’TWAS on the 9th of September, a very beautiful day,
That a numerous English army came in grand array,
And pitched their tents on Flodden field so green
In the year of our Lord fifteen hundred and thirteen.
***
All was quiet across the hillside, the air eerily calm as before a storm. The occasional sound of a horse braying or a man shouting echoed across the valley, disturbing the peace. A bright sun gleamed across the vast blue of the skies as William Stewart waited for the signal for the battle to commence. He did not know that thousands of the men and boys around him would be dead by the time the sun rose again, one of them being his King. But he could not alter history or the lineage of over 10,000 men. It was possible, however, that he could shape his own destiny.
***
Rebecca Brooke stared out the window. All week the weather had been cold and dreadful, and a low mist had hung over the valley, blotting out the wonderful view that the brochure had promised. For a summer vacation, late August in Scotland had proved to be a damp squib so far. OK, so it was a working vacation, two months working on a 16th-century archaeological dig in Scotland. It had sounded pretty awesome at the time. Cool, yes. Cold–no!
It was her first proper assignment and her first time in Scotland. She would have preferred Egypt or India, but she had been allocated to Scotland instead. Although she had been told to pack for the weather, she had ignored the advice. Living most of her life in California, she spent most of the time in shorts and miniskirts that showed off her tanned and toned legs. What she needed here was a woolly jumper and thermal underwear! She had managed to buy a few pairs of thick leggings and wore these under her shorts and socks. It wasn’t her best look, but at least they showed off her figure. Most of the other girls wore thick, shapeless sweaters over practical-looking outdoor pants that didn’t do them any favors.
Not all was lost, however. There was James Anderson.
James was the lead archaeologist on the dig, a Scotsman and an expert on Scottish history. Not only was he handsome, but he was intelligent, too–the new sexy. With his deep auburn hair and brown eyes, no woman was safe. Not that he noticed her, or anyone else for that matter. By breakfast, he had already eaten and gone out to the dig, and when he returned, his nose was always in a book. At least he was eye candy.
Her cell phone rang in her pocket and Rebecca looked at the number. It was her Mom. She had only been here for a couple of days but she had already phoned twice to see if she was eating properly and if she had managed to see the Queen of England yet; it was a no to both.
“Hi, Mom.” She tried not to sound bored.
“Becky, sweetheart, how are you doing out there?”
“Same as ever. How’s Dad?”
“He’s good, sweetie. Are you eating OK?”
The conversation continued thus and Rebecca tried hard to stifle a yawn. Her Mom meant well, but sometimes she could be overbearing.
“Are you tired, honey? You sound tired.”
“No, Mom, I’m still a bit jet-lagged. We haven’t been able to go out on site yet because of the good old British weather.”
“Well, don’t forget you could check out our relations there. We do have a great Aunt, twice removed, if she’s still living. She must be at least 90 by now. Wait a minute, and I’ll get you the details.”
“Mom...” But it was too late. Rebecca could hear her Mother scrabbling around in her bag for one of her notebooks.
“Here we are. Have you got a pen handy? It’s Mrs Nora McPherson, the Old Vicarage, Selkirk. Did you get that, sweetie?”
Rebecca hadn’t any desire to visit a relative who wouldn’t know her from Adam, but agreed with her Mom just to shut her up. After she promised her mother not to fall into a Loch, the call was finally over.
Sammy, a bespectacled English girl, was walking towards her with a smile. She had done her best so far to avoid her. Sammy was a “jolly hockey sticks” type who was always trying to arrange outings and activities for the others.
“Hey, Rebecca, do you feel like braving the weather and heading into the nearest village this afternoon? We might even find a pub–do you want to come?”
They were all staying in a large rented property on the outskirts of a village, and Rebecca hadn’t had time yet to get her bearings.
Sammy was of the baggy jumper brigade and Rebecca felt nothing in common with her. She would rather stick pins in her thighs than have to make small talk.
Shaking her head, she stood up to leave when Johnny Hampshire strode into the room. Johnny was handsome yet arrogant. He was Scottish but had attended an English public school and spoke with a very clipped accent. He worked closely with James, and neither man had much time for each other. Unfortunately, Johnny had noticed her long blonde hair and treated her like the local bimbo. For once she wished she was wearing Sammy’s shapeless garb.
“Hey, Becky, fancy a stroll in the heather with me?” he grinned suggestively as he looked her up and down, before placing his hand territorially on her arm.
She wanted to tell him to go screw himself but was far too polite.
“Actually, I’ve already arranged to go out with Sammy.” Rebecca shrugged his arm away and his grin slipped into a sneer.
“Frigid bitch,” he muttered under his breath, the muscles clenching around his jaw line.
“What did you say?”
Johnny smiled again, but this time it made her shiver with its coldness. “I said have a great time” and with that, he turned and slowly left the room.
“What a creep.” Sammy made a face as he left and Rebecca laughed. Perhaps the afternoon wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
They ventured out into the mist and fog. The drizzle was light yet constant and Sammy loaned Rebecca a bright green jacket to wear. There was no one to see her wearing it in this place, and James would probably find it sexy.
The girls walked along a little path, and for once Rebecca was glad she had bought a decent pair of walking boots. She could feel the mud slip and slide beneath her feet and was glad that she wasn’t wearing her usual flimsy sneakers.
After half an hour, they had almost given up hope of finding a place when they stumbled across an old coaching house –The Bluebell Inn. Relieved, they staggered inside, dripping water across the polished floorboards as they made their way to the bar and ordered double whiskies to warm them through.
Rebecca looked around, amazed at the place–it was like stepping back in time. Apart from the two of them, the bar was occupied by several all men wearing tweed jackets and caps. They all stared back and nodded. She must have looked as strange to them as they did to her, in waterproof, fluorescent pink boots.
Sammy walked back with the glasses of golden whisky. The whisky tasted good. It was the best thing about Scotland so far. As it hit the back of her throat, her whole body seemed to glow.
“We’re just down the road,” Sammy laughed. “I bet we can see our place from here–I’ve just spoken to the barman, and this is the village of Selkirk.”
Rebecca coughed and started to choke on the amber nectar. Selkirk was the place where her old relative lived, and she was staying literally on the doorstep. A shiver ran through her as if there was something sinister about the connection, as if it was always meant to be. Maybe it was just a mixture of the cold and the alcohol or perhaps she was still jetlagged? She laughed at her foolishness. There was something surreal about the whole thing, standing in the middle of this Scottish pub, dripping wet and drinking whiskey among the tweed-clad locals that made the whole thing seem absurd. A couple of double whiskeys later and she had soon forgotten all about her ancient relative.
