Chapter 19 #2
“Sometimes we just don’t want to know. Let’s see, farther on King Magnus declared, ‘We further grant the Duchy of the Midlands to Lord Midlands and to their heirs in perpetuity with all appurtenances, rights and privileges.’” Michael sat back with an exhale.
“Scottie, the Midlands belongs to the Fickles, according to this. In perpetuity. That’s a binding legal term. ”
“Still? Today? Then what? How was it taken away?” She motioned to the dowry page. “This seems to corroborate pieces of Hamish’s story. Oh my word, he’s going to flip when he finds this out. Michael, does he have a case?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know. The only way to break such a royal gift and grant given in perpetuity is for Lord Midlands to personally revoke the grant or—”
“Which they wouldn’t, if Hamish is an example of their family constitution.”
“—if there are no heirs, which we know is not the case, or for the House of Blue and or the government to revoke this charter. And by that, I mean the Crown and the Supreme Court legally proving they have a right to revoke the title and land.”
“Wouldn’t they’d need a reason?”
“Yes, with grounds and evidence. Like treason or heresy of some kind. It would take a lot to dethrone a duke and take his land.”
“We have to take this to Her Majesty, Michael. She has to know.”
“Grant you, that’s my first thought as well but…
” Michael stood to pace. “Let me think. There’s a chance she already knows and there’s a valid reason for the land seizure in eighteen-whatever, as Hamish claimed.
In the ensuing decades, laws have changed.
” He pointed to the original document. “It may have been declared invalid by some means, though I don’t know what. ”
“Because Wenthelen was illegitimate?” She didn’t say it, but he heard her whispering thought. “Like me.”
“No, lass, the same bishop on the wedding declaration is signed to the legal heir declaration. And there’s the Seal of Hadsby.” He pointed to the ancient document. “If they revoked this decree, then any decree from any monarch could be subjected to the same treatment.”
“Then it must be something political. What was happening in the early eighteen hundreds?”
“I’ll need to access the Cross records and Lauchtenland history for the finer details, but it was a season of political unrest over taxation.”
“Then let’s keep looking. See what we find.” Scottie started for another book then turned back. “Does this make me a traitor to my mother? To the House of Blue?”
“No, and what did Emmanuel tell you?”
“That what we are doing is good.”
“Then believe Him over your fears.” Michael said it with such confidence the words didn’t feel wholly his. “Scottie, about the other night, in the secret doorway and at the Belly of the Beast—”
“Forget it. Hadsby’s history oozes with romance and we, um, we were caught up in it. And the Ilyds, a dangerously romantic dance.”
“I believe that’s the intention. However, I want to apologize for my unprofessional behavior. It won’t happen again.”
Her half smile was hard to read. “I’m as much to blame as you. Now, how much time do we have before we need to start back down?”
Michael reckoned they had a few more hours, which they spent shoulder to shoulder in Lauchtenland’s past. Reading the records and journals of those who’d gone before humbled him.
He felt connected to their lives, to what they’d built, and how he benefited from their sacrifice.
And heaven help him, even more connected to Scottie.
Finally, he called time. They must trek down the path or risk life and limb in the dark. Scottie made him laugh when she attached her headtorch, declaring, “Ready, Grizzly,” with a tangy, southern twang.
“How’s your ankle?”
“Tender, but I’m okay. I can use the poles to help me down.”
Finding a couple of decent cloths, they wrapped the two books with the evidence they needed for Her Majesty and carefully slipped them into their rucksacks. Then they walked through the checkered toward the path and down the hill. Suddenly Michael stopped and turned round to the chapel.
“What?” Scottie said. “Did you forget something?”
“No.” He listened for a moment. “I thought I heard the ringing of chapel bells.”
* * *
Scottie
“This may change the course of Lauchtenland history.” Scottie climbed over the rocks that had trapped her before, the oversize rucksack resting heavy on her shoulders.
“At the very least, the Fickle family history.” Michael reached back to catch her hand as she jumped from the last rock onto a level path.
“Have you decided if we should we keep the matter to ourselves?”
“No, I’m of the mind the queen should know what we’ve found.”
Scottie glanced at their clasped hands and pulled free, not wanting his touch to fan the slow, kindling fire that began the moment he woke from his Emmanuel sleep.
“What if we tell her and nothing changes?” she said. “Then we have this huge secret to carry around for the rest of our lives. So will she.”
“Which would still not overshadow the secret she kept for thirty-five years. You.”
“Not the same, Cross. While discovering my existence surely shocked everyone, I’m not out to overthrow the Crown.
” Her foot slipped on a patch of loose dirt and gravel.
She landed a hand on Michael’s thick shoulder to keep from tumbling forward.
“My most dastardly mission as Lady Royal is being accused of starting riots and speaking to Eloise Ltd. about bespoke women’s wear.
” Scottie paused for a drink of water and spotted the additional item in her rucksack.
“I have a confession.” Michael squinted up at her through the shadow and light. “I took the portrait.”
He nodded once and continued down. “I know. Your rucksack has a very odd shape.”
