Tapestry (2 page)

She could feel his hard urgency, could hear it in his suddenly throaty voice. Her own desire matched his, and without another thought she surrendered to their combined lust and began
helping him to raise her skirt and undo her hoop. All the while they shushed each other’s laughter, lest they be discovered.

Later, as they sat on the floor like children, their backs against the dark panelling of the timber, holding hands, with her head resting on his shoulder, Winifred dared burst the amorous bubble they’d built around themselves in these last stolen minutes.

‘Will you speak to our son in France?’

‘Yes, I’ll write to Willie today,’ he said, standing and offering a hand to help her up. ‘Let’s get you back into your fastenings. I don’t know how you women do it. Frankly, I think going to war is easier!’

‘Don’t jest, Will. I’m frightened for you.’

He lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly. ‘Don’t be. I will ride on your confidence and love. And you admit you saw it in the stars. I will not give up my life for my king, but I will offer it.’ As she began to reply, he gave her a rueful look. ‘Your words,’ he reminded her.

‘Which I stick by,’ she said.

‘And which I trust.’ He stopped her from saying anything more with a final lingering kiss. ‘Thank you for this. It helped to remind me about what is important. Not king or country … but family. I love you, Winifred Maxwell. And when I am confronted by our enemy and all looks hopeless, I shall remember our stolen lust against a wall at Terregles and I will think of us as carefree, reckless souls who dared to dream that a Scottish king will one day rule over Scotland.’

It was easy to fit her wide skirts through the doorway that led to one of the wings of the Scottish manor. The lowering sun farewelled itself through a large window looking out over the western moorlands, drenching the broad hallway in which they stood with a soft golden pink light. ‘And when do you depart Terregles?’

‘Early autumn, mayhap,’ was all he would say.

Winifred flinched inwardly, but betrayed nothing in her expression. William always said she had the perfect face for ‘trictrac’, a game of strategy they had played regularly together in France throughout one particularly bitter winter.

‘Just leave me a few people so I can run the estate.’

‘Nay, my lady. This is an act of war we make. You and our daughter shall not remain at Terregles and be easy pickings for the government hounds. They will not use you or our children against me. We’re fortunate that Willie is schooling in France, but we should warn your sister of my troubles in case we need her help. I’m sad that they’re
our
troubles, darling Winnie.’

‘I am ready for the task, William. Where will our daughter and I go?’

‘To my sister Mary. Stay with my family at Traquair House and be safe.’

Will kissed her again, lingering against her lips, heedless that a servant might see them.

She must not weep. She swallowed her fear, and with it went any tremble in her voice as she pulled away from his kiss. ‘Take pity on the family that will worry about you.’

‘Be as stout of heart as I have come to know you. I would that you’d leave before the month is out.’

‘Come, we must tell our daughter and send word to your sister at Peebles,’ she whispered, her cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking.

She led her husband away from the tender sunlight, and toward an uncertain future of rebellion against the English Crown.

London, December 1978

W
illiam knew only one way to kiss her, she realised. Deeply, as he did now — the sort of kiss that made her see stars like a cartoon character, and trapped her attention in such a way that not even the grey drizzle of a freezing London morning could penetrate her awareness.

‘Oh, get a room, would you!’ a woman muttered as she pushed past them, breaking the spell.

Jane grinned awkwardly. They were standing at the Seven Dials intersection in Covent Garden, outside their hotel and very close to their lovely room.

‘I’m going to marry her!’ Will called to the woman, who was dashing off in the direction of Monmouth Street. They had been a momentary annoyance to her, already forgotten. If she heard, she didn’t turn.

‘Will, shh!’

‘I want to tell the world,’ he said, kissing the top of her head as he pulled her close.

Sharp guilt pierced the gossamer cocoon she’d allowed Will to build around them. It seemed that with each day they spent together he had spun a new layer of love and commitment … ownership, even. She wasn’t really sure what to call it. But whatever it was, it was strong and binding, drawing her closer and closer, until the invisible, unspoken bonds had morphed
into something tangible: a promise of marriage. Now she wore a crazily expensive diamond ring attesting to what he had just openly declared. So why did she hesitate? Why wasn’t she showing the usual traits that a newly engaged woman might? How come she wasn’t picking everything up left-handed all of a sudden? And why, when she caught sight of the glittering jewel, did her breath catch dully with a faltering anxiety … to the point where she found it hard to look at the spectacular ring?

Is Will the right one?
The question finally burst through the silken bubble as her happily chatting fiancé led her to a café for breakfast. She barely followed his conversation as questions mounted like obstacles before her.
Is there enough between us to sustain a marriage, children, adversity, middle age, old age?
She swallowed the tumult of uncertainty that had leaped into her throat.

Maybe it was her old foe: that need to take control and to keep control of any situation. Her surrender to Will’s innocent query had afterwards felt like a loss of control. ‘Be mine,’ he’d whispered, and his words had been filled with affection and tenderness. Yet now she heard those words in her head as proprietorial. At the edge of her mind, Jane knew it was paranoid to think like this, but still she was hesitant and unsure of him.

