Meleri was troubled when she awoke. Not even the tender memory of a night in Robert’s arms, or his loving support and concern for what she was experiencing, could erase the anxiety, the crowding of apprehension she felt.
She dressed quickly in a somber, dark blue dress with little embellishment other than a plain white collar and cuffs, for she was not taken with the more frivolous aspects of life this day, but with the premonition of something about to happen, something both sorrowful and grave. She walked downstairs, dreading even the rustling of her skirts against the cold stones of the floor.
Once outside, she thought herself on the way to the garden, but she was overcome with a sudden urge to go toward the small chapel that stood some distance away. She had not been there before, other than to pass by with a casual glance, for the chapel was no longer used, and she had not yet possessed any curiosity about the names inscribed in the family tomb, where generations of Douglases lay. Today, however, was different.
She walked toward the chapel, paying little attention to the scattering of old tombstones as she passed, until she came upon the perfectly symmetrical structure, Gothic by design, where the Douglases laid their dead. She stopped in front of a thick wooden door, studded with brass, beneath a Gothic arch. The door was partially open, and she could see a strong shaft of light that came from a stained glass window and scattered prisms of color over the stone floor.
She pushed the door open farther and stepped into the burial chamber, where the light seemed dazzling and bright. She walked along the perimeter of the walls, passing each crypt and reading the names inscribed. But there was one name she came upon that caused her to stop. Her entire being was suddenly overcome with a flood of aching, tender emotion, for the name she read. William Douglas.
“’Tis not my name ye be reading there, but that of a namesake.”
She turned around quickly and saw the earl’s ghost standing behind her, just a few feet away. She started to ask him where he was buried, but decided she did not want to know. “I am glad it is not yours,” she said.
“Why?”
“It is sad enough, I think, to know you are dead. I do not need to be close to the place you are buried to remember you.”
“’Tis a kindhearted lass, ye are. There are times when I regret my ghostly restrictions.”
She smiled. “I have heard about your eye for the lassies and your sons by two women named Margaret.”
His eyes sparkled. “Have ye now? And what did ye hear?”
“That you were married to Margaret, the sister of the Earl of Mar, and you had a son, James, by her. But I also heard you took your brother-in-law’s widow as your mistress and had a son, George, by her, and from these two sons the Douglas lines continued—the Red Douglases through George, and through James, the Black.”
“Ye are a well-informed lass.”
“I try to be. It is true?”
“Aye. Does that alter yer kindred feeling for me?”
Their gazes caught and held, and for a moment, she was captured by the intensity of such deep blue eyes. “I do not base my friendships upon such shallow decisions. Besides, I knew of these indiscretions before I decided I liked you.”
“Ah lass, would that I had more time. I wouldna choose to miss the years of your life.”
“I wish you could remain, as well. I suppose there are rules and such, even for ghosts.”
He laughed. “Aye, living or dead, we are always governed by rules.”
“We are at the end of it, then?”
“Regrettably close.”
“I wish there was some way to tell you, to express what I am feeling inside. We owe you so much. How can I ever thank you?”
“Weel, if it is a fitting tribute ye want, ye could name yer first-born William.”
His image began to fade, and before she could say anything more, he vanished from sight. As she stood looking at the place he had been, she suddenly noticed a yellowed piece of parchment.
She picked up the parchment and read the words of an old rune.
Take no thought on the morrow,
For statues guarding murdered bones,
In a place of tears and sorrow,
Deep roots will reach beneath cold stones.
One must do all that is bidden,
Count if you can, five and fifty crosses,
And seek that which once was hidden,
Markers all of beloved losses.
Near a place where no color is lack,
Seek nothing of a babe’s broken long gown,
First pass over the one that is black,
Or not stop not near a rider brown.
Continue toward sweet morning light,
And in the place of an ancient curse,
Golden steps leading to running white,
Lies the secret of overflowing purse.
Marks the place of what you seek,
Light from years of darkness now is taken
Wide angel’s wings and great bird’s beak,
From these ashes a fire shall awaken.
What was down shall rise in glory,
One’s beginning ends another’s story,
As you are now, so once was I.
Eternity will not hide a friend’s regret,
Stairs go up and pass me by,
For one left behind most recent met,
I have returned, I did not lie.
Certain it was some sort of riddle that would lead her to the rest of the missing Douglas jewels, Meleri could only wonder at what it meant. She read it again, but when she finished, she was saddened to realize she did not understand it any more than she had the first time she read it through.
There was little doubt she would need help deciphering the riddle—from someone who had more knowledge of the area than she did. She had to find Robert.
