Chapter Seven
ALVA, SCOTLAND, MID-SUMMER, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1567
“Where did she go?” Mary Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. “The baby. She took the baby. Where did she go?”
“Come.” Martha didn’t answer, but she was most urgent in her motions as the stomping feet of approaching men thundered ever closer.
Mary Elizabeth wasn’t sure what was going on or what had happened to the old lady and the baby, but she knew from the urgency of Martha’s voice that she should act, and quickly. She hustled toward the woman, who almost pulled her into the other room, tugging off Mary Elizabeth’s cloak as she ducked into the darkened space.
“Put this on.” Martha handed her a long white gown with some sort of plaid design decorating the edges. It was difficult to tell for sure in the minimal visibility.
“An arisad,” Mary Elizabeth noted as she pulled it over her head.
“Aye. I have heard it called that.” Martha helped Mary Elizabeth pull it down over her other clothes. The woman made no comment about Mary Elizabeth’s attire. Perhaps the poor lighting prevented her from seeing it clearly. The gown draped Mary Elizabeth right down to her heels, hiding any evidence of her jeans, shirt, and sweater. Martha pivoted Mary Elizabeth to face her and pulled the arisad snug around the chest. She wrapped a leather band around Mary Elizabeth’s waste and fastened it at the front.
“Slip this on.” She handed Mary Elizabeth what appeared to be a vest of some description. Mary Elizabeth slipped it over her shoulders and Martha helped fasten it closed at the front with a brooch. “It is a Stuart brooch,” she explained. “The old woman gave it to me to pass on to you. Mind you take care not to lose it.”
“Aye. I will take care.” Mary Elizabeth wished she had a mirror to study her appearance in the genuine Scottish costume. She was sure she could now pass for a real Scotswoman.
“You will do.” Martha grunted with mute approval. “Wrap this shawl over your head and across the front.” Mary Elizabeth did as she was told. “We should rejoin the others.”
The two made their way back into the main room. “Sit.” William muttered under his breath.
Mary Elizabeth took a seat by the fire on the bench next to William. “What is happening?”
There was no time for anyone to answer as the door crashed inwards, bringing with it a storm of armed men and a gust of the cold night air.
“Stand and pay homage to your Regent,” one of the men commanded.
William motioned for Mary Elizabeth to rise with him. The others who had yet to introduce themselves rose as well. One of the MacGregors went forward and bent to one knee. “My lord,” he said. “Welcome to my humble abode. Come warm yourself by the hearth.”
“And who dares be out on such a night?” the tallest man in the group of invaders demanded to know. He made his way to the hearth and rubbed his hands together to generate some heat. After a few minutes, when no one uttered a word, he swung abruptly to face the occupants of the cramped hut. “Whose horses are tied outside, lathered and hot from a recent ride?”
As the light caught his features, Mary Elizabeth let out a gasp. James Stuart, Earl of Moray, Regent of Scotland. He was recognisable. But was he the same James, aka Jamie Stuart, who had accompanied Mary Elizabeth to the castle?
The regent studied the source of the gasp. “You!” He pointed to Mary Elizabeth. “Who are you? You’re not a MacGregor, for certs. You look more like a Stuart, one of us. And what are you doing here? Are those your horses tied outside?”
Mary Elizabeth gave a deep curtsy, not quite sure of the proper etiquette when greeting a Scottish regent in a crofter’s cottage. She kept her cloak well wrapped around her, feeling the snugness of the vest and the bite of the brooch as it cut into her breastbone.
“My lord.” She mimicked the other’s salutation. Looking up, she couldn’t help but add in a whisper, “Jamie?”
“I beg your pardon!” the regent bellowed. “No one dares call me Jamie.”
“I am sorry, my lord. I tend to stutter when I am nervous.” Mary Elizabeth bowed her head contritely, still holding her pose in a curtsy.
“Oh, rise up, woman.” He waved his hand through the space that separated them. “I cannot abide a woman who grovels. Now who are you? And what is your purpose here?”
