Chapter 28
The straw was scratchy, stifling, and made Rosalyn want to sneeze. She grabbed her nose and pinched it between her thumb and middle finger trying to keep it under control.
Greta was talking to someone outside, and it was important for her to stay buried, but now that she was under the straw, she couldn’t hear a thing. As much as she wanted hold her breath, she knew that wouldn’t work and did her best to stay still hoping Greta could manage. Luckily for Rosalyn, just when another sneeze threatened, Greta called her name loudly enough for her to hear.
Tossing the straw off in all directions, Rosalyn inhaled a deep breath and rose to her feet just as Greta poked her head over the gate. The nursemaid grinned broadly, then reassured her, “He’s gone. Yer safe.”
“Achoo!” Rosalyn wrinkled her nose. “Greta, you helped me hide from Rowen when I was little. Nothing’s changed, has it?”
Although she was still smiling, Greta’s eyes clouded with concern. “My lady, nothing’s changed in my heart, but much has changed here at Fyvie. Although it may be gossip, the servants who travel about Aberdeen say Mary and Rowen have been jailed.”
Rosalyn sobered. “Oh, Greta, I hold no power here. How will I find my mother and sister?”
“My lady, no one is certain when they were last seen at Fyvie, but I know it was before Sir James arrived. Although he appears to be a rigid leader of men and merciless knight, he’s quite the contrary.”
Greta’s confession made Rosalyn wonder how James could be a son of Nicholas Luttrell’s if he were not consumed by land ownership.
“Greta, I’m pleased to know Sir James is as noble as the Garter knights are fabled to be, and thankful it was not he who is responsible for their disappearance. As I get my bearings, he may be someone I can trust, but until then, I have many who I cannot.”
Her nursemaid gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yet, there are many ye can trust, my lady. Like that stable boy who stopped here moments ago.”
“You can trust him?”
“Thaddeus said he was sent to fetch the satchel for ye husband.” She grinned again. “I lied and told him another had taken it, but then straight away, I asked for God’s forgiveness.”
The satchel. “If that’s why he’d come, then it must still be here.” Rosalyn spun around in her spot. Her eyes finally adjusting to the dim light as she scanned the stall again. Then she spotted it. She’d walked right by the bulky thing.
With the warhorse content in the other corner, she rushed to the bag and yanked the flap up revealing a soft dark green blanket inside. Excited about the prospect of what she’d find, Rosalyn dropped to her knees and set the satchel down so she could reach both hands inside. Gingerly she removed the mysterious bundle. Greta poked her head over at that moment. “What is it, Rose?”
She smiled up to the only person other than her da who dared call her Rose. Greta was like her father in many ways, strong, bold, with no tolerance for injustice.
“I’m about to find out. Keep watch a bit longer,” Rosalyn pleaded, her hands shaking while she began to unwrap the blanket.
Once she had the green blanket unfolded, she discovered a purple, velvet cloak beneath. After she worked with the cloak, a bulky shape began to emerge.
Rosalyn’s heart beat faster as she gently unrolled what she hoped was the Rose from the last piece of fabric.
Aah. Even though she’d seen it before, the gift from the pope was breathtaking. The gems gleamed despite the low glow of light.
She gave the Golden Rose a quick assessment and was happy to find all the roses, stems, and jewels in place. It was only the oil that had seeped out of the top in transport. Otherwise, it was in as good condition as the day the bishop had proudly paraded it before the nobles at Berwick Castle.
Rosalyn breathed a sigh of relief as she quickly rolled the object back in the cloak, then rewrapped the blanket, swaddling the rose and gently pushing the bundle back into the satchel.
After closing the stable door behind her, she gave Greta a huge hug.
“You were the best of your da’s girls,” Greta said whimsically after Rosalyn released her.
Rosalyn smiled. “Come, I am in need of a hiding place for this,” she said, patting the bundle.
Greta’s eyes crinkled when she grinned at Rosalyn. The nurse was in her elder years, with graying hair, but she moved with the grace of a dancer despite her age. The maid waved her to follow. “I have the perfect spot.”
Greta led them out of the stables the way they’d entered, then continued along the castle’s south wall. Luckily for Rosalyn, the Rose wasn’t heavy and she was able to walk naturally with it hidden under her cloak, following Greta around the perimeter and into the armory.
After producing a sizable iron key from deep within her apron pocket, Greta turned it, unlocking the massive armory door, and the two slid silently inside.
The cavernous room was one of Rosalyn’s favorite hiding places and she hadn’t been surprised when Greta decided to take her here.
Her nursemaid handed Rosalyn the key. “You have the twin to this,” she reminded her.
