This time, I can’t resist. I step forward and put my hands on her shoulders. I know this is a dream, yet she feels real. She leans into my touch and then she’s pressed against my chest. I don’t dare to breathe, scared that even something as simple as the sound of my exhale might shatter the moment.
Since she’s almost as tall as I am, her hair falls against my face and I breathe in her scent. Wild heather, like you’d smell it on a summer’s day in the Highlands of Scotland. I wrap my hands around her slender waist, expecting her to resist, but instead, she relaxes even further.
“I’ve not felt the touch of a fellow human being in so long,” she whispers. “My ladies undress me, but their hands are cold. They love me, as I love them, but it’s not proper for them to touch me more than they need to when they help me out of my clothes.”
My heart breaks for her. My lonely Queen. Imprisoned not just by her gaoler, but also by her station. I wonder if she’s ever had a true friend since she lost her first husband. Someone who was her equal rather than her subordinate.
I don’t know how to reply, so I stay silent, simply enjoying how her chest moves against mine whenever she breathes, how her scent warms my soul, how her body seems to be made for my own.
After an eternity, she gently detangles herself from my embrace and turns around, her sparkling eyes meeting mine.
She takes my hands into hers. “Will you disappear if I kiss you?”
“If I do, then I will hate myself for the rest of my life,” I whisper hoarsely.
Mary smiles and lets go of my hands to cup my face. Her thumbs stroke my beard. I hope she likes it, but for Mary, I’d shave off even my beloved beard.
Her lips meet mine and I can no longer think. Soft yet firm, she kisses me, and all I can do is grasp her hair and pull her closer. She holds back at first, as if she’s scared that I might vanish if she lets go completely, but when nothing happens, she turns bolder, nudging my lips open.
I let her in. The moment her tongue touches my own, something erupts in me, beautiful and wondrous. Like light is streaming into my soul itself, illuminating hidden parts of me that I’d forgotten.
It’s the best moment of my life.
And then I’m ripped away into the darkness.
Chapter 5
I lived for the nights when I got to be with Mary. The days trickled past, filled with lectures that I no longer cared about. The present had turned grey and bland. Seamus tried to get through to me, admonishing me whenever he got the chance, but I ignored him.
Every night I didn’t dream of her was torture. When my alarm woke me in the morning, I often threw it across the room, angry that I’d failed in reaching Mary. She needed me to lighten her days.
They’d given her a new goaler, Sir Amias Paulet, a brute of a man with no trace of kindness or pity. He took away her furniture and her last remaining stately gowns, leaving her with nothing but the clothes of a common woman. She wore them like a Queen, but her health was deteriorating rapidly in her cold room filled with mildew. Before, she’d sometimes been allowed to walk within the small castle garden, but Paulet confined her to her room, her only source of sunlight the draughty window.
Of course I’d read about all that in books, but seeing it for myself made me curse both Mary’s goalers as well as Queen Elizabeth for doing this to her own cousin.
When I was with her, we didn’t talk about politics. I knew she was still trying to escape, but I couldn’t tell her that all her attempts were going to fail. I also didn’t warn her not to get involved in the plot to assassinate Elizabeth that some of Mary’s supporters were hedging. I couldn’t influence history, no matter how much it hurt to know that my Queen’s days were numbered.
I silently watched as she was moved to the manor house at Chartley. I stayed quiet when she was taken to Tixall Castle. And I cried when I woke up from the dream where I saw her arriving at Fotheringhay Castle. The last place she’d ever see. Her death was coming closer and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.
Every night, I was scared that this might be the dream where I’d have to watch her execution. When I didn’t dream of her, I had nightmares of the axe crashing down on her neck. I’d woken up screaming more than once.
I knew it couldn’t go on like this, but there was only one inevitable way it could stop: Mary’s death. The thought of it made me shudder. I couldn’t bear imagining what my life would look like without her. In this moment, Mary felt more real than my life in the present. She was all I wanted.
My phone beeped and I looked at the message.
SEAMUS: Meet me in the library, the no-longer-dusty section. I may have found a solution.
I chuckled. It was an inside joke. When we’d been in our final year, we’d been given detention for jumping further in time than we should have in that particular assignment. Who could blame us for wanting to watch Cleopatra fuck Caesar…
As our punishment, we’d spent a week dusting off the books in one of the oldest parts of the library. The librarian, a plump woman who spent most of her days shushing students and lovingly stroking the spines of antique books, had been a real slave driver. By the end of the week, we’d both been coughing like chain smokers and our clothes were so covered in dust that the guy leading the school’s laundry had sent us a personal complaint.
I hurried to the library, unsurprised to find it full of students. Exam time was coming up and everyone was trying to squeeze in some last-minute studying.
“Professor, could you-“
“Sir, would you have a minute to-“
I ignored the students trying to stop me. It was a Sunday, my day off, and they could get lost for all I cared. They should have started studying a little earlier. Not that I’d ever done that, but I was a teacher now and I needed to think like one.
