front of the crowd, his face dark as a thundercloud. “Kinsman, ye hath been welcomed in thy time of need, but ye intrude in business that is not of thy knowing.”

  “‘Tis but a lad,” Duncan scowled back. “Whatever his mother’s crime, ‘tis not of his own doing.”

  “‘Tis th’ divil’s offspring,” Greta snarled. “He brings bad luck. He canna go with us t’ th’ castle.”

  “But he’ll starve if he stays here,” Taylor blurted out, stepping from behind Duncan.

  “I warned ye about him,” Greta frowned at her, “and about yer words,” she added, reminding Taylor-Janet to speak in the tongue of the others. “The bairn should niver abeen born, and th’ sooner he dies, th’ better.”

  Duncan now shared Taylor’s undisguised shock and contempt, and in spite of his better judgment, he made a decision. “My wife and I’ll not be joinin’ you in th’ castle, then, kinsman. W
e shall make do as best we can on our own. We canna in good Christian conscience leave this child t’ die.”

  Kenneth’s expression hardened. “Ye hath made a grievous error, kinsman. Th’ evil bairn’s life may cost ye your own and that of thy woman.”

  Duncan felt Taylor squeeze his hand, and that sealed it. He nodded grimly to the other man. “I thank ye for thy good council, kinsman, and for thy lodging and food. Hath ye any further instruction to give us for th’ days to come?”

  “Aye,” the other man replied shortly. “Hie ye from this land quickly, and let no one know th’ history of th’ evil thou carryest with thee.”

  Taylor was not sorry to see the villagers go, nor was she afraid at being left behind. These people were dirty, ignorant, and cruel, she had decided, and she wanted no further part of them. All she wanted was for the three of them who remained behind to go to the Ladysgate and attempt to make an escape into the future. Pauley, who had accepted reluctant refuge in Duncan’s arms throughout the ugly scene, had nothing to look forward to in this time. If they took him back into their own, he would at least be cared for. They could find a foster home for him, make sure he was well nourished and given proper medical care. It beat the hell out of starving to death all alone in a deserted village.

  “Give them time to get far ahead of us,” she voiced her thoughts, “then let’s go back to the Ladysgate.” She turned to Duncan. “Maybe the tide has come in by now, and we can take your boat back through the arch.”

  Duncan nodded. “It’s worth a try.” Then he set the small boy on his feet, and the child bolted away as quick as lightning. “Damn!” Duncan swore, and once again pursued the pitiful urchin. Taylor watched, her heart aching for the frightened youngster who had suffered so much abuse in his young life.

  Knowing that she was unable to bear children, Taylor had consciously avoided being around them, because they reminded her of her loss. She avoided Christmases with her sisters’ families, although of course she sent presents to her nieces and nephews. She sent money to Big Brothers/Big Sisters, mainly because her best friend was in charge of that charitable organization in her area, but she made no contribution of personal time. She’d never been interested in the idea of adoption, or the possibility of being a foster parent. And she scrupulously avoided long-term relationships with men that would force her to confront the issue of having a family. Even if a man swore he did not want kids, she didn’t trust that later he might not change his mind.

  But something maternal had sprung to life when she’d first seen Pauley, and she knew she could not leave him to the fate Greta had assigned him. Pauley seemed to have other ideas, however, and it took Duncan almost half an hour to round him up again. “I don’t think he wants to go with us,” he said, hauling the boy back to where Taylor waited. “In fact, I don’t think he likes us much.”

  “Can you blame him?” Taylor said softly, her heart melting. “After the way he’s been treated by those awful people?”

  How could they gain his confidence? She remembered something she’d put in the waistline pouch—a day or two ago, or over three hundred years in the future, depending on how you looked at it. She set the bundle of clothing on the ground and raised her skirt, turning her back to Duncan modestly. Reaching beneath it, she unzipped the bag and brought out a roll of breath mints. She peeled away the foil wrapper, noting that the boy had suddenly stopped squirming and was watching her with curiosity. She flicked off one white circle and held it up to him.

  “Do you like candy?”

  Pauley just stared at her.

  “Want a mint?” she asked again. She put the circlet on her own tongue and smiled. “Mmmm,” she said in an exaggerated manner. “Good.” Then she held out another to the boy. He looked at her with intense distrust. “Go on. Take it,” she encouraged, but she didn’t force it into his hand, sensing intuitively that he needed to make his own move to accept the gift.

  Slowly, his thin arm reached for the candy, which he slipped into his mouth. He made a face at the tart flavor of wintergreen and quickly spit the mint into his grimy hand. But he did not throw it away. Instead, he seemed fascinated by it, and turned it over and over until the wet white surface looked more like chocolate. Taylor grimaced but didn’t interfere, waiting to see what he would do next.

  He put it into his mouth again and bit it in two with a loud crack. And then, to her delight, he let out an impish laugh. It was not normal laughter, however, but rather more of a gurgle and a grunt, and she recalled suddenly a remark one of the townspeople had made, something about Pauley not speaking.

