The Saint

by Allison Butler

  They were in a priory, under God’s roof. The reminder helped, but for how much longer? His resolve was weakening. He should have left the moment they’d arrived. But something held him here, like twine had been wound around him and attached him to Isla. It was only due to the journey they’d shared to get here.

  Cal set his spoon in his empty bowl and stood. He walked to the fire and peered into the flickering flames. What could be taking her uncle so l—

  ‘Ah, I see you’re done, Callum,’ Father Beaton said, as he entered the kitchen.

  ‘My thanks, the meal was most welcome.’ Although he couldn’t remember tasting either the soup or the bread, the broth had been warm and the half loaf had been filling.

  ‘Good. If you’re ready, I will show you to your pallet for the night.’

  ‘I am more than ready to retire, after I’ve seen to my horse.’ Cal walked toward where Isla remained seated, holding the last of her bread, her soup bowl empty. He wanted to touch her, but wasn’t sure where her uncle would deem appropriate. He settled his hand on her forearm near her elbow. ‘Will you be alright?’ He heard her swallow.

  ‘Of course.’ She nodded far too quickly.

  ‘I will return for you soon, Isla,’ Father Beaton said. ‘We can talk further if that is your wont.’

  ‘I’d like that, Uncle.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll nae be long.’

  ‘Sleep well, Isla.’ Cal flexed his fingers on her arm and removed his hand. As he strode through the doorway, he had a strange feeling he’d left an important part of himself inside the chamber. A part he couldn’t go on living without.

  Chapter 15

  Isla and her uncle never spoke any further that night. She pleaded weariness the moment he’d returned, alone, carrying her sack of belongings, and she’d been feeling alone ever since. He’d ushered her to this room, or to what seemed more like an alcove within a chamber. She’d lain on the straw-filled mattress, silently berating herself for not being more thankful for having a bed to sleep on. She’d responded to her self-scolding by telling herself she’d be more than happy to sleep on pine cones and bracken if Callum was with her.

  A more sensible part of her whispered her sense of loss was only due to being so close to him, rarely separated during their journey here to the priory. The sensations of being halved would fade and lessen with time. Likely in only a matter of days as her time was filled with growing accustomed to what her new life would entail. Lying was a sin, even when the untruths were never spoken out loud.

  She’d dozed throughout the unending night, lying along the pallet, sitting up with her back against the cold stone wall, forever listening, always hoping Callum would come to her. And what? Sleep beside her? Hold her hand? Kiss her mouth? Take her away from here? But to where? Did it matter?

  Footsteps sounded outside the room. She clamped her arms about her bent knees and drew them tighter against her chest. Was it still night? She’d heard bells tolling, but had lost track of time since the last. A soft tap on the door sent her legs straight out and had her sliding to the edge of the pallet. ‘Come.’

  She clutched her hands together and waited, hoping to hear the deep low tones of Callum’s voice wishing her a good morn.

  ‘Good morn, Isla.’ Her uncle’s voice, warm and welcome, but still not the one she longed to hear.

  ‘Good morn, Uncle Norval.’

  He moved further into the room. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Aye.’ She forced a small smile, believing some lies would be overlooked if they benefited another. Had he come to talk? She didn’t much feel like—

  ‘Tell me about Callum.’

  Every part of her, both inside and out, came alive at the sound of his name. ‘Has he gone?’ Her heart stopped and then drummed a tattoo as she waited for her uncle’s reply. Surely he wouldn’t have gone without saying goodbye. Would he?

  ‘Nae, he is still here.’

  Her racing heartbeat slowed and she drew several long breaths. ‘What do ye want to know?’

  ‘Naught too much, just who his family is and where he’s from. Nae all men like to be asked about themselves.’

  Knowing what she knew about Callum, she was pleased her uncle had asked her instead of him. ‘There is nae much I can tell ye. I know Callum is from the Borders, but he was in Aberdeen continuing his search for his family and his origins.’

  ‘He doesnae know who they are?’