“Mary Elizabeth Stuart, my lord.”
“What?” the regent bellowed. “Not another Mary, and a Stuart at that. We cannot be related. Are we?” He winced in the dim light and bent forward to take a closer look. “You have her look about you. It is uncanny. You could almost pass for her. And that brooch. Where did you get that brooch?”
“I do not know, sir.” Mary Elizabeth took her time to choose her words carefully. She wasn’t sure how to answer about the brooch, so she steered clear of that comment, saying instead, “Are not all Stuarts somehow related?”
It was not the right thing to say. James Stuart, Regent of Scotland, was not amused. “Grab her. She must be a spy. Or a traitor. Either is punishable by death.” He pointed accusing fingers at the others. “The rest of you stay here. I will deal with this troublemaker.”
Two of the regent’s men took Mary Elizabeth by force, one on either side. “But, but,” she cried out, trying to break free, “I have done nothing wrong.”
They gripped her arms fiercely, sending biting shivers of pain to her shoulder. She struggled, but in vain. There were more men outside. She didn’t have a chance to escape. She would have to go along, much as she hated the thought of what may be awaiting her at the end of the journey.
One of her captors mounted his horse and hauled her up behind him. “Do not try anything foolish.” He flashed her a sneer, a look that she could barely see in the darkness. He nudged his horse to follow the others. “Do not think for a moment that your name will protect you either. If our Lord Regent decides that you are a danger to him or his country, he will dispose of you without a second thought. Look what happened to our former Queen. She crossed swords with too many people and made too many enemies.” He paused in his diatribe to spit venomously to the ground. “Too interested in whom she bedded than her own people, if you ask me. Politics do not belong in the bedroom.”
“Trying to butter up the lass, are you Scottie?” someone called from behind. “I would not bother if I was you. If the regent decides to dispose the lass, we shall have our fun first.”
Mary Elizabeth shivered as the implication sunk in.
The regent rode several horses in front. He may or may not have heard the entire dialogue, but he certainly heard the last bit. “She is a Stuart,” he growled back at his men. “For better or worse, she is a Stuart and shall be respected even unto death. I will hear no more unseemly plots from my men. If I do, they shall face the same punishment as the lass.”
Mary Elizabeth wasn’t entirely sure of the direction they were going. They must be returning to the loch, Mary Elizabeth realised with a jolt. And what then?
The trek through the woods with the regent’s men didn’t take as long as it had with William earlier. Perhaps they were taking a more direct route. As the night started to lighten in favor of day, Mary Elizabeth heard the telling sounds of water lapping against a shore. By the time the horses' hooves started splashing in the water, there was enough light to make out distinct shadows. The island castle loomed ominously across the water, a dark silhouette against the lightening sky.
Mary Elizabeth groaned as she was lowered to the ground and then half tugged, half dragged toward the water's edge. She was lifted into a boat just as the craft was pushed into the loch and the paddles lifted to make haste in pulling it across the water. The water was no longer rough. As the colours of the early morning sun crept over the horizon, it reflected in the clear, almost glass-like surface of the loch. The insistent pull and splash as the oars did their duty was silenced almost as quickly as they had begun. Voices could be heard from the island’s shore.
“Who goes there?” a voice called out, presumably o
ne of the castle guards.
“James Stuart, Earl of Moray, Regent of Scotland.”
More splashing as the men along the shore splattered into the water to help pull the boat the remaining distance along the shallow waters to the island’s shore. Once banked, the men jumped out of the boat, following their leader up the steep slope to the castle. Mary Elizabeth was hoisted out of the boat and carried as far as dry land, where she was deposited on the ground. Her uncaring captor dragged her up the hill, not caring that she stumbled to maintain her balance and keep pace. They entered the castle at the main gate. While the regent and his men followed the castle guards deep into the courtyard, Mary Elizabeth’s captor yanked her away from the others, heading straight for the tower. Queen Mary’s tower.
