by Jill Jones
“Surprise, surprise.”
“But, even better, I told him about us, and that we want to adopt him, and, well, you know how it goes, it pays to have contacts in the right places. He said he’d talk to his friend who happens to be the head of the social services bureau.”
“Oh, Duncan, does that mean…?”
“It means maybe. But a definite maybe,” he added, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
As the three of them went up the stairs, Taylor trailed her hand on the banister, letting the silkiness of the dark wood slip away beneath her fingers. “It’s kind of neat to think about all the ancestors who must have climbed these same stairs over the past three centuries. This place was likely under construction only a few decades after the time of Cromwell’s siege.”
“True.”
“And you know what else? I’m almost glad Robert Gordon did what he did. I doubt if I would have taken the money and sunk it into this place. But now that I own it, I know I’m already a part of it. It’s…like family.”
Duncan didn’t reply, knowing that Taylor was still getting used to the idea that she could have, indeed, did have a family.
At the top of the stairs, a large sitting room overlooked the front of the house, but it had been converted into a bedroom for Agatha Keith’s last few years. The walls were covered with an old-fashioned floral printed paper, the bed with a spread of a clashing design. Three tall bookcases stood uniformly against the far right hand wall, the shelves brimming with volumes. Those that couldn’t be crammed onto the shelves were stacked on chairs as well, along with magazines dating from the 1950s.
“Looks like Auntie was also a pack-rat,” Duncan grinned, picking up an old periodical. “I was only two when this one was printed.” He went to the shelves and took down an ancient-looking volume and opened it. “Childe Harolde,” he read from the title page. “By Lord Byron. Published in 1812 by John Murray Publishers, London.” He closed the cover and blew dust off it. “It’s quite old. I wonder if it’s valuable?”
“Could be.” A single book on the bedside table caught Taylor’s eye. She picked it up and read its title on the spine. “The Abbott. By Walter Scott.” She opened the aged cover. “Duncan, look at this.” There before them was a photogravure of a young woman in a most unusual but elegant costume, with a wide ruff at the neck and a cumbersome headdress topped by what looked like a man’s bowler hat incrusted with jewels in the shape of a cross. Across from the picture, printed in red ink on a thin onion skin paper, were the words: Mary Stuart, from a drawing by Fr. Flameng.
“I wonder if Aunt Agatha was reading up on Mary Queen of Scots before she died,” Taylor remarked. “What an outfit,” she added, running her finger over the yellowing page. “And what a remarkable woman she must have been. Ahead of her time, at least where peace and the unity of Scotland were concerned.” She scowled. “Damn, what I wouldn’t give to read that diary!”
“At least you got to see the Scottish Rose.”
She closed the book again. “I wonder what ever happened to it. Maybe Scott mentions it in this book,” she mused, tucking the volume under her arm. She went to the window and peered down into the weed infested garden, appearing to be lost in thought. A few moments later, she spoke. “Duncan,” she said in a far-away voice. “I want to go back to Dunnottar Castle.”
Modern-day Dunnottar Castle sported a large gravel parking lot at the top of the hill opposite the ruins of the fortress where once—was it only a matter of a few days ago?—Cromwell’s army had set up camp. “Looks a little different, doesn’t it,” she remarked as Duncan swung his small car into a parking space next to several tour buses.
Almost two weeks had passed since Taylor, Duncan and Pauley had returned through the Ladysgate. They had postponed this visit to “their castle” because they’d been caught up in making plans for their future and getting Pauley’s legal life in order. Fergus McGehee had finally shown up, guilt-ridden and apologetic, and offered to turn in his captain’s license. Duncan had given him a stern, God-like lecture, but he hadn’t taken away the man’s means of making a living.
Taylor’s only disappointment had been that her photographs seemed to have been wiped out on their return from the past. There was nothing on the digital camera at all, and the battery was dead. She wondered if she’d imagined having photographed the descent of the Honours.
