by Jayne Castel
Placing the book on the mantelpiece, Mother Shona picked up her skirts and hurried toward the door.
Outside she found Sister Firtha—a young novice—waiting for her. The nun’s pale blue eyes were wide, and she was shifting nervously from foot to foot. Without thinking, she dropped onto one knee, as was the custom when approaching the abbess.
Distracted, Mother Shona hastily made the sign of the cross and moved past her. “Where is he?”
“MacKinnon’s standing before the kirk, Mother Shona,” the novice gasped, clambering to her feet. “And he’s in a foul temper.”
The abbess clenched her jaw. “Of course he is.”
30
No Stone Unturned
DUNCAN MACKINNON STOOD, legs akimbo and his hands folded across his chest, watching Mother Shona approach.
The abbess straightened her spine, her own gaze narrowing to match his hard stare. She was glad that she’d had the foresight to briefly return to her hall and strap on some knives to her person before coming out to meet him.
She’d never trusted MacKinnon, and of late her relationship with the clan-chief had gone from strained to acrimonious.
One look at his face, and she knew he’d journeyed here to confront her.
His men hung back from MacKinnon, forming a horse-shoe behind him. However, the abbess could see they were all at the ready, hands lightly resting upon the pommel of their swords.
At the foot of the kirk steps, a group of nuns had clustered. Mother Shona’s gaze swept over them, and she was relieved to see that Sister Coira was among the group. The nun was taller than her companions and stood at the back of the crowd.
It reassured the abbess to spy Coira there; the nun was one of her most able fighters. Should this conversation go ill, she’d need Coira’s assistance.
“Where is she, abbess?” MacKinnon’s voice lashed through the cool morning air. “I know ye are hiding Lady Leanna.”
Mother Shona didn’t reply. Instead, she stopped a few yards back from MacKinnon and eyed him coldly.
“Answer me, woman,” MacKinnon snarled, his right hand straying to the pommel of his sword, “before I make ye.”
Surreptitiously, Mother Shona’s own right hand moved to the hilt of the knife she kept secreted in a special fold in the skirts of her habit.
Cold anger pulsed through her, and her senses sharpened.
“Don’t threaten me, MacKinnon,” she replied, her own voice cutting. “Ye should know that Sister Leanna departed Kilbride a week ago now and never returned. The last I heard of her, the MacDonald party bound for Duncaith had been attacked and Sister Leanna taken.” She paused there, her gaze never leaving his. “Did ye have any part in that?”
MacKinnon scowled. “None of yer business.”
“It is my business if ye turn up on my doorstep accusing me of hiding a nun who rightfully belongs here.” Rage pulsed in time with Mother Shona’s heartbeat now. She hadn’t been this angry in years, not since she’d been in her twenties and running wild with a band of outlaws who’d taken her in after her convent had been destroyed. The years had tamed her, as had her role as abbess. Yet the same woman, the same fire, lay dormant underneath. “I’d wager that ye killed the MacDonald warriors and stole Sister Leanna away. What happened? Did she escape?”
A nerve flickered under MacKinnon’s left eye, and Mother Shona saw that she’d driven straight to the truth of things.
“Sister Leanna is no fool,” she continued, her voice icy now. “If she managed to flee from ye, the last place she’d come would be here. I hope for her sake that she’s left these shores.”
Silence settled in the yard, one charged with menace. MacKinnon’s fingers closed over the hilt of his claidheamh-mor—as did Mother Shona’s over the handle of her dirk.
I’m ready for ye.
However, as the moments stretched out, good sense prevailed. MacKinnon had ridden here enraged; it would take little to unleash the beast. If the situation here unraveled, there would be no going back.
The abbess realized that her aggression was putting all the sisters within these walls at risk. If MacKinnon attacked her, she’d defend herself. Until then, she needed to keep her temper tethered.
“But I can see that ye do not believe me,” she said finally, her voice chill. “Go then … search the abbey … leave no stone unturned. Ye will see that I do not lie.”
