Her fingernails dug into the flesh on the top of her hands as she battled to hold her tongue still and silent. The friars were doing all they could. But was it enough?
Dear God, ’tis me again. Please, I beg ye, please keep Callum safe and well. He has friends who are expecting to meet him, friends who will miss him if he doesnae arrive. I will miss him. I dinnae want him to go, but I promise nae to say a word if ye, if ye could just see him well and whole. I beg ye.
Isla clenched her hands at the bargain she offered God. Callum’s life in exchange for her continued silence on the feelings she had for him, feelings she’d never spoken aloud. Callum’s wellbeing in exchange for letting him go. Callum’s life in exchange for never letting him know she loved him.
A log snapped, along with her heart. The flames continued to warm her side but failed to erase the coldness within. The soft cushion she sat upon turned lumpy and she adjusted her position on the wooden chair. She clenched her jaw, fighting her inner war of selfish wants and wishes.
She didn’t want to give Callum up. She wanted him to survive and she wanted him to choose her. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Callum, the man who’d rescued her from danger and from herself. What she wanted didn’t matter. Callum must live.
* * *
‘Isla?’
She grasped the timber armrests and shifted forward in her chair at the sound of Brother Mirek’s voice. ‘How is Callum?’
‘Callum’s wounds ’ave—’
‘He has more than one?’ Her fingers clamped about the wood.
‘Aye, but all ’ad been skilfully tended before ’e arrived ’ere.’
Isla’s racing heartbeat slowed. ‘And now?’ She desperately needed Brother Mirek to tell her all would be well and Callum would be himself in a day or two.
‘We ’ave done all we can. Now ’e is in God’s ’ands.’
Her heart skipped numerous beats. Everything she knew and felt fell away, disappeared until there was nothing but an empty void, a hollow silence. A taste of what her life would be like without Callum. Had God heard her prayers? Had they done any good?
Large fingers pressed a cup of warm mead into her chilled hands. A kind voice, sounding as if from far away encouraged her to drink, but she was busy praying.
How long she sat, numb and unmoving, while praying and bargaining with God, she did not know but when she next heard Brother Mirek call her name, she still cradled the cup of untouched, long gone cold mead in her hands.
‘Isla, I ’ave brought someone to stay with ye.’
She frowned, struggling to think of anyone Brother Mirek could have brought to-
‘Isla, ’tis—’
‘Sorcha?’ She pushed to her feet and someone rescued the full cup from her nerveless fingers. ‘Are ye truly here?’
‘Aye.’
‘I thought ye left with yer betrothed.’
‘Praise God, there’s been a delay.’
Relief swept through Isla and a great lump of sadness welled in her throat. The tears she’d fought so hard to keep at bay prickled behind her eyes and stung her nose. ‘Oh, Sorcha.’ Hot tears streamed over her lashes and down her face as her friend, the only friend she’d ever known, closed her arms about her. Isla sobbed on Sorcha’s shoulder for what seemed like forever, but once her sea of tears ran dry, she sniffed and wiped the moisture from her face with her skirts.
Still clutching one hand, Sorcha guided her back into her chair and then settled into another the friar had positioned beside hers.
‘Brother Mirek?’
‘Aye, lass.’
‘How is Callum?’
‘’e sleeps a ’ealing sleep, lass. One of us will stay to watch over ’im. Ye should find some sleep too.’
Isla understood the friar meant well, but she was too worried about Callum to sleep. ‘Brother Mirek?’
‘Aye, lass.’ His reply came from further across the room.
‘Thank ye.’ Isla gently squeezed Sorcha’s fingers to show how grateful she was her friend had come.
‘’Tis nae bother, lass. I will keep ye all in my prayers.’
* * *
Isla and Sorcha spent the night in whispered conversation, broken intermittently each time Sorcha turned to appraise Callum’s condition and report back to Isla at her request. It was times like this when Isla most missed having her sight. She wanted to gaze upon him to reassure herself he was indeed sleeping a healing sleep. She wanted to search his features and tell her racing heart he was well. She wanted to touch him, run her fingertips over his handsome face like she had that time before. She wanted to see him, if only once.
