Cairstine hadn’t attended Lauds since she lived at home, since she never rose at dawn while at court. During her brief visits, her mother had taken pity on Cairstine, who was no longer accustomed to rising so early. Her first visit, her parents allowed her to sleep until Prime, which was only an hour after Lauds in winter. The sun’s appearance before the five o’clock hour made Lauds even earlier and had tempted her to never visit Freuchie during the summer. When she could barely keep her eyes open during Prime, both of her parents relented and allowed Cairstine to join them for Terce, which was midmorning. Despite Queen Elizabeth’s devout faith, it had come as a shock to Cairstine when she arrived at court and Terce was the first service anyone other than monks attended, and even then, there were few in the chapel. She’d happily adapted to fewer Mass services than her dogmatic father insisted.
After Lauds, Cairstine joined the sisters in the refectory to break her fast with bread and porridge. It was her largest meal of the day, and she found her stomach grumbled hours before Sext, the midday Mass. One of the oldest sisters slipped her a heel of bread before Terce her second and third day. The woman’s empathy surprised her, but when she opened her mouth to thank the nun, the kindly sister put her finger to her lips.
Cairstine spent the morning between Terce and Sext in the garden. She had spent hours assisting her mother in the gardens at Freuchie, and she enjoyed the feel of the fresh soil in her hands as she weeded alongside several postulants and novices. After the nooning, which was a chunk of bread and a piece of cheese, Cairstine joined the postulants for their religious studies. The nun in charge stomped about the chamber, raising her voice beside any woman whose attention seemed to drift. The first day Cairstine was there, the nun seemed to take root beside Cairstine for much of the time.
The postulants made their way to the back of the chapel for the mid-afternoon service but returned for more instruction after None. Cairstine’s head ached from too much information and too little food each day when she entered the chapel a sixth time for Vespers. She didn’t mind that service, since it was the first time that she could relax all day. The service indicated the workday was over, and the evening meal approached. The evening meal was an insubstantial broth and more bread, but they spent it in silent contemplation until Compline, the last service of the day. She fell onto her cot exhausted, her eyes falling shut immediately. But Matins disturbed her sleep. She noticed that even the most experienced nuns were bleary-eyed throughout the three nocturns that they recited before they returned to their cells for three more hours of sleep. Then the day repeated itself.
By the end of the third day, Cairstine was fatigued but had accepted the new routine. Her mind wandered frequently during the Masses, and she prayed for forgiveness for sinning within the house of the Lord, but she spent the time trying to determine whether she could spend the rest of her life in a constant rotation of prayer and meditation. She’d known this would be the life of a nun, but she hadn’t understood it until arriving. She enjoyed the peacefulness of the priory, and the silence was a welcome reprieve after the constant noise and crowds at court. But she feared she wouldn’t survive the isolation and detachment inherent to the nuns’ lifestyle. The more she thought about how no one would embrace her again, the more her mind dwelled on the feeling of being wrapped in Eoin’s arms. She’d spied him several times during the Masses, and he appeared for walks during her hours in the garden, but they were never given an opportunity to talk. She suspected he timed his walks so he could keep an eye on her. His silent presence reassured her, and she found herself fearful of when that protectiveness ended.
The abbot remained at the priory longer than seemed normal. Cairstine noticed she was not the only young woman made uncomfortable by his presence. She noticed the nuns had two reactions to the monk: aversion and familiarity. Eoin’s warning that monks were still men beneath their robes echoed in her mind, and Cairstine suspected that was very much true of Father Abbot. She ensured other women surrounded her, and she remained within Eoin’s sight whenever the abbot was present.
* * *
Eoin was in a purgatory of his own making, surrounded by holy relics and people dedicated to prayer while he agonized over Cairstine’s wellbeing. He longed to touch her and smell her scent of roses and lemon. He imagined it wouldn’t be long before that faded, since the mutton fat used to make ordinary soap didn’t hold pleasant scents like the ones most noblewomen used. He watched her whenever he could, using walks around the gardens as an excuse to exercise since there was no way for him to train with his sword or to spar with someone else. He sat in the last pew at each service, so he could keep Cairstine in his line of sight, despite how his eyes demanded to close. He rarely attended more than two daily Masses; usually it was only one. He realized that, among other things, he could never be a monk if it meant he never slept through the night again. But he refused to leave until Cairstine shared her decision with him. He admitted to himself that the longer she stayed, the more peaceful she appeared. At least that was the case unless the abbot was near.
“Eoin, you’re still here,” the abbot’s nasal tone was like a drill through Eoin’s ear as he left Compline on the third day.
“I am, Father Abbot. I shall remain until Lady Cairstine has decided.”
“There’s no need for that.” The abbot’s distaste for Eoin was clear in his tone and expression.
“Are you saying I am not welcome to the Highland hospitality on which we pride ourselves? Or are you saying that I’m unworthy of lingering in Christ’s house?” Eoin set his shoulders back, making his already impressive chest expand. He stood nearly a head taller than the monk, and his muscular build proved he spent hours in physical activity. Eoin dared the monk to shoo him away. As the son of not only a laird, but the powerful Highland Laird Gordon, the monk trod dangerous ground insulting Eoin, and they both knew it.