They climbed the outer stairs and entered, but they didn’t continue their climb upwards to the queen’s chambers. Instead, the captor grabbed a large ring of keys from a hook on the wall and made his way to the nearest door. He fumbled with the keys until he found one that fit the keyhole. Once the lock released, he pulled open the door and shoved Mary Elizabeth inside. She landed against the far wall with a thud and slithered to the cold, damp ground.
“It pays to know one’s way around a castle,” he sneered. “I know where you are. Despite the regent’s insistence of pride and propriety for the Stuart name, I shall make sure to have some fun with you before you meet your judgement.” With that parting threat, the door slammed shut and the key in the lock clicked as it engaged.
“He is a mean one,” a voice cackled from across the cell. She was not alone.
“Are there others?” Mary Elizabeth's voice crackled as she pushed herself into a sitting position with her back against the cold, damp stone wall.
“Just me,” the voice replied. It was difficult to distinguish if the voice was male or female. “And the rats.” Mary Elizabeth cringed as she felt something scuttle over her feet. “And now you. But for how long? Who knows?”
It was too dark to make out any form, but the voice confirmed Mary Elizabeth’s fears. She was locked in a tiny cell, a dungeon of sorts. The force of impact against the cell’s wall had knocked the wind out of Mary Elizabeth. That, plus the exhaustion of the night’s events, left her too weak to care what may happen next. The darkness of the cell became a shroud that encompassed her entire being. Her eyes drooped closed and she slipped into oblivion.
Chapter Eight
KINROSS, 2016
“Mary Elizabeth.” A gentle shake on the shoulder startled her. “Mary Elizabeth, wake up. What are you doing here? And what’s this you’re wearing?”
Mary Elizabeth forced her eyes open. “Where am I?” She pushed herself up, looking around the bright space in which she lay propped against a wall. “What is this place? Jamie. What are you doing here?” She could feel dampness around her lower legs and, reaching down, noticed that her skirt was drenched.
Skirt? She was baffled. She had dressed this morning in blue jeans and a light cotton blouse. What was this gown? And why was she wearing it? Flashes of events popped into her head. A tiny baby, a rushed rescue, stepping out of the rowboat into the loch’s wet shore, a horseback ride through darkened woods, and a tiny croft in the glen. Alva, he had said. Gran had often talked about Alva Glen, its beauty and serenity. She had shown Mary Elizabeth photos of the area. Mary Elizabeth had always wanted to visit the place, but not in the dark, not on horseback, and not with a tiny baby to protect. And then they had thrown her into this cell, with someone else. Who? And why?
Jamie chuckled. “We came over together. Don’t you remember? We came to see the castle ruins and you wandered off by yourself, all weird-like.”
Mary Elizabeth shook the cobwebs from her mind and tried to stand. Jamie lent a hand. “Easy now,” he said. “You’ve bumped your head or something. As for your multitude of questions, I gather it was a cell for prisoners at one time.”
Mary Elizabeth studied the space. It did indeed look like a cell of some description. There were no windows, just the one opening where a door must have been a long time ago. She could hear it even now, the thud as it closed and the crank as the key engaged the lock. It made her shudder.
“Where is she?” a voice called in the distance. It was unmistakably the regent’s voice.
“In here my Lord.” It was the man with the key, the one with the evil glint in his eye and the disdainful promise of unseemly things to come.
A key clicked in the lock. The door creaked open. “Where is she?” the voice demanded.
“I swear my Lord. I put her in here. Locked her up myself.”
“But there’s no one here, is there?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Where is she, then? You going to tell me that she just disappeared in a puff of smoke? And was there not another prisoner in here as well? Where is that prisoner?”
“My Lord. I cannot explain it. I do not know what has happened to her or the other woman.”
“You know what happens to those who cross me. I heard your boasting on the trek here. You were going to have your way with her. Is that what you have done?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Where is she?”
“I do not know, my Lord.”
“Perhaps a few days in the cell will jog your memory, then.” And the door clanked shut, the key turning to lock it.