  ‘Sadly nae, but yesterday, after searching for nigh on a year, he finally found the stone cross he’s been searching for in Aberlemno.’ The same warmth and excitement that had filled her chest when he’d said he’d found the cross returned now. ‘The stone cross in the kirkyard is the one he remembers hiding behind as a lad with his mother twenty years past.’

  Isla would gladly have given anything for the discovery to reveal more about his mother, but they’d found nothing more.

  ‘Uncle?’

  ‘Aye, lass.’

  ‘Are ye well? Yer very quiet.’

  ‘Aye, ’tis quite a tale to take in.’

  ‘Aye, I never truly believed he’d find anything and I dinnae think he expected to either. Why do ye ask about Callum?’

  ‘I only wanted to ken more about the man I need to thank for bringing my niece to me safely.’

  Isla waited for her uncle to continue, sensing he had more to say. The silence lengthened. How she wished she could see his expression to determine his thoughts. How she wished Callum could stay. If wishes were coin she’d be rich beyond imagining.

  * * *

  Callum stood beneath the single Scots pine standing guard to one side of the tower entrance into the priory and shook off the feeling of familiarity. He’d seen so many crosses, kirks and towers during the past year, they’d all begun to look alike.

  A mild breeze ruffled the cluster of trees further behind him, creating a shushing sound that failed to ease the thoughts that had kept him awake all night. As the day’s light lengthened, leaving Isla was proving more difficult than he’d prepared himself for.

  He looked across the open field to the birch wood being swayed to and fro by the gentle wind and suffered the tug and pull of what he must do and what he wanted to do. Isla was with her uncle, the last of her family. He’d done as he’d promised and brought her here. There was nothing more he needed to do. A quick farewell would be best and then he’d be on his way.

  He’d travel north to Braemar to meet up with Duff and Adair. How had their searches gone? He hoped they’d had more success at finding their families than he had. Finding the cross had been a surprise. He’d started to believe the stone had been something a young lad had created to help him cope with the loss of his mother. Knowing the cross was real only fuelled his need to discover more. The torment of knowing he never would gouged another invisible scar across his heart.

  A slight movement within the birch wood caught his eye at the same moment Mungo whinnied from the walled enclosure to the right of the tower. Cal turned to focus his attention on the place where something had moved and felt the unmistakable cold, sharp blade of a sword pressed against one side of his neck. His first thought was that his own sword was at his hip but by the time he reached for it, the blade pushing against his flesh would have sunk deep into his throat. His second thought was how had he let someone get so close? His next was who and how many?

  ‘Ye have proven to be a hard man to find.’

  Cal didn’t recognise the voice, but he did know the man who had spoken wasn’t the one holding the sword at his throat. There were at least two of them.

  ‘If I knew who you were, perhaps I could understand why you’ve been searching for me.’

  ‘Ye have something that belongs to me.’

  Cal’s gut churned at how Isla was spoken of like something to be traded or bartered. ‘Naught I have belongs to you.’

  A short-lived chuckle sounded, but held no hint of mirth. ‘Ah, but ye do. Isla was promised to me.’

  Though Cal couldn�
��t see either of the men behind him, the mention of Isla and the promise confirmed it was Dalziel speaking and Conan’s blade holding firm against his throat. Was Morgan with them?

  Cal’s attention was caught by a second movement from within the birch wood, swiftly followed by a third. The distance between each confirmed there were three men lurking … another dark shape shifted from one trunk to another, proving at least four men were watching their exchange.

  Dalziel moved in front of him, giving Cal his first good view of the man who wanted to marry Isla. Deep-set blue eyes met Cal’s, the skin at the edges held permanent wrinkles that made it look like he wore a constant smile. But his thin-lipped mouth resembled a snarl and the piercing glare of his gaze proved he found nothing about this situation humorous.

  Grey hair mixed with dark strands curled halfway down his neck, his neatly cropped beard and moustache sported more silver than almost-black—like his son Morgan’s.

  A figure stepped forward out of the wood just long enough for Cal to see him, just far enough for Cal to know who he was before he slunk back beneath the cover of the trees. As Cal refocused his gaze from Morgan’s distant figure to Dalziel’s blue-eyed stare, he knew the son was here for his own purposes and not in aid of his father.

