A thunderous sound on the roof confirmed Jamie’s comment about rain. It was pouring.
“Well, Mrs. Dickson,” The doctor clicked his bag shut, “it appears our patient is coming around nicely.” Turning to Mary Elizabeth, he set his lips in a firm line, neither a smile nor a frown. “Now, young lady, I do hope you were not intentionally wandering into the water in the hopes of ending your life.”
“What?” Mary Elizabeth gasped. “No! I don’t understand. I don’t remember what happened. I have no desire to commit suicide, as you suggest Doctor. I’m here to research my family history and recover as best I can from the death of a loved one.”
The doctor patted her arm affectionately. “Well, dear, I am glad to hear that, but you understand I did have to ask. The circumstances were rather peculiar.”
Mary Elizabeth nodded. She did understand his need to question, but she didn’t understand the voices in her head. Nor did she understand what had happened down by the water. Had some unknown force pulled her in? Did someone, or something, mean her harm? And why? She didn’t want to mention the voices in her head. That would make her sound totally nuts. And she didn’t want to end up in a loony bin or worse. She wanted to complete her research, not be a subject of some scientific study. “I understand, Doctor.”
He was reassured by her answers. “Well then, dear, don’t do anything too energetic over the next day or so. We don’t want another episode.” To Mrs. Dickson, he nodded. “I’ll see myself out. Mr. Stuart.” He gave a slight inclination of his head before leaving the room. A few moments later the door could be heard closing behind him.
“I think some nice warm broth and fresh bread is in order,” Mrs. Dickson declared. “Nothing like a warm broth to sooth both body and soul. Come along you two. Enough excitement for one evening. Let’s have something to eat.”
Jamie held out a hand to help Mary Elizabeth, but she waved it away. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’ll just take it slow like the doctor suggested.”
Chapter Five
Light peeked through the curtains, casting shadows that danced across the plush quilt and left colourful streaks along the walls. Mary Elizabeth rolled over, stretching her legs the length of the bed. The bed covers provided a warmth that enveloped the young woman’s body. The covers blanketed her like a cocoon, warm, cozy, and safe. She forced her eyes open, but she was reluctant to leave her safe space.
The events of the previous day flashed through her mind. After Mrs. Dickson’s warm broth and fresh bread, Mary Elizabeth had hastily retreated to her room to avoid further prying and fussing from either her hostess or her rescuer. In her exhausted state, she barely had the energy to toss her clothes on the one chair sitting under the window. Pulling on her flannel pyjamas, she was half asleep before she crawled into bed and out cold by the time her head hit the pillow.
Her sleep had been deep and unmarred by dreams. It was a blessing. After her haunting experience down by the water, Mary Elizabeth was starting to wonder if she was possessed. And, if so, by what?
A knock on the door made her jump. “I’ve brought you some tea and toast.” It was Mrs. Dickson.
“Just a minute.” Pushing off the quilt with a muffled sigh, Mary Elizabeth grabbed her shawl and tossed it over her shoulders. She ran her hands through her hair, which, she was sure, was quite unruly after her long night’s sleep.
She opened the door with a faint glimmer of a smile, mostly forced. “That’s so sweet of you, Mrs. Dickson, but you don’t have to wait on me.” She took the tray and searched for a clear surface on which to place it. Deciding the bed was the safest option, she balanced the tray while straightening the bed coverings to make the surface somewhat level. She placed the tray on the bed and pivoted around to again face her hostess.
“I just wanted to be sure that you were okay this morning.” Mrs. Dickson glanced kindly at Mary Elizabeth. “Now you be sure to eat that toast while it’s still hot and drink your tea. You need some nourishment after your ordeal.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dickson. And thank you.”
Mrs. Dickson nodded her head. “Take your time this morning. You don’t want to rush things. It is a lovely day, though. When you feel up to it, a brisk walk around the town would do you some good.” She pulled the door shut.