  “Pauley?” She said his name when his head was turned away, and he did not respond. She stepped closer to Duncan, who was watching her closely, and snapped her fingers next to the boy’s ear. Again, there was no response. “The boy’s not touched,” she said, suddenly understanding. “But I think he might be deaf.”

  Duncan adjusted the child’s weight on his hip. “I suspected he might be,” he replied. “He didn’t pay any attention when I was talking to him after I caught up with him. I thought at first he was just frightened, but I think you’ve hit on the real problem.”

  Taylor touched the boy’s hair, and the child jumped nervously. “Poor kid,” she murmured. “Think of the treatment he must have been through, just because he’s deaf. Those people actually think he is the son of the devil, don’t they?”

  “I’m afraid so. But what are we going to do with him?”

  “What do you mean? He goes with us, doesn’t he?” Taylor was amazed that Duncan would consider anything else. But the brawny Scotsman shook his head.

  “That’s not our decision to make.”

  “What?” Amazement turned into incredulity.

  Duncan held Pauley slightly away from him and looked into his grimy, frightened, defiant face. “This little lad has to want to go with us. If we force him, I’m just going to be chasing after him again and again.”

  Taylor knew immediately that Duncan was right. Pauley had been accustomed to avoiding the villagers, and she and Duncan were no different as far as he was concerned.

  Then suddenly, he pointed a thin finger at the package of mints Taylor still held in her hand. “You want another?” she asked, then felt foolish, knowing he couldn’t hear her. She held up the package and pointed to it, then touched Pauley’s mouth lightly. The boy’s eyes lit up, and it was all the answer Taylor needed. But she made the motion of nodding her head, then gently tipped his head up and down with her fingers. Pauley was deaf, but he was also obviously bright, for he caught on in an instant. Taylor pointed to the candy again, then to his mouth, and his little head bobbed eagerly.

  She gave him a mint and a warm smile. “He’s certainly not retarded,” she said to Duncan. “Maybe there is some way we can get him to understand that we will take care of him if he goes with us.”

  “Put yourself in his place,” Duncan warned. “Trusting us to give him a candy mint is one thing. Going along with us into a modern power boat that to him probably looks like some sort of dragon is quite something else.”

  “He needs time to get used to us,” Taylor replied, seeing Duncan’s point.

  “But we may not have much time. Ogilvy said they are expecting the leading edge of Overton’s troops any day now.”

  Taylor shook her head in disbelief. “I’m still having a hard time with this whole thing.” She paused reflectively, then added, “Don’t you think it would be better for the child in the long run to force him to go with us? After all, if he stays here, he’ll starve or be killed by the invaders.”

  Duncan raised his brows and shrugged. “Let’s start from where we are at the moment,” he said at last, and he put the boy down again. “Let’s see if he runs.”

  But although Pauley backed away and looked up at the two of them with large, questioning eyes, he did not take off as he had before. Duncan squatted down to Pauley’s eye level. He smiled broadly and held out his hand. The boy looked at the bear-sized appendage, then back
into Duncan’s eyes. He chewed his bottom lip. Taylor watched, her heart flooding with love and compassion for the frightened child, and with admiration for the gentle giant who was trying to coax him to come back into his arms. He had no reason to trust the strange man, except that he had been shown kindness in those arms, and protection. Would that be enough?

  Tentatively, Pauley’s thin arm unfolded from across his chest, and with a small smile, he placed his tiny hand in Duncan’s. The man nodded, and the boy mirrored his gesture.

  Yes.

  Then Duncan did a remarkable thing. He spoke to the boy with his hands.

  Gordon skipped a few entries, those he could tell from a brief scan recorded Mary’s personal grief at the ill-treatment she was receiving from her new husband. Apparently his foppish arrogance continued to win him only enemies, and even in his role as a newlywed, he was not always prompt to the queen’s bedchamber. Robert Gordon raised an eyebrow, thinking how much like an afternoon television drama some of this Queen’s diary resembled.

  Holyrood Palace

  January 29, 1566

  Surely the Lord is on our side, not theirs. The Lord, and happily our subjects as well. Not our nobles, but our people, those true Scots who came to our aide and delivered us a sound victory over Moray and the rest in the Chaseabout Raid. We will seal the defeat of these treasonous lords by attainting their properties at the forthcoming session of Parliament in March. Perhaps if they have nothing to return to, they will remain in England to annoy Elizabeth and leave us in peace.

  Our spirits are high after this victory, and these recent betrayals have taught us that we need not depend upon our nobility, nay, we should never depend upon these worthless, greedy troublemakers. Instead, we are surrounding ourself with those whose loyalty we can count upon, such as our secretary, the Italian Davie Riccio. We care not that those highborn scoundrels spread rumors against us, saying that poor little Davie and we are lovers. Absurd, as anyone in our court is daily witness to our actions. Riccio is, at best, an excellent opponent at cards.