It was evening when they rolled out of the door and into the darkening air. The mist had lifted slightly and a smell of decay lingered. The night had started to draw in and wrap itself around the girls, chilling them to the bone as they hurried quickly along the road, this time taking the more direct route. The path took them past an old church, its old Norman tower looming in the darkness. Next to it, Rebecca could just make out the dark shadows of the ancient gravestones and, stopping for a second, she peered through the rusting iron railings and wondered if any of her ancestors were buried there. Sammy proceeded to pounce on her making ghostly wailing noises and Rebecca shrieked with delight as they ran on, not stopping until they were back inside, safe and sound.
It wasn’t late when they returned, but Rebecca was tired, still recovering her recent flight.
As soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. If it weren’t for a noise outside her door, she would have probably slept all night. She stirred and reached on the bedside table for her watch. It was only 10:30 and she realized she had a terrible thirst from the whiskey. She always slept naked and quickly slipped into her fleecy dressing gown, a present from her Mom, before opening the door and setting off down the landing towards the stairs. There was some juice in the kitchen downstairs, and if she was quick no one would see her.
A noise on the landing made her stop in her tracks; perhaps it had been the same noise that woke her? All was quiet again apart from the muffled voices coming from the downstairs lounge.
A hand grabbed her arm as soon as her foot reached the top step.
“Becky.”
Johnny was suddenly in front of her, and from the smell on his breath, he had been drinking for most of the afternoon. His hand was squeezing her arm against the wall and she struggled against his strength. His eyes were like slits and there was a hint of cruelty behind the steely grey as he looked her up and down. She could feel her face start to flush as she realized that her gown was gaping at the front, and she quickly brought up her free hand to hold it together.
“For God’s sake, Johnny, let go of me. You’re hurting my arm.”
Licking his lips, Johnny sneered at her as he brought his face directly in front of hers.
“How about a little kiss first?” His breath was hot and sour, and Rebecca turned her face away from him.
“Fucking little tease, I’ll show you.” He slammed his weight against her, pinning her to the wall as his free hand started to work its way underneath her gown, groping up her bare leg towards her thigh.
Rebecca was stunned. She disliked Johnny, but it was hard to believe he was capable of this, however drunk he might be. She tried to strike him and started to shout for him to stop, but he released her arm and covered her mouth to gag her. His other hand by now had slid to the fastenings of her gown and started pulling at the buttons. He was soon grabbing at the soft flesh of her naked breast, his hand rough and greedy as he squeezed at her nipple, now hard and erect in his fingers.
“I knew you wanted me, you little bitch,” he said, and as he thrust his pelvis into her stomach, she could feel his hardness rubbing against her.
At first she had been alarmed by his behavior, but now she felt powerless and sick at the thought of what he might do to her.
His hand was almost suffocating her, and she thought she might black out when suddenly he released her, his whole weight lifting away from her. Someone was coming up the stairs. Without hesitating, Johnny had disappeared around the corner just as James came into view. She looked startled as she pulled the robe around her, too stunned to cry.
“Are you OK?”
His voice was rich and deep, lilting softly on the question, a look of concern in his eyes.
She nodded quickly in reply. “Yes, I thought I heard a noise. I came out to see what it was.” Rebecca couldn’t look him in the eye, and she sensed that he didn’t believe her, his eyes searching the landing for something or someone.
“You’re sure you’re OK?”
This time their eyes met and she felt a strange tingling run through her spine. It was almost as if something passed between them, some knowledge or sense of something shared. He must have felt something too for his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as if trying to remember something but not quite catching hold of his thoughts.
“I’ll say goodnight, then.” And with that, he was gone.
Leaning against the wall, she let her body sink to the floor until she sat on the landing. She was so tired, past tired, and her emotions were doing cartwheels through her brain. Maybe she should have told James about Johnny, but she had just arrived and didn’t want to make trouble. After all, Johnny had been drunk, not that it was an excuse. Who knows what would have happened had James not arrived when he did? She shivered again at the thought.
No, she didn’t want to think about that; she just wanted to sleep.
The next day it was much brighter but still raining. There would be no dig again today. She had slept right through to 10:00 am, and by the time she had dressed and gone down to breakfast most people had finished. Sammy sought her out as she drank a strong cup of coffee to wake her up.
“Hey lazybones, you’ve missed all the news. You’ll never guess.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. It was all she could manage. “What?”
“Johnny’s walked out. He had a big fight with James last night, and he left early this morning.”
The coffee dregs tasted bitter in her mouth. The coffee was terrible here and she had already started having withdrawal symptoms from her favorite brand. She remembered the previous night’s activities and wondered if that had any bearing on the matter.
Some of the girls were catching a bus to the nearest town, but this time she declined the invitation, wanting a day to herself to catch up on her reading on the history of the place.
For an hour she struggled with the dusty textbook. She loved history because it was exciting, but the pages she was reading about the Battle of Flodden seemed as dry and unimaginative as the sands of the Sahara. Rebecca stifled a yawn as she looked out the window. A weak sun was shining through a break in the clouds, and for the first time she could appreciate the beauty of the landscape before her. It was hard to relate the splendor of this area to the thousands of bloody deaths centuries before. Ten thousand Scotsmen had lost their lives in the battle and some of them had been from these small villages. She had a sudden urge to explore the land and tread along the pages of her history books. Packing herself a quick lunch, she made up a cheese sandwich and finding an industrial-sized flask in one of the cupboards, filled it up to the brim with tea. Her head was still thumping from the whisky and she needed plenty of liquid. At least it would be better than the coffee.
After pulling on her walking boots, she set off with no particular intent.
There was only one main road passing through the village and she quickly found that she was on the same route as her walk home the previous day. Within ten minutes, she had arrived at the graveyard and the little church. It didn’t seem as morbid in the daytime and swinging open the iron gate, she walked up the mossy path towards the church. Huge slabs of stone lay facing upwards on the grass, headstones of the long departed that had sunk and collapsed with age. The inscriptions were now barely visible, the surfaces gnawed away by time and nature. She couldn’t help but think about all of the forgotten lives lying rotting beneath her:
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything
Heading to the church, she tried the iron latch on the great oak door. Surprised, she found it open and stepped inside the small porch. She had never been inside an old church before and was immediately taken by the hushed and hallowed space within. The air smelled stale and faintly of chrysanthemums and musty hymn books.
