The princess handed the older woman the box and watched as she buried it deep into a cavity in the wall, stuffing some rags into the hole to conceal its contents. “It is like a root cellar, only smaller.”
Mrs. D nodded. “And perhaps it has been used to keep things cool in the summer months, but more likely it is a safe place to hide things of value. There are a lot of thieves roaming this land and even a humble cottage like this is an easy target for criminals.”
They both glanced back as Gran entered the dark space and squinted her eyes to see better. “Ah!” she exclaimed and reached for a leather baldric, which she immediately swung across her shoulder, the scabbard positioned under the opposite arm from her sword arm. Mary Elizabeth had seen her grandmother in this baldric on many occasions when they had practised the art of sparring. The sword she tucked into the scabbard was familiar as well. Gran had always preferred the baldric to the belt, defending her preference by explaining that a tight belt around her waist restricted the movement of her sword arm.
Everyone had their weapons and armor of choice. For the princess, it was the leather belt, and she noticed hers and her preferred sword lying in the corner where Gran had retrieved hers. There were other weapons as well, and Mary Elizabeth was pleased to notice her special bow and quiver of arrows. She couldn’t wear a baldric effectively with a quiver tossed over one shoulder, hence her use of a leather belt and scabbard to hold her sword.
Fully dressed again, Mary Elizabeth picked up her sword belt and wrapped it snuggly around her waist, adjusting the scabbard so that her sword would be placed in a position of easy access.
She picked up the sword and fingered the sharp line of the blade. She recalled the many times she had sparred with an instructor in the arts of medieval warfare, as well as the times she parried with her grandmother. Good memories. The weight of the sword felt just right as she lifted it to study its contours. A typical broadsword of Scottish origin, it had been fashioned for a woman to bear. A basket wrapped around the hilt, an innovative addition to protect the sword hand. There was a distinct pattern on the basket of the princess’s sword: a unicorn with its horn woven in gold filigree, an image from the Royal Stuart emblem.
The unicorn also marked the focal point of her quiver, which she wrapped around her shoulder. Picking up her bow, she tested the tension of the bowstring. It felt familiar, good, and secure. She was ready. Whatever came her way, she would give it her best. She had been taught that the use of bows and arrows as a weapon of war had gone out of practice in the sixteenth century, but that didn’t matter. It was still a weapon —one she felt confident using and that she intended to use with brutal accuracy. She always hit the bullseye, and this time it would be the heart of one of her enemies.
“I am ready,” she announced with conviction. Mrs. D nodded her approval and pulled the curtain that divided the space back. Mary Elizabeth walked proudly into the main room. As she made her presence known, everyone paid homage with a bow or a curtsy. She lifted her head high, pushing her shoulders back. Oh yes, she was more than ready. And she had never felt more important, more royal, than at this moment.
Chapter Seventeen
“They come.” Jamie broke the reverence. “The boys are hidden in the trees with their bows. They will make the first move. When the pursuers are within our range, we can also let out a volley of arrows.”
“And if they let out a volley of whatever twenty-first century monstrosities of destruction they have at their disposal, what do we do then?” Gran asked the obvious.
Jamie didn’t answer. There was no answer. They would all just have to do the best they could. He faced Mary Elizabeth. “Princess.” He motioned with his weapon-free arm. “I know of a place outside for you to take cover.” Noticing the look that suggested a protest, he continued, “You must. They have sophisticated weapons and could easily take aim and destroy this cottage with one blast. You cannot take that chance. In order to succeed, you must be kept safe at all cost. And you will have a better angle to stand defiant and make a good defense. Your grandmother will also be hidden in the shrubberies directly opposite you. The rest of us will make our stand here.”
Her grandmother stepped forward and took Mary Elizabeth’s elbow, starting to usher her toward the door. “Do not worry about me,” she tried to reassure the young woman. “I taught you everything, or at least most of what you need to know in order to defend yourself. I am still an adept warrior, even in my advancing years.”
Mary Elizabeth nodded with a half-smile. She knew that Gran had always proved a worthy opponent when sparring or shooting targets. She could hold her own. Mary Elizabeth could as well, but this would be her first time using her combatant talents in a real battle, one that would result in death of either her side or her opponents. She had to believe that Jamie had more battle experience than she did, so she gave way to his better judgement and hoped there would be a next time when she could make the best decisions to win a battle.
Whistles pierced the air. “We must get in position now,” Jamie urged, all but pushing Mary Elizabeth and her grandmother out the door. The two women ran, following Jamie’s directions, and ducked for cover behind some thick, tall shrubs.
Just in time. A whiz suggested the flight of arrows, which was followed by shrieks of pain, hopefully from the enemy. An explosive blast shattered the air. The battle had begun. Figures, dressed in dark attire, started to weave out of the woods at various angles. There were a lot more than the anticipated four or five. Where and when had they recruited so many fighters?
There was no time to ask questions. Once the pursuers were within range, Mary Elizabeth pulled a bow from her quiver, aimed, and let it fly. The arrow met its target right in the eye, and took the man down with a piercing cry. Arrow hits were always painful and, if well aimed, deadly. The princess knew that the best bullseye was the human eye and with her twenty-twenty vision, she could make her mark every time, as long as it was within arrow range.
