Roses in Moonlight

by Lynn Kurland

  They’d regrouped at his flat for a supper he hadn’t cooked, checked their gear once more, then tried to catch a handful of hours of sleep before setting off on their journey.

  The immediate plan was to get back to the right time, then get through predawn London to Sir Thomas Mauntell’s house. The Globe wasn’t in exactly a posh part of town back in the day; he could only hope they didn’t get either mugged or murdered before they managed to get across the Thames and at least out of the bear-baiting environment. Money was, as always, something of an issue, though he had been very grateful for the courier that had arrived at his flat the day before with a pouch from Jamie. It had contained a handful of coins, enough hopefully to see them through their trip. Jamie tended to be slightly more pragmatic about money and, it had to be said, romance than he was about more exotic things, so Derrick had been surprised he’d bothered, but he hadn’t questioned the generosity. He would have to agree to journeying to one of the less-palatable destinations Jamie had on his list very soon as repayment.

  But once the details had been planned and seen to as thoroughly as possible, Derrick had been plagued by what he still couldn’t figure and that was who had planted those gems on Samantha, and why.

  “Three minutes to launch,” Peter said. He looked over his shoulder from where he sat in the front seat. “Think our gear will work?”

  Derrick shrugged. “It’s battery powered. Why not?”

  Peter looked hopeful. Actually, he looked rather ill, but Derrick couldn’t blame him. He glanced casually at Oliver sitting next to him, but Oliver was in superspy mode, silent and deadly looking.

  “Check,” Peter said, fiddling with his watch. “Four twenty-nine and three seconds.”

  Derrick looked at his watch, knew Oliver was doing the same, then hoped that the fairly long-range earbuds and mics they all had taped to themselves under their shirts for use later wouldn’t find unexpected static in a different time period. It was a self-contained system they had previously tested extensively in the most rural spot in Scotland they’d been able to find, but he had no idea why it had never occurred to him to ask Jamie to help him see what it would do in the past.

  But if it didn’t work, they would do what they always did, which was improvise. He looked at Samantha. She glanced at him, then smiled.

  “At least I’m not the servant this time.”

  “I’m not sure that’s an improvement,” he said, “but you do look very lovely.”

  “And the cloak’s handy for hiding all kinds of things.”

  He didn’t want to ask her what Oliver had talked her into carrying. The only thing that made him feel better was that Oliver had spent an hour with her in the salon after dinner the evening before, teaching her how to use those things. Derrick was fairly sure he might regret her having learned any of it at some point, particularly if she decided to use any of her skills on him.

  “And here we are,” Rufus said pleasantly. “Give me a wee page when you need me to pick you up.”

  “Where’ll you be?” Derrick asked politely.

  “‘Pray I’m not in the loo,’” Peter and Oliver quoted in unison.

  They’d been saying that in unison for as long as Derrick could remember, though Rufus had never actually said those words. It was just their good luck charm of sorts. It was actually rather reassuring.

  Derrick leaned up and put his hand briefly on Rufus’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “No worries, lad.”

  They piled out of the car and huddled together on the sidewalk. Samantha was shivering.

  “So, what now?” she asked. “High fives all around, or do we just jump right in?”

  Derrick rubbed his hands together. “I say we just jump in. Let’s find the appropriate spot.”

  “Do we have to hold hands,” Oliver said quietly, “or just step in together and hope for the best?”

  Derrick knew it was a serious question. He looked at Oliver and Peter in turn. “This is the way it works. You step into the gate, thinking about where you need to go as you do so, then the gate opens to that spot.”

  “Does it always work?” Samantha asked.

  Derrick supposed there was no point in not being entirely frank. “Most of the time.”

  “And when it doesn’t?” Oliver looked at him. “What then?”

  “We’d better hold hands,” Derrick said. “At least we’ll wind up in the same place that way.”

  Peter only swallowed. Mostly.

  Derrick nodded in a businesslike fashion, then took Samantha’s hand and walked with her over to where the mushroom ring found itself. He supposed he should have been relieved to have found it still there, but he imagined the gate would work just as well without its defining marker. Then again, gates seemed to spawn that sort of ring around themselves.

  “What do we do on the other side?” Samantha asked.

  “Hope no one sees us,” he said grimly. “Let’s go.”

  He had to admit that the one thing about time traveling that made him slightly queasy was the traveling itself. There was something about those gates that shifted in a way that left him with a vague sort of headache he didn’t care for. It never lasted more than a few minutes, fortunately, but he could have done without it. James MacLeod had the constitution of an ox, for he only ever emerged on the other side of anything with a fierce grin and boundless enthusiasm.

  “I’m only touching you, Phillips, because I don’t want to get lost,” Peter said distinctly.

  Oliver snarled a curse at him, which seemed particularly appropriate for the moment. Derrick took hold of Samantha and Oliver, then looked at his companions.

  “Cheers.”

  Samantha laughed. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. It seemed the most sensible reaction possible at the moment.

  He walked through the gate, towing his companions along with him, then stumbled out into somewhere that was definitely not modern London.

  “Smells like a bleedin’ sewer,” Peter gasped.

