CHAPTER TWO

   The English Border - 1970

     Robert gazed out the classroom window, his view obscured by the tears that had lain latent for over twenty-five years.  He had never really forgotten the cause of them though, never truly lost his desire to return to the home of his youth.  A deep sigh broke the silence as he rubbed the satin finish of the stone Edward had handed him, as if wearing it away could somehow help him make sense out of the whole affair.

     "An this stone is the reason I cudna go home afore?" he asked, a look of disbelief softening his rugged features.  He turned slowly, facing Edward once more, and a solitary tear escaped down his ruddy cheek as he spoke.  "How cud ye na hae known about it, Eddie?"

     "I’m so sorry, Rob.  It never even entered my mind.  It was just an amulet, no different than a million others I’d seen.  I hardly even knew the girl who gave it to me.  We spent the summer together, then went our separate ways.  After she left, I never thought about the bloody thing again.”

     “And she told ye noucht about it?  Not where it came from. What powers it held.  Nothing!”

     “I don’t think she knew, not really.  She found it in her gran’s attic one morning and asked if we could have it.  The old woman did warn us to be careful with it, said it held a powerful kind of magic, but we just laughed it off.  It wasn’t very scientific after all.  I don’t even know why I wore it that day.”

     “But ye did, Eddie, and yet, ye ne’er once considered that there might be somethin ta what her gran had said.  Ne’er once wondered why, after so many failures, yer theories finally all came together.  For godsake, Eddie, ye didna e’en try puttin it around me neck!”

     Edward felt a large lump forming in his throat, as if any explanation he might offer was too inadequate to free itself from his withered vocal chords.  Finally, a few feeble words managed to escape and croak forth from his lips. 

     “I don’t know what to say, Rob.”      

     "Ach!  That’s it then.  Ye dinna know what to say!  Tell me, Eddie, do ye know what it's like ta be swiped away fra ye faimlie wi'out e'en so much as a goodbye?"

     "No, I can’t imagine.  I'm so sorry, Rob.  I had no right.  I know that now, but I was young and ambitious and didn't take the time to think.  The only thing on my mind was capturing a piece of history for myself."

     "An I was that piece o history, so no need worryin about how it all came ta be."

     Edward’s eyes filled with pain, as if a knife had suddenly been plunged into his back.  "Maybe then, but not now.  You know that, Rob."

     Robert thought for a moment, then lowered his head, ashamed of what he had just implied.  "Yea, I do that.  Ye've been a good friend ta me ower these years.  I ne'er wud hae made it wi'out ye after Katie died, but now I hae ta ask ye one more favor.  Ye owe me that much, Eddie."

     Edward sighed as he walked over to join Robert at the window.  A soft spring breeze ruffled his hair, revealing the strands of grey that now lay hidden beneath the blond.  He was a kind man, with soft green eyes that seemed all the more compassionate in the warm afternoon sun.  There was a sadness in those eyes now though, for he knew well what it was his friend would ask.

     "You want to go back,” he said, on the verge of a whisper.

     "Yea, I do that," Robert replied, his voice firm and steady, "an I want me daughter wi me."

     Edward was stunned.  "Maggie!  But Rob she belongs here."

     "Nae, she's me bairn, an she belongs wi the clan."

     "She was Katie's daughter, too, and she was born here."

     "Maggie's nineteen, just the age I was when. . ."  Robert stopped and looked away.  His blue-gray eyes filled with tears once more, though he blinked quickly to conceal any trace of their existence.  "She has the right ta know her true heritage an fra there make the decision herself."

     "I don't know Rob.  The amulet seems smaller.  Bits of it must have worn away with each passage."

     "Then find anuther!"

     "Don't you think I've tried.  I have no idea what it is.  No one does.  I even sent it down to Cambridge . . . Even tried to find the girl who gave it to me."

     "Then we'll go on what we hae left."

     "That's just it, Rob.  I don't know how far that will carry us."

     "What do ye mean us?"

     "You don't think I'm going to let you go alone, now do you?  I took you from your home, and I'll return you to it."

     "An if ye canna get back?"

     "Then it will be your turn to play host." 

     Edward smiled warmly as he placed his hand on Robert's shoulder.  Logic told him he should refuse such a foolhardy request, but his heart told him otherwise.  Though Robert had lived in the twentieth century for years, made a home and started a family there, the Englishman knew it was time for him to finish what he had started. 

     "Will ye do it then?" Robert asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.