Duncan’s fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword.
Fury churned in his already aching gut, and the urge to cut Mother Shona down became unbearable.
The woman’s arrogance, her impertinence, would have to be dealt with.
He’d never encountered such a strong woman; even his own mother hadn’t held a man’s eye with such fierceness.
Her utter lack of fear perplexed him. Was her faith in God so strong that she wasn’t afraid of death?
“I will search this place,” he growled finally, barely able to prevent himself from drawing his claidheamh-mor and lunging for her. “And if I discover ye have been hiding Lady Leanna and Ross Campbell … my wrath will be terrible.”
The abbess’s brown eyes widened at that. With a jolt, Duncan realized that it wasn’t his threat that had shocked her, but his revelation.
She didn’t know about Campbell.
Maybe she’s telling the truth.
Duncan brushed the suspicion aside and turned to his men. “Search the abbey,” he barked, “every corner of it.”
As MacKinnon turned from issuing the order, his gaze swept over the gaggle of black-robed nuns gathered before the kirk. As always, the sight of a woman robed in a habit made his pulse race, cutting through his vile temper.
Many of the nuns here were young, their faces—framed by white wimples and dark veils—comely.
And then Duncan saw a face he recognized.
Standing at the back of the group was a tall woman with distinctive violet eyes and patrician features. She stood proud, broad shoulders back, and watched his band with a look of open dislike.
Duncan’s breathing caught. It can’t be. MacKinnon hadn’t looked upon that face in about a decade.
Coira?
He’d always wondered what had become of her. And here she was at Kilbride, just half a day’s ride out from Dunan. All these years, and she’d been right under his nose.
Duncan stared at her, willing the woman to meet his eye.
But then the nun stepped back, turned away, and climbed the steps of the kirk. The moment shattered. Blinking, Duncan shifted his attention back to where Mother Shona was watching him, her gaze flint-hard.
It wasn’t her. He forced himself to focus on the present. Whores don’t become nuns.
Shoving aside memories of the past, MacKinnon met the abbess’s eye. “I think I’ll begin my search with yer quarters,” he said, injecting menace into every word. “Lead the way, Mother Shona.”
A chill wind whipped across the water, filling the birlinn’s single sail and carrying the travelers south-west toward the isle of Barra.
Leanna and Ross did their best to keep out of the merchant’s way as he moved about the boat, trimming the sail. The older man conversed little, clearly used to his own company. They sat upon a narrow wooden plank amidships, surrounded by sacks of grain and crates of vegetables that the merchant had traded for wool, while the salt-laced wind caught at their hair and clothing.
Ross wrapped an arm around Leanna’s shoulders, and she leaned into him, sighing at the warmth and strength of his chest.
“How close was that earlier?” she asked, speaking for the first time since they’d set sail. “With Broderick?”
Ross gave a soft laugh, the sound barely audible as the wind whipped it away, although she felt the rumble in his chest. “Things weren’t as dangerous as they seemed … Carr and I have known each other since we were both fosterlings at Dunan.”
“He could still have betrayed ye though?”
“Aye.” Ross’s face grew serious as he considered her words.
“But he didn’t. I suppose he just had to know why I behaved as I did … maybe he also wanted to say goodbye.”
“And ye told him that ye loved me.” Leanna’s voice caught as she spoke. The words he’d said still rippled like a wake behind a boat in her mind. “That ye would protect me from MacKinnon no matter the cost.”
“And I meant it,” Ross replied, a rasp to his voice now. “It wasn’t for his benefit, Leanna. I know this has come upon me suddenly, but life can be like that sometimes. It was like I was waiting … somehow … and when I met ye, everything started to change.”
“I feel the same way,” Leanna breathed. She drew back and tilted her chin so that she could meet his eye. “I love ye too, Ross … I’ve just been afraid to say it.”
His mouth quirked, and he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing a lock of hair back from her face. “Afraid?”