Until this moment, it had been only while he slept and she could steal utterly private time that she had allowed herself to confront her dilemma: was marrying Will wise? She’d decided to put it down to the natural nervousness of any bride. Even though Will exhibited none of the same hesitation, she told herself he would surely be vacillating as the enormity of this commitment began to dawn on him … particularly as family and friends were already celebrating.

They hadn’t known each other that long. Tomorrow would make five months. In truth, there were days when it felt so right she could yell out her happiness, and these were the times she
relied upon, but there were twice as many days when an inner voice demanded she search her heart.
Are you sure he’s the right one?

Or is he convenient?
She was having one of those moments as Will grinned at her, muttering how hungry he was again for her body. The notion that she was cheating herself as much as Will felt suffocating. He wanted to kiss her again, she knew, as they waited to cross another narrow side street, but she pulled away casually, disguising her deliberate action by grabbing his hand instead.

‘Let’s try that new place up the road that the concierge told us about,’ she said. He groaned. ‘Well, you should never have planted the thought in my head about kicking off the day with a hot chocolate. I have to have it now.’

‘I’d like to have
you
now,’ he whispered, before linking his hand with hers and gauging the traffic snaking from the seven streets into the plaza, carrying people and cars into various parts of Covent Garden and beyond. ‘Now,’ he said, and they stepped out into the road, dodging cars and skipping into Monmouth Street.

Hopping over puddles, dodging other pedestrians, they arrived laughing at the café. It was painted black and overhung by a large awning, also black, that made the doorway appear like the opening to sin itself. As they moved deeper inside, the erotic fragrance of chocolate was punctuated by the exotic aroma of coffee being ground, making them both sigh theatrically with pleasure. Behind the front counter a young woman was cutting up a slab of chocolate cake, and one slice fell apart. She laughed, chopped it into smaller pieces and put them on a plate.

‘Care to try some?’ she urged, holding up the plate.

‘Why not,’ Jane said, tearing her gaze from the shelves that housed beribboned boxes of chocolates alongside bags of chocolate-coated everything and anything … liquorice, fruit, bite-sized biscuits, assorted nuts.

‘Chocolate body paint?’ Will said, holding up a small jar and looking at her with a question in his expression.

‘Too messy for hotel guestrooms,’ she answered, lifting an eyebrow at the grinning assistant before she took a plump cube of the cake, making rapturous sounds the moment her taste buds registered it.

‘I’m beginning to understand that part of our marriage contract is that I must always keep you in chocolate,’ Will said, gesturing toward the café area at the back of the shop.

‘Then I shall love you forever,’ she quipped.

As they eased into an empty booth, he fixed her with a gaze devoid of its former playfulness. ‘Be sure, because forever is a long time.’

Jane covered her surprise at his sudden intensity by pulling his gloved hand to her cheek, then kissing it swiftly. ‘Forever’s not long enough,’ she replied, instantly hating herself for flirting vacuously with a man who was so committed to her. She desperately wanted to be just as committed to him.

‘A hot chocolate and a coffee,’ Will said to the fellow who had shuffled up to take their order, entirely unaware of her dilemma. ‘I’ll have scrambled eggs with toast. And she’ll have a slice of that rather decadent-looking cake, drizzled with chocolate,’ he said.

‘On holiday?’

Will grinned at the overly curious man. ‘Working. I have a lecture to give in northern England. Is that the right terminology?’

The fellow glanced at Jane; she was yet to speak, but he’d clearly already picked her as a Brit. Maybe it was Will’s bright yellow rain jacket, trimmed with blue, that marked him as a foreigner. It was far too jaunty for a Britisher in early winter, which pegged him as a tourist, and he was far too tanned or chatty to be anything but American. Of course, the southern drawl was also a giveaway.

‘“Up north”, we say,’ she said, dragging off her brown, waxed jacket and smiling at the waiter.

‘And after that I’m going to marry my beautiful sweetheart.’

Jane blinked in annoyance when the waiter glanced at her as if dryly amused. ‘Congratulations. Busy time for you, then.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s a while yet before —’

‘Make it a strong hot chocolate, would you? My fiancée likes it strong.’

Jane wasn’t impressed with the look, loaded with innuendo, that passed between the two men, but let it go. She also didn’t like having Will speak for her.

She peeled off her gloves and scarf, idly reflecting that the irritating but harmless drizzle of this morning would likely be sinister black ice by this evening. Hardly ideal for an American tourist, but then Will was hardly a sun and surf kind of fellow despite hailing from Florida. Didn’t
everyone
in Florida live on or near the beach?

Will pulled off his gloves with even teeth that looked all the whiter against his effortlessly bronzed complexion and reached for her hands. ‘Cold?’

She shook her head. ‘Not any more.’

Will kissed her hand. ‘Let’s go back to bed after this.’

‘We’ve only just emerged from two whole days in bed!’ Jane reminded him.

‘So make it three. Who’s counting?’

‘Your father,’ she quipped.

Will laughed. ‘Pops doesn’t doubt our love. That comment he made was because he’s concerned that we’re rushing into marriage.’

