Entwined (5 page)

“I know what you are thinking, lad, and you can wipe it straight from your mind. Long lazy days are not in your future. Go on, get back into the store and leave your mother and me to talk for a minute.”

“Alright, I’ve gone,” he said, hanging his head in mock rejection.

“What are we going to do with him, Simon?” I asked smiling.

“I’ll be damned if I know, lass.”

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”

He grinned and moved slowly toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me gently against him.

“It wasn’t talking I had in mind, but for now I will just have to settle for a kiss,” he said, cupping my chin in the palm of his hand. I smiled softly up at him as he lowered his lips and brushed them against mine. “Until tonight then, lass,” he whispered.

We both jumped apart as the bell above the shop door tinkled and the door creaked slowly open. A man wearing a pair of grubby jeans and a worn sweat-shirt scowled across at us.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Where is he?” he barked.

“Where is who?” I replied.

“Don’t play stupid with me, woman. I’m looking for Angus.”

“He’s gone away… on business,” I stammered, intimidated by the aggression in his voice.

“What do you mean ‘gone away’?” he growled.

“Just what she said,” Simon hissed in a low warning tone.

“When will he be back?”

“He didn’t say. We’re hired help, not the man’s keeper,” Simon said, moving to place himself between me and the stranger. “Now, state your business or be gone.”

“Brody wants him,” he spat, before turning and barging toward the door.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” I said, trying to calm the pounding in my chest.

“I don’t know, but I don’t care much for the man’s manner.”

“What do you think he meant? It sounded rather ominous, don’t you think?”

“Aye, it was a warning alright, and the message in his eyes was clear. Put him out of your mind, his quarrel is with a dead man, not us.”

“Pa, is everything alright?” Duncan asked, emerging from the store.

“Aye lad. Just an unpleasant character in search of Angus.”

“Simon, it’s not as if we are busy. Let’s close up and find some lunch,” I suggested hopefully.

Simon raised his eyebrows in question. “You alright, lass?”

“I’m fine, just not very comfortable in here. The place even smells like him. It would just be nice to get out for a bit.”

He nodded, pursing his lips in thought. “Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here,” I replied.

“Right, well then, out it is,” Simon said, lifting the lid of the cardboard box and removing a wad of paper notes. “We might have need of this,” he said, moving towards his jacket and sliding the money into the inside pocket.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“Put it somewhere safe,” Simon said, lifting the box off the counter and heading back into the storeroom.

We made our way through the city towards Coppergate to a small building which had, in our time, been a coaching inn. Now a restaurant called ‘Russell’s of Coppergate’, it was barely recognizable, but the welcoming heady smell of roast meat drew Simon and Duncan like lions to their prey.

By the time my husband and son had devoured their share of meat it had long passed the hour when anyone would be interested in the buying of antiques.

“I don’t suppose we could just head back to Rose’s?” I asked hopefully.

“I was just considering the same,” Simon said with a smile. “Come on, let’s go home.”

We headed toward the castle and down to the river where the geese greeted us warily.

“What did you do with all the money?” I asked, as we stopped to watch a hot air balloon hovering above the city.

“It’s in a safer place now than it was,” he replied cryptically.

I hated it when he did this, but over the years had grown to accept that my husband would tell me what he wanted, when he wanted. I shrugged, knowing there was no point in pursuing it further.

“The river’s high,” Duncan said, watching the swell from a passing boat lap at the banks.

“Aye, lad, that it is. The river’s much narrower now than it was.”

“How do the people in those houses cope?” Duncan asked, pointing to a line of properties running up towards the castle from the river.

“I should think after all these years that folk are used to it,” Simon replied.

“Your Pa’s warehouse was constantly wet and muddy underfoot,” I said, recalling the old building a little further up river.

“Was that bridge there when we were here before?”

Simon shook his head. “No lad, that bridge is new.”

“How did people get across the river then?”

“They used a boat or the Ouse Bridge.”

“So was the Ouse Bridge there when I was little?”

Simon nodded. “Aye lad, there was a bridge there, but the one you see today is new.”

“Do you think Rose will be home?” Duncan asked, as we neared the house.

“I hope so, we have no way of getting into the house if she isn’t,” replied my husband, taking my hand in his.

“We could have gone for a drink in that tav… I mean pub, over there,” I said, pointing to the ‘Swan’. “But someone’s banned us from drinking.”

“No one’s banned
me
from drinking,” Duncan said with a laugh. “I don’t mind ordering you two a glass of water. A whisky would go down well about now.”

“Not a chance, mister,” I replied, poking my son in the ribs. “We’re going straight home.”

******

CHAPTER 4

Simon and Duncan deposited their bacon rolls and coffee on the counter top.

“Do you think he will come back?” I asked.

“Who, Ma?”

“The man from yesterday. The one who was looking for Angus,” I said, trying to shake the image of his face from my mind.

 “I told you yesterday, Corran. His quarrel is with a dead man, not us,” my husband said, having obviously overheard my conversation with Duncan.

