Eternal Time Shadows Box Set 1 / Volumes 1-10 Read online

  Mary wrapped her arms around her chest in panic. “We’re gonna burn alive!”

  I grabbed her by the arm. “No we’re not!” I pulled her over to the window.

  And blinked.

  Robert wasn’t there.

  Only sharp-rock-strewn ground lay below us, hard, unforgiving.

  I looked around in unbelieving shock. I had believed in my very soul that he was going to be there. That was how this rescue would work! He would be there, and he would figure something out, and we would be saved -

  Mary grabbed at me. “We’re going to die!”

  I grabbed on the window-frame, my hands searing with the heat. I poured all of my energy and focus into my cry.

  “ROBERT!”

  Blackness … nothing …

  Thank God.

  Robert came racing up the bank of the river, a jagged slice on his cheek streaming blood. In his arms he carried a thick coil of rope. He skidded to a stop beneath the window and latched firmly onto one end of it. “Catch!”

  He spun the coil once … twice … and then lobbed it up to us.

  I put out my arms, and the coil landed neatly in them as if it had been gently placed there by a heavenly angel. I shook out the length, then turned to look behind me for something to tie it to.

  The room was ablaze.

  The thin mattress of the bed was as bright as a supernova. The slender chair by the door was a caricature of itself, falling apart into its component pieces while I watched. And Mary’s eyes were wild with fright …

  I held fast to my end of the rope and then turned in place twice, twisting it sturdily around my waist. Then I ordered Mary, “Climb down.”

  She stared at me, open-mouthed. “But what about you?”

  “I’ll come down after,” I promised. “Quick, or we’ll both burn!”

  That seemed to get through to her. She took a hold of the rope, stepped up onto the ledge, and looked down.

  Fear shone in her eyes.

  “You can do it,” I vowed. “I’ve got the rope. I won’t let go. Just slide down it. Wrap your arms and legs around it. You’ll be fine.”

  I braced myself against the wall beneath the window. I could feel the rope go taut as Robert did the same on his end.

  Mary stared into my eyes. “I’ll never forget you.”

  I smiled. “Nor I, you. Now get down there.”

  She took the step.

  The weight dragged at me, but I held, resolute, as she inched her way down it. All around me was the lion’s roar of the flame and the baking heat. I was a loaf of bread, left too long in the oven, and I was going to burn into a blackened cinder. I could almost feel the skin peeling from my face.

  The rope went slack, and I cautiously released my lean, looking down out the window. Mary was curled in against Robert, sobbing, and he held her close. His eyes drew up to where I stood, and deep concern coursed through them.

  His voice rose to me. “Elizabeth!”

  I turned to search out an option – something – anything – in the fiery blaze which surrounded me. But there was nothing at all to tie the rope to. Nothing that wouldn’t burn through in seconds, leaving me to plunge to rocky injury or death.

  I shook my head. “I’m trapped!”

  He looked around, and then ran toward an ancient apple tree which sat to the side. Its top branches were flickering with sparks but it had not yet gone up. He tossed his end of the rope over a high branch. The loose end came down the other side to him, and he gave it a yank.

  Then he turned to me.

  “You’ll have to jump as far high and right as you can,” he ordered. “I’ll race away from you with my end of the rope. If I can run fast enough, I’ll have pulled in the slack and you’ll swing from the branch, just missing the ground.”

  I stared at the piles of sharp-edged rocks which littered the ground. If he wasn’t able to make the distance, then I would plummet, hard, into that chaotic mess. I could easily die.

  The flame roared behind me, and I knew I had no other choice.

  “All right!” I tied the loose end of the rope into a knot at my waist, holding it in place. The snap when I reached the bottom of the swing might easily pull it out of my hands.

  He stared at me for a long moment. His voice was hoarse. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry.”

  I had no idea what he could possibly be sorry for, and at the moment I didn’t care. “It’s all right,” I assured him. “Let’s just get me out of here!”