It seemed almost a violation to step over the stone flagged floor partly made out of old tombstones, so she tiptoed around the edges, hardly daring to make a noise. Walking down the line of pews, she stopped at the altar, a small table covered in a green velvet cloth supporting a large white and gold plaster cross. The sun was shining through the east window and the colored light from the stained glass formed patterns across the stone walls. Rebecca wasn’t religious, but as she stood there in the silence she thought she could sense a presence, something spiritual and eternal.
“Can I help you?”
Although the voice was soft and gentle, Rebecca almost shot out of her skin like a frightened rabbit caught trespassing in the farmer’s field.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Henry Parsons was the vicar of St. Andrews. He was a tall, middle-aged man with a receding hairline.
Rebecca blushed. She wasn’t really sure if she was just allowed to walk into an old church like this.
“I’m really sorry. I hope you don’t mind me taking a look around the church. It’s my first visit to Scotland.”
Henry beamed down at Rebecca as if she were the second coming herself. He liked Americans; they were always so interested in his tour of the little church and he liked to think that he was an interesting speaker.
“Not at all, my dear. We love to extend the hand of friendship to our cousins across the Pond. I can show you around if you like?”
Hesitating, she looked at her watch.
“It won’t take long, I promise.”
She smiled; it was difficult to say no; besides, it might be interesting.
First he showed her the chancel arch. The church had first been built in the 12th century, and this was the oldest and most original feature that had survived.
They walked to another part of the church that had been built later in the 16th century.
“Of course, one of the largest families here in those times was the Stewarts of Selkirk, and they built this part of the church in memory of their dead. Almost all of their line was wiped out in the Battle of Flodden. Seventy men set off from Selkirk and the surrounding villages, and only one man returned.”
Rebecca ran her fingers along the cool stone walls and tried to imagine the hands that had shaped the stone. An inscription had been carved into one of the larger blocks and she stood back to read the words:
Praeteriti praesentisque temporis collatum mundos se colliduntur.
Henry came to her rescue. “It’s a Latin phrase and quite an unusual one. Translated it means, “Worlds collide with the past and present.” We think it must mean the world of the living meets that of the dead. What do you think?”
Touching the engraved words with her hand, she felt a shiver run through her spine and shuddered.
The vicar laughed. “I get that feeling sometimes–as if someone had stepped over your grave. Now you must be getting cold. Shall we go outside into the sun?”
It was good to be back in the sunshine, she had started to have strange imaginings back in the church, some kind of déjà vu about the whole place. She had started to let her imagination run away with her in this place of old bones and death.
Just as she was about to leave, Rebecca remembered her old relative.
“Do you know of a Mrs. McPherson? She’s supposed to be a relative of mine. I think she used to live in the old vicarage?”
Henry Parsons beamed his schoolboy smile. “Nora. Yes, she’s the oldest member of my congregation. She doesn’t get out much, but I call and see her once a week. You can see the house over there, the big one behind the trees. I’m afraid the new vicarage is a much simpler affair. I’ll take you over there now if you like?”
Rebecca had started to protest, but Henry was already marching down the path and she had to hurry to catch up with him.
The old place was an imposing structure of red bricks and was surrounded by ancient poplar trees that bathed the place in a strange green light. There was an old-fashioned bell pull that Henry tugged and the gentle tinkle of a bell could be heard somewhere in the house. Rebecca expected the dull thud, thud of an ancient butler coming to answer the door and was surprised to hear the light skip of footsteps running up the hallway. Jane Sweeney was a bright young woman who was keeping house for Nora McPherson. She had beautiful red-golden hair that tumbled down her back into natural curls. She clasped Rebecca’s hand as if welcoming back an old friend and a feeling of familiarity swept over her. Perhaps it was because these people were so friendly that she almost felt like one of them. She had been told that the British were a bit aloof, but it had proved exactly the opposite in her case.
Jane led them down the dark hallway and into the library at the back of the house. It was a beautiful wood-lined room with huge French windows that led into the garden. Despite the sunshine, a huge fire was burning in the grate and the shades were drawn on all of the windows. In front of the fire was an old sateen chaise lounge that had seen better days. As they approached, Rebecca could see an old woman lying on the coach, apparently asleep by the fire. Jane called out her name quite softly at first, then again more loudly.
“Mrs. McPherson... Nora?”
Slowly the frail head lifted up and a pair of brilliant blue eyes looked out at them.
“It’s the Reverend, Nora. And he’s brought someone to meet you.”
The old lady reached for her spectacles dangling on a chain around her neck and with a shaking hand put them on.
She seemed to stare for a very long time at Rebecca, and the girl wondered if her relative could see her at all. She looked old, very old, her skin lined like an old map–the roadmap of her life, Rebecca supposed. The only thing of her youth that remained was the pair of blue sparkling eyes, shining like a young girl’s.
Henry Parsons stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“Nora, this is Rebecca Brooke. She’s come all the way from California to see you. She’s a distant relative of yours.”
Nora nodded and started to speak. Her voice was gentle and low with the soft lilt of the Scots.
“I’ve been expecting her to call. I have been waiting a long time. Too long.” She motioned for Rebecca to step forward and sit with her.
Raising her eyes towards Henry, Rebecca wondered if Nora might be a little bit senile. She was sure her Mom hadn’t contacted Mrs. McPherson, she would have said.
“Thank you Reverend. That will be all.”
Nora raised her fragile arm to him. Henry cleared his throat to protest, but the old woman glared at him through her glasses. There was to be no sweet talking this old lady. Rebecca was warming to her already.
Rebecca sat on the end of the little sofa. Nora was staring directly at her, and it made her feel ill at ease.
“Come nearer so I can see you better, dearie.”
She shuffled up close. The old woman smelled of mints and whisky and Rebecca wondered if she was a secret drinker. The thought made her smile. At her grand old age, surely she could do anything she liked?
“I can see now it’s you dearie, ye hair’s a different color, but I can see it around your eyes. Aye, I can that.”
Rebecca smiled. Poor Nora had obviously flipped or drank too much and was talking gibberish, but she would humor the old lady.