She took down several more of the approaching enemy. She noticed arrows flying out of the trees, reassured the boys were still relatively hidden and making a valiant effort in assisting her cause. She pulled out another arrow and was about to position it and take aim when she heard the unmistakable click of a pistol at her ear. She had been so focused on the assailants coming from the woods that she hadn’t considered others circling around and closing in from behind. She should have been more vigilant.
“I do not think so, Princess,” a voice sneered in her ear. “Drop the bow and arrow.” She did as she was told, feeling the man’s grip as he tore her quiver from her shoulder. “Now the sword, nice and slow.”
Mary Elizabeth pulled her sword out of its sheath, as slow as possible, assessing the man’s position by his hot breath and his loud whisper. She thought it odd that he would have her pull the sword from its sheath to disarm her. It was obvious he had little experience or knowledge of sixteenth century battle tactics, assuming, falsely, the one with the superior weapon, in this case a pistol, would have the upper hand. Not always the case and she was determined to use his arrogance to her advantage.
Her right hand firmly placed in the basket of the sword, she made a quick duck and pivot, slashing the sword in a sweeping motion which knocked her captor off his feet. The gun went off, but the bullet flew wild into the trees, way off its mark. A gash of red streaked across the man’s legs, running down like a mighty waterfall, staining the white snow where it fell.
It was a movement she had learned years ago while watching various kung fu programs on television. While practising her swordsmanship, she would often re-enact scenes. Gran had noticed some of her moves and had taken the initiative to enroll her granddaughter into kung fu classes to supplement her already superior abilities with the sword and bow. She knew the movements her granddaughter learned might come in handy, even if they were not commonly used on a battlefield. Whatever worked, was Gran’s motto.
“You witch!” The man groaned, adding a few more
colourful expletives. He pointed his pistol at the princess with a hand that now shook violently. He reached over with his other hand to try and steady the shaking, but it only made it worse. His gun went off again, but Mary Elizabeth easily dodged the bullet’s trajectory.
She quickly took action, placing the point of her sword at the man’s neck and ordered, “Now you drop it!” She didn’t need to make her point. The man’s genicular artery, part of the main leg artery, had taken the brunt of her vicious slash and it appeared to be quickly emptying his body of its blood. His hand trembled and fell where he lay, and his life flickered to an end.
Mary Elizabeth had studied her anatomy, both at school and as part of her job as a book editor. There had been several medical books that required her editing skills and she had learned while she worked. She knew where to make a strike that would count. She could save this man’s life if she tried to staunch the flow of blood, but what was the point in doing that? He would just come back at her another time. Better to erase the problem at its source than allow it to fester over time and return with renewed vengeance.
“And next time, watch your language. Your vocabulary is unsuitable for the sixteenth century.” There was no response. The man’s eyeballs rolled into his head, which drooped to one side, lifeless.
The princess quickly wiped her sword of his blood and re-sheathed it. She retrieved her bow and quiver of arrows, but by the time she was ready to fire again, all was quiet. Gran came out of her safe place and Jamie exited the cottage with Mrs. D and the Langleys. The boys jumped from the trees and scurried to their parents.
Mary Elizabeth nodded and waved at the others before turning back to her victim. There must be some identification on him, but she didn’t notice any pockets in either his pants or his jacket. There was a sack laying partly underneath the body. She tugged it out and opened it, dumping the contents into the blood-drenched snow.
“What have we here?” she asked herself, keeping her voice as soft as possible. Feeling around inside a small compartment, she pulled out a leather folder, wallet sized. She flipped it open to reveal a photo identification card. “Special Agent Richard Dean, Her Majesty’s Secret Service. In service to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.” Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “No. It cannot be true. Why would someone from the twenty-first century want me dead?”
There was not much else of interest in the bag, mostly just ammunition. There was no paperwork, but there wouldn’t be. The Secret Service was just that: secret. No paper trail. Nothing.
There was, however, a cell phone. Certainly not sixteenth century issue. She chuckled to herself at the thought. Out of curiosity, she flipped it open. No signal, of course, and low battery. She tucked the cell phone and the ID wallet into her leather belt and left the remaining contents where she had dumped them. The bag she would keep. It would be ideal for carrying her treasure box, which had suffered from all the rigors of her escape galloping through time.
She glanced at the cottage, following the sound of voices. The snow fell heavy and she had to use her ears to navigate, as her eyes couldn’t make out much more than the snowflakes falling by her nose. She heard the young boys chattering excitedly about their first battle. They obviously felt a sense of pride at being so successful. And if they knew how well trained the Secret Service agents were, the ones they had just taken down, they would be even more proud.
“There must‘ave been at least a dozen or more,” Billy, the older boy, remarked. “And we took ‘em all.”
Chapter Eighteen
The snow was coming down heavily, wiping away the well-tread path to and from the cottage door. It will cover the bodies and the bloodstains as well, Mary Elizabeth thought. Visibility was poor. In fact, the cascading snowflakes were so thick she couldn’t make out more than a few feet in front of her.