  He nodded, his gaze firming with resolve. He turned to face along the bank and got down in a crouch. “Ready? One … two … three!”

  He burst into an all-out run.

  I leapt as far high and right as I possibly could.

  An ear-shattering roar came from behind me, and the house collapsed into a mangled inferno of blazing orange and searing white.

  I was flying … I was soaring … and the ground with all its rocky, body-crushing power was nearing …

  Funny how, in a time of intense danger, the world comes to a gentle halt. Every moment, every shimmering mote of dust, becomes intensely important. It was not even a breath. It was a space between breaths. The space between when I was drifting like a dandelion seed, weightless on a quiet summer’s day, and when I was splayed out, broken, irreparable, on the hard earth below.

  I wondered how many people in the world had felt this sensation. The sensation of knowing that everything was about to change. That a line was about to be crossed which could never be returned from. There was no way to change course. The destination was wholly out of my control. All I could do was be in this moment, see it for what it was, and find a peace with it.

  Breathe in …

  The world spun up again, high, fast, and the mind-boggling momentum of my movement blew my breath out of me. My hair tangled along the dirt as the rope caught me and held me in a swinging arch mere inches above the ground. Then I was curling up, up into the sky, like a young girl at a playground, her legs outstretched in pure, unadulterated glee.

  Joy beamed out of me, drawing me alight, shining from every pore and socket. The momentum swung me down and backwards, and I turned with it, crying out in whole-hearted delight. Another swing, lesser this time, and then the tension released and I tumbled along the ground. Running feet, and Robert was pulling me up into his arms.

  His voice was rough. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Are you all right?”

  I twined into him with all my strength, and he spun me around in relief. “You fool! You brilliant, courageous, Hanoverian fool!”

  My feet finally came back to the ground again, and he shook his head at me. “You could have been killed ten times over! Why didn’t you wait for me to go for the rope? We could have thrown it up to her together!”

  My retort came quick. “And what would she have tied it to?” I pointed at the collapsing structure behind us. “Lot of good the rope would have done her, in that mess, without someone to anchor it!”

  “I could have done the apple tree branch, same as with you!”

  Mary’s voice grew into a high-pitched scream. “You wanted me to leap out of the window like a crazed banshee? I would have died!”

  Robert ran his hand through my hair, his eyes glowing. “And you very nearly did, you wild lass.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Here they were saying your family had no courage to it.”

  I blinked at him. “Why would they say that?”

  His cheeks flared in embarrassment. “I imagine ‘cause of your father and that young, new wife of his. They say it was her fault he threw in with the English, thinking he’d get more lands.”

  He waved his hand at the inferno around us. “It’s a witch-hunt. The British are accusing Scottish Lairds of trafficking with the King Over the Water - and taking their lands away as punishment. That means those who publicly proclaim their loyalty to the British crown can easily double or triple their holdings.” He spat on the ground. “Over the bodies and blood of their kinsmen.”

  I wrapped my arms arou
nd myself, not sure what to say. Somehow I could imagine it of my father and stepmother. Their quest for money and status would easily trump minor issues of how that money was gotten – or what it might cost others.

  Robert ran a hand gently down my cheek. “When your parents sent you north, rumor had it that it was because you disagreed with them about their actions. That your parents were punishing you for speaking out. That it was a shame your loyalty led to your exile.”

  His eyes flickered down, as if he wanted to look away, but he brought them back up to meet my gaze. “They said someone should do something. But nobody did. They just let you go. And I’m sorry about that. Someone should have done something.”

  I gave his hands a warm squeeze. “You did do something,” I pointed out. “You just saved my life.”

  His eyes shone –

  A harsh cry came from further down the river. “The spy went this way! When we get her, we’ll burn her alive!”

  Robert whirled, his eyes flaming. “You’re no spy!”

  Mary leapt to us. “They don’t know that – they only know her family name. And the state they’re in, they won’t stop to ask questions.”

  Robert took a hold of my arm. “Quick, across the bridge.”