“Pa’s right. You shouldn’t worry, Ma. Whatever problem this man has, it isn’t with us.”

“I’m sure you’re both right. I just hope he doesn’t come back,” I said, reaching for my coffee.

“You sure you don’t want some of this roll?” Simon asked, taking a healthy chunk out of it himself.

I shook my head. “No thanks. I’m not hungry. That meal we had yesterday was enough to keep an army for a week.”

“I’ve known some who have survived on less,” Simon agreed, taking aim and hurling the empty wrappers from the rolls across the room to land perfectly in a small bin.

“Any chance of going to ‘Russell’s’ again for lunch?” Duncan asked.

“And our son wouldn’t be one of them,” I said with a laugh. “You’re not still hungry, surely?” I asked, turning to face Duncan.

“Hungry, no. Ready for another plate of roast meat? Yes,” he replied, with the utmost sincerity.

“You’ve just eaten a bacon roll. I don’t know how you can even think of food.”

“Do you remember when you both used to tell me I had hollow legs?”

Simon and I both laughed at the memory. “Of course I remember, love. Do you remember how you used to make us feel your muscles after you had eaten?”

Duncan nodded slowly and a quiet, contemplative look came over him.

“I remember one day taking you both outside and trying to pull the oak tree from the ground,” Duncan said with a slight curl of his mouth.

“I remember that,” I replied, recalling the image of our son with his little mop of red hair bobbing in the wind, his arms around the trunk of the tree, and his little face turning an ever darker shade of red as he exerted all his energy in trying to lift it from the ground. “You were convinced you had moved it.”

“Aye, and I ran off to Shannon and Eilidh and told them I had magical powers of strength.”

“I reckon you might have done, had you grown up with places like these on your doorstep,” Simon said, referring to the café from which we had just bought the rolls and the restaurant where we had eaten yesterday afternoon.

As Simon and Duncan disappeared through the flimsy wooden door to the storeroom, I found myself once again alone in the dimly lit front room of the shop. It was difficult not to wonder how many more unpleasant characters lurked in the shadows of Angus’ past. The man from yesterday certainly had a penchant for trouble. I cast a brief glance over the counter and the stacks of paper sheets. This was the second day of mind-numbing paper sorting and I was becoming increasingly bored with the job. Scanning the jumbled mess, I noticed the edge of an old leather bound journal.

Dust rose in front of me and slips of paper scattered to the floor as I eased the object of interest from its hiding place. It had been beautifully crafted and its binding was the finest I had seen, but sadly its title had long since worn away. An ancient groan echoed from the seams as I lifted the leather and set it gently aside. My eyes scanned the faded text, reading the words slowly:

Brothers, we must now gather and unite to protect and preserve that which is the right of every man, woman and child of this great land – for our lives and the lives of all who come after us hangs by the finest of thread. Immortal shadows have risen against us and between them they seek to destroy the Stag - for it is told that he who slays the creature in cold blood will have its power. A great revolution is upon us. But through time will come one of us, a woman with the slate from the banks of Loch Leven on her hand. She will bear the child that will grow stronger than the Stag, greater than the crystal and more powerful, than the heather.

I blinked hard and read the text again, this time more slowly, pausing after each word to consider the meaning. I found none, but an uncomfortable tightening in the pit of my stomach told me that something was very wrong.

Simon and Duncan appeared beside me within seconds of my call, my fear betrayed in the high pitch of my voice. With a slight tremor I pointed to the words on the parchment. Simon’s eyes rapidly scanned the text whilst Duncan’s widened with every word. My husband raised his head and stared at Duncan, his forehead furrowing in a frown.

“Put your left hand on the counter, Corran.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

I raised my arm and lay my hand palm down on the open journal. Duncan stared at my hand as though he were seeing it for the first time.

“Aye, lad, you see it as plain as I do.”

“Have you both gone insane?” I snapped, self-consciously pulling my hand away and tucking it behind my back.

“Nay lass, hiding it won’t change what is written.”

“Simon, you’re scaring me. What has my hand to do with the text?”

“If you can’t see it lass I shan’t upset you with the knowledge of it.”

“What on earth are you on about?” I snapped.

“Just what I said. If you don’t know it then I’m not of a mind to scare you with the knowledge of it.”

“Do you know?” I said, stamping my foot in frustration. “I absolutely hate it when you do this.”

“Calm down, woman. You’re overreacting and it’s not good for the baby. If I thought it was in your interest to tell you, I’d tell you. No one wants to upset you,” Simon said in a ridiculously calm voice.

“That is just bloody marvelous. You scare me mindless and then tell me you’re not planning on upsetting me. You clearly know something you won’t tell me and you expect me to shrug my shoulders and accept it.”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Ma.”

“Then tell me what your Pa is on about.” I shouted.

“No,” Simon said firmly. “Not now.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to upset you,” he said, in a frustrated tone.

“You are pigheaded,” I said, putting my hands on my hips in defiance.

“
I’m
pigheaded? That’s rich,” he said, cocking his eyebrows.

