The Bard's Epitaph (1/1)
Title: The Bard’s Epitaph (1/1)
Rating: T
Author: jlrpuck
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: What if Peter Carlisle's mum hadn't died from an overdose?
Authors Notes: Just how did Professor Carlisle get that scar on his chin?
Posting early today--mainly because I'm just now going to bed and, as such, plan on sleeping in well past usual posting time (Eastern Standard Time). Other than that? Not much to say on this one, as it’s really rather a straightforward little tale-and one that was great fun to write. Thank you, as always, to my fabulous (and fast!) betas, chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 .
The Sun Rising - The Good Morrow - The Triple Fool - The Undertaking - The Primrose - The Bard’s Epitaph - The Bait - On His Mistress - The Canonization - Valediction - Lover’s Infiniteness - Epithalamion
Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.
-Robert Burns, A Bard’s Epitaph
They were lying in bed together, naked, as they so often did of a Sunday morning. Looking through the skylight over the bed, he could see that the sky was overcast; it was a perfect day for doing absolutely nothing but making love to Rose, and napping in between.
Rose, however, had other ideas. “How’d you get this, then?” she asked, pressing against him as she placed a kiss on the scar on his jaw. He turned his head, hoping to capture her lips with his; she pulled back, grinning, her finger pressing against his lips. “Now, you-don’t try to duck the question.”
He kissed her finger, then rolled, covering her with his body. “How about…” he kissed her jaw, his hand sliding down her torso. “I tell you…” Another kiss, this time to her neck; she tilted her head back, her hands drifting to his hair. “Later?”
“Ok,” she replied, pulling him to her for a kiss.
~ - ~
They were lying in bed together, naked, catching their breath from lovemaking, when Rose propped herself up on her elbow. She reached over, her finger ghosting across the left side of his chin. “So. The scar?” She grinned, her tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth; he sighed, resigning himself to having to tell Rose the embarrassing tale.
“You’re relentless.”
“You love it.”
“That I do.” He reached up, grabbing her hand and kissing her finger, before releasing it. “Alright, you win.”
She settled against him with a happy sigh, and he gently began to run his hand up and down her arm. “When I was a lad of twenty-three-an eager young thing, keen on history, wanting to learn whatever I could-I spent a term doing nothing but climbing over old ruins. Anything and everything: If I could drive a car to it-or drive a car close enough to it to hike in for the day-I’d explore it.” He closed his eyes, smiling as he remembered the joy of finding ruins which had been ignored for years.
“’s that how you found the one in the sea?”
He paused, wondering which one Rose meant. “Dunnottar? No, that one I heard through word-of-mouth. But I most assuredly visited it that year-spent two days, doing nothing but crawling all over it, then another week in various towns, trying to find documents related to it.”
He felt Rose wrinkle her nose against his chest, and he laughed. “I enjoyed it, Rose-the mystery, the hunt for clues and answers. I also learned that I’m terribly allergic to dust,” he added, wryly.
“So, a book leap up and do this?” she asked, her finger once again drifting across the scar on his jaw.
“No, I’m afraid not.” He sighed, his thumb now rubbing lightly against Rose’s arm. “This one is a gift from another castle-and, ironically, one I’ve been climbing through for years.
“There’s a lovely wee fishing village just north of where Mum lives-one of my earliest memories is of Gran taking us all for supper in the inn on the harbour. For Martin’s birthday, I think,” he mused.
Rose shifted, placing a gentle kiss against his chest, and he continued. “There’s also-as seems to be required of many Scottish towns-a castle. The thing’s been falling to ruin for as long as anyone can remember-probably since the Earl roasted the Commendator of the local Abbey over a fire.”
“He what?” Rose pulled back, looking at him to see if he was kidding.
“The Commendator wouldn’t give over the lands the Earl wanted, so the Earl had him roasted on a spit until he relented. As history has it, the Earl was ‘ane werry greedy manne, wha cairitt nocht how he gatt land, sa that he culd cum be the samin.1'” Peter grinned; the tale was one of the reasons he’d become interested in history. “Don’t worry: the Commendator outlived the Earl, and justice was served.”
Rose shuddered. “’s terrible.”
He brushed a kiss over the crown of her head. “Aye; men did terrible things to each other, in those days.” He shook the mood off, and continued. “I’ve been climbing through those ruins for as long as I can recall; during the term I went exploring, I stopped through Croy for a rest between castles, and decided it would be fun to explore a site I knew well.”
“And?”
“And…” He sighed. “Things started out well enough-as usual, I had the castle to myself-although there were some kids playing footie on the pitch in front of it. It was a gorgeous day, too-late in the year, it’s rare to find those.”
“Did the weather shift?”
“No, no-it was a lovely day through and through. The problem was when I went down to the shore; the tide was low, and I figured it would be a good chance to walk over to the base of the castle, to see if there was anything new which had been exposed by the action of the sea. You’ve seen the shore at Croy-the lovely beach?” Rose nodded. “Up at Dunure, it’s all rock, straight down to the water. Which isn’t bad; it just makes it a bit tricky to navigate if you’re exploring. I got distracted, and I lost my footing.”
Rose, curious as ever, asked the question he’d hoped she wouldn’t. “What distracted you, then?”
He felt a flush steal across his body, and focused on the edge of the skylight overhead. “A bird.”
“A bird?” Rose’s voice was filled with bemusement.
“A bird. They have swans in the harbour, and one had swum out to sea. I was watching it, and I missed a step, and I took rather a nasty spill.”
Rose pulled back, unable to completely hide her smile. “Blasted swan. How badly were you hurt?”
“Oh, my pride was the most wounded thing of all. I scraped up my hands, and my knees-ripped my jeans, which was not an enjoyable thing on my budget. And I smacked my chin hard enough to rattle my hard old head.”
“And the swan?” Her lips curved upwards, her expression full of mischief.
“Blissfully ignorant, although he did appear to hear me as I cursed merrily.”
Her eyes drifted to his chin. “How’d you not break your teeth?”
“I got lucky, if you could say that: I was able to get my hands out and catch my fall. Just not quickly enough to avoid the rock which caught my chin. Had a headache for a few days-I was probably concussed, but it never occurred to me to have that looked at. I rested a bit down on the rocks-simply to let the stinging in my knees go away-then got myself back up to the pitch. There’s a faucet there, for fresh water, so I rinsed off my hands; one of the kids saw I was bleeding rather badly and ran home for a towel, bless him.”
“And you drove back to Croy, concussed? On those roads?” Rose furrowed her brow.
“I had to get home somehow, Rose, and I thought I was fine at the time. I spent the next day or two simply puttering around the house, taking far more paracetamol than the package said I should. And then I was fine, and I continued my merry way. Took forever for that cut to heal, though, which made it murder to shave; Mum was appalled by the time I got to Glasgow for a visit.” He gave a half-smile. “It was after that that I got in the habit of simply not shaving when off exploring. I was too embarrassed to tell her what I’d done, so I said I always let my beard grow when I was researching.”
Rose was once again propped on her elbow, and her fingers ghosted across the scar. “You daft man.”
“I wasn’t so smart as I should have been, no.”
She leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss across the spot. “Does your mum know what happened, now?”
He gave her an embarrassed grin. “I don’t think so, no. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
Rose smiled slowly. “What’s it worth to you, Professor?”
He wrapped his arms around her, then rolled them so she was underneath him. “Let me show you, shall I?”
~ - ~
fin
1. Peter's quote is a real one, and was nabbed from a very handy site on the castle in question.