“Aye … ye see me as no one ever has. I love ye so much that my heart aches from the force of it … and that scares me a little.” She raised her hand, her fingertips tracing the strong line of his stubbled jaw. “Wherever ye go, Ross, I shall follow. I don’t want any future that doesn’t have ye in it.”
His midnight blue eyes gleamed at these words, and Ross cleared his throat before he answered. “I can’t give ye the life of a lady, even if I wish I could.”
Leanna made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. “As if I care about that.”
“Ye don’t mind that I will likely become a farmer … and ye a farmer’s wife?”
“No.”
His face grew serious then. “Ye don’t mind living in a one-room hut, spending yer days at toil? Sometimes love isn’t enough, Leanna. I don’t want ye to regret this.”
Leanna’s mouth curved. He looked genuinely worried, and she realized that he really wanted the best for her.
“Ye forget,” she murmured, gazing up into his eyes, “that I gave up the life of a ‘lady’ when I took the veil. I learned what hard work was at Kilbride, and I learned how to be resourceful. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, or of toil. If it means that I get to spend my life with ye, I welcome it.”
31
True Freedom
BARE GREEN HILLS greeted Leanna and Ross when the birlinn slid into port at Bàgh a’ Chaisteil—Castlebay. On the way, they sailed past a great fortress perched upon a tiny island.
“That’s Kisimul Castle,” the merchant informed them. “The home of Clan MacNeil.”
Leanna gazed up at the castle as they slid by, awed by its high curtain wall. It was late in the day, and the sun had given the grey stone a golden hue. Likewise, the light gilded the rows of fishing vessels that hugged the port beyond. A huddle of white-washed houses clustered around the shore, and when she turned her attention from the castle, Leanna caught a glimpse of silver-sand beaches.
She caught her breath, turning to the merchant. “It’s beautiful.”
The old man chuckled. “Aye, lass … it’s home.”
As they drew near the docks, Leanna inhaled the familiar odor of smoking herrings. Excitement fluttered in the base of her belly then. The isle of Barra was indeed remote and small, yet the idea of making a new life here filled her with joy. She glanced over at Ross and saw that he was smiling, his gaze taking in his surroundings.
Once they’d docked, Ross helped Leanna out of the birlinn, before he assisted the merchant with unloading his supplies.
“We’ll be needing lodgings for the night,” Ross said when he’d heaved out the last crate and set it down upon the dock, “any suggestions?”
The merchant laughed. “There’s only one inn in town … the Fisherman’s Rest. Just walk down the waterfront, ye’ll find it quick enough.” The man’s gaze flicked to Leanna then, and his expression grew soft. “I wish ye both all the best for yer new life upon the isle,” he said. “And if ye should ever need assistance, just come down here and ask for ‘auld Alban’.”
“We appreciate that,” Ross replied with a warm smile. “But for now, I just have one final request.” He paused there, the smile turning into a grin as he met Leanna’s eye. “Can ye tell us where we can find ourselves a priest?”
It was a blustery morning when Ross and Leanna walked out of Bàgh a’ Chaisteil. Gulls swooped low, their cries echoing over the hills. Side-by-side, the two travelers slogged their way up the first hill out of the port, heading east.
“Are ye sure there isn’t a road we should be taking?” Leanna puffed when they crested the first hill.
“No path leads to where we’re headed,” Ross replied with a grin. “Our cottage is a morning’s walk across the hills from Bàgh a’ Chaisteil.”
Excitement lanced through Ross as he said those words. They’d been on Barra two days, but already it had started to feel like home. Upon their arrival, he’d made initial enquiries and discovered a small-holding was available that had once belonged to an elderly farmer.
Ross had taken a boat across to Kisimul Castle and met with the MacNeil chieftain. He’d given a fresh false identity, calling himself Roger Murray of Atholl. However, MacNeil—a distracted man of middling years—hadn’t shown much curiosity in him. He’d been more interested in gaining a tenant for his land. Ross had paid him a decade’s worth of savings in order to secure the plot. It was nearly everything he had, but it was what he wanted to spend his coin on.