‘Maybe we are,’ Jane said before she could stop herself.

He gave her a curious glance, but was still smiling as though he knew she didn’t mean it. ‘You and I are old souls, Jane. We were predestined to meet.’

‘Is that so?’
Predestined to marry as well?
she wondered.

Will continued, heedless of her angst. ‘I reckon we’re two lovers who have always been together and we just keep dying and reincarnating to find one another again. If I wasn’t predestined to fall for you, why would I have loved you the instant I fell over you?’

She started to laugh. ‘All that stupid bloody gear you walk around with, perhaps? I’m sure we’re staying at a hotel overlooking the Seven Dials and those seven streets because you can’t be too far from anything resembling your precious ley lines.’

Will gave her a look of feigned injury. ‘We prefer to call them “straight tracks”.’

‘Straight tracks, straight lines, ley lines … aliens, magic, spirits of people’s past,’ she mocked, then reached for his hands across the table. ‘I’m only joking. You know I’m impressed by your research.’

‘But you don’t really understand any of it, do you? Even though I’ve spent the last two months trying to explain it.’

She sighed with pleasure as her cake was placed before her on a small wooden platter. She would have preferred something savoury for breakfast, but now it was here, her treacherous taste buds hankered for the sweet treat. The drinks arrived soon afterwards.

‘Scrumptious,’ she said, nibbling on the small slice, though sorely tempted to dig a fork into Will’s oozy eggs. ‘So what are you going to tell the boffins up north about your weird lines?’

‘They’re not weird,’ he said good-humouredly.

‘But they’re not magic either, Will. Do you believe in magic, really?’

‘As a geophysicist,’ he reminded her in an exaggerated, lofty tone, ‘my job is simply to explain the world around us through research and understanding.’ He shrugged and became more serious. ‘The straight tracks are yet to be fully understood, but there are many theories, ranging from the plausible to the
comical. When something can’t be fully buttoned up, there will always be some people who will look toward the supernatural. Other people, like me, look for ways to explain it.’

‘Tell me about the stuff you’re
not
able to explain,’ she said.

He sighed, smiling softly. ‘Many people believe that the ley lines connecting religious sites, ancient sacred monuments, Earth vortices are tapping into the phenomenon of abnormally high magnetic fields. They’re known as “dragon lines” in China, where feng shui practitioners have referred to them for millennia,’ he said. He put his knife down and transferred his fork to his right hand to shovel food neatly into his mouth while he continued talking.

‘Some New Age groups believe — and we should not dismiss them as unhinged simply because they think beyond the reality of what scientists know — that these huge focuses of magnetic energy offer portals into other worlds.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

He indulged her soft sarcasm with a smile, but gave a shrug of regret. ‘You know, as a species, we’re superstitious and spiritual anyway, so it’s logical that when we can’t explain something we want to imbue it with otherwordly qualities. My talk in Scotland lays out the world’s varied research into ley lines.’

‘Imagine if I hadn’t been visiting folks in Cornwall and you hadn’t been at Land’s End …’ Why did she keep saying stuff like this? Was she hoping this was going to turn out to be a dream, or some alternate reality?
Wake up, Jane
, a voice called.
You’re going to be walking down the aisle and saying, ‘I do’ to this man any minute. Be sure before it’s too late!

But I’m not sure. Everyone is, except me
, she answered silently,
and Will’s dad, perhaps. And I don’t know why I’m not as in love with Will as I think I should be
.

Tick tock
, the distant voice replied, getting more distant as it repeated its words.
Tick tock, Jane
.

‘But we
were
both there,’ Will reassured her. ‘A ley line brought us together and now we have a ley line running between our hearts, never to be broken across time or space.’

What a desperate romantic he was. ‘Which ley line brought us together?’

‘St Michael’s,’ Will replied, newly animated. ‘It’s vast. Runs from the tip of Cornwall and St Michael’s Mount just offshore of Marazion — which many people believe is the oldest village in Europe — and continues across the country, heading north-east, cutting through various ancient edifices dedicated to St Michael. Coincidence? Planned? Divine?’ Jane took a breath to answer, but Will continued as though he didn’t require her response. ‘There’s another straight track that can be drawn, beginning in Ireland at the monastery called Skellig Michael, passing neatly through the Cornish holy mount, bisecting Mont Saint Michel in France and then off it goes, piercing other sacred sites such as the Sacra di San Michele and Assisi in Italy, and Mount Carmel in Israel.’

She blinked. ‘No wonder the New Agers get off on this stuff.’

He nodded ponderously. ‘My interest is in the facts, but the point is even the toughest sceptics might admit there’s a special frisson, or energy, within these spiritually important sites, and they can be linked by a straight line.’

Jane shook her head as she pushed her cooling chocolate aside. ‘Okay, I’ll grant you it’s fascinating.’

‘Thank you. And it’s why we want to explore the theories and learn more. It’s why an international grant has been made available to me.’

‘But what do you really believe, Will? That these supposedly amazing lines that crisscross the world have genuine spiritual significance? Is there a magical connection — is that what you’re chasing?’