Mary Elizabeth returned to the bed, the smell of toast making her stomach growl. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. Other than Mrs. Dickson’s broth and bread, the night before, she hadn’t eaten much. Not a good traveller, she couldn’t stomach food on a long, overseas flight. There was also the issue of jet lag and the time change from Toronto to Scotland. It was definitely catching up with her. No wonder she blacked out yesterday, if it was indeed what had happened.
The toast was lightly buttered and there was jam on the side. Mary Elizabeth spread some of the thick, berry-filled concoction on a wedge of toast and took a bite. “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes, savouring the flavour. The homemade bread was so much better than store bought. And she was quite sure the jam was homemade as well.
She poured her tea, resisting the temptation of milk and sugar. Black tea had been her preference for some time, now, in an attempt to eliminate the extra sweetener. The jam certainly gave her enough sweetness for one morning. Carrying her tea and toast to the chair by the window, she pulled the curtains apart and brushed aside the clothes tossed there the night before. She sat down carefully, juggling her tea, while taking another bite of the toast as she gazed out the window.
Situated on a rise in the landscape, Mrs. Dickson’s Bed and Breakfast overlooked the tiny town of Kinross. It was a grand view of the little community that hugged the shores of Lock Leven. Mary Elizabeth gazed over the rooftops, down toward the glistening waters of the Loch. At the water’s edge stood the grand manor house, the elegant estate, Kinross House, she had read so much about. It graced the water’s edge, looking barren, abandoned, a shell of a house. Had the family, the clan, deserted it? Moved on? Mary Elizabeth would have to ask Mrs. Dickson. She would know. At least, Mrs. Dickson gave the impression that she was the type of person who would know much of the goings-on in the community.
Turning away from the mansion, Mary Elizabeth’s eyes travelled across the waters, pulled as if by a magnet, to the island in the middle of the loch. It had been gloomy and overcast the day before, the visibility limited. Today it was quite clear. She could even see the ruins of Loch Leven Castle. She gasped, startled by the draw she felt toward the island. What was it?
Mary Elizabeth shook her head vigorously, forcing her eyes to look toward the opposite end of the loch. As she calmed her senses, she took another bite of her toast, almost oblivious to its flavor. There was movement in the woods that graced the shoreline. The shadow of a rider on horseback emerged from the trees, then, just as quickly, disappeared. Another trick of the eye? Mary Elizabeth wasn’t sure, but she was starting to feel more than a little uneasy about what was happening to her.
Looking away from the window, Mary Elizabeth allowed her eyes to rest on the picture that hung over the bed. It appeared to be an old etching; a black and white image, sketched with light and shaded lines. The image was a castle surrounded by water. Loch Leven Castle perhaps? She would have to ask Mrs. Dickson about it as well.
Perhaps today would be a good day to visit the island, as the weather appeared bright and cheery and the waters would undoubtedly be calm. At least, she hoped they would be. She wasn’t much of a water person. As a child, she would get queasy just floating on a foam board in her best friend’s backyard pool.
She continued to nibble on her toast and sip her tea, studying the details of the etching. It certainly wasn’t the castle as she would find it now. She understood that it was mostly in ruins, having been abandoned a long time ago. She had read up about the castle before her trip, wanting to know all that history had to offer. The Douglas family had owned the island castle for about 300 years before Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned there in 1567. Her gaoler, William Douglas, was a harsh man
and allowed the queen few privileges, keeping her under close guard. Early in her imprisonment, Queen Mary had given birth to twins. According to documentation, they had died at birth and were supposedly buried somewhere on the island. No trace of the burial was ever found.
Feeling fortified from Mrs. Dickson’s fine food, Mary Elizabeth tidied her things and dressed for the day. She would take her hostess’s advice and wander around the village of Kinross. It was a beautiful day, not one to be wasted indoors. Refreshed and dressed for the day, she carried the breakfast things downstairs and found her way to the kitchen at the back.