  Mary’s face burned with determination. “I’ll distract them. Get going!”

  We didn’t need a second urging. Our feet were in motion, pounding side by side through the growing morning sunshine. The fog was burning off the river, revealing its sparkling length. I could see the distant shadow of my rowboat on the far bank.

  I slipped on a dewy patch of thistle, and Robert grabbed my hand in his, drawing me up and setting back into a run. I burst alongside him with renewed speed. It was as if he’d plugged me into a powerful battery. The sense of those strong fingers around mine, of the connection between us, was palpable. I knew with a certainty that we would be all right. As long as we stayed together, we would make it through.

  We reached the other side of the river and he turned left, delving into the woods. There were thick brambles and rocky ravines, but we kept at it, our faces torn by thorns, our clothing ripped.

  A small hunter’s shack was ahead, and Robert angled for it. “We can hide in here. Hopefully they’ll get distracted by Stuarts’s approach and give up the chase. They’ll fall in with him and Mar in order to take on Argyll and defeat him, once and for all.”

  I shook my head as he threw open the door. “Stuart isn’t coming,” I insisted. “He’s giving up. He’s going to board at Montrose and sail back home to Paris.” We tumbled into the small, sparse interior.

  He closed the door behind us, sliding the bar in place. Then he turned to stare at me in shock. His voice was hoarse. “How in the world would you possibly know that?”

  I blinked, and suddenly I realized how quiet it was. How still. From the roaring of the blaze to the pounding of our feet, it had seemed my ears were awash in noise from the moment I arrived here in Scotland. Now there was only the pounding of my heart against my ribs, the deep breaths being drawn into my lungs – and the intense focus in Robert’s eyes.

  Sunlight glowed in through the one window of the shack. Within, the dirt floor was neatly swept. It smelled clean … woody … maybe a hint of pine. There was a small wooden table to one side with a single chair. A small, black pot sat in a stone-lined fireplace. A shelf held a few bowls and cutlery items.

  I took it all in as my mind scrambled for what to say.

  “I … I have dreams,” I offered. “It’s how I knew Mary was in trouble. How I knew you would be there to help. I know Argyll is storming north with a massive force, eager to take on the Old Pretender once and for all. And I know the Pretender is going to high-tail back for France, unwilling to face those odds.”

  Robert’s face was still. “The Old Pretender?”

  I paled.

  James Francis Edward Stuart was simply always called that, in the books I read. Because it was known that he failed – and his son failed as well. That line was wholly doomed.

  But here in 1700s Scotland, where passions ran high, that Old Pretender was still their one, best hope of freedom. Of holding onto all they held so dear.

  My throat closed up. “God, Robert, I’m so sorry. It’s what my father always calls him. As much as it pained me, it was always better for me to humor him, if I didn’t want to be –”

  The pain of him turning his back on me, on his sending me away and falling out of my life, seared at my soul. I looked down.

  He crossed the short distance between us and gently lifted my chin. “Jesus, Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. I have no right to judge you. If you say you saw this in a dream, then I believe you.”

  He drew in a long breath, then let it out again. “I believe you because I, too, have been having dreams. Dreams where you are not simply a girl I heard about in gossip in the local tavern. Dreams where you risked your life to save me. Where I was locked away, chained, and you came to me –”

  I stared at him with growing surprise. Could it be true? Could he be aware of what I was going through?

  I twined my fingers into his. “Robert, you have to promise me you won’t leave me. Someone will try to drag us apart. You have to stay with me.”

  He ran his fingers down my cheek. “I won’t leave you.” He gave a low, wondrous laugh. “How could I, when your gaze haunts me at night.” He leant forward. “When –”

  A heavy thud came at the door, and he spun, putting his body before mine. “Elizabeth, stand back.”

  A growl came from outside the door. “Damned spy! I know you’re in there!” Another thud.

  I looked around, but there was only the window, and surely they’d be watching that. “We’re trapped!”