“No, no!” Mary Elizabeth moaned. She covered her ears in the hope of blocking out the voices. She trembled from head to foot as she scrambled to stand.
“Careful, now,” Jamie cautioned her. “You’ve had a bit of a scare. You were out cold a minute ago.”
“You would know.” Mary Elizabeth leaned against the wall for support as her legs tried to keep her upright. The room seemed to spin out of control. “You were there. You had me put in this cell.”
“What?” Jamie explained. “What are you talking about?”
Mary Elizabeth didn’t wait for an answer. Keeping one hand against the wall for support, she inched her way toward the doorway. “I have to get out of here. I don’t want to go back there. You were planning to have me executed.”
“You’re not making any sense, Mary Elizabeth.” Jamie moved to walk beside her. “But, yes, perhaps we should get out of here. The last boat will be leaving soon and I don’t think either one of us want to spend the night on the island.”
It was all Mary Elizabeth needed to get her body in gear. She found her way outside the tower and stumbled down the stairs into what was once the courtyard. There were other tourists making their way to the docks. She fell in step with them. Safety in numbers, she decided. She wanted to put some space between herself and the castle, between herself and Jamie. She didn’t understand what was happening, but it was downright scary.
She sat as far away from Jamie as she dared on the boat. He took the hint and found a seat toward the rear. She kept casting furtive looks his way, trying to sort things out in her head. Nothing made sense. Not the castle, not the tower, not the people she met, all in period costume. Certainly not the events as they had unfolded. And here she was dressed in period costume as well. She shook the cobwebs out of her brain, all to no avail.
The boat pulled up beside the dock at Kinross. Mary Elizabeth quickly debarked and scurried up the hill to Mrs. Dickson’s B & B. She rushed through the door, not taking the time to close it behind her, calling out as she paraded down the hall toward the kitchen at the back.
“Mrs. Dickson. Please, Mrs. Dickson, where are you?”
“In here, child. In the kitchen.”
Mary Elizabeth followed the sound of the woman’s voice, finding her just as she had earlier in the day, sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of her.
“Oh my.” Mrs. Dickson gasped. “And where have you been? Are you all dressed up for a costume party in the sixteenth century?”
That was all it took for Mary Elizabeth to burst into tears. She pulled out a chair opposite Mrs. Dickson, sat down, and buried her head in her hands. Mrs. Dickson
moved over to sit next to the distraught girl, patting her on the back. “There, there,” she said. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”
“Oh, but it is and more.” Mary Elizabeth glanced up briefly, taking in the kindly woman’s gaze before dropping her head back into her hands. “I don’t know what’s going on. It’s all a mess. And a confusing mess at that. What’s happening to me?”
“Looks and sounds to me like you’ve been on a bit of an adventure,” Mrs. Dickson suggested, giving Mary Elizabeth some time to sob the tears out of her system. As the tears abated, the woman went on. “I wondered last night when that lad, Jamie, brought you in. And now today you return dressed in period clothing. You’ve had a bit of an adventure in time, that’s what I’d say.”
Mary Elizabeth pushed her head off the table, dried her still damp eyes with the back of her hands, and glanced at Mrs. Dickson with pure, unabated shock. “What?”
“Time travel, my love.” Mrs. Dickson raised her eyebrows. “Your Gran travelled through time. Didn’t she tell you?”
Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “How did you know Gran?”
“Oh, we had some adventures together, we did.” Mrs. Dickson chuckled. “Mostly in the sixteenth century, but they were grand adventures. Yes, they were. Now it’s your turn. And I believe you have a task you must perform, which is why you’re being pulled into specific events and specific time frames. It’s all rather confusing at first, but you’ll catch on in time.” She chuckled again at her comment about time. She hadn’t meant to make a pun, but under the circumstances, anything said about time was relevant.
“And what about this Jamie person?” Mary Elizabeth asked.
“What about him?” Mrs. Dickson raised a curious eyebrow.
“He was there. He’s the regent.”
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