“They said that you would be coming, and I’ve been waiting for ye. All of these years, I’ve sat and waited”
Her eyes glazed as if she had slipped back into another time, and Rebecca wondered if she ought to go. She didn’t want to tire the poor old thing out, so she started to rise.
Nora’s hand was soon on her arm. “I have something for you, lassie, but first pass me that glass on the table, will ye?”
She reached for the glass. It felt sticky. Handing it across, the old lady fished her hand under her cushions and brought out a small bottle of McClelland’s Whisky.
“Just a wee dram of the good stuff to warm me up. Will ye not be joining me?”
Rebecca shook her head. It was probably better if one of them remained sober.
“Go on, lassie. It will do ye good. Now pass me that other glass.”
Nora poured out two generous measures, and while Rebecca sat and nursed hers, the old lady drank hers down in one. She was amazed and wondered if she should be drinking so much at her age.
“I’m one hundred and three years old this Christmas, if you’re wondering. I put long life down to whisky and porridge.” She giggled like a schoolgirl–the after effects of the drink, Rebecca supposed.
Nora patted the red cushion next to her. “Come a wee bit closer, lass, so I can hear you better.”
Rebecca shuffled up even further.
“So how are you finding our little village, Rebecca?”
At least she remembered her name. She couldn’t be that senile.
“It’s lovely. I only just arrived, but everyone I’ve met this morning has made me feel very welcome.”
“Well, my dear, that’s one thing about this place. People seldom stray, and if they do, it’s never for very long. A little piece of home always stays in the heart.”
Nora’s eyes were alert and bright and Rebecca wondered if it was a combination of medication and alcohol. Maybe it was just the drink. The effect of sitting close to the hot fire combined with the neat whiskey was starting to make her head spin.
“Now, my dearie, if you could fetch me that wee box down off the mantelpiece.”
Rebecca looked across at the fire. On the shelf above it stood an array of objects collected from over the years. There were dozens of old photographs, and from the style of the fashions, some must have been well over 100 years old. Sepia and black and white images stood in their dusty and age-stained frames. They were full of hollow-eyed people staring back into the lens and they all seemed to have a vague air of familiarity. In the center next to an old wooden clock stood a very small and plain-looking tin box with patches of rust showing through at the sides.
Handing the box down to Nora, she sat and waited with some hesitation. The old lady was so eccentric that absolutely anything could be inside.
“This was handed down from my great, great-grandfather, and from his grandfather before that. It’s very old, dating back several hundred years to about the time of the great Battle of Flodden. The old girl’s eyes sparkled as if remembering the event personally.
Placing her thin hand into the tin she drew out a small object wrapped in tissue paper and carefully passed it over to the young girl.
Rebecca gasped as she opened up the layers of fine paper to reveal an exquisitely engraved silver locket.
“Open it, open it!” the old woman urged like an excited child at Christmas.
As Rebecca slid her nail beneath the clasp, the locket fell into two halves. Inside was a beautifully painted miniature of a young woman. She was shocked and had to blink and look again. Two things immediately struck her: first, that the eyes were a brilliant blue, and secondly, that the face was hers.
A shiver ran along her spine, despite the heat from the fire. She stared at the image a long time, hardly believing what she saw. The woman wore a blue dress in the Tudor style and in her hand she held an apple. Her strawberry-blonde hair was tied into a long, neat plait cascading over her shoulder, and a row of pearls was strung closely across her throat. In the background was a green vase or some sort of decoration, and on it was a picture of a twin-tailed siren that looked oddly familiar. She had probably seen something similar in her history books from this period but couldn’t quite recall what.
It was reasonable, she supposed, to have some facial similarities to your ancestors, but the resemblance was uncanny. She looked across to Nora for answers.
“That’s a portrait of the wife of William Stewart, the only member of the Stewart clan to survive the battle of Flodden. It was said that she was some kind of witch and that she used supernatural powers to keep him safe.”
Rebecca wanted to ask more questions, but at that point the old woman shut her eyes and seemed to fall asleep. The conversation had obviously exhausted her, and after waiting another ten minutes, Rebecca decided to leave. Placing the miniature back on the table, she tiptoed out of the room, feeling slightly guilty at leaving without saying goodbye.
She was halfway down the path when a voice called her back. Jane was running towards her.
“You left this behind.” She placed the silver locket in Rebecca’s hand.
“Oh no, it’s not mine. Nora was just showing it to me.”
“She wants you to have it.”
Rebecca shook her head. “It’s far too valuable! I can’t accept anything like that.”
Jane frowned. “But it’s yours.” And with that, she ran back to the house.
What a strange thing to say. Rebecca placed the locket carefully into her bag in the zipper compartment next to her cell phone. She would hand it back tomorrow, but in the meantime, she would show James. It would definitely be a conversation starter.
***
The morning had been too weird, and she needed some normality. Hopping onto the local bus, she headed for the nearest town and spent the day window shopping. She also managed to find a branch of her favorite coffee shop and get herself a good cup of coffee and a muffin to have on the bus ride home. The coffee restored her equilibrium, and she couldn’t wait to see James.
Sammy was on the lookout for her when she arrived back at base and ran out to greet her new friend. She seemed in a bit of a panic.
“James is looking for you, and he’s furious!”
Rebecca had no clue what she was talking about and asked her to slow down.
“It’s James. He stormed in here about an hour ago looking for you. Something about the dig, but he didn’t say what.”
“Where is he now? Is he still around?”
“I haven’t seen him. I think he might have gone back out.”
It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t even visited the dig yet, so he couldn’t have anything to be mad about. Perhaps Sammy had got it wrong. Maybe it was something about last night and Johnny. Whatever it was, she was dying to show James the miniature, and so leaving Sammy standing at the door, she set out towards the dig to look for him.
The excavation site was not far. It was the foundations of a 16th-century dwelling that had received a lot of local and national interest.
The sun was a little weaker now that late afternoon was setting in and the air had grown chill. A slight wind rippled across the grass, and she hurried along, wrapping her flimsy jacket around her. She was almost at the site and could see the brown of the soil where the turf had been removed to reveal the ancient foundations. The trench was quite deep, and there was no sign of James. Scrambling down, she walked among the old stones. Part of a set of stone steps had been revealed and what looked to be the site of an old fireplace. Sitting on the steps, she drank the last of her coffee and placed the cup back in her bag. James would have a fit if she littered the site.