He was easier to find than she anticipated, for she saw him riding into the stable yard about the same time she reached the grounds of the castle. Seeing her, he rode over to where she stood. “Were you looking for me?” he asked.
“Yes, I had another visit from the earl. He left me this.” She handed him the parchment.
He dropped the reins against the neck of his horse and took the parchment. She waited quietly as he read, intrigued by the endless number of expressions one face could make all in the course of reading.
When he finished, he handed it back to her. “I make it to be a rhyme to lead us to the jewels.”
“That is what I thought, but none of it makes sense to me. Is there anything that seems familiar to you?”
“Not at first glance. Go inside and find Gram. I’ll see to my horse, and then meet you in the library. Perhaps the three of us can decipher at least enough of it to get us started.”
Robert saw to his horse and then went straight to the library, arriving ahead of Meleri and Gram. By the time they walked into the room, he had cleared a place at the library table and pulled up three chairs.
He seated each of them, then took the place at the end of the table where Meleri laid the parchment. He read the riddle aloud for Lady Margaret to hear.
“It won’t be easy to solve,” Gram said.
“Perhaps we should work on one verse at a time,” Meleri suggested, and Robert agreed.
“All right,” he said, and read the first verse:
“Take no thought on the morrow,
For statues guarding murdered bones,
In a place of tears and sorrow,
Deep roots will reach beneath cold stones.”
“Anyone make anything out of it?” he asked.
“Murdered bones. Have you ever heard of any references to murdered bones?” Gram asked.
Robert thought a moment. “No, not unless it could refer to the children of Gavin Douglas who were killed by English reivers.”
“Aye,” Gram said, “they are buried in the chapel yard.”
“That would make sense,” Meleri said, “for here it says ‘in a place of tears and sorrows, ’which makes sense for it to be a place of burial. And there are usually statues as grave markers, or found on top of the tombstones.”
Robert read the next verse.
“One must do all that is bidden,
Count if you can, five and fifty crosses,
And seek that which once was hidden,
Markers all of beloved losses.”
“The first line is clear,” he said. “We are to do everything the riddle requires us to do.”
“The meaning of the second line is apparent also,” Meleri added, “for we should be able to find the place where that number of crosses can be found. And the third line tells us by doing what is required, we will seek what is hidden, which are the jewels. But the last one, ‘markers of beloved losses’? What does that mean?”
“I think that line goes with the second line, ‘Count if you can, five and fifty crosses, markers all of beloved losses,’” suggested Lady Margaret.
“Aye,” Robert said, “that makes the most sense. So we know now we are looking in the chapel cemetery, and we must find a place where there are five and fifty crosses.”
The third verse stumped him, and even after reading it a second time, it did not make sense.
“Near a place where no color is lack,
Seek nothing of a babe’s broken long gown,
First, pass over the one that is black,
Or not stop not near a rider brown.”
“I think we should go to the cemetery,” he said finally. “Perhaps it will make more sense there.”
The three of them walked to the cemetery. It did not take long to find the place where five and fifty crosses could be counted, for it was in the oldest part. The third verse, however, still had them guessing as to its meaning.
“Near a place where no color is lack,” Meleri said. “What could that mean? There really isn’t that much color here, for everything is mostly white and gray stones, green grass and brown dirt. Where no color is lack…it seems to me that would mean it would have to be near a place that had every color in order for none to be lacking.”
“Aye, but where is that?” asked Lady Margaret.
“I’ve got it!” Meleri shouted so loud that Lady Margaret jumped. “When I was in the family crypt, the sun came through the stained glass windows and threw splashes of color all over the floor, every color imaginable.”
“That couldn’t be it,” Robert said, “for that would mean we would have to dig up the floor, and there is nothing there to fit the description of the remaining verses.”
“Perhaps it is near the window, but on the outside,” Lady Margaret said. “That would put the place we are looking for between the chapel wall on the side where the stained glass window is and the place of five and fifty crosses.”
Once they were in that part of the cemetery, they read the verse again. “I think the line ‘First, pass over the one that is black’ would come after the first verse, since the words rhyme,” Robert said. “So we must pass over something black, and not seek a broken gown, and not stop near a rider brown…none of this makes sense,” he said, throwing up his hands.
“Look over here!” Lady Margaret said. “Here is the grave of a child, and a statue of a babe in a gown, but the bottom is broken off. Perhaps it was a long gown at one time.”
“That must be it,” Robert said, “but now where do we go to find the rest?”
Meleri, he noticed, was looking at the paper with a serious frown. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“The colors,” she said, “black and brown, and here in the next verse is white. Why are those so familiar?”