“Better get inside,” Jamie instructed. “Boys, Mr. Langley, perhaps you could give me a hand. We must move the bodies while we can, and before we leave this place we will obliterate all their remains so people in the future have no reason to question why men of the twenty-first century were fighting in the sixteenth century.”
“And why were they?” Mary Elizabeth had to ask. Even though the snow was starting to trickle down her neckline and beneath her gown, she wanted to know why she was being pursued by people from many different eras.
“They want to stop you,” Jamie snapped. “They feel threatened by you and your purpose.” It was evident to Mary Elizabeth that he was feeling the cold. He was obviously frustrated. They all were. The heavy snowfall prevented them from leaving this place, even though it was not safe to stay here. At least, not now. Not until they were sure that they had eliminated the current threat.
“Stop me from what? Threatened why?”
“From keeping Scotland independent and free of dominance,” Jamie answered bluntly. “Now inside. Your grandmother can explain it better than I can. I need to know you are safe inside while we deal with the issue of disposing the evidence.”
“And how do you plan to obliterate the weapons?” Mary Elizabeth insisted on getting her answers before going indoors. She had to know. She wanted to know. It was her life that was at stake. Her life and the lives of her subjects, the Scottish people. She had a right to know.
“Enough!” Jamie snapped. He waved to Gran. “Take her inside. Now!” With that, he spun on his heels and led the boys back to the woods to clear up the mess from battle. The snow swirled around him and soon created a thick mist that hid both him and the Langleys.
“Why does he do that?” Mary Elizabeth stormed. “Why does he order me about like that? If I ask a question, I want an answer.”
Gran chuckled softly as she led her granddaughter inside, out of the wet and cold. “I think he likes you a little more than you realise.” She patted her granddaughter on the shoulder with affection. “And what he feels for you is making him overly protective and concerned. Now, enough questions. I know you want some answers, but enough for now.”
Both ladies let out a sigh of relief as they entered the warm space of the cottage’s main room. Mrs. Langley had just added another log and the fire was crackling merrily, sparking out a cheery tune much like the rap music Mary Elizabeth had often listened to with her friends, much to her grandmother’s horror. She started to do a little tap dancing, but her boots were slippery on the mud floor and she quickly thought better of it.
Mrs. D motioned the ladies into the back space. “We must get you out of those wet clothes, both of you,” she insisted.
Mary Elizabeth stood shivering as she shook the snow from her dress. Placing her bow and quiver of arrows against the wall, she proceeded to unfasten the belt that held her sword. Her hands shook from the cold and she fumbled clumsily. She hadn’t thought of asking for gloves, but doubted there were any handy for her to use. It didn’t matter as she didn’t like wearing gloves, especially when she worked with her bow. “I like to feel the tension with my bare hands,” she always claimed. Well this time, she felt the brisk cold of the winter storm as well as the tension of the bow string.
“Not to worry, Princess.” Mrs. D came over to help. “Here. Let me do that. We shall have to find some gloves for you, even though you might not appreciate them. They are the style and they do protect hands from the elements.” She brushed Mary Elizabeth’s hands aside and managed to unfasten the belt. As it loosened, the items the princess had collected from her victim dropped to the floor at her feet.
“What is this?” Mrs. D bent down to retrieve the items before Mary Elizabeth realised they had fallen. She had almost forgotten she had tucked them in her belt.
“I took them from the man I killed,” Mary Elizabeth explained. “He is, or was, a member of Queen Elizabeth II’s Secret Service. What does the twenty-first century Secret Service want with me?”
“They want to prevent Scotland from being a free country,” Gran replied, repeating what Jamie had suggested before he left them standing at the door. “If you succeed, then En
gland will never become the amalgamation of three countries under the heading of Great Britain. They do not want that to happen. Great Britain in the twenty-first century depends on what happens to you in the sixteenth century.”
“But how do they even know about me? And how is it they can travel through time?”
“So many questions; so few answers.” Gran shrugged out of her cloak. She walked over to her granddaughter and took her hands. “All will be revealed in time. Be patient.” Turning to Mrs. D, she gasped. “And what is this? A cell phone?”
“Not mine.” Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “My victim’s.”
“Well, you must destroy it and get rid of it,” Gran insisted. “There will be a tracking device embedded in it. They are so high tech, I am sure they can track signals beyond the time warp. We do not want to assist our pursuers in finding us.”
Mary Elizabeth stood quietly for a few minutes, mulling over what her grandmother had just said. “You are right. I was not thinking.” She took the cell phone and dropped it on the ground, grinding the heel of her boot into its thin surface, shattering it to pieces.
“And that bag.” Gran pointed to the bag that now lay with Mary Elizabeth’s weapons. “It may have a tracking device hidden inside as well, and the man’s ID. It all must be destroyed. We shall show Jamie later and then make sure it is well obliterated before we leave this place.”
Mrs. D placed the princess’s belt and sword on the floor next to the bow and quiver, and then motioned Mary Elizabeth to turn around. “I have lots of clothes here. Some used to be your mother’s. Lady Jane helped me move things from the castle, before and after your visit.” Looking over her shoulder at Gran, she added, “I believe some of your old clothes are in the trunk as well.”
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