It had been such an odd day. She could scarcely believe her meeting with Nora and reached into her bag for the miniature to remind herself that she wasn’t going crazy. It was real enough.
Feeling a headache coming on, she closed her eyes for a minute. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and blamed Nora for leading her astray.
Before long she was asleep.
When she awoke, it was dark and she couldn’t see where she was. She was still leaning against the stone wall, her bag still on her lap, but she seemed to be in an enclosed space. She closed her eyes and opened them again, slowly moving them from left to right. On all sides were stone walls and just in front of her a fireplace. Rebecca tried to think where she was. She had come out to find James at the excavation site and must have fallen asleep. This must be a joke. They must have moved her while she was asleep. She must have been really knocked out! Standing up, she stretched her muscles, aching and stiff from sitting on her cold seat. She would have serious words with whoever did this to her.
The place must be some sort of museum for all the artifacts around her, from old copper cooking pots to stone flagons of various shapes and sizes, looked ancient. There were wicker baskets containing apples, and half a rustic-looking loaf of bread and a dish of eggs stood on top of a well-scrubbed wooden table. The most amazing thing about the place was the smell: a funny mixture of smoke and animals and a sweeter smell of rotting vegetation. It was very authentic. Maybe the place didn’t have much ventilation. Desperate for fresh air, she started to head up the stone steps.
“Katherine, will that be you down there?”
The burr of a soft Scottish voice echoed across the silence. For a moment, she froze. She might be trespassing on private property, but it wasn’t her fault she was here and would soon be able to explain.
As the door at the top of the stone steps opened, a dim light filled the room and there stood a man carrying a candle. He was dressed in what look like fancy clothes, a doublet and hose. Maybe he was one of those actors employed to bring the past to life; whoever he was, it was a relief to see someone. Walking down the steps, he peered cautiously at her and Rebecca had to stifle a giggle.
Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he brought the light to her face.
“Who are ye?”
His act might have been funny if he wasn’t hurting her.
“Hey, get off me.” She tried to struggle free, but it was useless and he pulled her towards the stairs. He was taking his role far too seriously, whoever he was.
Pushed up the stairs, she found herself in a long room with wooden floors and stone walls. A rich tapestry was hung on the far wall, its rich colors apparent in the half light. This place was great. She would definitely visit it again in the daylight without this overzealous thespian by her side.
The man jerked on her arm and pulled her towards an oak door. Inside was a great hall and in the center was a magnificent table laid out with swords and shields and other gruesome weaponry. A group of men were seated around a great fire, heads deep in conversation. As the door opened, they all looked up.
“What is it Angus?”
“I caught her d’oon in the scullery.”
A fierce-looking man with wild, steely grey hair and a beard stood up and approached her. He was dressed in a green tartan shawl that was wrapped across his body, and on his feet he wore thick woolen stockings and tan leather shoes that laced up around his calf. He was the very image of a Scottish Highlander, directly from one of her history books.
Her smile soon faded as he spoke.
“Who are ye young wummin, and what are ye doing here?”
His accent was much stronger than the first, and she struggled to tune into the words.
“Well?” he shouted at her.
Rebecca was starting to feel tired and bored by the joke. It had gone on too long and she wanted her bed.
“Now look, I think it’s all very funny, but I need to go. I need to sleep.”
The man glared at her as another joined him. He was similarly dressed but a little younger. He somehow looked familiar.
“She’s not from these parts. Look at her dress and the way she talks. She’s a foreigner. She must be a Sassenach spy.” He drew his sword and held it in front of her.
She almost fainted as the blade swished across her face. Maybe she was dreaming; it was all so unreal.
“Wait!” a voice shouted from the back of the group. Although loud, the accent was much softer and gentle in tone. As the man stepped nearer, Rebecca let out a low laugh. She hadn’t recognized him under the red beard. It was James Anderson! Sammy must have been in on the joke all along.
“Ha, ha, very funny James. I’m cold and hungry so let’s get out of here.”
His brow furrowed as he approached her.
“Ma name’s nae James, I’m Willy Stewart.”
Rebecca started to panic. It didn’t seem as if anyone was joking; in fact, it was exactly the opposite. Something wasn’t right. The man looked like James, but he didn’t seem to be laughing and he didn’t seem to be James after all.
“We should kill her now.” The man with the sword angled his blade. As his eyes narrowed, she realized where she had seen him before. He was the spitting image of Johnny Hampshire.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She was either about to die or wake up from this nightmare.
A strong hand pushed away the blade. “No Angus, I’ll take care of her.”
“But we’re riding ‘oot early tomorrow, William, to join King James in Battle. What will ye do with the young wummin?”
William thought for a moment. “I’ll take her with us.”
The men scoffed. “Ye cannae take a young lass along with us. What if she is an English spy?”
“Then all the better for her sitting on our side.”
“But how will she travel?”
“She will ride with me. Now we must make haste to be ready for the morrow.”
The other men shook their heads but slowly moved out of the room, leaving Rebecca and William alone.
Seeing that she was shaking from cold, he led her to the fire and brought her a small wooden stool to sit on.
The whole thing seemed ridiculous. The only reality seemed to be coming from the heat of the fire and instinctively she held up her hands to feel the warmth.
“So lassie, where are ye frae, and more importantly what are ye doing here?”
Rebecca looked at him blankly. She didn’t even know where “here” was.
“Where am I?” The question sounded pathetic on her lips.
William frowned as if trying to understand the young woman sat before him. She looked so much like his dear dead wife Jane that he had almost cried out her name when first seeing her.
“You’re in my hoose in Selkirk.”
“And what year is this?” The question trembled on her lips.
“Why, it’s 1513. The 7th of September to be exact.”
There was a cold draught blowing through the shuttered windows and Rebecca shivered.
“Wherever your frae, your nae dressed for the weather. Come with me, and I’ll find you somat to wear.”
Lighting a couple of candles in the fire, he took her by the hand, and they walked out of the room and into a paneled hallway. There were more rugs and tapestries hung on the walls and an elaborate, wooden candelabra hung from the ceiling. A giant stone staircase took them up to the next level and into one of the bed chambers. The floor was a polished, deep brown wood and at one end of the room stood a four-poster bed swathed with green velvet curtains.
William strode over to a large chest and opened it up. Inside were numerous garments that he pulled out and laid tenderly onto the bed.
“Here, try one of these.”