Their wedding plans were set. They were to be married the following week at Kinneff Kirk, in the chapel where Taylor had helped Reverend and Mrs. Grainger hide the Honours of Scotland. But before they took that next step in their new life together, Taylor wanted to put closure on the one they’d shared here in this ancient castle. She wanted to return to Dunnottar and see what had become of the buildings and grounds. But most of all, she was anxious to learn the fate of the Scottish Rose. A call to the Stonehaven Library had confirmed Duncan’s belief that the golden chalice had never been joined to the regalia. It was a stretch to believe it might still be sitting on that rock outcropping in the cave, but if there was anything Taylor had learned recently, it was that she could stretch her beliefs.
She helped Pauley out of his seat belt and watched the child’s eyes grow enormous when he recognized the structure that still perched atop the high black cliff. “Get used to it, sweetie,” she murmured under her breath, remembering her own shock when she’d first been forced to deal with things out of their familiar time.
Duncan took Pauley by the hand and Taylor followed them, their steps accelerated by gravity as they wound down the path. Duncan paid the entrance fee at the small house at the foot of the ramparts, and they began the upward climb.
“I have the strangest feeling I’ve been here before,” Taylor joked, trying to control the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Like any other tourist, she was just another visitor to this famous castle, but unlike for any other except the three of them, she had called it home for those terrible stormy months in Scotland’s history. And she and Duncan, for whatever reason, had played their part in that history. She could never explain it logically, as once she would have tried, but she could never deny that it had happened. Pauley was physical proof.
Maybe today they would find more physical evidence of that participation. After lengthy discussions about the ramifications of searching for—and finding—the Scottish Rose, they had decided that if they somehow miraculously recovered it, Taylor could fulfill her role as Keeper of the Rose and make Queen Mary’s dream of joining the chalice with the rest of the Honours come true.
The condition of the gray, rubble-strewn ruins saddened her, for Taylor clearly recalled the earlier splendor of the now crumbling walls and roofless chambers. They climbed the tower where the Honours had been hidden, peering along with the rest of the tourists into the small vault where Governor Ogilvy had once proudly displayed his custodial charges to his small audience.
The quarters that they had shared were starkly barren and roofless. Small yellow flowers grew from roots hidden away between the rock walls. Taylor slipped her hand into Duncan’s, a tight knot in her throat. “Could we really have lived here?” she whispered.
“I think we did.” He enveloped her in his arms. “At least I recall a couple of rather spectacular nights, lying in a bed with you, right about here.” They were alone in the space at the moment, and Taylor allowed herself to relish his long and tender kiss delivered in the present day upon that same spot.
But Pauley sought them out, pulling at Taylor’s jacket, eager to cavort further about the ruins that looked vaguely like the castle he remembered. They continued their tour, at last reaching the drawing room, one of the areas that had been restored. “Look at that,” Duncan said, pointing to the relatively new wooden ceiling. “I’ve seen those initials before when I’ve visited Dunnottar, but they never meant much to me.”
Taylor read the initials that were carved into the wood. “What do they stand for?”
“The first is for King George V and his Queen Mary. Then Lord and
Lady Cowdray, who bought the estate and the castle in the early part of the twentieth century and who were responsible for most of the excavation and restoration of it. And look there…George Ogilvy and Elizabeth Douglas. Don’t we know them?”
“In Defens, Regi et Regno. A.D. MCMXXVII.”
A new lintel had been placed over the large fireplace. Taylor approached it and ran her fingers over the large lettering: In commemoration of the defence of the Honours of Scotland, From September 1651 to May 1652, by George Ogilvy of Barras, Governor of Dunnottar, and of the help given by his wife, Elizabeth Douglas, and by her kinswoman Anne Lindsay.
“Anne Lindsay left just as we arrived,” Taylor murmured. “She took with her all of King Charles’ valuable papers, tucked up in her girdle.” She laughed. “All those clothes had to be good for something.” Then she sighed. “I wonder what happened to the Ogilvies.”