“I couldn’t leave her there. In the dark. Alone. We have a lot in common.” Scottie hitched her shoulders, adjusting the straps of her pack. But Michael had the heavier load. The leather record books wrapped in linen.
“You don’t have to explain to me, Scottie. I left a light on in the Operations Room for Purnell. The lads still keep it on.” He paused to wield his machete. “She hated the dark, and I don’t know, the lamp made me feel as if I was still there for her.”
“Protecting her,” Scottie whispered more to herself than Michael. But he glanced back at her.
“I wasn’t there for her. Not when she—” He clipped his sentence and moved on down the hillside.
Oh, Michael Cross, don’t make me fall in love with you.
When they arrived at the start of the trail where a wrought iron bench was squeezed between two trees, Michael sat and patted the spot next to him, shoving his loose, dark hair from his face.
“You hungry?” he said. “I’m famished.”
“Starved.” Scottie perched on a rock next to him—a safe distance away. “I’m starting to get the shakes.” She opened her rucksack and fished around the portrait of Wenthelen for a package of Walkers and a power bar.
The air was cool and clean and gently shaking the trees. A couple of squirrels scurried around their feet, rising up on their hind legs when Michael tossed them a handful of peanuts.
He released the last few to a bird resting on a low-slung limb. Scottie sank into the atmosphere, using the hum of nature to take in all that happened today. Still, they couldn’t rest long. The growing shadows of the dense woods pushed against the thin threads of daylight.
“Purnell was always after me to forgive Mum,” Michael said, his voice so low Scottie wasn’t sure he meant her to hear.
“But I couldn’t do it. I had no desire or reason to do so.
” A soft red hue spread around his eyes.
“We argued about it a few times. Sitting here now, thinking how you’ve forgiven your mum, I’m ashamed I pushed back on the wise advice of such a kind, gentle woman.
My anger had become a part of me. It felt good.
Justified. What kind of mum walks out on her children? ”
“What kind of dad?” Scottie whispered. “I grew up with a lot of kids living in single mom households.”
“Worst argument ever with Purnell was when Mum convinced her a position at Pratt would be brilliant for our future. We were two months from our wedding, but after that row, we didn’t speak for two days.
Finally, I couldn’t take it, went round to her place, apologized on both knees.
” He smiled at the memory. “Three weeks later she collapsed at work. She’d been fighting pneumonia.
She’d lost weight, but she told me it was for the wedding.
She coughed a lot, and by the time her mum drove her to A & E, Accident & Emergency, the bacteria had taken over.
I loathe every minute I wasted fighting with her.
I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself for it. ”
“Michael, you didn’t know. It’s a tall order to live your life as if the person you love could die at any turn. You should talk to Prince John. He knows a bit about grieving a young wife.”
“We’ve chatted. He blamed himself for not being with Princess Holland when she went riding by the cliffs and was thrown from her horse.”
“She was such an excellent horsewoman he didn’t even consider an accident,” Scottie said. “Eventually he realized it wasn’t his fault. He met Gemma and fell in love again.”
He looked up, his soul resting in his blue eyes. “I wasn’t there when Purnell died. I’d gone to play football with the lads. She was asleep, machines bleeping, delivering meds to fight the infection and help her rest. I only intended to be gone a couple of hours but—”
Scottie switched from her rock to his bench. “From all you’ve said about her, I don’t think she’d begrudge you an afternoon on the pitch.”
“She rallied an hour before she died. Sat up, talked to her mum and dad, her sisters and brother. Asked about me. Her mum said I’d gone out to stretch my legs.
The match ran long. I raced back to her but not in time.
She’d crashed. Somewhere in there, she said, ‘Tell Michael I will miss the life we’d have made together.
’” He wadded up his crisps and peanuts package and stuffed them in a side pocket on the rucksack.
“There, you’ve toured my personal secret cellar.
” Michael hitched his rucksack to his shoulders and started down the path.
Scottie followed. “There’s always treasure in cellars, Michael.”
“Not always. Mostly bugs and cobwebs, maybe a snake or two. Ah, don’t forget bats and rats.”
“The treasure is worth facing those scary things.” She let that be her last word. Any more heartfelt confessions, she’d break. Michael Cross, whether she liked it or not, was a man she could love the rest of her born days.
At the bottom of the trek, a glorious sunset enveloped the peaks of the Highcrest Mountain range and shredded the drifting clouds with gold, orange, and red.
Scottie dug out her phone to capture the scene. “This is the most beautiful place on earth.”
“One of my top three,” Michael said, standing next to her, his shoulder barely touching hers. “I think Emmanuel wants me to forgive my mum.”
“Is that what He said over you?”
“I can’t remember, but I feel different. I have an urge to ring her and say ‘I give up, Mum. I’m done being angry. I forgive you.’” He headed off toward the Range Rover.
As Scottie slipped into the passenger seat, a call came in. Private. “I think it’s Kate.”
But it was Edric on the other end. “You must come. Kate’s in hospital. John and Gemma have just now landed in Port Fressa. Gus and Daffy are somewhere over the Atlantic. She’s asking for you, Scottie. She needs you.”
“I’m on my way.”