Robert looked from Meleri to his grandmother and shrugged. “We may never know, just as we may never solve this riddle.”
“All right,” she said, “let’s go to the next verse.”
“Continue toward sweet morning light,
And in the place of an ancient curse,
Golden steps leading to running white,
Lies the secret of overflowing purse.”
“What could it mean to continue toward morning light? Is it the sun?” Meleri asked.
“I think it is. Now we must find golden steps.”
“I am telling you, this is a waste of time,” Robert said. “There obviously are no golden steps here.”
Meleri sighed. “I suppose you are right. If only he had given us some other clue, something to give us a hint as to what we are looking for besides these rhymes that don’t mean anything to us.”
“Was there anything he said to you that sticks out in your mind as being irrelevant, or something that did not make any sense at the time?” Robert asked.
“No, nothing except those verses that I asked Lady Margaret about.”
“What verses?” Robert asked.
“They were from Tam Lin,” Lady Margaret said, and she recited a verse.
“O first let pass the black, lady,
And then let pass the brown,
But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
Pull ye his rider down.”
“That’s it!” Meleri said. “That’s why the colors were so familiar.”
“What good are they to us?” Robert asked.
“Horses!” Meleri said. “There must be some graves marked with horses, and all we have to do is find a black, a brown and a white.”
They walked around searching, until Robert was ready to give up. Suddenly Gram cried out. “Here it is! The black horse!”
Robert and Meleri rushed to where she stood, and there, on the grave of Sir Archibald Douglas, was a small bronze statue of a knight on a horse, the bronze having turned black over the years. “If this is the black, then there must be…”
“Over here!” Meleri called out. “Here is a brown granite headstone, with a horse carved near the name.”
“Look at this,” Robert said. “See these steps that lead down to the other graves? They are of the same brown granite, and the way the sun shines on them, they are a golden color.” He walked down the steps and stopped by a grave. There, upon a white marble gravestone, was the statue of a white horse running with no rider.
“The running white,” Meleri said.
“This is starting to come together now,” Robert said, and read the next verse again. “So where is the place of an ancient curse?”
“Could that be the place where the children of Malcolm Douglas are buried? Remember, he lost all of his children to the plague.”
“I don’t know where they are buried,” he said.
“I do.” Lady Margaret led them to the place where five little graves were surrounded by a black iron fence.
They read the next verse.
“Marks the place of what you seek,
Light from years of darkness now is taken
Wide angel’s wings and great bird’s beak,
From these ashes a fire shall awaken.”
“If we read the third line first, the place we seek will be marked by wide angel’s wings and a great bird’s beak,” Meleri said.
“Which is this grave.” Robert pointed to a grave. “The gravestone is an angel, and he is holding out his hand, where a big beaked bird is sitting.”
“I think the jewels must be buried in that grave,” Meleri said, “because the next verses simply tell us that a fire will awaken and light will come from the years of darkness. I take that to mean that we will find the jewels, the family will emerge out of the darkness and into the light. Read the next verse.”
“What was down shall rise in glory,
Do not weep as you pass by,
One’s beginning ends another’s story,
As you are now, so once was I.
“What was down, is the Douglas name, and it shall rise in glory,” said Lady Margaret.
Robert glanced at Meleri, who was suddenly quiet. “Lass, why are you crying?” Robert asked, and took her in his arms. “Are they tears of joy?”
“No, it is because I understand what he is saying in the rest of it. Those verses that remain are for me. He doesn’t want me to be sad as I walk from this place. He reminds me that he was once alive.”
Robert read the last verse.
“Eternity will not hide a friend’s regret,
Stairs go up and pass me by,
For one left behind most recent met,
I have returned, I did not lie.”
“Eternity will not erase his regret over leaving you behind,” Robert said, holding her more tightly.
Suddenly, Meleri pulled away from him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Stairs go up,” she said, running toward the steps they had come down a moment ago. “He is there! I am certain of it.”
“Meleri, wait!”
“No! Don’t come up here. I must see him alone!”
Meleri ran on, her feet flying up the steps until she reached the top. Breathing hard, she looked around, overcome with a feeling of melancholy. He was not here. Had she misinterpreted the verse, then? Was he not coming back? Was her final goodbye to be those words he spoke to her in the last lines of the rhyme?
She did not realize she was crying until she felt the warm path of hot tears running over her cheeks. She would not see him again. Ever.
“I ken I was a wee bit hasty branding ye a strong lassie. Why are ye are crying now, when it is all over?”