But such wanting was futile, for her eyes were broken and she had to remember the images she’d created the day she’d learned his face with the tips of her fingers. She trusted Sorcha and every time she interrupted their conversation to ask after Callum, her friend’s descriptions always set her mind and heart at ease for the next little while.
Isla relayed all that had happened since the night of the fire, reaching Restenneth Priory and then the exchange with Dalziel concerning Morgan when Callum had come for her at the inn.
Sorcha told Isla about how her father had been summoned to the southern gates to deal with a troublesome party who believed the town’s curfew didn’t apply to them. Her companion, Maude, had been snoring soundly when Sorcha had answered Brother Mirek’s knock and had immediately slipped out the door. She then went on to share the reasons for her delay at being sent to her betrothed to marry. Reasons she was happy to accept and hoped continued.
By the time the next friar came to take his turn at sitting and watching over Callum, with Sorcha’s help and guidance, Isla’s chair was positioned close beside Callum’s pallet. Close enough for her to reach out a hand when the urge to touch him became too much to ignore. The only time Isla left the chamber was when Sorcha escorted her to a tiny privy and back, and despite the friars offering bowls of vegetable soup and oats, Isla’s stomach was already full to bursting with churning worry.
Callum had to live, but she’d run out of things to barter with God.
Night turned into day and so on; whether it was the sun shining or the moon’s glow lighting the sky made no difference to Isla. But somehow, the constant darkness she lived in grew darker the longer Callum failed to wake. She finally lost her battle to stay alert and fell asleep with her hand resting on Callum’s powerful upper arm. Touching him made her feel as if she had a say on making him stay with her, her touch holding him here.
‘Isla.’ A cracked and raspy voice spoke her name.
‘Callum?’ Had he called her or had she only dreamt it?
A warm palm settled over the top of her hand still holding his muscular arm. ‘Aye.’
‘Yer awake?’
‘Am I?’ He coughed, a parched, brittle sound.
His query made her question seem less silly. She searched for the cup of ale she’d set by the foot of her chair before she’d fallen asleep. ‘Here,’ she dropped to her knees beside his pallet. ‘Take a small drink.’
She held aloft the cup and sent her free palm skimming up and over his broad shoulder to the back of his neck to help support his head. Large fingers closed about her hand holding the cup and tilted the vessel. Isla heard him swallow twice before he eased his head back down on the bolster. Her hand still cradling his nape. His skin warm, but thankfully free of the feverish heat she’d feared might come. It seemed her soul had been payment enough for that particular bargain. She left her hand there.
‘You’re truly here. I’m nae dreaming.’
The deep and smooth sound of his voice rumbled through her palm. His words found her heart. ‘Aye. Brother Mirek and the other friars have been caring for ye.’
‘You found him?’
‘Ye got us here. I just called his name.’
‘How long?’
‘It seemed like forever.’ Her whisper broke on the final word. She cleared her throat, about to admit she didn’t know how long he
’d been asleep when Brother Mirek spoke.
‘Two nights and two days, Callum.’ The corded muscles in the neck she cradled shifted as he turned his head to the opposite side. She’d forgotten the friar was there. She slipped her hand free, and curling her fingers into her palm, she sat back on her heels.
‘My thanks to you and the others for your care.’
‘You gave us all a scare, lad. None more than the lass. Isla rarely left your side.’
Fabric softly rustled. She couldn’t see him looking at her but she knew he was. Warmth filled her cheeks. His fingers closed more tightly around hers and the cup they held, as if asking, Were you afraid for me? His voice rang louder when he next spoke. ‘You have my thanks, but you should have been resting.’
‘Dinnae worry, I lost nae sleep.’ Both Brother Mirek and Sorcha cleared their throats at the same time, as if to prove her words false. ‘Perhaps a little,’ she confessed quietly.
Callum’s fingers momentarily closed tighter about hers, but it was Brother Mirek who spoke. ‘’e sleeps again, lass. ’Tis time you and Sorcha did too.’
* * *
Callum opened heavy eyelids and searched the space beside him where Isla had been sitting. The chair to his right was empty. He missed the jolt of excitement inside his chest he’d experienced when he’d woken last time. He missed seeing her beautiful face.