“Ma, we’re only looking out for you.”

“Just stay out of it, Duncan,” I said, grabbing my jacket from the counter.

“Whatever goes through men’s minds I will never know,” I said, taking a firm grip of the door handle. “I’m going home, and on my way I am going to buy myself a bottle of wine, which I have every intention of drinking with Rose… And before you start, yes, I know you say it’s not good for the baby. You know what? My Ma drank ale and my Grandma drank ale and her Ma before her probably drank ale and last time I looked, they turned out alright, and so will my baby,” I shouted, slamming the door behind me.

I didn’t buy a bottle of wine, but I did take a detour through the park, where I sat on a swing and absently watched the sun set over the city. I didn’t want to think about the journal, or Angus, or the safety of the Stag. None of it made any sense. I was tired of trouble, tired of fighting and most of all I just wanted a quiet life with my family, in whatever time period God saw fit. I wasn’t fussy. Now was good, the past was good. But could it please come with a little peace and quiet?

I caught the shadowy outline of a woman in a worn brown coat as she strolled around the edge of the green, her dog gliding gracefully beside her. My eyes were instantly drawn to, and intrigued by, the animal. Her coat shone like a fawn in the dying evening light, her chest hung low and her stomach arched high against her spine. She was without doubt the most beautiful dog I had ever seen. The creature’s owner, however, looked somewhat odd, or perhaps just out of place on this late summer evening. I found myself staring at her, squinting my eyes against the dimming light, trying to make something of her features, but her shadow had began to merge with the dark backdrop of the pine trees which lined the park.

Instinct shook me from my stare and drove my eyes to the ground as the toe of my right foot stumped on a stone in the sand beneath the swing. When I lifted my head again the woman had gone. The evening had settled and with it came the gentle illumination of the street. I scanned the path to my right for signs of the woman and her dog, but there was only a group of early evening revelers gathered on the street corner. I shivered as the air cooled and a gentle breeze swayed the empty swing beside me.

Predictably, both Simon and Duncan displayed scowls of staunch disapproval at my disappearing act. I was too weary to pay them much attention. Rose, on the other hand, met me in the kitchen with a friendly smile and a warm cup of hazelnut coffee.

“Thank you, Rose. This is perfect.”

“It’s my pleasure, hun. I had a feeling you might enjoy it. Simon stopped at the chippy on the way home. I’ve put yours in the fridge. Want me to warm it for you?”

The thought of battered fish and greasy chips made my stomach turn but I knew any refusal to eat would only spark an argument, so I smiled and nodded politely.

“Why don’t you two see what’s on telly?” Rose said, removing two beers from the fridge.

That was all the encouragement the pair needed.

“Thank you,” I whispered, as the sound of the television reached our ears.

“No worries, hun, you look knackered.”

“I am a bit tired, but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

“Shall I chuck the fish and chips?” Rose asked, dropping two slices of bread into a toaster. “How about a slice of toast?”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Don’t mention it,” she said with a cheeky grin. “If I were preggers I think the smell alone would be enough to make me barf.”

“I can make my own toast, Rose.”

“I know, but I’d like to do it for you.” Her lashes lowered to hide her dark eyes. “Simon told me about the money he found in the shop. I think he wants to buy a house.”

“Oh, does he? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Well, that’s not exactly what he said, but I think he’s considering it,” she paused, “Simon also showed me the journal.”

“Did he now? I don’t suppose he explained his bizarre behavior too?”

“Duncan said you’d had a row, but he didn’t say what it was about.”

“It was a silly argument, really. I found a journal and then showed it to the pair of them. I don’t know why, but they started acting really strangely.”

“Why didn’t you just ask them what was up?”

“I did, but they wouldn’t tell me.”

“Don’t let it get to you, hun. Here, have the toast and I’ll make you another coffee.”

“Make it hazelnut and we’re friends for life,” I said, with a faint smile.

“Consider it done,” she replied, returning my smile. Her warmth filled my heart with something I hadn’t felt in an awfully long time and it took me off guard. Memories of my childhood and happy, youthful days with Nansaidh flooded my mind. I bit back the tears that threatened to streak my cheeks as I heard my grandmother’s voice calling me. I could smell the home-baked oat cakes, mutton stew, and the smoke from a peat fire in the icy wind. I could feel the warmth of tears from stinging eyes on our blood-red cheeks as the wind lashed against our faces, and in that moment my heart ached for those long-lost days of innocence and carefree abandon.

It was late when at last I climbed the stairs to our bedroom. Lifting the white cotton cover I slid wearily on to my back. Staring at the ceiling, my eyes wide with surprise, I gently moved my hand to rest on my lower abdomen. The baby moved, like the tiny bubbles of the finest champagne dancing deep within me.

The mattress sagged as Simon slid into bed beside me.

“You alright, lass?” he asked, stretching his hand out to find mine.

“I felt the baby.”

“Oh aye?” he said, lifting his hand to rest it on top of mine. “What does it feel like?”