Duncan put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid our good friends suffered a great deal after we left,” he said. “When Ogilvy finally surrendered, Cromwell’s commanding officer was furious that the Honours had eluded them. They held the Ogilvies in prison in the castle, I imagine in that dungeon next to the kitchen, trying to get them to divulge the whereabouts of the regalia, but they never did. The Governor lived to tell of what happened, but Mrs. Ogilvy died from her ill-treatment.”
I would die before I would give it away t’ the English.
Taylor put her hand to her mouth, feeling as if she might cry. It was odd, grieving for the death of a woman who had been gone for centuries. But it had only been a few weeks since she and Elizabeth Ogilvy had plotted with Mrs. Grainger for the rescue of the Honours right here in this castle. “She was a brave woman,” Taylor whispered, but a shiver involuntarily shook her body. “This gives me the creeps. Let’s get out of here.”
They went to the far eastern wall of the castle and found the niche where she and Pauley had slipped and slid down to the entrance to the cave. It was wider than she remembered, the rocks knocked down over the eons by wind and weather. They climbed through, ignoring a “Danger Keep Out” sign. The path no longer existed, so they had to pick their way through gorse bushes and over fallen rocks, but in a few minutes, Taylor spotted the boulder that marked the entrance. She stopped to catch her breath.
“It’s still there, just like I remember it.” Excitement tingled through her. The boulder had not moved in three hundred and fifty years. Had the cup?
Pauley tugged at her hand and pointed, nodding his head. He remembered, too. She touched the soft skin of his cheek. “Let’s go get it, little buddy.”
Duncan, like Mrs. Ogilvy, was too large to fit through the opening, and he was not happy that Taylor and Pauley wanted to go inside the cave alone. “We’ll be fine,” Taylor assured him. “Give me the flashlight and wait for us here. It’ll just take a little while.” She appreciated his concern, however. “Don’t worry. Either it’s there or it’s not. We’ll be right back.”
Pauley reached for the flashlight, totally unafraid of it now. He was adapting to his new century like lightning. Taylor gave it to him, and together they ducked into the darkness behind the boulder. There lay the passageway, just as before, although the corridor seemed narrower than she recalled. The further they went, the closer the walls seemed to encroach upon them. Finally, they reached a place where rubble began to form a solid barrier in front of them.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it, Pauley,” she said aloud, disappointed. “I think maybe the mountain has shifted since our last visit here. We’re not going to get to the Rose unless we have some professional excavators to do it.”
Her voice echoed in the chamber, and the sound pried loose a few pebbles from the ceiling, sending them down on the explorers. “Uh-oh,” Taylor said, suddenly alert and aware that she might have placed them both in great danger. “Let’s get out of here.”
Pauley sensed the danger, too, and he took Taylor’s hand, motioning with his flashlight for her to return to the entrance. She tightened her grip around his and together they quickly ran back along the path, the boy trying to illuminate their way in their hurry. Behind her, she heard the sound of still more falling rock.
They reached the crevice and stepped out into the fresh air, brushing debris from their sleeves and coughing from the dust they had breathed in.
“Good God, what happened?” Duncan said, drawing them instinctively away from the cave. They stood, watching, waiting, as if expecting to see the mountain collapse. But from the outside, all was quiet, even though Taylor guessed that inside, the rock continued to shift and settle from the inescapable demands of gravity, sealing away the cave forever.
“Well,” Taylor said at last, “I guess that settles that. No story about the Lost Treasure of Scotland. No Scottish Rose to join with the Honours. If Mary’s chalice is still in that cave, I guess it’s going to remain a lost treasure for all time.”
“Dinna grieve, my good wife Janet,” Duncan said, lifting Pauley to his shoulder and taking her in his arms. “Peace and unity have long since come to Scotland. And as for the chalice, hath we not found a treasure far greater?”
“Aye, husband,” Taylor agreed, reaching to give him a kiss on the cheek. For here in this gloomy sentinel of stone, they had found their own peace and unity, and the greatest treasure of all, love.
