“But how do we know they arrived at the exact time we arrived? They may have arrived much earlier. Remember the farmer yelling ‘horse thief’ and trying to chase away our pursuers? What if his intervention altered the time vortex, or whatever you call it? And the farmer did not yell after us. It was as if he did not see either us or his horses as we rode through his field. It just does not add up.”
“My granddaughter has a point,” Gran said, sidling her horse up so that she was on the opposite side of Jamie. “But we should also consider that they jumped to a later time, instead of an earlier time. They may already be at the cottage, waiting to ambush us.” Noticing her granddaughter’s confusion, she explained, “They are time travellers, too, and they can jump around to whatever time and place they want, just like we can. At least to a point. So it is possible they were aware of our destination and they jumped ahead of us.”
As if to verify Gran’s statement, a whoosh exploded through the air near where they stood.
“That is definitely a designated marksman rifle, an adaptable and reliable weapon. And I am sure the whoosh you heard was a Flame Assault Shoulder Weapon, an M202 Flash. I think your grandmother is right,” Jamie announced, trying to turn around his jittery mount. “We need to take cover. Now!” A volley of shots rang out, shattering the otherwise still air around them.
The group made a mad dash to the tree line. “We cannot stay here,” Gran stated with firm conviction. “Those weapons have long range capability and we are just sitting ducks if we stay. We must make our way to the alternate safe house.”
Jamie nodded his head in agreement, still struggling to control his mount as it danced around in circles. The onslaught of firepower had stopped, momentarily. They all knew it would start up again all too soon.
“I have never heard of such powerful weapons.” The princess spoke in a squeaky voice, her fear evident.
“They are from the twenty-first century, of that I am sure,” Gran said simply. “And they are destructive. Does anyone have any weapons at all? I have my little compact pistol, always loaded and ready, but hardly much good for long range shooting.”
“Likewise,” Jamie contributed. “I have my Glock.”
“Should we be using weapons of the future?” Mary Elizabeth asked. “We change the course of events if we do, and archaeologists of the future will wonder how people or this era had access to such sophisticated weapons.”
“They will find the discharged bullets scattered in the earth,” Gran concurred.
“Or they may not,” the princess pointed out. “If they are not actively digging where the bullets are discarded, they may never find them and never question why they date from the sixteenth century when the weapons that used the bullets are from the twenty-first century.”
“No more questions! No more suppositions.” Jamie was adamant. “We must move. The other safe house has period weapons: swords, knives, and bows and arrows. We shall head there and hope that our pursuers do not think to make their way in that direction before us.”
Another volley of shots, this time from closer range, set the group in motion. Following Jamie’s lead, they nudged their horses forward and galloped through the forest, taking a different path than the one they had followed earlier. The princess struggled to keep her mother’s treasures tucked under her arm. There was no other way to fasten it securely to her mount and, with the rapid pace Jamie had set, she and the bag both bounced around precariously, even when Queenie maintained her smooth gait. They made so many turns, Mary Elizabeth was sure they were lost. She feared another sudden twist or turn would dismount her, or a low branch would snag her treasure and snatch it from her grasp.
The sky had clouded over and snow started to fall. The sun was hidden and of no use to give them a sense of direction. After multiple turns, Jamie abruptly stopped.
“We shall walk our horses from here.” He pointed ahead. “It is a steep decline to a fast-flowing river that has not totally frozen over in spite of the cold winter temperatures. It never freezes in England like it does in Toronto, but the snow is starting to accumulate and our path is easy enough to follow as our horses leave foot prints to mark our way. We must tread carefully down the slope, which is probably slippery now, and then we’ll carefully walk our horses in the stream. The water will be cold and the horses will not like it, but we must hide our tracks.”
Jamie led the way down the slope, carefully making a path for the others to follow. “We shall cross over here,” he said once they reached the river bank. Noticing the questionable looks on the women’s faces, he nodded. “We shall make extra tracks on the opposite side to confuse our pursuers, then double back to the river and head upstream. It is deep in the middle of the river, but the shallow waters on the opposite side have better footing. Hang on tight to your horses’ manes and let us move along as quickly as it is safe to move.”
Jamie nudged his mount into the water. The thin ice on the bank cracked and shattered as it gave way to their combined weight. Mary Elizabeth grabbed another firm handful of her horse’s mane and gave the animal a firm nudge with her legs. “Come along, Queenie.” She urged the horse into the water. The two had bonded remarkably well, as if they had been together for a lifetime. Mary Elizabeth felt quite comfortable on Queenie’s back and her stride was fast, confident, and gentle. If it weren’t for the murderous pursuers on their tail, Mary Elizabeth would have thoroughly enjoyed the ride. Perhaps there would be a chance to take a leisurely jaunt through the woods when all the threats lessened. Or would her life always be subject to pursuit and danger?
Queenie obeyed its rider’s urging and, with a snort of mild protest, gingerly placed one hoof after the other into the frigid water. Fortunately, the river’s current was not too strong and the three riders made it safely to the opposite bank. They followed Jamie’s lead, traipsing up and down the bank and into the dense woods beyond, trying to make it look like they had passed this way. If they could set the enemy off their trail, even for a few hours, it would certainly help.