  Dalziel spoke again. ‘Dinnae follow when I leave with Isla, else I will set my son on ye.’ He stepped forward and drew Cal’s sword from its sheath.

  Would Dalziel believe him if he told him Morgan had his own plans for Isla? ‘You put great weight in your son’s abilities.’

  ‘Aye,’ Dalziel replied. ‘He is my son.’

  Cal heard the note of pride in the older man’s voice as he spoke of his son and wondered if Morgan had ever heard it. Cal now also knew Dalziel wouldn’t believe anything he said about his son.

  He shrugged and chose his next words carefully. ‘I promised a dying man I’d deliver his daughter here.’ Dalziel’s frown was instant. ‘Whatever happens now has naught to do with me.’ He needed to make Dalziel believe he meant what he said. ‘I have other plans and am already late.’

  The rattle of metal on wood stole his attention, along with Dalziel’s, as the iron-studded tower door opened inward and Isla and her uncle stepped through.

  Cal’s heart slowed to a sluggish beat at the sight of her. The sharp blade nicked the skin at the side of his neck as it was repositioned out of sight with the pointed end pushed firmly in the centre of his back between his shoulderblades.

  ‘Isla has come to say goodbye. Let her. She trusts me,’ Cal said quietly. He held his hands palm up to remind Dalziel that he was unarmed. ‘I’ll even settle her on her horse for you.’

  With what Cal hoped was regret and confusion flitting across Dalziel’s face, he took his greatest chance. He stepped away from Conan’s blade at his back. ‘I’ll see to her and send the priest inside.’

  Cal strode forward, his spine tingling at the thought of Conan’s sword sinking deep in his flesh. ‘Thank you, Father,’ he said taking Isla’s hand. ‘I’ll nae be long.’ He gave the priest a reassuring nod, knowing he’d be safer once he returned inside.

  ‘’Tis I who thank ye, Callum. I wish ye well.’

  ‘My thanks.’

  ‘I’ll wait inside.’ Father Beaton glanced at the two men a small distance away and then returned inside the tower entrance and closed the door.

  A small part of the weight along Cal’s shoulders lifted.

  Isla lifted her chin and smelled the air. Her head tilted to one side as if she knew they weren’t alone. ‘Callum?’

  The sound of his name captured his heart. The uncertainty in her tone squeezed it tight. She was too attuned to his voice. She knew something wasn’t right. He wanted her gone from here before Morgan grew tired of watching from the trees. Why he waited Cal had no idea, but he didn’t think she’d be safe from his cruelty even behind the walls of the priory.

  He caught her elbow and steered her toward the gate on the walled enclosure where Mungo had spent the night. ‘Promises are made to be kept. I have fulfilled mine by bringing you here to the priory.’

  Twin frown lines appeared between her brows. ‘Aye, and I thank ye for all ye’ve …’

  ‘’Tis time for us to go our separate ways.’

  ‘I understand yer need to leave, but—’

  She didn’t understand at all. ‘’Tis you who are leaving, Isla.’

  Her steps slowed. ‘But I’ve just arrived and my uncle—’

  ‘Plans change, Isla,’ Dalziel said stepping close to her other side. ‘Yer uncle can visit ye in Aberdeen, once we’re wed.’

  Isla’s head turned from one side to the other and her lips moved but she made no sound.

  Cal tightened his grip on her elbow. ‘I have saddled Mungo for you.’

  The twin lines of confusion cutting the flesh between her brows deepened. ‘I … Thank ye.’ Uncertainty filled her tone, but her reply alerted him that her trust in him remained. She knew he’d never part with his horse. She also knew Mungo would protect her.

  Cal opened the gate and his horse trotted through. He grasped Isla’s waist and set her in the saddle before adjusting her booted feet in the stirrups. He gently squeezed her fingers, hoping she understood his silent message of reassurance, he placed her hands on the pommel. ‘Until next we meet,’ he said softly.