There were several woolen tunics, and she picked up a blue one to try on. Rebecca was aware that he was watching her, and she suddenly felt awkward and shy in his presence.
Sensing her feelings, he stepped outside.
It was good to remove her flimsy clothes and put on something warmer. There were some thick brown stockings made of a woven cloth and she pulled them on before slipping the blue tunic over her head. There was a small hand mirror on a set of drawers, and she scanned her face in the glass. It was her face that reflected back, but somehow she looked different. Remembering the small locket containing the portrait, she pulled the band out of her hair, shook loose her pony tail, and started to plait her hair. The result was uncanny.
William stepped back into the room and froze as if seeing a ghost. It was as if his beloved Jane was with him again. His eyes were wide as he rushed to her and pulled her close, his strong arms encircling her.
“Jane, my beloved.”
She could feel his anguish as he crushed her to him. Trying to find her lips, his face pushed into hers. Memories of her encounter with Johnny came flooding back, and she started to panic, beating at his chest with her fists.
The whole thing was becoming too much for her and Rebecca started to cry. She couldn’t understand what was happening to her, and she was tired and hungry. All she wanted was to get back to the others.
Her weeping brought him back to his senses and he suddenly pulled away from her, and with his head in his hands, he sat on the bed.
“I’m sorry, lass; you looked just like my wife Jane.”
Trembling, she sat next to him on the bed. “I’m Rebecca.”
“Rebecca.” He spoke the name carefully, as if hearing it for the first time. “Ye look so like my wife. She died in childbirth with our first child almost a year ago. Where have ye come frae?”
“I’ve come from the future.” It sounded like the line from a corny B movie, but it was the truth.
William looked at her, his eyes troubled.
“I know it’s difficult to explain, but this afternoon I was in Selkirk in 2015, and all I know now is that I’m now in Selkirk over 500 years in the past.”
He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
How could she make him believe her? Her bag was still over her shoulder, and she reached inside it. The Starbucks cup was still there and she placed it on the bed along with the sandwich and flask. Unzipping the front pocket, she pulled out her iPhone. The locket had gone. She remembered looking at it before she fell asleep. It must have slipped from her hand at the dig.
“What’s this?” He picked up the cup and gazed at the design.
“It’s a coffee cup.”
“What’s coffee?”
It was too hard to explain.
“I have this, too,” she said, holding up her phone.
“What is it?”
How on earth could she describe a cell phone to a 16th-century Scotsman?
“Well, it’s a communication tool. You can talk to anyone in the world through it.”
He looked impressed.
“Show me.”
It was hard to get a signal in 1513. He looked less impressed.
She had an idea. Pressing the photo App she found a photo of herself back home in California and showed it to him. He was mesmerized.
“I’m from America, a place called California.”
Taking the phone, he touched the screen with his fingertips, barely able to register what he was seeing.
She had an even better idea.
“Let’s take a selfie.”
Putting her head next to his, she held up the camera and clicked the button. The camera flashed and William shot up from the bed in alarm.
“It’s OK, it’s just a photograph.” She handed him the phone to see the picture.
It was almost too much for him, and he sat back on the bed shaking his head.
“Are you some sort of a witch?”
Rebecca touched him lightly on the arm. “No. For some reason, I’ve traveled back in time. Worlds collide with the past and present,’’ she recited, remembering the quote on the old Kirk wall.
William looked her in the eye. “Me and my men travel to meet King James at Flodden tomorrow. We battle with the English on the 9th. If you’re from the future, do you know what happens?”
Swallowing hard, she looked back into his eyes. He was so like James that her heart skipped a beat. How could she tell him that 10,000 Scotsmen would lose their lives? History had already happened, and she couldn’t change it. If she could, then she probably wouldn’t be here.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
She touched his arm tenderly. He seemed so sad and so bewildered. It didn’t help that she looked like his lost wife and the whole phone thing had knocked the wind out of his sails. An impulse to kiss him passed through her. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body and felt a strong attraction to him. He must have felt the same for soon his mouth was upon hers, this time gently as their lips locked together in a soft embrace. His arms instinctively wrapped around her as he pushed her onto the bed, his body pressing into her. His hand traveled over her tunic and fondled her small, round breasts.
He was panting heavily. It was a long time since he had tasted a woman and he wanted her more than anything else. It wasn’t just that she looked like Jane; there was something deeper, more primal, as if he had always known her. Pushing up the tunic, his hand started to explore the soft flesh of her inner thigh and as his fingers reached the soft satin of her panties, her body froze. She was a still a virgin and had never gone this far with any of her boyfriends before. She wanted him, but it was an automatic reaction. Maybe she was still recoiling from the thoughts of Johnny.
William slid his hand from her tunic. What was he thinking? Although he had spent most of his life living on the barren moors, he was not a wild man. He considered himself a gentleman and was behaving like a beast. Sitting up, he straightened his ruffled auburn hair.
“We need to sleep. We have an early start tomorrow. You stay in the bed, and I will sleep elsewhere.”
Leaving the candle behind, he hurried out of the room before she could reply. The blood was coursing through her veins and her head thumping. She was starving and remembered the cheese sandwich. Wolfing it down, she poured some tea out of the flask. Somehow it was still hot and did the trick.
Exhausted, she could no longer think straight. Climbing beneath the woolen sheets still fully clothed, she closed her eyes and was soon fast asleep.
It was still dark when she woke. At first she didn’t realize where she was and thought she had been dreaming, but no, she was still in the dark bed chamber of William Stewart. There was a sound of horses and men gathering outside. She stood up and looked out the window.
At least a hundred men had gathered outside, some on horseback, some carrying items in and out of the house. All were dressed in the same tartan shawls, some green and black and others red. Some of the men wore blue caps and others were bareheaded. Many of them were young men, perhaps not much older than herself. Her conscience weighed heavy; most of these men would be dead in a few days time, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Rebecca, are you awake? Come and eat before we ride. It will be a long day.”
William had entered the room, and he looked tired. He had not been able to sleep that night as he was trying to understand everything that had happened; he still didn’t. He had brought her some of his squire’s clothes for her to wear. It would be safer if she disguised herself as a boy amongst the thousands of men. A cap would hide her long hair.