“Of course not. All of God’s children are welcome to dwell beneath his roof. I merely feared you were being kept from more pressing duties. I would not want you to fall short of fulfilling your obligations,” Father Abbot cast a smug smile at Eoin.
“It was at my father’s behest that I accompanied Lady Cairstine here, and my father insisted that I remain until she makes her decision.” That wasn’t an entire falsehood. His father had told him to escort Cairstine, and he had agreed without reservation when Eoin sent a message saying he intended to remain until Cairstine decided.
The abbot opened his mouth, but was cut short when the prioress and Cairstine joined them. It was the closest Cairstine and Eoin had been since the prioress pointed him toward the hospitium. They exchanged a glance, but neither dared more than that.
“Eoin, if you would please join us in my solar,” the prioress’s words may have formed a question, but Eoin understood it was a directive. He walked beside Cairstine as the prioress and abbot led the way. Eoin brushed his hand against the back of Cairstine’s as they walked. He sensed more than heard Cairstine’s gasp the second time it happened, and she was certain it wasn’t an accident. As they neared the door leading to the antechamber that separated the passageway from the prioress’s solar, Eoin hooked his little finger with Cairstine’s, careful to hide their linked fingers in the folds of Cairstine’s gown. He let go as Cairstine preceded him into the solar.
“Lady Cairstine, you have spent three days living as one of the sisters. Have you made your choice?” The prioress’s question was direct, but she spoke softly, taking the edge off her bluntness.
“I believe I have, Mother Abbess. I would like to stay.” Cairstine couldn’t bring herself to look at Eoin, certain he knew she didn’t like the idea at all but felt trapped. She kept her eyes on the prioress, whose assessing gaze once more made Cairstine want to squirm.
“Very well,” the older woman replied at last. “Then there is the matter of your dowry.”
Cairstine knew this conversation was inevitable, but she dreaded it nonetheless. She disliked it only slightly less than she did confessing
her secret shame when she arrived. She feared the discussion wouldn’t end in her favor. Cairstine watched as the abbot, who had stood to one side, moved to stand behind the prioress, who sat at her desk. Cairstine was certain his smug expression made Eoin growl, but he covered it by clearing his throat.
“Your dowry will be sent for before we allow you to become a postulant,” the abbot announced. “We cannot continue to house you and feed you without payment. Nor your guest.” The man didn’t bother to hide his sneer as he glared at Eoin.
“I have already made a generous donation to the priory and have left additional coin with the monks in the hospitium. Perhaps they haven’t informed you that I have more than covered any expense for my stay and Lady Cairstine’s. My ongoing presence shouldn’t be a burden upon you.” Eoin canted his head as he returned the abbot’s stare. “Do you make all of your guests know that they’re unwelcome at Christ’s table, or am I special?”
The abbot’s face grew red, and Cairstine noticed the blood vessels in his eyes became more prominent as his nostrils flared. There was no way the abbot could answer without admitting his decidedly unChrist-like behavior. Eoin had backed him into a corner twice.
“As Father Abbot mentioned, we shall request your dowry,” Mother Abbess intervened. “It will take nearly a fortnight for its delivery. That’s assuming your father agrees. You may remain until then.” The prioress said no more, waiting for Cairstine to admit yet another truth she had no wish to share. She’d hoped she could find another means to satisfy the expectation that she would buy her admittance to the order. Offering labor that they would already expect her to give seemed useless now that she’d seen life at the priory for herself. She was an excellent seamstress and was good at making candles and soap. She was prepared to offer to make and sell those, but the abbot wasn’t interested in hearing from her.
“Mother Abbess, you know that we cannot accept a noblewoman as a postulant without her dowry. I sent a messenger to inform her father of her intentions upon her arrival. He should be halfway to Freuchie by now. If she cares to await an answer, she may do so at a local inn.”
Cairstine gasped as the abbot’s suggestion. It was impossible for her to stay at an inn alone; it was inappropriate for Eoin to accompany her; and she had no means to pay for a week and a half even if she wanted to. The abbot was aware of all of this, and had no qualms about making her destitute while ruining her reputation.
“I’m certain a dowry from the Grants would more than cover the expense of Lady Cairstine remaining with us for a few more days.” The prioress’s tone didn’t leave room for argument. “My lady, are you aware of what your dowry includes?”
“I am, Mother Abbot. But I fear the abbot sent his messenger on a fool’s errand. My father will not agree to pay my dowry to Dundee Priory or any other convent or abbey. He does not wish for me to take the veil.”
“You defied your father?” The abbot bellowed. “You did not honor your father. You are naught more than a heretic. We don’t accept your kind here.”
“But you accept women with no dowry, even ones who sold themselves to men,” Eoin intervened. “You would turn away a woman who has found a calling here when it is obvious her family’s money is not a requirement to enter the priory nor is it God’s law.”
“Eoin,” the prioress struggled to keep the frustration from her voice. “We depend upon the dowries from our noble sisters to support all of us. Without that, the income we make from selling vegetables and soap in the market is not enough to sustain us.”
