Table of Contents
EVER CRAVE THE ROSE
Morgan O’Neill
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
PART TWO
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
PART THREE
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
PART FOUR
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
EVER CRAVE THE ROSE
The Sequel to The Elizabethan Time Travel Series
by
Morgan O’Neill
Dedication
We dedicate this novel to our editor, Suzanne Evans. Thank you for your unwavering support of our stories, especially Ever Crave the Rose.
~Deborah O’Neill Cordes and Cary Morgan
But he who dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose.
~Anne Brontë, The Narrow Way
Prologue
Summer of 2014, Smithfield, London
Church of St. Bartholomew
Catherine Howard stood in St. Bartholomew’s Lady Chapel. Morning sunbeams spilled through the windows, grazing nicks and nubs in the timeworn stone.
Her gaze lifted as dark clouds blotted the light, mirroring her somber mood. She felt her age—all eighty-eight blessed years—as she listened to her son and daughter-in-law’s grief.
“Richard, Joan,” she said, turning to them, “you must understand. Anne is alive, I assure you.” Helpless, Catherine watched as Richard gently rocked Joan. His expression told her he did not believe a word she’d said. “Please, dear, trust me in this. Your daughter is alive—in 1561.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Richard said as Joan continued to weep.
Catherine felt a touch at her elbow. “Mrs. Howard, pardon,” Father Daniel Traveler spoke in a hushed tone. “Why don’t we leave them alone for a moment?” His soft accent, a mingling of English and Italian, soothed her. “Come. Walk with me. Let’s go outside and take the air.”
“All right, Father.” She took his arm, and he led her away from the Lady Chapel. Although he was dressed to the nines in an Armani suit with a black shirt and clerical collar, Catherine saw past his polished exterior. She’d found him to be modest and kind, always thinking of others first.
As they walked, Daniel said, “Your son and daughter-in-law need time to absorb what you told them. And we also must have time to think and adjust.”
Catherine searched the priest’s knowing gaze. “Time. How true, Father.” She glanced in the direction of her grieving family. “But I ache for them. Even if they do come to believe us, their only child is still lost to them.”
“Ah, but you and I know Anne found happiness with Dr. Brandon.” Daniel crossed himself. “The Lord’s ways are mysterious, indeed. Although we are separated from them by the centuries, you must feel, as I do, that your granddaughter is here, as if she were standing in this very spot...”
“Holding her baby.” Tears filled her eyes, her emotions a jumble of incredulity mingled with love and pride. Only last week, her precious Anne vanished before her eyes in London. Her granddaughter had time traveled to Elizabethan England and found Jonathan Brandon, Catherine’s own long-lost fiancé. Jonnie. He’d also disappeared from London, but that happened in 1945, only days before they’d planned to marry.
Catherine smiled. Dear Jonnie. And darling, darling Anne. They’d fallen in love with one another in 1560. It was truly a miracle.
Her smile broadened as she remembered her granddaughter’s most recent messages to her, secreted in an old family Bible, the notes serving as a bridge from the sixteenth century to now.
Dear Grandma,
I know you will understand. Jonathan and I have made a life together. We are married and deeply in love. We’re expecting a baby in June 1561. I’ve never been happier!
Love to you, Mom, Dad, Trudy, Uncle Reggie, and everyone. Give Duffy a hug for me!
Anne Brandon
P.S. I hope you have purchased this Bible by now.
And the latest.
Dear Grandma,
Happy news! We have a girl! We named her Catherine Rose. She has blue eyes and blond hair. I think she takes after Grandpa Arthur's side of the family. She's a happy, pretty baby.
Please give my love to all.
I miss you,
Anne
Catherine jumped when Father Daniel’s mobile phone chimed.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Howard.” He removed the phone from his belt. “Pronto?” he said, turning aside to converse in Italian.
Wanting to give him some privacy, Catherine retraced her steps through part of the church. As she neared the tomb of the monk Rahere, she noticed a large brass effigy set into the floor. It was rectangular in shape and about the size of a coffin.
Catherine frowned, certain she’d never seen it before. Am I losing my wits? How in the world did I miss such a thing? The surface was worn from years of foot traffic, but she could make out a faint image of a woman etched in the brass, with a coat of arms set in blue enamel resting near her head.
The inscription below the woman’s image was worn, too, yet legible. She leaned in closer, to read.
Blessed be Anne Howard Brandon, a beauty bright,
Who loved Jonathan Brandon, her heart’s delight.
Cling close to life, touch not the brass,
Cursed be he who murdered our Sweet Lass.
She perished Y 1562
Catherine stared, forcing herself to read the last lines again. “Lord, no!”
She knelt and frantically swiped at the lettering, hoping she’d misread.
No, no!
She heard rapid footsteps behind her.
“Are you hurt?” Father Daniel asked.
“No! Look at the brass. Oh my God, no!” Catherine cried. “I’m certain it was never there before. She can’t have died in such a way!”