The horses were starting to tire and Mary Elizabeth’s stomach had been grumbling in protest for some time. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Was it that hurried breakfast at Mrs. Dickson’s B & B in Kinross? And her eyelids were drooping. She was exhausted. This time travel, puddle jumping, seemed to be putting her biological clock out of whack and she had no idea how many hours, or even days, had passed since that last meagre meal in Kinross.
The group paused briefly at the river bed, having made their tracks quite noticeable and the trail well muddied. “We shall head upstream.” Jamie pointed in the general direction. “See that bend in the river?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We shall plod through the water, keeping close to this side of the river, until we are well beyond that bend and out of sight. Then we shall continue our route on land.”
Without waiting for comments or suggestions, Jamie nudged his horse back into the water and led the way. Mary Elizabeth and her grandmother followed, too tired to argue and too hopeful of reaching a safe house that was actually safe. It was slow going, as the rocks underfoot were slippery. By the time they had rounded the bend and were out of sight, a thunderous explosion of pounding hooves could be heard not far behind them.
“Let us move while they are making too much of their own noise to hear us.” Jamie gave his horse another nudge as they climbed out of the water. The others followed and soon they made haste, forcing their exhausted mounts into yet another gallop. They twisted and meandered through the woods until they approached a clearing. Jamie pulled his horse up short and motioned the others to be quiet. His eyes swept across the open space before them and they all listened intently, but the sounds that reached their ears were the normal sounds one would expect to find in the wild.
“Not much further.” Jamie let out a deep sigh. “We can walk from here.”
Mary Elizabeth and her grandmother pulled their horses up beside Jamie, one on either side. They walked casually, eased into
a sense of relief as the horses panted frosty air through their nostrils. The snow still fell, but the visibility was adequate and the tall grasses in the open field hid any evidence of hoof prints.
They reached the far end of the field and Jamie pointed straight ahead. A cottage, much like the MacGregor cottage near Kinross where Mary Elizabeth had escaped with the tiny babe in her arms, a baby that was herself at birth. It was a lot to wrap her head around. She was then; she was now; she was in the future. But where did she belong?
As they approached the cottage, a man stood at the entrance, blocking the doorway, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to render defense if needed. A woman nudged past and jogged toward the riders.
Chapter Sixteen
“Mrs. D,” Mary Elizabeth gasped in relief. “I was not sure we would see you again. We left you stranded at Fotheringay.”
“Not quite stranded.” The older woman fondly acknowledged the princess, who, mounted on such a fine horse as Queenie, was every bit the noble woman she was born to be. “Lady Jane came to my rescue and helped me escape the castle. I did manage to bring your things and some other treasures as well. But you are exhausted and, I am sure, hungry. We can talk inside while you eat. There is some hot stew on the fire. Just the thing to warm you up and fill you up.”
“That sounds marvellous.” Gran and Mary Elizabeth spoke in unison as they slid off their horses.
Mary Elizabeth let out a sharp, “Ouch!” as her feet touched the ground.
Gran exclaimed, “Your feet. What happened to your slippers?”
“They fell off as we plodded through the water,” the princess answered. “They were not much good anyway. Just useless decoration.”
“Billy, Sammy, come take care of the horses. Right quick now, will ye?” the man who had guarded the entrance called out. Two boys dashed around from the back of the cottage and quickly took charge of the horses.
“Well, get used to ‘useless decoration’,” Gran scolded her granddaughter after awarding her mount with a fond pat on the neck. She flashed a smile at the boy who had come to take her horse. Turning her attention back to her granddaughter, she added, “In your position, you are as much a ‘decoration’ as a ruler.”
Mary Elizabeth didn’t answer. The threesome made their way, stiffly, into the cottage, the princess walking a little more cautiously than the others, each step making new cuts in her already sore feet. That and the fact that every bone in Mary Elizabeth’s body screamed in protest. “I do not recall the last time I rode for so long at one time, and bareback at that. I could sure use a long soak in a tub full of hot water.”
“Well, you may not be able to do that, but there is water for a quick wash before you eat.” Mrs. D pointed to a bowl on the table next to the hearth. “You will just have to make do for now, I am afraid. We must not dally long as your pursuers will find you all too soon.”
It was a relief to enter the warmth of the cottage. Dark as cottages were in this era, due to the relatively few windows to allow in the daylight, it was at least warm and cozy and felt like a place of comfort and safety. The hearth glowed bright and cheery with a hearty fire, and a large pot hanging over the flames. Something sure smelled good and the three travellers welcomed the odour with noticeable stomach growls.
“I take it that means you have come to my home with a hearty appetite.” A large, stout woman beamed from beside the fire, ladle in hand ready to stir and serve. “Come. Come sit.” She gave a great sweeping motion toward the table. The travellers didn’t need much urging. They washed quickly in the single bowl that Mrs. D had pointed out and quickly found a seat on the rough-hewn bench that stretched the length of the table.