“Aye, my skeleton key.” She paused, remembering. “Mine unlocks all the important doors in the castle from the outside or inside.” She had fond memories of how this key had helped her escape many scrapes as a child.
Rosalyn placed her hand against her thigh, happy to find her pouch full of precious items lay safe beneath her skirts. She needed the key to access the final hiding place. With all the traveling by horseback and a change of clothes, she’d forgotten to see if it was still securely tied around her leg until now.
Flipping up her skirt to gain access, she loosened the furry bag from its hiding place, opened the pouch and drew out the key.
Walking past the new lances, maces, and shields, Rosalyn made her way back to the farthest corner where the oldest weapons were stored.
There it sat, just as her she’d remembered it: the Viking treasure chest.
“Do you remember the fables you used to tell?” Rosalyn asked, motioning to the maid to join her as she knelt down before the old chest. She opened it with her skeleton key and carefully placed the entire satchel inside.
“That your da had been captured by a great Viking raider named Strykar and had barely escaped with his head, yet alone the Norseman’s wool?” Greta asked, giving her a no-nonsense expression. “Those werenae fables,” the nursemaid said in a flat tone.
“Well then, tell me again how da came to have this chest,” Rosalyn said, raising a suspicious brow.
“Just because you are all grown up doesnae mean you are any smarter,” Greta replied with a smirk and a nod.
Rosalyn scrunched up her face and pursed her lips. That was the face she’d given Greta when she hadn’t believed the nurse’s tales.
Greta laughed. “Come sit by me like old times, before the men start looking for us.”
Rosalyn let out a tiny squeal and almost climbed into Greta’s lap.
Once she was settled, Greta brushed the stray stands from Rosalyn’s brow. “Your da was quite the explorer in the early days of building his wool trade. Before he was your da and before he was laird of Aberdeen.”
Rosalyn’s heart filled with pride as she was reminded how adventurous, enterprising, and brave her father had been.
“‘Twas on his second trip by boat to Norway that your father and his soldiers landed on the southern coast in a port city known as Oslo.”
Most of the Macpherson’s family wool was brought back to the Highlands from France, but now she remembered in the early days, it wasn’t.
“When yer father first started, he traded with the Vikings of Norway and one in particular, a Norseman named Strykar. He was a giant. Taller than any man your father had ever met. Your da described him as a barbarian, eating raw fish and killing men with his bare hands.
“Strykar was a suspicious man and he didnae believe your father had come to barter for the wool, but to steal it. When you da gave him deer skins in exchange for the sheep’s wool, the Viking spat on them, saying they were inferior.
“Not long after, your father and his men were locked in a prison and marked for death. Fortunately for your da, though, a Frenchman he knew was in Oslo and heard about your da’s plight. He traded with your da, giving him superior furs for the deer skins, allowing the Viking to get a fair trade and the Frenchman to help your father escape.
“But over the years, Strykar and your da became friends. When winters came, the Vikings brought the wool. They had no qualms about sailing the frigid seas or walking our frozen winter lands. But after they delivered the wool and your da invited them to visit the last time, the giant and his men wiped out all his stores of mead, not to mention fought and killed his own on Fyvie’s land. After a few weeks of this behavior, your da was ready for them to leave. But he knew he couldnae just order them away, so he concocted a plan.”
Rosalyn found herself entranced by Greta’s tale, just as she had been as a young lass, hanging on to every word. She really didn’t care if the story was real or imagined, it was about her da.
“Do you remember your cousin Rebecca?”
Rosalyn nodded. She was her da’s sister’s only daughter. Although Rosalyn never liked speaking ill of anyone, she had to admit that a union with Rebecca would be a sentence to damnation.
“Your da told Strykar one night in the great hall at dinner that he would honor the Viking giant with an engagement to Rebecca and introduced them. Your da insisted the Norseman’s reputation would be damaged and his God, Odin, would wreak havoc on every one of his family members back in Norway if he didn’t agree to the proposal.”
Rosalyn covered her mouth with both hands.
“You must remember the woman had a shrill voice that sounded like a screeching goat with a face to match.”
Rosalyn burst out laughing.
“Well, the threat worked. Strykar and his men were gone before the sun rose the next day and either they left their chest of treasures in haste, or as payment for their freedom. Your da didn’t care, for he was happy to be rid of them,” Greta finished, dusting her hands off as if to rid herself of something disgusting.
Whether truth or no, Rosalyn’s heart was full of happiness to be back at Fyvie, even with so much uncertainty swirling around her. She gave Greta another generous hug, then turned her skeleton key in the oversized chest, locking the Golden Rose of Scotland safely away.
In moments, her key was stashed in the safety of her skirts again and she was making her way with Greta to her childhood room, anxious to find out if it looked anything like it had when she’d been forced out by Nicholas Luttrell.