Luckily, the no-longer-dusty section was nice and quiet. It was rare that a student ever went here. The books were old, hard to read and too niche for most Academy assignments.
“Finally, what took you so long?”
Seamus was on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by stacks of books.
“It’s chaos out there. Haven’t you noticed?”
He shrugged. “I took the secret entrance.”
Urgh, I should have remembered that one. It would have saved me squeezing through hordes of students.
“What did you find?”
He pointed at the floor. “Sit down, this might take a while.”
I frowned, but did as he’d asked. “What’s this all about?”
Seamus rolled his eyes. “Saving your ungrateful arse. Turning you into a functioning human being again. Before you get the sack.”
“My arse isn’t ungrateful,” I muttered, but he shut me up by handing me a leather-bound book.
“Chapter fourteen. There’s a precedent.”
“Precedent for what?”
He groaned. “Just read it. Please. You’ll see.”
I shot him an annoyed look – why did he have to be so damn cryptic – but I flicked through the book’s brittle pages until I found the chapter he’d mentioned.
The Witch Janet Boyman and the Time Agent Angus Napier – a Case Study
I skimmed the text, my heart beating faster with every sentence I read. This was incredible. A tiny seed of hope bloomed within my chest as I realised the implications. When I finally looked up, Seamus was grinning at me.
“Good, right?”
I nodded. “Incredible.”
“Of course, the key difference is that Napier had the Time Agency’s permission. You won’t get that. But it shows a way this could work. Not that I advise you to do it, that would be foolish. In fact, I’m hereby telling you not to do it.” He got to his feet and winked at me. “Plausible deniability. Good luck.”
I read the story another time. Janet had been a woman living in the 16th century, poor and uneducated but well-versed in herbology. A time agent, Angus Napier, had visited her village as part of an Agency mission – the book didn’t say
what the mission had been; it was classified, but apparently Janet had helped Angus with his task. He stayed in the past for several months; long enough to build a friendship with Janet.
Close to the end of his mission, he made a fatal mistake. In a slip of the tongue, he mentioned that Scotland’s Regent, John Erskine, was going to die the following month. Janet didn’t question him; by then she was probably aware that there was more to Angus than met the eye.
It all fell apart when she mentioned the Regent’s imminent death to a friend. When Erskine did indeed die, Janet was accused of witchcraft. Other accusations were brought forward, such as Janet having healed a man by communing with a spirit, and having born five children without any pain.
She was sentenced to death, but Angus wouldn’t accept her fate. It was his fault, after all. He travelled back into the present and persuaded the Head of the Time Agency to allow him to take Janet with him, saving her minutes before her execution.
Together, they shared a happy thirty years living in the present. Only when she was close to dying from the effects of a stroke did Angus return her to the past, disguised to look like she had when he’d helped her escape her fate. By the time she was executed, she was already dead.
The thought of her still suffering the injustice of being killed for being a witch left a bitter taste on my tongue, but her death had been recorded in historical documents and was inevitable. Angus would never have been allowed to change history for good, but he had been able to give her a life. The book didn’t say whether it had been just friendship or more between them, but in the end, that didn’t matter.
He’d taken a woman from the past without affecting history.
Now I was going to do the same.
Chapter 6
The suit was tight against my body, covering me from top to bottom. It was brand new technology only just authorised for use by the Time Agency. I wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but once I arrived in the past, I’d look like I was wearing epoch-appropriate clothing. It helped me avoid a trip to the Archive where we previously got our outfits from. Questions would be asked and I didn’t want anyone to know about this trip.
I’d already told the Headmistress that I was taking several weeks off for health reasons. She’d not even asked for details; it was clear words of my poor performance as a teacher must have reached her ears. I’d asked for three weeks, but she’d given me two months with the option to extend if I needed to. She really had to think that I was close to a breakdown. It suited me well though. It would take time to integrate Mary into modern life. She was extremely intelligent and adaptable, but still, she was a Queen in her current time, and here she’d be like anybody else, but without the knowledge of how things worked. She’d never seen a car, didn’t know what computers were, and she’d probably think microwaves were witchcraft. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I had no doubts that she’d manage. She was Mary Queen of Scots. She was a born survivor.
My time bracer showed my destination in neon green script. 7th February 1587, 9.30pm. All my history books said that Mary had spent the evening alone in the castle’s chapel, praying. This was my best chance of taking her from her time without anyone noticing.
I took a deep breath, pushing all doubt from my mind. This was the right thing to do. I couldn’t let her die, rules be damned. I was breaking the law, but it was worth it.
“For Mary,” I whispered and pressed the jump button.
Sunlight swallowed me, pulling me through time. I always loved the way time travel made me feel. Completely free. I flew along bright beams of light, every breath both eternal and no time at all. Time was fluid, ever-changing, and it was never as clear to me as when I travelled through it.
The light spat me out at the dais of a small chapel. It was lit only by the flickering shine of dozens of candles dotted through the room. It was dark and cold outside, yet this chapel gave me a strange sense of warmth and peace.