She blinked and wiped her eyes, unable to hold back the wide smile that stretched across her lips. “You are here,” she whispered.
“Aye, did ye think I would not tell ye goodbye?”
“I was beginning to fear that was the way of it.”
“Ah, are ye a lass of so little faith, then?”
“I have been known to have a weak moment or two. Will you be returning to the portrait now?”
“Ye have solved the riddle and my task is completed. I canna stay, once it is found.”
“Aye, lass, I am afraid so.”
“And I will never see you again? You will never come back?”
“’Tis done, lass.”
“I shall miss you terribly, you know.”
“Aye, lass, I ken it will be the same for me. Ye are a child of my heart, and it is not easy to leave ye behind, but I must go now.”
“Why was it me? Why was I the one with the heart of the truest Scot? Why not Robert, or Iain, or even Hugh?”
“Och! Ye canna mean I would choose a man when I could have a lassie?”
She smiled at him, hoping he could feel all the love and warmth that came with it. “What was the real reason?”
“It was a good way to bring the two of ye together, was it not?”
“Yes, but that surely isn’t all.”
“No, and I ken ye willna let me rest in peace until I tell ye the way of it. It is a simple matter. Ye are the descendant of a Scot, a Knight Templar who saved my life and was killed doing it. It was my way of paying tribute to him. It was a fitting end to everything, ye ken, that our descendants would be together.”
“I am a descendant of a Scot? But I am English,” she said.
“English, Welsh, Irish…and Scot,” said the ghost. “Yer Irish great-grandmother was the daughter of the Knight Templar. Now ye ken why you were destined to find happiness in a place of great sadness.”
“You? It was you who came to me in those dreams from so long ago?”
“I always knew ye fer a smart lassie.”
“Scot ancestors…treasures…I don’t understand.”
“Ye will, lass. Ye will before the day is over.”
She looked at him, admiring as she always had his tall stature, the pride in his craggy face, the fire in his eyes. She wished she could have seen him as a mortal. He must have been an impressive sight.
“Tell me goodbye, lass, for I must go.”
It couldn’t be time for him to go. It couldn’t be. She was so fond of him.
She was crying again, unable to stop the tears that bubbled up so freely. Truly, she felt her heart would break. “This is one time I really and truly hate the fact that you are a ghost. I have come to depend upon you and look forward to our exchanges. What shall I do when you are gone? Who will help me sharpen my wit?”
“I ken Robbie will be happy to help ye with that.”
His image began to glimmer and she knew he was leaving. “I want to tell you goodbye, but how can I put my arms around a vapor? I don’t suppose it would be possible to give you a hug…just one quick one before you go?”
He stood a short distance from her, his legs planted wide apart, his black cape billowing in the wind. His arms were crossed in front of him, and she could see the intense way he regarded her. “Ye are truly a bothersome lass.”
She could not help smiling at that. “I know, but I was so overwhelmed with sadness, I had hoped…” She did not finish what she was going to say, for at that moment, she saw the transparency of his image was beginning to fill in. No longer could she see through him, for right before her very eyes he took a solid form.
And, oh, the sight of him was magnificent.
He was looking down at her in the same manner he always did, with his arms folded across his chest, when suddenly he opened them wide.
She ran to him, feeling the solid strength of his arms as they closed around her.
“’Tis quite a lass ye are, and ye have carved out a wee part of my heart for yerself.”
“I shall miss you with all my being,” she said, hugging him tightly. “A part of you will live on, for you will always be in my heart.”
She felt the pressure of his kiss to the top of her head, then he pushed her back and she looked into his face. His form began to glimmer, then fade, and he was transparent once more. He gave her a salute, then turned and walked off, his image growing lighter with each step.
She called after him. “Don’t go! I need you!”
“So does the Countess of Suffolk,” he said. Then with a laugh and a wink, he vanished.
She remained where she was, attempting to resolve the feelings in her heart. The memory of her brief encounter with him was as wonderful to her as touching a star, and every bit as mysterious. Remembering their time together and focusing on the fact that she was fortunate that she had known him at all was cold consolation. A more comforting thought was that he existed still, somewhere beyond her realm to comprehend.
He did not disappear into nothingness. She knew now that at some point during her journey, she would see him again. And when she did, he would be standing as he had so many times before, with his arms crossed and his legs planted wide, his black cape billowing out behind him, as he smiled at her across endless generations, his face as fresh as it was during his days of battle.
Today, as it did during his time, the heather bloomed in the Lowlands, the grouse nested on the moors, and the salmon came in from the sea.
Some things never change.