“Oh.” Mrs. Dickson jumped up from where she was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping her tea. She made her way around the table that dominated the space. Mary Elizabeth hadn’t taken much notice the night before as the shock of the earlier events took their toll. It was a cozy room, snug, warm, and bright with daylight streaming through the window over the sink. The counter with the sink ran along one wall, a row of floor-to-ceiling cupboards, a pantry of sorts, ran along the opposite wall. The refrigerator was in the corner next to the doorway where Mary Elizabeth continued to stand and the stove, with its ventilation to the outdoors, sat on the opposite wall with a useful counter next to it. A door to the back completed the picture with another window, curtained, but allowing the bright sunlight to filter through. Yes, it was cozy.
Mary Elizabeth found it curious that Mrs. Dickson had placed a table in the middle of everything. When the chairs were pulled out, there was no room to move around the kitchen, let alone do any work preparing meals. But the chairs were all tucked in neatly; there was no one in the room except Mrs. Dickson and, now, Mary Elizabeth.
The woman wove her way carefully around the table, making her way toward Mary Elizabeth. “You didn’t need to bring that down,” she said, taking the tray. “I would have fetched it later when I made the beds.”
“I was coming down anyway.” Mary Elizabeth relinquished the tray and continued to allow her eyes to survey the room around her. “And the bed’s already made and the room tidied, so no need to worry about that chore.” Everything about Mrs. Dickson’s house was neat, compact, and versatile. A place for everything and everything in its place, as Gran had often said.
“Oh, it’s not a chore. I enjoy caring for my guests.” Mrs. Dickson took the tray and laid it at the sink. “Are you off for a walk, then?”
“I think so,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Some fresh air will do me good.”
Footsteps could be heard descending the stairs. Just as Mary Elizabeth was about to turn and make her way outside, Jamie entered the kitchen. “Ah! I see you’re up and about. Off for a walk?”
“Yes.”
“Care for some company?” he asked. “I was just about to take in the town myself.”
Mary Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone nearby if she had another spell. “Sure, why not? Mr. Stuart, isn’t it?”
“I prefer Jamie, Miss Stuart,” he answered in kind, a teasing twinkle in his eye.
“And I prefer Mary Elizabeth.” They held each other’s gaze as if sizing up the other. After a few moments, Mary Elizabeth broke the silence. “I just thought I’d wander around Kinross. Get my bearings and some fresh air.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Jamie motioned toward the front door. “We can either make the tour together or I’ll just follow you around like a besotted puppy. Your choice.”
Mary Elizabeth just chuckled, shaking her head as she pondered the possibilities that he was either teasing or actually making a play for her attention.
“Good idea.” Mrs. Dickson waved them off. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“We could go over to the island, if you like,” Jamie suggested as he motioned for Mary Elizabeth to lead the way to the front door. “Nothing like a couple of Stuarts, perhaps even distant cousins, visiting the ruins of one of our illustrious ancestor’s sad demise.”
“You may want a sweater or a light jacket if you go out on the water,” Mrs. Dickson called.
“I have one.” Mary Elizabeth shrugged into a light cardigan that she had unpacked that morning. “The waters look calm this morning. Perhaps the boat ride to the island would make a pleasant outing.”
“Then let’s do it.” Jamie followed Mary Elizabeth outside, having grabbed a light jacket from the coatrack on the way out. He tossed it over his shoulder and kept stride with the young woman as they made their way downhill toward the boats.
“What’s your interest in this area?” Mary Elizabeth broke the silence after they had walked for a few moments without talking. “Do you have family? Or you’re just playing tourist?”
“You could say a bit of both,” Jamie answered sparingly. “Though the family thing is ancient history. How about you?”
“Likewise,” Mary Elizabeth agreed. “My grandmother told me to come. So I came.”
“Why?”
“To learn things, I guess.” Mary Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and kept walking. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll find out, or not, at some point.” Changing the subject abruptly, she asked, “So what do you do? I mean, when you’re not traipsing around the countryside rescuing ladies who faint on stormy nights.”
Jamie chuckled. “I work. How about you?”
“Aren’t we vague! I work, too.”