     "Maggie will never go for it, not if it means leaving Dyl. . ."  Suddenly, Edward stopped short and turned away, sighing deeply as he did.

     "Dylan . . . Hetherington!  That womanizin scoundrel in me antiquities class.  What has that rogue got ta do wi me Maggie?"

     "Nothing . . . They're just friends."

     "Friends!  An how long hae ye known about this?"

     "There's nothing to know, Rob . . ."

     "Wait one minute here.  He's been talkin about goin on a dig this summer.  It wudna happen ta be ta the states now, wud it?"

     "How would I know?" Edward stammered awkwardly, a sudden twitch developing in his left eye.

     "Strange how Maggie's had a sudden yearnin ta go home this summer.  Says she misses the warm Long Island breezes."

     “Did she?”  Edward croaked. He tried to act surprised, though he knew he might as well pretend he was blind.  He loved Maggie as if she were his own daughter, and Robert as well, but now he felt no matter what he said, he would be betraying one of them.

     "Whose side are ye on anyway?" Robert growled.  "This is yer goddaughter we're talkin about."

     "Yes!  And I trust her implicitly."

     "Oh, yea, an I do as well.  'Tis that little weasel I dinna trust.  That settles it.  We're goin back, an Maggie's goin wi us."

     Maggie, however, had made other plans for the summer.  Plans that did not include an expedition to Scotland or an imaginary trip to the sixteenth century.  It was not until her father gave in and consented to allow the infamous Dylan to go along that she reluctantly agreed.  Agreed, that is, as long as the boy was willing to give up his stateside dig and accompany them instead.  There was no fear there however.  A student of Robert's, the young scoundrel jumped at the opportunity to experience a piece of history, and the fact that Maggie was to be on the expedition as well made the prospect all the more enticing.   

     Dylan was an unusually attractive young man, in his early twenties, with deep blue eyes that concealed more than just a spark of mischief.  His jet black hair, though cropped short in the back, hung down over his long eyelashes in gentle waves, cleverly creating the illusion of innocence. An illusion Robert saw through all too well. 

     Edward was even less thrilled about what he saw as an unnecessary addition to their small band.  "That's just one more to worry about," he protested adamantly, but Robert was a kind man, though stern and harsh in appearance, and as usual, he had succumbed to his daughter's wishes.  The trip itself, however, was another matter, and nothing she could say was able to change his mind where that was concerned.

     "Maggie, please, ye promised ta do this for me," he reminded her as Edward pulled the car up to an old abandoned farmhouse just north of the Border.  There were tears in his eyes, and Maggie's heart was about to break.  She adored her father and in truth would do anything for him, even if it meant going along with something as far fetched as a trip into the distant past.

     "All right, Da," she whispered, feeling a bit guilty about all the whining she had done on the way up, "but it's just for a little while, right?"

     "That's all it'll take, Maggie, ta win ye ower . . . Now as for you, Mr. Hetherington," he added, the softness melting away from his expression like ice cream on a hot summer day, "just remember what I said.  So much as look at me Maggie an I'll hang ye meself.  I'm only allowin ye ta come along because ye'r one o me best students, an I know ye'll truly appreciate what ye'r about ta see.  Do we understand each uther, Mr. Hetherington?"

     "Yes, sir, perfectly," Dylan said with a solemn nod, but even then his eyes told a different story.  Casually, he bent down and picked up a clump of heather, passing it behind his back to Maggie.  He winked impishly at the auburn haired nineteen year old, and she could not help but laugh.  Robert, however, was not laughing as he grabbed the brazen youth around the neck and pressed him up against the rough hewn wood of the dilapidated farmhouse.

     "I warned ye, laddie," he scowled.

     "Da, stop!" Maggie exclaimed.  "He didn't mean anything by it."

     "I didn't, Professor, honestly," Dylan sputtered.  He could feel the damp splinters pricking his neck and writhed around in Robert's grasp like a turkey who knew his time had come. 

     "Hae nae fear, laddie, if I'd wanted ta kill ye, ye'd be long since gone.  Me kin, on the uther hand, mayna take so kindly ta sic as you, so ye'd best be watchin yerself."  He turned and walked away, leaving Dylan resting against the wall, choking and sputtering.

     "He's right, son," Edward stated as he fastened the laces of his jack.  "We'll be on Scottish soil, and they may not exactly welcome two Englishman.  You’d best be on your guard, and for godsake, leave the Scottish lassies alone, elst it’ll be more than a few splinters piercing that throat of yours."