  He bent to gather the reins and gave Mungo a firm stroke along his powerful neck. He turned to find Dalziel and Conan close behind him. Both men were mounted on their own horses. Cal offered Dalziel Mungo’s reins and held out his free hand for the return of his sword. ‘I have done all I said I would.’

  ‘Aye, so ye have.’ Dalziel accepted the reins, still wearing a look of confusion on his face. He held out Cal’s weapon but before he could take it, the older man tossed the sword over the wall into the enclosure.

  ‘Farewell, Callum.’ The older man’s laughter filled the early morning air as he led Isla along the trail away from the priory. His man-mountain bodyguard bringing up the rear.

  Cal had no intention of doing anything to stop them leaving. He couldn’t, not if he wanted her to ride away from here safely. But it wasn’t just a matter of her safety, or his duty or promises fulfilled. Isla, the woman who had done something no other ever had before: burrowed under his skin with her innocence, her joyous outlook on life, and had become the most precious and important part of his. Cal would do anything and everything possible to see she remained unharmed.

  Only when she’d disappeared from his sight along the path they’d ridden together the day before did Cal turn his attention in the direction of the birch wood, where a line of six men led their horses across the grassy field toward him. He ran inside the walled enclosure and retrieved his sword. Not only had he miscounted the number of men hiding in the trees, he’d also misjudged how much Isla would mean to him.

  The iron-studded door of the tower entrance creaked open.

  ‘Isla?’ Father Beaton stepped outside into the open and searched for his niece.

  Cal cast him a brief look before settling his attention back on the line of advancing men, his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘Bolt the doors and secure them. Ask the other priests to help you.’

  ‘Nae without Isla.’

  Father Beaton won Callum’s respect in that moment but he didn’t have time to tell him so. ‘Isla has gone and is safer for leaving here. Go inside and seal the door, now!’

  Father Beaton looked from Cal to the men marching closer toward the priory and back, before he closed and bolted the door. Cal adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword and drew his dirk from his boot. He inhaled a lung-filling breath and focused on which of the men advancing toward him would be the first to fall beneath his blade this day.

  The line of six drew to a halt when the distance between them and Cal allowed him to see the whites of each man’s eyes.

  ‘I done told ye nae to interfere,’ Morgan said on a sigh, slowly shaking his head. ‘Now, ye’ll have to die and then I’ll have Isla.
She’ll be begging to share my bed after my father has had his way with her.’

  Cal’s nostrils flared and every muscle in his body shook with fury. But as he stood before these men, acknowledging just how heavily the odds were against him, his muscles ceased shaking and tightened in readiness for the fight to come. A battle he must win or Isla would suffer and that was something Cal would not allow.

  Morgan gestured with a flick of his hand, thrice, and three men clutching their swords stepped forward from the line and formed a circle. Cal bent his knees a fraction in readiness and slowly turned where he stood watching and waiting for the first to move. All three rushed Cal at once, roaring and screaming their attack.

  Cal tightened his grip on the hilt of both sword and dirk and met the first clash of steel with his long blade then swiped at the second man with his dagger. Slashing the air, constantly moving to enable him to keep all three in his sights as they lunged and withdrew, their wide eyes always searching for an opening to thrust their steel blades.

  One attacker stepped closer, stealing Cal’s attention until he found a hole in the man’s defence and plunged his sword deep into the left side of his opponent’s upper chest. The wounded attacker’s screech of pain was drowned out by the roar of the man at his back. Cal spun about and used his dirk to deflect the sword point from reaching his heart and followed through with a side swipe of his longer blade, finding purchase deep in his assailant’s upper arm.

  The third man’s sword found its mark and Cal suffered the searing pain of steel cutting the flesh at his waist on his right side. He grit his teeth and continued his spinning motion away from the offending weapon, a movement that saved his life. He focused on returning the man’s gesture but was also aware of the next two men running in to take the place of the two Cal had wounded.

  He had no idea what expression he wore at that moment, but if the round-eyed, gaping mouthed look the offender gave him was any clue, he must look fierce indeed. A bonus that meant he’d won this particular skirmish before he pierced the other man’s thigh with his sword and sliced the muscle of his upper arm open wide with his dirk.