“Okay. Let’s talk about something else. Why Kinross?”
Mary Elizabeth shrugged. “I have yet to find out.”
They arrived at the docks and found the tour boat just loading a few passengers for the trip across to the island. Jamie helped Mary Elizabeth climb aboard and they took the remaining seats at the rear. It was indeed a smooth ride, the water clearly reflecting images of the coastline and, as they approached the castle, the remnants of what once was a grand estate.
“I understand the island was once much smaller.” Mary Elizabeth spoke loudly to be heard above the roar of the boat’s motor and the rush of the water as it crashed against the boat.
“It was.”
“What happened?” Mary Elizabeth asked. “Where did all the water go?”
“I suppose the environmentalists would say something about global warming.” Jamie shrugged. “In all honesty, I don’t know. It’s kind of like the political erosion of our rights as Scottish citizens. A metaphor, if you will.”
Mary Elizabeth had been intently watching as their boat approached the island castle. She was excited at the prospect of finally stepping foot on the land where Queen Mary had once been imprisoned. She didn’t understand the pull she felt, but she knew she had to visit this place. And the sooner, the better. Jamie’s last comment startled her, and she pulled her eyes away from the island to look at her travelling companion. “Huh?”
He caught her eye. “Well, you know we have been fighting for independence for some time. We just suffered another defeat in a referendum that will keep us locked with England until the next battle. England has done us no favors over the centuries. I often wonder what would have happened if King James VI had never left Scotland to take over the rule of the two countries from his London throne.”
With a lift of her eyebrows, Mary Elizabeth noted, “That would have been an interesting alternate to the abuse that England wrought on the poor Scottish people over the course of time. Would Scotland have managed to persevere on its own?”
“Oh, I think so.” Jamie nodded his head fervently. “I know so. And now we have the Brexit debacle. You know, if we could separate from England, we would rejoin the European Union in a blink of the eye.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the boat’s engines noticeably slowing down. They were approaching the island dock. Mary Elizabeth could feel the pull intensify. It was almost electrifying as she stepped ashore and walked slowly, following the other tourists making their way to the castle tower.
“Queen Mary’s tower,” she whispered as her eyes scanned the one remaining structure that had not succumbed to the ravages of time. She picked up her pace, walki
ng around the others who meandered slowly toward the castle ruins.
“Hey! Mary Elizabeth, wait.” Jamie called out. He started to jog to catch up. The other tourists stopped to watch, curious as to why one woman was walking as if in a trance toward the tower while a young man called out as he jogged in hasty pursuit.
Mary Elizabeth stopped abruptly when she felt a hand tug at her arm. She swung around to find herself facing Jamie. “What are you doing?”
“I should be asking you that,” he replied, dropping his hand. “You made off like a walking zombie. What is it with you? First you pass out for no apparent reason, then you’re talking nonsense about babies as you struggle to regain consciousness. Now you’re marching toward the queen’s tower as if a magnet is pulling you in. What gives?”
Mary Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. Turning on her heel, she continued her march, this time more conscious of her surroundings. “I don’t know what you mean. I just want to see the tower where Queen Mary was imprisoned.”
“So does everyone else who was on the boat,” Jamie noted. “But they didn’t elbow their way through the others in a blind race to get there first.”
Mary Elizabeth didn’t answer. She just kept walking. “You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered under her breath.
Jamie threw up his hands in despair and changed his direction. “Have it your way. The last boat leaves at four fifteen. I’ll meet you at the docks. If you don’t show, I’m not coming after you.”
“Fine.”
There were others milling about the ruins, but the tower appeared devoid of people. Mary Elizabeth climbed the wooden stairs that led to a doorway halfway up the tower’s height. The stairs were obviously recent, replacing the original entry into the queen’s guarded domain. She entered the tower and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. It was damp, musty from years left unattended, empty and open to the elements. Remnants of stone alcoves and benches lined the outer walls next to window openings. It was bleak, austere, and certainly not welcoming.
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