     Maggie cast a disapproving glance at her father as she brushed Dylan off, but the old reiver never even noticed.  He was too busy making sure that everything was ready for their departure, right down to the dirk he slipped into the boy’s boot.

     "Now," he said suddenly as he handed Dylan a strange looking pole with a long, narrow spike on one end.  "If I'm ta take ye wi me, ye'll learn well ta defend yerself afore we go."

     Dylan was thrilled, and not surprisingly, quite good at the art of sixteenth century combat.  Robert, however, was much better. 

     "Put ye whole body inta it, lad.  That's it," the Scotsman shouted as Maggie came over with a few pints of Guinness and sat down to watch the lesson.  A moment later, Dylan found himself on the floor with the cold steel of a pike pressed firmly against his throat. 

     "The first lesson ta remember, laddie.  Ne'er let a lass come between ye an yer work, nae matter how bonny she may be.  The second lesson concerns me daughter an what I'll do if I see ye lookin at her like that agin.  I thought we'd come ta an understandin on that, Mr. Hetherington."

     "Yes, sir!" Dylan replied as Robert's pike pricked the damp skin of his neck. 

     "Now, get yerself up an we'll try agin, wi a sword this time, I think."

     And try again they did, over and over, until Dylan fell to the floor in exhaustion.  "Let's go, laddie.  Mornin will be here afore ye know it," Robert taunted cheerfully.

     "I can't," Dylan moaned.  "Just let me rest a minute."

     "An do ye think the Maxwells or the Elliots will be lettin ye rest a minute?  That's all the time they'll need ta finish ye off.  Now, up wi ye, lad, an put some feelin inta it."

     Once more, Dylan raised his sword, and with a rebel yell, ran at Robert.  "That's it, lad," the Scotsman shouted as he blocked the blow, "let ye blood run hot."  Dylan lunged again, and Robert parried him once more, shoving him up against the wall.  "Come on, laddie, I can see the hate in yer eyes.  Use it!"

     Again and again, Dylan rushed forward, goaded on by Robert’s remarks, and time after time, Robert thwarted his attacks.  "Is that all ye can do, laddie.  Ye spend more time on yer knees than a scullery maid." 

     With each new thrust Dylan's anger grew until finally he caught Robert off guard and the hardy Scot tumbled to the floor.  Dylan stared coldly into his eyes as he pressed his sword against Robert’s heavily padded vest. 

     "Is that good enough, Professor," he shouted, his own eyes raging savagely, "or should I slice your throat while I'm at it!"

     "Cud ye lad?" Robert asked with a sternness in his voice that sent a chill through Dylan’s soul.  "Cud ye rip ye blade across me neck till I gagged on me own blood?  An cud ye stand there whilst it splattered across yer chest, just ta make sure ye cut deep enough?  'Tis a terrible sight, ye know, a violent death.  When ye'r done, ye smell it for days.  It soaks through yer clothes an permeates yer skin, an ye can see their eyes in yer dreams.  'Tis always the eyes that get ta ye.  The look o horror that fills them when ye cut through ta the jugular." 

     Stunned by Robert’s remarks, Dylan pulled back, a look of sadness crossing his face as he realized what he had almost done.  "I wanted to kill you, Professor.  I could have."

     "Nae, lad," Robert whispered, his tone considerably softer, "ye cudna."

     "Yes," Dylan protested, "I . . ."

     "Nae Dylan, ye hae a kind heart, e'en if ye do give it away too easily.  Ye knew when ta hold back."

     Dylan slid down along the wall, confident that he was a complete failure.  He sat there dejectedly, leaning his head upon his forearm, still trying to catch his breath.  "They'll kill me, won't they?"

     "That I canna tell ye, lad, but ye'll wage them a good fight, that's for sure."

     "But I couldn't follow it through."

     "I didna say that, laddie.  What I said was ye cudna do it now.  When the time comes, in the heat o battle, ye'll do what ye must.  The time ta worry is when the killin comes too easy.  Ye'r where ye shud be now, an ye'll make a good borderer.  One I'd be proud ta hae fightin by me side . . . but na by the side o me daughter," he added, his inflection once more taking on its usual stern tone.

     Dylan was on the verge of collapsing completely, and his eyes filled with tears.  Robert had brought him to the threshold of physical and emotional exhaustion, and in doing so had made a true border knight of him.  If he was to survive the past, these were the emotions he would have to endure.  Robert knew that, and now, so did Dylan.