“Perhaps if the abbot chose not to wear so much gold and so many jewels, you could afford a few more meals.” Eoin jerked his chin toward the large gold cross with a ruby in the center that hung around the monk’s neck, then to the man’s hands that had jeweled rings on almost every finger. “I thought Christ spoke out against collecting wealth for the sake of oneself. I thought the purpose of a monk’s life was to walk the path Christ took. You look very well fed, too.”
Eoin’s mien dared the abbot to argue. There was little the abbot could say that didn’t confirm Eoin’s accusations or insult their noble guests.
Cairstine wanted to bury her head in the sand. While Eoin spoke aloud everything she thought, it would do little to ingratiate her into the order. While Eoin had the luxury of voicing his opinions, if Cairstine was able to remain, she would be the one to pay for them. From the corner of her eye, she caught Eoin looking down at her. She met his gaze, and she understood his silent message. He wanted to take her away from Dundee Priory, and as they stood in the prioress’s solar, Cairstine saw little choice but to leave with him. She doubted they would invite her to stay.
“We shall sleep on the matter, and I will share my determination after tomorrow’s Lauds. It would be best if we retired for the evening,” the prioress nodded. She rose from her seat and ushered Cairstine and Eoin from the solar. She didn’t bother to wait for the abbot. She escorted Cairstine to the dormitory, and Eoin’s long stride carried him away before the abbot could confront him.
Chapter Twelve
Eoin rubbed the sleep from his eyes yet again as he left the hospitium for Matins, at two o’clock in the morning. The stars twinkled above him as if to laugh that they rested upon an eternal blue bed while he picked his way toward the chapel. He caught sight of Cairstine as a novice stopped her. Cairstine shook her head, but the novice appeared adamant and pointed to somewhere in the dark. Cairstine refused again, but the novice grasped Cairstine’s arm and began dragging her. Eoin sprinted toward them, but by the time he allowed the nuns to pass him, he’d lost sight of Cairstine. He moved in the direction he thought the novice pointed, but he feared he wouldn’t find her. His heart slowed when he heard her voice, but it lurched again when he recognized the abbot’s.
“You have a choice, my lady. You can offer me what I want, and I allow you to remain at the priory. Or I will turn you out, and people will label you a slut, whether you find work at a tavern or travel with that bastard Gordon. Traveling alone with your guards won’t protect your reputation either.”
“I choose not to give you aught. Not me nor my dowry. Move aside,” Cairstine’s voice held the command that only the child of a laird could possess. Eoin was proud of her unwavering tone, but he was going to beat the monk to a pulp. He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching when he heard Cairstine continue. “Eoin Gordon isn’t a bastard, and if you say it again, I’ll cut off your bollocks and ensure you never sire another bastard. That’s right. I’ve heard a great deal at a place where nearly no one speaks.”
“You are wrong there, Cairstine. I will have what is mine.” Eoin heard a scuffle, but he wasn’t close enough to see.
“Let go,” Cairstine demanded. “Don’t touch me. Remove your hand from my breast.”
Eoin needed to hear no more. He’d walked close enough while Cairstine and the monk spoke that he could see the abbot pinning Cairstine to the wall, so he launched himself at the man. Eoin wrapped his hand around the abbot’s throat and squeezed, pleased to hear the choking rasp as he gasped for air. The monk's hair was short, and he had a tonsure shaved over his crown, Eoin was able to grasp enough to lift his head then slam it onto the ground thrice before letting go.
“The only reason ye are still alive is because ye are a mon of the cloth. I refuse to call ye a mon of God, and I refuse to have yer death on ma conscience. Ye can be certain that I will speak to the archimandrite for Angus. Perhaps ye dinna ken this, but ma grandmother was a Scrymgeour.” Eoin chuckled when the monk gasped, allowing his burr to slide into his speech as his anger boiled. “Och aye, the vera same clan that were patrons of this priory and ensured its establishment. The archimandrite happens to have baptized me as a wee bairn and was often a guest at ma grandparents’ table, so imagine his dismay when he learns of yer behavior toward Lady Cairstine Grant, daughter to ma father’s ally.”
“You wouldn’t dare tell him,” the abbot mocked. “Lady Cairstine met me alone in the dark. She seduced me.”
“You’ll leave here, and you’ll never know what your whore does,” Father Abbot taunted.
“Wrong answer.” Eoin lifted the man from the ground and drove his fist into the abbot’s stomach. “Cairstine, return to yer cell. I will return for ye in two days. The abbot and I are on our way to see Bishop Graham.”
“Eoin, this isn’t necessary,” Cairstine whispered, terrified of what would happen once word got out.
“This isnae just aboot ye. This miscreant has assaulted other women here at his mercy. Do ye want what just happened to ye to happen to another woman? To a woman with nay means to defend herself?”
“No, of course not,” Cairstine murmured as she shook her head. She looked at the man Eoin held, his toes barely touching the ground. Disgust washed over her as she realized she’d been willing to condemn other women to what she had endured all those years ago just to protect herself. “You should take him to the bishop.”
A Rake at the Highland Court: The Highland Ladies Book Four Page 8