Mary knelt on the stone floor, clad all in black. Her hands clutched a rosary. Her head was bowed. Why wasn’t she looking at me? She must have sensed my arrival.
Slowly, I walked towards her, my footsteps echoing through the chapel.
Finally, she lifted her head.
“You!” she gasped.
I stretched out a hand to help her up. She looked at it, then at my face.
“Are you real? You seem different.”
I nodded. “I’m real.”
Her eyes widened as she took my hand. I pulled her to her feet, a little sad at how easy it was. She’d lost weight. As soon as she was upright, she let go of my hand and once again clasped her rosary.
“Are you here to say goodbye?” she asked quietly. “I assume you know that I’m to be executed tomorrow.”
My throat constricted. This was my last chance. I could let go of my plan now. She never had to know. I could go back to teaching. Keep living my life. Not break every law in the book. But no, there was no way I’d leave her to her fate.
I cleared my throat. “I’m here to rescue you.”
Her brow furrowed. “Rescue me? There is no escape. Even if you manage to get me out of this castle, we are far from Scotland, far from the sea. We’d never reach freedom without getting caught.”
She’d resigned herself to her death, and that broke my heart. This proud, powerful woman, devoid of all hope.
“I’m going to take you home,” I said, my voice quivering slightly. I took a second time bracer from my pocket and held it out to her. “To my time. You don’t need to die. You can come with me. You’ll be safe in my world.”
She stared at the bracer, but didn’t move to take it.
“You wouldn’t have to stay with me,” I stuttered to fill the silence. “I don’t expect anything from you. There are no conditions tied to this. You can live your life however you want.”
Mary smiled at me, but her eyes were bottomless pits of sadness. Her lips moved, but it took my brain a small eternity before I realised what she just said.
“No.”
My heart missed a beat. Of all the complications I’d tried to think of when I came up with this plan, that hadn’t been one of them.
No. The word echoed through my mind. No.
She stepped forward and took my hands in hers. Her skin was cold.
“I can’t leave my subjects,” she whispered. “I have dedicated my life to serve the people of Scotland. I cannot abandon them now. Yes, I have plotted to escape, but my aim was never just to save my life. I’ve always intended to return to Scotland. They took my son from me, turned him against me. He needs to be guided onto the right path and I cannot do that if I’m with you, in the future.”
“You can’t do it if you’re dead either,” I shouted, my pain erupting into loud words. “You’ll never return to Scotland, Mary! You’ll die tomorrow. They’re going to cut off your head. The executioner will blunder and it will take three strikes to sever your head from your body. The ground will be drenched in your blood.” I was shaking all over, squeezing her hands so tight that I was sure it was painful for her. “You have to survive. You need to. I need you. I…”
My voice trailed off and I let go of her hand, stepping backwards. My joy at seeing her again had vanished. Only cold sorrow remained, tinged with disappointment and fear.
I was going to lose her.
My eyes burned at the realisation, but I didn’t want to cry in front of her. She was strong. Tomorrow, she was going to walk to the scaffold with her head held high. She’d even tell her executioners that she forgave them for what they were about to do.
“I cannot leave,” Mary repeated, her voice shaking. I met her eyes, glassy with the same unshed tears I was fighting against. “If I have to die, then so be it. I’m ready for it. I shall make my peace with God tonight and I will die a happy woman tomorrow.”
I shook my head, desperation clouding my mind. “There is no happy death. Why do you think Elizabeth has held off signing your death warrant for so long? You were sentenced in Octob
er, yet she only signed it a week ago. She didn’t even intend for her Privy Council to act on it. She won’t find out about your execution until it’s too late.” I took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm my raging terror. “Mary, you don’t need to die. You shouldn’t. If Elizabeth knew, she might even stop it. Let me help you. Please.”
I fell to my knees, looking up at her. Mary’s lips were quivering and tears were finally spilling from her beautiful eyes.
“I…How can I leave? What kind of Queen would that make me?”
“A brave one,” I replied hoarsely. “If you stay here, you’re giving up. Keep fighting. Come with me and live. We can move to Scotland. You can still help your people, the ancestors of those you want to die for now.”
“How?” she asked. “You said you no longer have a monarchy. How can I be their Queen if you no longer have a Royal family?”
“There are other ways of helping people than just ruling them,” I said softly. I had to be careful now. She was at the cusp of changing her mind and I couldn’t mess this up. I had to save her life.
“You could work with a charity. Help the homeless. Fight climate change. Go into politics. Protect the ancient castles and ruins. Look after children in need. Hell, we can adopt a whole house full of little Scottish babies if you want.”
She laughed, startling me. It was such a pleasant sound. It didn’t fit the turmoil in my heart, but I greedily soaked it up, relishing every moment the echo lasted.
“I’m forty-four and you want me to have babies?”
“You can do whatever you want,” I hastily said. “Anything. That was just a random idea. I’ll help you, support you. Please.”
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