  The thundering of feet, and then the door splintered inward, the hinges giving way. Robert rose up –

  An ear-shattering blast echoed in the room, and Robert spun, his shoulder erupting red. I was thrown back against the far wall, and he staggered.

  The figure in the doorway was in shadows, but the long rifle in their hands stood out as clear as day. And they were reloading.

  Robert growled, put his head down, and charged.

  I screamed, “No!” I lunged for him, my hand outstretched to bring him back.

  Something grabbed me, and I fell hard to my knees.

  Thunk.

  Blackness.

  *

  A gentle smell of woody pine wafted through my nose, luring me to wakefulness. I was in a small, wooden building with one window covered with pale white paper. A rustic black teakettle was simmering over a small fire at the center of the room. Around it were laid neat tatami mats of woven straw, placed at just the right angles to each other. The room was sparse but not bare. An alcove at the far side held a scroll displaying a lion prowling against a dusty background. A slender vase held a lone stem – a sprig of blue wildflowers.

  I looked down at my dress.

  I was in an elegant, dark blue silk kimono. It featured golden lions dancing across its length, and the sash at my waist was a matching color. My long hair was done up neatly in an elegant updo.

  I looked at the closed door to the tea house.

  I was in feudal Japan.

  I was about to perform a traditional tea ceremony.

  And I had no idea who was going to walk through that door.

  5 – Japan Destiny

  I breathed in the deep scent of pine and green tea. The small, wooden building around me was simply kept, with its tatami-mat floor and the rice-paper over the window. In the alcove across from me was a beautiful hand-painted scroll of a lion, its emblem matching the delicate golden embroidery in my cobalt-blue kimono. Before me, in the center of the serene space, a black teapot simmered merrily on a small fire. And to my right were laid out the bamboo whisk, tea bowl, tea scoop, and other traditional accompaniments to a Japanese tea ceremony.

  I was in feudal Japan.

  I looked over at the sliding door. This was my first moment, in all of this
other-worldly chaos, to draw in a breath. To give even a moment’s thought to what was going on. It seemed so far that every encounter between me and Robert had been at a fork in a road. At a point where our paths crossed, perhaps for the only time in that brief glimmer of our one lifetime. A meeting of the eyes, a brushing of a hand, and we might easily have gone our separate ways, never to meet again.

  Each time I had done something to alter the path. To take, as Frost once said, the road not taken.

  And it seemed, too, that others were caught up in this nexus of events. For it was not just Robert that I was re-encountering at each new start. There were forces working with me - and also against -

  Footsteps sounded on the stone outside the door, and I shifted onto my knees to face it. I had read quite a lot on feudal Japan during my teen years, when I became drawn in to the clash of cultures that happened in the sixteenth century, between the incoming Europeans and the closed society of the samurai and daimyo. I had even attended a traditional Japanese tea ceremony in the beautiful Japanese gardens at the Missouri Botanical Gardens in St. Louis. But I knew I was nowhere near prepared to replicate that performance for a live audience.

  The door gently slid open with a soft rasping noise.

  It was Cooper.

  I sighed in relief as her silvery-grey hair came into view. She smiled reassuringly at me as she crouched to step into the space. She wore a silver kimono decorated with black swirls, as if a river were moving steadily along to its destination. And behind her -

  My smile grew. Clearly this was Mary, although her short, blonde hair had been replaced by jet-black waves curled into a cute updo. A pair of golden hair-sticks poked jauntily out of the weave, yellow butterflies playfully swinging from each one. They matched her kimono of sunshine yellow, fluttering with the beautiful creatures in lavender and pale blue.

  Mary’s eyes twinkled in delight. “You are brilliant! We’ve barely had five minutes together since your parents became obsessed with marrying you off to Tanaka. But your parents have also been hounding you for weeks to practice your tea ceremony before your grand presentation at court. So we could easily be in here for hours and they won’t say one word. They’ll figure we’re putting you through your paces, making sure you get every movement just right.”