Dressing quickly, she ventured down to the dining room where men sat drinking ale and eating bread and porridge. She was handed a small bowl of thick porridge oats and a hunk of bread. She was so hungry that she wolfed it down and was handed a second bowl and a jug of ale to wash it down with. It tasted surprisingly good and she was starting to feel refreshed. Some of the other men eyed her suspiciously, but while she was under the guardianship of William Stewart, no man would hurt her. The time came to be off. She grabbed her bag, making sure her mobile phone was switched off to save the battery. What a scoop to take live photos of one of Scotland’s most famous and bloody battles.
Before they set off, William wrapped a red woolen shawl around her to keep her warm on the journey. Mounted onto his horse, she sat behind him, her hands wrapped around his waist. She was frightened of what might happen, but she had never felt so alive before. If only her Mom could see her now!
They rode out for most of the day . They would be joining King James and his men camped out near Flodden Hill. She was amazed as they passed the tiny hamlets. Some of the houses were little more than rough wooden and mud huts with smoke spiraling out of a hole in the thatched roofs. They passed peasants and carts and horses on the rough tracks, and Rebecca was astounded by the sights as they raced through the medieval countryside.
She liked to feel Williams’s strong body next to hers. It felt so safe being close to him. His kiss still lingered on her lips from the previous night and something stirred within her. She ached for him to touch her again, and next time she would not stop him. That’s if there would be a next time. Her mind strayed to the historical facts about the battle: 10,000 Scotsmen would die. What if the old lady had been wrong about William Stewart and he didn’t survive? Or what if she had somehow changed the course of history just by being here?
Soon they could see the campfire smoke in the distance. The small party had been joined by more men along the way and it had soon grown to over 500 men heading for the camp. Soon they were amongst men and horses, rounded tents and piles of weaponry, and the sounds and smells were overwhelming. There were makeshift fires over which black cauldrons were hung making countless broths and stews, while flagons of wine and ale were being handed around. It reminded Rebecca of a Tudor-themed rock festival.
They found a space to put up their tent, and soon a fire was lit and their evening meal was simmering in the pot. William told her to keep out of sight in the tent while he and the other men went about their business, feeding the horses and preparing their weaponry. It was nightfall before she saw him again when they all sat around the camp fire eating the thick chicken broth. It was basic, but it was one of the best things she had tasted and even the stale bread to soak up the liquid was delicious.
She was to sleep alone in the tent that night while the men slept with the horses. She was tired from the day’s ride, and William brought in some extra blankets to try and make her as comfortable as possible. He seemed to be avoiding any intimacies with her, and she struggled to reach out to him. She lay cold in the tent and could not sleep, anxious about the coming battle.
She must have slept, if only lightly, for a noise in the tent awoke her and she sat up quickly, her heart pounding in the darkness.
“It’s only me.” William was by her side and gently touching her arm.
“I had to come and see ye, Rebecca. I’ve been trying so hard not to, but I cannae stop thinking about ye. Tomorrow night we will camp up on Flodden Hill, and so tonight is the last night I might have here. Ye will have to stay here with some of the squires, but ye will be safe here.”
He brought his face towards hers to see her more clearly in the darkness. “This may be our only night together.”
His eyes burned brightly into hers. She wanted to tell him that the battle would be lost but that he wouldn’t die. But how could she tell a man that 10,000 of his fellow men would be killed? She was falling in love with this man and she didn’t want to say anything that might alter his fate.
Touching his face lightly, she stroked the tumbling auburn hair. He closed his eyes against her gentle touch and brought her close to him. Time seemed to stop; they could be any two people in love anywhere throughout history. Love is the one constant throughout the centuries, and both their hearts burned with the fire of a thousand loves. His lips found hers, and this time he couldn’t hold back his passion. As he pushed her back into the blankets, their mouths slipped and slid across each other. His tongue flicked lightly at her lips, teasing and biting gently. She could feel his hardness against her as he pushed her further into the ground, his desire thrusting into her, wanting her so badly.
Moving his hands underneath her tunic, he pulled down the leggings and she arched her back so they could be removed easily. Next he removed her tunic, lifting it over her head until she was just in her bra and panties. He had never seen a bra before, and she removed it for him as he cupped her naked breasts in his strong hands. Laying her down, he moved his mouth to her nipples, gently teasing and nibbling until she was moaning with pleasure. His tongue was wet and warm as he licked and sucked, and she was in ecstasy.
His hand moved tentatively to her thigh. He didn’t want to frighten her like the other night, but his moves were urgent, and he needed to be inside her. Spreading her legs gently with his hands, he moved his hand inside the white satin of her underwear. She was very wet and his fingers slipped easily into her moist folds. Rebecca gasped as he found her clitoris and gently rubbed the swollen gland with his finger. She thought she might explode with delight. She guessed 16th-century men could definitely show 21st-century men a thing or two. Soon she was naked and his long tongue was licking her wetness. She gasped and writhed in ecstasy.
William stood up and started to remove his tunic. He stood in front of her naked, his cock erect and gleaming with pre-cum. She had never seen a man fully naked before, not in real life, anyway. Her eyes widened at the size of him. Both the girth and length of his cock seemed enormous and she imagined it inside her, filling her up, and she ached to feel it.
Pushing her back, he opened her legs and bent down to her. He sensed it was her first time and wanted to be as gentle as possible. Holding his erection, he guided the tip into the entrance of her hole and pushed gently. God, she was tight and he wanted to thrust himself completely inside her, but he needed to be patient. He didn’t want to hurt her. He thrust again and her tightness almost made him cum, so pulling out his cock, he breathed deeply, wanting to hold onto the moment. Once inside her, he knew that he would explode, and he wanted to savor these minutes just in case they were his last.
His cock twitched and he could hold back no longer. Guiding himself into her, he thrust deeply until she had taken him fully and her body shuddered. Again and again, his thrusts became more urgent until she exploded in pleasure and he followed soon behind, filling her with his hot semen. She could feel his thickness throbbing inside her, and she wanted to cry, not from sorrow but from sheer happiness. Enveloping her into his arms, he kissed her face and her hair and held her tightly until she fell fast asleep, safe in his arms.
When she awoke in the morning, she was alone. She could hear the men preparing to leave outside and quickly dressed and went out to see what was happening. William had packed his shield and swords and was ready to mount his horse, but seeing her, he rushed to her side.
“I wanted to leave before you woke.”
“I’m glad I caught you.”
Their conversation was stilted in front of the other men and they had to resist the urge to kiss each other.
“I should have a token to give you to keep you safe.”
William smiled. “I’ll picture your face before we go into battle tomorrow.”