  “Launch successful,” Oliver said briskly. “Let’s get this done.”

  Derrick couldn’t have agreed more. He took Samantha’s hand in his, then got them safely beyond the gate and on their way.

  “Derrick?”

  He shook his head. There was just something about the way Samantha said his name that left him feeling as if he’d just sat down in front of a merry fire.

  “Aye, love?”

  “Tell me again where we’re going and how Jamie knew about it. I’m not sure I had a genealogy chart available last night to write it all down.”

  What he was sure of was that she needed something to take her mind off what they were doing at present. He looked at the lads. “We’ll make for the river, hire a boat to ferry us across—and hope the wherryman is still half asleep—then disembark and walk quickly to Mauntell’s house. Stick close behind us.”

  “And keep a weather eye out for prostitutes and contents of chamber pots,” Oliver said blandly. “Don’t think I didn’t do my research.”

  “I never doubted it,” Derrick said. At least the Thames was within throwing distance. With any luck, they might manage to get there without fending off any ne’er-do-wells. He glanced briefly at Samantha. “I’ll tell you how Jamie got his information, though it’s a bit of a story.”

  “I have plenty of time.”

  He smiled at her briefly. “So you do. It’s a bit convoluted, but this is how it works. One of Cameron’s ventures is a trust for the preservation of structures of note owned—or on the verge of being lost, quite often—by those who don’t want to sell to the National Trust. It’s the Cameron/Artane Trust for Historical Preservation, by name.”

  “What’s Artane?”

  “A great whacking castle on the north coast,” Oliver muttered from behind them. “Derrick, the girl needs a proper tour after this is done.”

  Derrick nodded in agreement, then continued. “I suppose the players aren’t particularly important to name, but apparently an el
derly relative of one of the owners seems to spend an inordinate amount of time taking little trips.”

  Her expression wasn’t visible in the darkness. “To where?”

  “Oh,” Derrick said with a shrug, “here.”

  She caught her breath. “Elizabethan London? You can’t be serious.”

  “I think she’s a big fan of the Bard.”

  “Well,” she said, sounding stunned. “It’s an old woman?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I would use old as a description of her,” Derrick said with a smile. “She is, from all reports, quite young at heart. I’ve never met her, though I’ve heard quite a bit about her adventures.”

  “Maybe she could clear up that Shakespeare/Marlowe debate once and for all,” Samantha said faintly.

  “It would certainly do the world a great service,” he agreed. “So, as it happens, Jamie’s brother-in-law Zachary’s wife is related in an extremely roundabout way to this seasoned woman. Zachary introduced her to Jamie and thanks to her efforts, Jamie has spent several years collecting details about our current location.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “I can’t believe I wore good shoes,” Peter said from behind them.

  Derrick had to agree with both statements. Again, if he hadn’t lived through several trips with Jamie to times and locales not his own himself, he would have thought the very idea absolute bollocks.

  He promised Samantha more details later because he was starting to get a little uncomfortable. The moon had already set—which boded well for their assault—but it made the current walk dodgier than it might have been otherwise. It took longer than he was happy with to find a boat with a captain who was both awake and sober, but he finally selected a likely-looking lad, promised him a handsome fee after they reached the far side, then made sure that his rapier and the daggers Oliver and Peter were carrying were plainly visible. He laced his English with a thick French accent and made conversation about the mother-in-law he and Samantha were escaping as they rowed across the river. The French weren’t any more popular in London than anyone else, but there was no possible way to pass for a native, so he had considered it the least objectionable of the available choices.

  They disembarked without landing in the drink, he paid the man and watched him take a practiced nibble at the coin, then counted himself fortunate that that part of the journey had been accomplished with such little fuss. One thing down, a dozen more to go.

  He took a moment or two to get his bearings, then nodded up away from the river. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  And that was the last thing he said for quite some time. They spent at least half an hour tromping through a rapidly awakening London and attracting all kinds of stares he’d hoped to avoid.

  “Not exactly technologically savvy here, are they?” Oliver murmured from behind him, finally.

  “Not exactly,” Derrick said grimly.

  Streetlamps would have made things easier, but then they would have been more exposed. Then again, by the time the sky was lightening and the city was fully awake, he was completely lost. He wondered if perhaps he’d been rash in thinking he could memorize an Elizabethan street map and have it possibly resemble what he was looking at from the ground.

  “Bobbies at twelve o’clock,” Oliver said, just loudly enough to be heard.

  Derrick swore silently. He continued on, but was forced to face the fact that he had quite likely plunged them all into something they wouldn’t be able to escape from.

  And then, a miracle.

  A woman stepped from the back gate of some grand place as if she’d simply come out for a breath of fresh air. She looked at them, paused, then turned toward the guards. She shooed them on their way with a cheerful story about how fortunate it was to find guests coming right to one’s back gate instead of having to go search for them through all of London. The guards frowned, then continued on their way.

  Derrick could hardly believe their good fortune, but he wasn’t about to argue. He found himself herded with his little group inside a high wall and the iron gate shut behind them. The courtyard was reassuringly free of anything but a garden, a fountain, and stables. Not a guard in sight.