And now, he and his wife were traveling to their new home.
Wife.
Warmth seeped through Ross, and he glanced over at Leanna’s flushed face. Two evenings previous, after their arrival upon the isle, a priest had wed them. He still couldn’t believe his good fortune. Every morning since, he’d woken up and lain there watching Leanna sleep.
He would do everything he could to give his wife a good future.
The small-holding came with a flock of sheep and arable fields that had been left fallow since the tenant’s death. A neighboring farmer had been looking after the land while MacNeil looked for a new tenant, but the chieftain had sent word ahead that they were to expect Roger Murray and his wife, Elsa.
It was a slow journey east, for both Ross and Leanna carried weighty leather packs filled with provisions. However, the cool wind on their faces was refreshing, and the warm sun on their backs reminded them both that summer had arrived. It was a good time to start afresh.
“How many sheep do we have?” Leanna asked, taking Ross’s hand when he helped her across a stream.
“Nearly two-dozen,” he replied, “and a few lambs.”
“And ye know how to look after them?”
Ross could hear the skepticism in her voice, and smiled. He didn’t blame her really; after all, he was a warrior from a high-born family. What did he know of sheep farming?
“Aye … as I told ye … my uncle farmed sheep,” he replied. “He taught me how to raise them, shear them … and butcher them.” He grinned at Leanna then. “Worry not, wife … we won’t starve.”
She huffed. “I wasn’t worried about that. I’m a good enough cook … at Kilbride my bannocks were reputed to be the tastiest.”
Ross laughed. “Good to hear.” He sobered then, glancing at Leanna once more. “Did ye send word to the abbess yesterday?”
Leanna nodded, meeting his eye. “Aye … I sent missives with a boat bound for Skye … both to Kilbride and my uncle.” She paused there, perhaps catching how he suddenly tensed. “Worry not, I didn’t tell them we’re on Barra or reveal our new names here … it’s just that I wanted my kin and the abbess to know that I am alive and well. I’d hate for them to worry.”
Ross digested this, before the tension eased from his shoulders. He knew Leanna would have been prudent; he just didn’t want to put their new life in jeopardy in any way.
Barra was far enough away from Skye to start afresh, yet if MacKinnon heard of their location, he could find a way to reach them, even here. Ross could understand why she’d wanted to let those she cared about know that she still lived, but even so, they had to be wary.
“As long as we remain hidden, I’m content,” he said finally. “Fortunately for us, MacNeil has few dealings with MacKinnon so there should be little risk of anyone recognizing us here.”
“It seems a friendly isle,” Leanna replied, her tone pensive. “The folk have been welcoming so far.”
Ross smiled at this. “Aye … although I’m glad that we left town today … in such a small place, the locals soon start to gossip or ask too many probing questions.”
Leanna nodded. “Aye … the inn-keeper’s wife is a terrible busybody. She wanted to know who our kin are … and why we’ve settled upon Barra when we have no family here.” At Ross’s alarmed look, she smiled. “Don’t worry, I spun her a tale.”
Ross raked a hand through his hair as he crested yet another hill. Beyond lay a rumpled blanket of moorland, framed by blue sky. “I suppose our presence here has caused a stir,” he admitted. “It’s only natural upon an isle as small as Barra.”
They walked on, traveling across bare hills interspersed with shallow valleys and the odd trickling creek. Sheep grazed in the distance, and a briny sea breeze cooled their faces.
Ross found it hard not to smile as he walked; it was a good day to be alive.
He couldn’t believe how different he felt. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him—one he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. It was strange really; his whole life he’d been so ambitious. He’d thought he wanted to rise up through the ranks as warrior, to earn the coveted place at a clan-chief’s side. But shortly after Leanna came into his life, his priorities had started to shift. He’d resisted it at first—for the feelings that arose within him had gone against everything he valued—but now that he’d finally surrendered to it, he felt almost reborn.