Epilogue
Sunlight streamed through the windows of the dining room, crossed Duncan’s wide shoulders and fell in a shimmer onto the newspaper he was reading. Taylor studied him from the adjacent kitchen, filled with love, marveling still at the way their lives had turned out. It was nothing short of a fairy tale.
“Want more coffee?” she called to him.
Duncan looked up from his paper, then shook his head. He glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t we be going?” he said. “It’s almost high tide.”
“I’ve got our lunch basket all ready. Will you get Pauley?”
Duncan stood up and went to the foot of the stairs. “Pauley, lad, come, let’s go.”
Taylor heard a youthful reply from somewhere upstairs. “I’m coming, Daddy.” The voice had a tinny, somewhat robotic quality to it, but the speech therapist had worked wonders with Pauley since his operations. If ever Taylor had doubted the wisdom of bringing him into the modern world, those doubts had vanished the day when first he heard the world around him. Modern medicine and technology had joined forces, and a cochlear implant in each ear had replaced the nerve-damaged organs, enabling the boy to hear almost normally. She would never forget the look of wonder on his face when she’d spoken to his hearing ears for the first time.
That had been over a year ago. Since then, Pauley had progressed at an amazing pace. He was brighter than average, brilliant when it came to things electronic, like his computer games. Most of all, he was a loving child, a joy for her and Duncan.
Today, he was to have his first lesson in navigating the Intrepid, using the satellite navigation system on board. Taylor herself had overcome her anxiety concerning boats, since Duncan had patiently introduced her properly to seamanship.
The weather was crystal clear and warm this summer Sunday, and the three of them drove beneath leaf-laden trees to the marina where the boat was docked. These ocean outings had become a family tradition on Sundays when the weather permitted, and as soon as the car was parked, they hurried aboard the vessel, eager to get under way.
“Want to take the helm?” Duncan asked Taylor.
“If you’ll stand right behind me while I navigate out of the boat traffic.”
“Now that’s an offer,” Duncan laughed. He started the engines, and Pauley and Taylor cast off the dock lines, as they’d been shown how to do. Together, they made an efficient crew.
Carefully, Taylor backed the boat out of the slip, shifted into forward, and slowly made her way out of the busy marina. As promised, Duncan stood right behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his rock of a body pressed against her back. She found his presence at once comforting
and distracting, for she could feel his arousal against her hips. “You’d better back off, Captain,” she laughed.
“Raincheck?”
Taylor turned the wheel over to her husband, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Raincheck.”
“Where to, then, my lovely first mate?” he asked, taking the helm.
Taylor squinted out over the expanse of ocean that lay in front of them. Mostly they headed north on these outings, but today, she had a strange notion.
“Duncan, if we didn’t get too close, since it’s such a lovely day, could we go the Ladysgate?”
He looked at her askance. “You can’t mean it.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t say go through it.” She saw Duncan glance at Pauley, who had by now tied the lines in a neat coil and hung them where they belonged, ready for when they returned to the dock, and she guessed his thoughts. “Do you think it would upset him to see the arch? Or do you think he’d even remember it? He’s come so far since that day…”
Duncan turned south. “I guess we’ll find out. Maybe it’s time for him to deal with that truth about his life, if he remembers where he came from.” Pauley’s past was a subject they had avoided with the boy, focusing instead on what lay ahead for him.
It was a fair distance between Aberdeen and the Ladysgate, but Taylor stretched out on a cockpit cushion and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face and the brush of salt air against her cheeks. She watched with love and admiration as Duncan carefully showed Pauley how to use the sophisticated navigation equipment. Never had she felt so content.
She’d learned one lesson for certain from everything that had taken place in her life since the last time she’d been to, and through, the Ladysgate…that letting go of fear, releasing the need to always be in control, made room for wonderful things to happen.
She’d let go of her flashy American television stardom only to find herself head of a British national children’s television development team. It was a project that engrossed her mind, demanded hugely of her creativity, and yet allowed her time to integrate her new role as a mother as well.