  The old woman looked at them, then lifted her hood back from her face.

  Samantha gasped. “Granny Mary?”

  “Who else?” The woman stepped forward and hugged Samantha tightly. “You know, Sam, it’s one thing to run into a favorite great-niece in the local Starbucks, it’s something entirely different to find her traipsing about London at an unearthly hour of the morning. I’ll need details.”

  “It’s, um, complicated.”

  “If it means you’re out from under your mother’s thumb, then you should do complicated more often.” She pulled Samantha over to stand next to her and linked arms with her. “Who are these handsome young men you’ve brought along as an escort?”

  Derrick tried to pick his jaw up off his chest, but it was difficult. He could only stand there and gape.

  Samantha gestured toward them. “Derrick Cameron, Oliver Phillips, Peter Wright. We’re here on an, ah, adventure.”

  “I’ll just bet you are, cupcake.” Mary shook hands all around, then looked at Derrick. “You’re Robert Cameron’s cousin, aren’t you? In charge of the treasure-hunting business presently?”

  “Ah—”

  “I’ve heard about you,” Mary said, nodding knowingly. “And about your lads there, as well. I’m Samantha’s great-aunt, by the way.”

  Derrick watched Samantha turn to look at her great-aunt. “But how do you know Derrick?”

  “Well, first because I know his cousin, Robert. He’s in business with Gideon who’s funding the other half of a preservation group. Very high-end, fancy properties in need of some TLC.”

  “Who’s Gideon?” Samantha asked blankly.

  Mary looked at her in surprise, then laughed. “Good heavens, girl, you need to get out more. Gideon is Megan’s husband, Lord Blythewood. Have you never wondered about your cousins?”

  Samantha shrugged helplessly. “I knew Megan had married an Englishman and so had Jennifer, but it’s not like I got an invitation to the wedding or anything. I’d thought about trying to get in contact with them, of course, but you know how Mother is about handing out phone numbers.”

  “Yes, I do,” Mary said crisply. “I imagine she was afraid they would corrupt you by filling your head with unwholesome things like thoughts of independence and insurrection.”

  Samantha smiled faintly. “Probably so. Well, that and you know the girls and I aren’t exactly close.”

  “Well, you’re a damn sight farther away from Jennifer than you might think, but we’ll discuss that later, when we have some privacy.” She nodded toward Derrick. “That lad there might be able to give you a few details about your cousins and their doings, perhaps. I don’t suppose he’s told you what he’s been doing with his free time lately.”

  Derrick found himself being regarded closely by two women with inquiring minds. He held up his hands slowly.

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Ha,” Mary said. “I know exactly what you’ve been up to over the past year, my boy, you and that rogue laird from down the way. I suppose that’s fortunate or you would be hopelessly lost here.”

  “We were hopelessly lost,” Samantha said.

  “I wasn’t,” Oliver said mildly.

  Derrick shot him a look, then turned back to Mary. “We were looking for a safe place to, ah, roost whilst we’re about some business. James MacLeod gave me a suggestion.”

  “And does Laird James’s place have a name?”

  “I was hoping for the house of Thomas Mauntell,” Derrick ventured.

  Mary smiled in a particularly self-satisfied way. “Of course you were, because I’m the one who suggested it to him.”

  “You know James MacLeod?” Samantha said.

  “We’re Facebook friends,” Mary said with a shrug, “and I read hi
s wife Elizabeth’s books. I’ve been to their castle several times. And Derrick, you were less lost than you thought. You’re at Mauntell’s back gate. Let’s get you inside, get you fed and settled, then you’ll tell me what you need. Thomas is having a masquerade ball this evening. I imagine many interesting people will be here.”

  “Granny Mary, how in the world do you know this man?” Samantha asked, sounding slightly faint.

  “Oh, he was one of William’s patrons early on. We met at a party several years ago and hit it off.” She leaned in a little. “Actually, I cleaned his clock in cards and that tickled him for some reason. He thinks I’m a rich, eccentric noblewoman from France. He puts me up when I’m in town and I dote on his children. Well, that and I make him biscuits and gravy like my grandmother used to make. Dulls the pain of all the money he continues to lose to me.”

  Derrick felt a little faint, but perhaps that was just the smell. “Thank you, Miss—”

  “You can call me Granny in private, lad, but in public I’d stick to Lady Mary.”

  Samantha smiled. “Lady Mary?”

  “My girl, when you’re sojourning in a time not your own, it’s best to go in style.”

  “But, Granny, shouldn’t you be home?” Samantha asked, sounding pained. “Knitting? Conducting meetings of the Ladies’ Aid Society? Pruning your roses?”

  “Some people go to Florida,” Mary said with a shrug. “Some don’t. Besides, if I’d had to listen to that blasted Fiona McDonald wax rhapsodic about the virtues of acrylic yarn by the pound any longer, I would have throttled her. Let’s get in out of the damp, shall we?”

  Derrick heartily agreed, especially if a fire was perhaps going to be involved soon. He didn’t imagine Samantha would feel it, but he was dressed fashionably in tights and breeches. If he couldn’t put on jeans, he would settle for being warm.