Daniel helped her up as Richard and Joan raced over.
“Mother, what is it?” her son asked.
Trembling, Catherine fought her panic. Richard and Joan already had too much to bear. They looked stricken, and the urge to protect them pulled her up short. They must not learn of this.
She stepped on the inscription, blocking it from their view, and then fisted her hands, forcing calm. “I’m...I’m fine, darling, but I’m all done in. Please, would the two of you go find me a bit of food and something to drink?”
As they hurried away, Daniel turned to her. “My God, Anne murdered? This is horrible. I’m so sorry.”
Catherine felt as if her heart had been swept away, the black chasm in her chest overwhelming. Despite her shock, she seized on a solution. “Father, please, you must save Anne. Please, you must!”
Daniel shook his head slowly, his brow deeply
furrowed.
“Father, I understand the risks, but...”
He heaved a sigh.
“You are the only one who can rescue her,” she pleaded.
“With God’s help.” He touched his crucifix, and then closed his eyes and began to pray.
Catherine held tight to a glimmer of hope as she watched him, knowing he was a man of deep faith and incredible fortitude. He would find a way to go back and save her precious Anne.
He must.
PART ONE
Chapter One
4 June, 1561, London
Anne Brandon sat in the Hastings’s coach as it passed over London Bridge. She nervously glanced back at Old St. Paul’s. The cathedral was about to face its moment of reckoning—and so were she and Jonathan. A lightning bolt would strike the church today and prove once and for all they’d told the truth about traveling through time. After all, it was recorded history where they’d come from.
It was also Jon’s birthday. He’d been born in 1911, disappeared from London in 1945, and lived here since 1559. That makes him how old? She recalled their conversation about it at breakfast. They’d both agreed it was hard to pinpoint his exact age because of the time travel, and also the change from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar. Thirty-six seemed about right to her, while Jonathan joked he felt all of thirty-seven—ancient.
Not so, she thought, glancing at her husband, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He was in his prime.
“Thou looketh deep in thought, if not a mite troubled, Anne,” Lady Catherine Dudley Hastings said, “but be not a’feared. Thy sweet babe, little Catherine Rose, hast been left in able hands. The wet nurse came highly recommended.”
Anne smiled. “Oops. She hasn’t left my thoughts in the month since she was born, but I confess I wasn’t thinking about her just now. It was the lightning.”
Chuckling, Lady Catherine patted her hand. “If it be God’s will for the lightning to strike, there is naught we can do but wait and watch.”
Anne nodded. “I am concerned about the danger, but actually, since it happens on Jon’s birthday, I was also trying to figure out how old he is.” Grinning, she turned to him. “Happy birthday for the umpteenth time,” she said drolly. “And you are thirty-six.”
He laughed, a twinkle in his blue eyes, while the noblewoman added, “Aye, happy birthday, Jonathan, and many blessed returns on the day.”
Anne smiled at Catherine, her dearest friend. Slim and elegant, she was born into the highest ranks of Elizabethan nobility, yet the warmth in her smile and her informality was unusual for those of her status. She was down to earth and the kindest person Anne knew. She even asked Anne to call her by her nickname, Cath, which hardly ever happened outside immediate family.
Jonathan took Anne’s hand and smiled reassuringly. “Thank you, Lady Catherine, and Anne, darling, you shouldn’t concern yourself about the lightning. It won’t strike us. Only the church will be hit.”
Anne nodded. “Okay, okay. It’s just freaking me out a little.”
Facing her, Lord Henry Hastings crossed his arms over his ample middle. There was a sparkle in his gaze as well, his green eyes a close match to her own. Dear Henry was distant family, after all—if not an actual ancestor, then certainly a remote cousin.
Henry said, “I’ve rarely heard thee lapse into thy Americanisms, as thou sayeth, Anne, but I do not believe ’tis wise to grow complacent over its use, even with us.”
Jonathan nodded. “Quite right.”
“Of course speaking proper English is also much kinder to mine own ears,” Henry added with a wink.
Cath poked her husband with an elbow. “I rather enjoy her speech, Henry. Freaking me out hath a colorful ring to it.”
With a chuckle, Anne peered out the window and recognized her surroundings—the place called Bankside, where she first appeared after she time traveled. Two faces surged into her thoughts, the creeps who’d witnessed her appearance and then chased her across London. Will and Jack. Ugh. She recalled their nasty sneers only too well.
She glanced at Cath. “When I came through from the future, I ended up here, and the thugs who work for the duke of Norfolk saw me.”
Henry crossed himself. “A pox on Norfolk.”
Anne shuddered to think of Norfolk’s treachery toward her and Jonathan. “His men chased me right to Jon’s doorstep at St. Bartholomew’s.” She turned to her husband. “If I’d known how dangerous those men were, I wouldn’t have led them there. I’d have kept on running, or... I don’t know. Instead, I brought danger to you.”