“Mistress Langley,” Mrs. D announced, making the appropriate introductions, “may I present James Stuart, the Earl of Moray.” Jamie gave a slight bow of his head at the introduction. “My lady Queen Mother, Marie de Guise, and her Royal Highness, Princess Mary Elizabeth of Scotland.”
Their hostess gave a slightly awkward curtsy and said, “Welcome to my humble home.”
“The rest you have already met: her husband and her two boys,” Mrs. D explained. “Now you must eat.”
Bowls of steaming hot stew were placed before each guest. A fresh loaf of bread sat in the centre of the table. Mrs. D broke off pieces for the hungry travellers. They each accepted it gratefully, and, lacking any other utensils, used the crispy chunks of bread to scoop up the stew. They ate in silence, too hungry to talk.
Jamie was the first one to finish. He sat back on the bench with a contented sigh. “That was quite fine!” he complimented the hostess. “The best stew I have eaten in some time.”
Mrs. Langley blushed at his praise. “Thank you, my Lord.”
She offered him more stew, but he waved his hand to decline. “That was sufficient, thank you. I do not want to feel overstuffed when going into battle.”
“Battle?” Mrs. D quirked her eyebrows upwards. “I thought we were moving on, trying to stay ahead of the enemy.”
“The princess here says otherwise,” Jamie explained.
“We must stand and fight at some point,” Mary Elizabeth pointed out. “We cannot run forever.”
“But you will put these good people in even more danger,” Mrs. D argued. “And we have no army to back us up.”
“I have been trained with the sword and the bow and arrow,” Mary Elizabeth argued back. “Grandmother is also agile with various weapons. I assume Jamie knows a thing or two about fighting.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We only saw five pursuers at the first jump. We do not know how many made it to our current time. If we set the trap and ambush them before they have a chance to load and aim their weapons, it should not take much to erase the problem.”
Gran finished her stew and pushed the bowl away. “Thank you, Mrs. Langley. That was fine. Filling.” She used complimentary words to express her gratitude to their hostess. “You do realise you have put yourself and your family in grave danger by assisting us.”
The woman nodded. “Yes, my Lady Queen Mother.”
“What is it you want in return?” Gran asked bluntly. “Gold, land, titles?”
Mrs. D spoke up. “These are loyal supporters of the Stuart family. They may live in England, but they are originally from the north. There are many northern English people who would rather tie their alliances with the Scots than with the English.”
“Our Queen Elizabeth does not care much for us common folk.” Mr. Langley spoke up from the doorway through which he had just entered. “All they do is take from us. They take our boys to fight their battles. They take our food and livestock to feed their nobles. And they take our women for their own pleasure. We have no loyalties to the English Queen.”
“I would ask one favor, though, if I might,” Mrs. Langley spoke up timidly, as if she wasn’t sure if she should speak at all. “My boys. You could give them a spot in your court. Billy is the oldest. He knows a thing or two about fighting. Sammy is learning, too. And they are both good with horses and they would make good spies. Being children still, they can weave in and out amongst people unnoticed.”
“It is kind of you to offer your children,” Mary Elizabeth replied with a warm smile of thanks. “But do you want to give them up, perhaps never see them again?”
“We just want what is best for the boys,” Mr. Langley stated, keeping his post at the doorway. He made frequent glances over his shoulder to survey the world outside. “They have no future here, and if we have put ourselves in danger by helping you, as you say, then we are probably not long for this world. I would have my boys’ futures guaranteed.” He paused briefly, then continued, “My boys are out scouting now. They have devised a code using their whistles.”
“I do hope it will not come to that,” Gran said graciously.
A whistle pierced the air, followed by another. “The enemy approaches. If you are to lay ambush, you had better prepare now. There are weapons in the back room.” He motioned to the opening in the back.
“What about side saddles?” Mary Elizabeth queried as she dutifully followed the older woman into the back space behind the curtain.
“Not in this era.” Mrs. D pointed to the petticoats. “Let’s get you out of that dress quickly and into those petticoats and the other gown. And there are your boots.” She waved to another stash of items in the corner. “You must wear them. Though not the current style of footwear, they will certainly do better at protecting you than did those flimsy slippers or your bare feet.”
While Mary Elizabeth did as she was told, the older woman continued to talk. “In answer to your question about side saddles, Princess Anne rode in a side saddle contraption that she helped design on her way to marry King Richard II, but with the large expanse of skirts, it was not deemed necessary for propriety, nor practical, especially if the rider, like yourself, was about to ride into battle, or ride with haste away from danger. The quilted petticoats will add some padding so your bare legs will not chafe against the saddle.”
As the princess bent over to pull on the petticoats, her treasure box slid off her shoulder and bumped her knees. “Oh no,” she groaned. “I cannot fight with this wrapped around me, but I do not want to leave it anywhere. I must keep it safe.”
“Here.” Mrs. D reached out to take it. “There is a hidden space behind the wall in the corner. Even if the cottage is destroyed, the box will be protected and you can retrieve it after the battle.”
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