     The mist was just beginning to lift as they gathered beneath the large birch.  Maggie touched its smooth bark, trying to hold on to any bit of the twentieth century she could.  Just in case Edward really had discovered a way to travel back in time, she thought with a smile.  She loved the stillness of the morning and listened intently to a lark that sang brightly overhead. 

     "Are you sure you want to do this, Dylan?  I mean if everything my father says is true . . ."

     "Oh, it's true, Maggie.  The clothes!  The weapons!  They may not act their age, but they're unmistakably sixteenth century." 

     "What do mean act their age?  Dylan, are you feeling all right?  You got hit pretty hard last night."

     "I'm fine!" He smiled charmingly, then took Maggie’s hand. "Look, if I were to touch the parchment on which Shakespeare wrote his sonnets, it would crumble in my hand.  Material has a similar quality, only not as intense.  Your father's things don't act four hundred years old.  It's as if they've weathered the centuries without being touched by them."

    "And you believe they have."

    "Oh, there's no doubt about it.  If they're not from the sixteenth century, they're damn good copies, and I don't know of anyone that talented.  Not around these parts anyway."

     "Dylan, come on, the sixteenth century!  We both know that’s impossible."

     "Is it?  Think about it, Maggie.  Two hundred years no one dared dream a man could walk on the moon, but they just have.  They thought Galileo was a heretic because he said the earth was round.  Leonardo da Vinci was laughed at because he believed man could fly, but he was right.  Now today, Einstein's theory says man can travel through time, even if it is the other way round.  Maggie, yesterday's impossibilities become today's realities."

     Maggie thought for a moment.  "But if it is true . . ."   Now it was her eyes that filled with tears.  "Dylan, you could be killed."

     "Then I'll die happy."

     "Dylan!"

     "Look, Maggie, every time I cross the street I take that chance, and I don't even get anything for it.  At least here, I have the chance to touch history, to be part of it."

     "Would that really make you happy?"

     "Yes, it would.  I have nothing here, nothing I really care about.  I was a mistake, Maggie.  The result of a hot torrid evening in the tropics.  As soon as I was old enough, it was off to boarding school.  No one ever cared about me, not the way your father cares about you, so what have I got to hold me here?"

     "I was hoping . . . maybe me."

     "But you're not going to be here . . ."  He smiled once more, as if it were a secret the two of them shared.  "And neither am I." 

     "All right, then," Robert shouted as he rounded the corner, "let's get ta it."  Yet, in spite of his own enthusiasm, he could see the hesitation in his daughter's eyes and gently took her hand.  "I wud do noucht ta hurt ye, Maggie."

     "I know that, Da, and I love you for it," she whispered tenderly.  For though she was uncertain about the journey that lay ahead, she believed in her father and smiled as she brushed her fingers against his freshly shaved stubble.  She never could stay angry at him for long. 

     "Are we ready, then?"  Edward asked.  He took the small box out of the canvas bag and placed it on the ground.  Then he produced two amulets, each one containing a piece of the mysterious stone.  One he gave to Robert and the other he held himself.  "Are you sure, Rob," he asked one last time, but Robert simply nodded, and Edward knew there was no turning back. 

     He took a deep breath and pressed the small inconspicuous latch on the side of the chest.  Almost immediately, the strange stones began to glow, and Edward gasped as he saw the transformation.  They were the doors to the past, and they would, within minutes, be swept into them.  Robert was right!  How could he have overlooked such a phenomenon.

     It was just as he remembered, for not a moment later a strong gush of wind had enveloped them and the sound of distant thunder rang in their ears.  The colors of the surrounding area started to meld together as one, then burst forth on their own once more like some kind of spectacular laser show. 

     As for Maggie, she could not help but gaze in awe at the display that was taking place before her, and she reached out instinctively to grab Dylan's hand.  Though she was standing firmly on the ground, she could almost swear she was floating.  Cool blasts of air blew through her hair with a sleepy quality that seemed to relax her.  It was almost euphoric.  Then gradually, all the colors returned to their proper places, and a soft white glow surrounded them.  The wind died down to a gentle breeze, and the only sounds she could hear were the chirp of a sparrow and the croak of a distant frog. 

     Maggie looked at Robert and saw a gleam in his eyes that answered all her questions.  They had arrived.  Robert's stories of border raiders and thunder on the moor were all about to come true.

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