Jonathan put his arm around her. “You had no way of guessing their intent, and if you hadn’t come to me, Norfolk might have found you.”
Anne swallowed hard. When she and Jonathan finally realized the duke knew they were time travelers, it was easy to put two and two together about his desire to interrogate them. He was an evil man who coveted the Crown. What would he do if he ever gained their knowledge of the future?
Norfolk was still out there, and it gave her nightmares, even though he was being watched by Lord Henry and also Queen Elizabeth, via her favorite, Lord Robert Dudley. The queen and Dudley had no knowledge about Anne’s time travel, of course, but when Norfolk’s nasty gossip about Dudley reached Elizabeth’s ears, she’d banished him from Court.
But how long would that last? As time passed, people tended to let down their guard, move on, or forget. Not Norfolk, though. He’d never give up.
“Fret not, dearest.”
Cath’s gentle voice brought Anne out of her troubling thoughts.
The noblewoman smiled. “Methinks that chase through London town all the way to St. Bart’s did possesseth a marvelous purpose, for thou wast destined to meet Jonathan and make a life with him here.”
“And ’tis not all,” Henry added. “Queen Elizabeth might well be dead, for thou didst save her life, Jon.”
“Annie, too,” Jonathan reminded him. “Her swift intervention at the fair was critical in preventing the queen from choking. A brave move, too, given Elizabeth’s guardsmen bearing down on her.”
Anne focused on the small silver scar beneath her husband’s left eye, the result of the bombing of his hospital base in WWII. He’d been a flight surgeon with the Royal Air Force and rescued a comrade from certain death, despite being wounded himself.
Long before my time, though. And now far in the future as well. She realized his experiences there were a lifetime away from either vantage point in her life—whether in the twenty-first century or the Elizabethan era. Seeing the scar always brought home the fact their marriage was, truly, something remarkable.
“Yes, the queen’s alive because of us,” Anne said. “And our baby is, too. If we hadn’t both time traveled, Catherine Rose wouldn’t be here.”
Jonathan kissed her brow. “That is why I’m thankful everything happened the way it did.”
She snuggled against him.
Henry looked outside. “Ah! We have arrived.” He tapped on the roof of the carriage and the driver pulled the horses to a stop.
Anne emerged first, and the coachman helped her down. They were parked beside a charming establishment covered with trailing vines. The sign hanging above the door read, The Ivy Inn.
Jonathan stepped out and whispered to Anne, “Traditional Tudor construction. Wattle and daub. Little or no metal to draw the storm’s attention.”
She nodded. “Smart. You don’t think we should let them know about lightning rods?”
“Blimey, no, we can’t, Annie.” He gave her a wink. “Benjamin Franklin won’t be born for centuries.”
As Henry stepped from the carriage, he peered at the sky. “There art but a smattering of clouds and no smell of rain on the air. It defies logic that we should expect a heavy storm.”
“For my part, Henry,” Cath said, “I shalt not question Jonathan and Anne.”
Grumbling, he took his wife’s hand as she alighted. “I do not question their truthfulness, Cath. ’Tis the logic of the
thing I question.”
“Ah, but there is no logic to time travel, either.” Jon said as he glanced at Anne. “Yet here we are.”
* * *
The afternoon at the Ivy Inn had gone well, but Anne felt tense as candles were lit and dusk settled over London. The storm was coming.
To give them a good view, Jonathan had booked rooms which faced the Thames and St. Paul’s. The finest went to Lord and Lady Hastings, while Anne and Jon took the room next door. Henry arranged that they all dine together in his suite in honor of Jon’s birthday.
After finishing a delicious supper of stuffed goose with plum glaze, Anne and Cath stood by the window looking out at the London skyline. The Thames wound like a dark ribbon, mirroring the gathering clouds overhead.
Anne fidgeted with the edge of the curtain. “I miss my daughter.”
Cath touched her hand. “Fret not. Alice Hope looked a most capable nanny. Little Catherine Rose is in marvelous good hands.”
Anne sighed. “Jonathan and I have decided to call her Rose to avoid confusion.”
The noblewoman chuckled. “Thanks be to God, for I do not relish the thought of being called Big Cath.”
Anne couldn’t enjoy her attempt at humor. “Still, being away all night...”
“Tsk, tsk, dearest. Although I’ve not known the blessing of motherhood, I’ve spent many an hour with those who have. New mothers tend to worry over everything, however great or small.”
Despite Cath’s reassurances, Anne continued to fidget, wishing she was home with Rose, missing her warmth and gentle cooing.
A distant rumble jolted her, and her gaze fixed on St. Paul’s, still visible despite the deepening gloom.
“Is it time?” Cath asked, her hand nervously gripping the front of her gown.
“I believe it must be close,” Jonathan replied as he and Henry joined them.
They watched as the last rays of sunlight managed to break through the clouds and light St. Paul’s roofline and enormous spire.
Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3) Page 1