Rebecca had a thought. “Wait, I can do better than that!” Running into the tent, she brought out her bag and handed him the phone. “Here, take this and you can have my image with you.”
She had saved their selfie as a screensaver, and she showed him how to turn the iPhone on and off.
William tucked it into his tunic. It was time to go and the others were shouting at him to mount his horse. There was no time for long goodbyes and after touching her arm lightly, he was away.
She watched the men ride into the distance, her heart already heavy for their losses.
The day was long and she had little to do. William had warned her to keep out of sight and keep away from the other men staying behind in the camp. Many were young boys, just learning their craft and the others old men past the age of battle who were responsible for the camp.
Taking out her notebook, she began to sketch pictures with notes of what she saw. It would be fascinating reading when she got back to 2015, if she ever returned. At first she remained within the confines of the tent, but as the day dragged on, she became bored. Tucking her hair underneath her cap, she started to wander further afield. It seemed quiet and surely no one would notice her. With her slight frame and tunic and leggings, she could easily pass for one of the young squires. Eventually she came to a very large and wealthy-looking tent that bore the royal coat of arms; it must be the tent of King James. Picking up her pencil, she had just started drawing the scene when a hefty arm caught hold of her.
Two burly highlanders stood behind her, their swords drawn, and before she could speak her hands were fastened behind her and she was thrown into a tent. No one knew who she was and it was assumed that she must be an English spy.
A long time passed before one of the older men came into the tent to speak to her.
“What’s yer name sonny, and who do ye work for?”
She stuttered out William’s name and said that she was his squire. The man rubbed his whiskers. He wasn’t sure. The boy’s accent wasn’t Scots, and there was something unusual about him. He would keep him under watch until William returned.
She was brought some simple food and water during the day, but apart from that, she had no company. At night she was given a blanket but could not sleep. How different the previous night had been. She lay awake thinking of William.
A few miles away, William Stewart lay on the ground looking up at the stars. It was a beautiful night and he wondered if it might be his last. He was sure Rebecca knew something about the battle but was afraid to tell him. He feared the worse. He removed the strange device from his tunic and pressed the button she had shown him. The square box switched into life and he saw a picture of a white apple on a black background. This thing amazed him and he wondered what it was like in 2015. Would he still be remembered? The apple disappeared and was replaced by their image, his face and hers. She was laughing and he was looking confused. She looked beautiful. Kissing the image, he pressed the button to close the machine and to “save the battery” as she had put it.
He prayed to God to keep them both safe.
The next morning, the clouds had set in and what started as a light drizzle turned into torrential rain by mid afternoon. Rebecca listened carefully for any news, but all was quiet. She hadn’t slept well the previous night and was awoken by the sound of loud voices and seemed to recognize one of them. The tent opened and in walked Angus, one of William’s men who had threatened her with a sword a few days earlier. She was grateful for her disguise for he did not seem to recognize her and soon walked out again. She wondered what he was doing here and why he wasn’t at the battle. The reason soon became clear. The battle had already started late afternoon and by now the Scots were being massacred by the English. It seemed that the coward had run away from the danger. A few hours later, a messenger arrived to state that all was lost and to clear the camp. Horses were readied and Rebecca wondered if she would be forgotten when Angus walked into the tent and pulled her outside.
The older man was waiting outside. “He says he’s William Stewart’s squire.”
Angus peered closely at Rebecca, uncertain. Pulling at her cap, he released her blonde hair, which cascaded down her back.
“William Stewart’s whore, more like.” And bringing his face up close to hers, he leered down at her, his cruel mouth mocking her.
“Well, William’s dead so she’s no use to him now. I’m sure I can make good use of her, though.” With that, he dragged her back into the tent.
Rebecca didn’t know what was happening to her. Her whole body had gone into shock. If William was dead, then she was lost, too. The old woman had been wrong after all. Perhaps it was her fault; she had upset the balance of time.
She had a sense of déjà vu but seemed lost in a dream. Angus was suddenly in front of her and from the smell on his breath, he had been drinking a great quantity of ale. His hand was squeezing her arm, but she could not struggle. She had given up the fight. His eyes were like slits and there was cruelty in their steely grey as he looked her up and down.
Licking his lips, he sneered at her and brought his face directly in front of hers.
His breath was stale and sour, and Rebecca turned her face away from him.
“Little whore, I’ll show ye.” He pulled her to the floor as his free hand started to work its way underneath her tunic.
His other hand was around her neck and almost choking her. She thought she might black out when suddenly he released her, his whole weight lifting away from her.
“Angus.”
The voice was his. William had returned and had pulled Angus away from her, punching him to the floor.
Once again his strong arms were around her and she wept softly into his chest.
“But I thought you were dead?”
“I was saved by this.” Reaching into his tunic he pulled out her phone. The glass had been smashed but surprisingly it still worked.
“I took a direct hit from an English archer, but luckily I kept your picture next to my heart and the arrow pierced your machine and not me. Ye saved my life.”
Things were as they should be, as they were always meant to be.
Rebecca returned home to Selkirk with William. She married him a month later and he had a special portrait of her commissioned for the occasion. He wanted her to look like the first time he had seen her, standing in the bed chamber with her hair plaited. She wore a blue velvet dress and a pearl necklace that he bought her as a wedding gift. As a surprise in return, she asked the painter to make two small additions to her picture. In her hand, she would hold an apple to symbolize the phone that had saved him. Remembering the original locket, she had already guessed what the twin-tailed symbol of the siren signified: It was the Starbucks logo from her coffee cup that they had kept it as a reminder of her past.
They lived happily ever after despite the fact that she could never return to her own time. They had four children, two girls and two boys. Her past was now her future. She worried about her Mom missing her and thought of a cunning plan. She recorded a message for her parents on the iPhone, using the last remaining battery power. She hoped they would understand.
James Anderson was furious. He had been digging at the site and found a surprisingly modern object buried quite deeply. It seemed as though a thermos flask had been buried on the site of the old house and inside it were two objects: a mobile phone with the front smashed in and a small locket. He recognized the phone; the students seemed to be glued to them these days. This one was housed in a pink sparkly case and it belonged to Rebecca, that strange American girl that he couldn’t get out of his head. Students weren’t allowed to come onto the site without permission, let alone dig.
It might be a practical joke, but just wait until he saw her; he would definitely give her a piece of his mind.
THE END