‘’Tis glad I am to see you awake, Callum.’
He turned his head to look in the direction of Brother Mirek’s voice, surprised at how difficult the simple movement was to achieve. Frustration must have shown on his face.
‘You will recover, but you need to give yourself time to ’eal fully.’
‘Isla?’
‘Finally sleeps.’ Brother Mirek slowly shook his head. ‘She cares for you deeply, lad. She refused to leave you and only did once you spoke.’
Warmth infused Callum’s chest. He hoped she cared for him, despite never telling him so. But her decision to join the church many years ago meant there could never be a future for the two of them. ‘The other lass?’
‘Sorcha lives with her father and her elderly companion on the high side of the street where Isla’s cottage is. They ’ave been friends for many a year, but once Thane Beaton was taken to the leper house, Sorcha’s father, the town’s commander of the guards, stopped the lass from visiting Isla.’ Despite understanding the reason, Callum slowly clenched his fist at the thought of Isla losing her friend. ‘Though I ’ave learned Sorcha took matters into ’er own ’ands and took Isla fresh food and ale during her two weeks alone.’
Callum didn’t know Sorcha, but he developed an instant liking for the lass. Though their exchange was short, the effort to listen drained what little strength he had. Every inch of his body throbbed, as if he’d been trampled by a herd of stampeding horses.
‘Brother Mirek. Ye have a visitor.’
Callum managed to lift his chin a notch, enabling him to see the robed man standing in the chamber’s doorway.
‘Thank you.’ The friar stood and turned back to peer down at Callum. ‘Sleep, lad. I will return.’
As Brother Mirek made his way toward the entrance, Callum heard the other friar say, ‘The man asked to speak with the lass named Isla.’
‘What is the man’s name?’
Callum strained every aching muscle to hear the friar’s reply, but he and Brother Mirek had already left the room. The image of Dalziel’s face, still as stone with shock and pale with worry for his son, flashed in Callum’s mind. Morgan’s expression, pinched in fury, sitting atop his horse, unmoving, dark eyes glaring, swiftly replaced his father’s.
Could Dalziel have found Morgan, released him and followed them to Aberdeen? Were they the three who’d demanded entry into the town last night? They’d had plenty of time to search and find them while Callum had wasted precious days lying here senseless.
Cal grit his teeth, and with a sound resembling a wounded animal releasing a long moan of pain, he set his feet on the floor and sat panting on one side of the pallet. When each breath came slower and with less pain, he searched about him for his plaid and sword and spied neither. He’d just have to make do with what was at hand.
Pressing his arm hard against his right side, he stood on shaking legs and secured the woollen blanket they’d used to cover his naked form about his waist. On bare feet, he staggered toward the hearth and retrieved the fire iron hanging from its hook and recalled someone else using a similar iron on him. The implement was better than having no weapon at all. Cal drew a long, steadying breath and headed for the doorway, attempting to hurry while fighting off the waves of darkness that threatened to end his plans.
He needed to get to Isla. He needed to protect her. What if Morgan had ignored Callum’s warning not to move? Had Dalziel arrived too late and found his son hanging by the noose about his neck?
He reached the chamber’s entrance, and leaning heavily on the doorway and using the iron like a crutch, he paused to clear his mind and find a much-needed breath. The circumstances of why Dalziel had come weren’t important. Keeping Isla safe was all that mattered.
He studied the unfamiliar surroundings and listened for the sound of voices. Quiet murmurings came from a room situated further along the passageway. Pushing away from the wall, he headed in that direction and stopped outside to peer into the chamber.
The chamber turned out to be the entrance from outside. The daylight washing in through the opening had him squinting to ward off the glare. Several figures stood about, but it was difficult to make out who each of them were. Until his narrowed gaze found Isla.
He’d know her form anywhere. The top of her head reached the line of his jaw and while riding, fit nicely beneath his chin. She stood side on, her shapely outline appearing dark against the sun’s outside light. Her chin held level, her shoulders square, the breasts he’d tried not to think about too often and failed every time sat high and proud like the woman herself. He couldn’t see her features, but knowing it was her stole his breath and caused his heart to beat at a quicker pace.
A tall figure standing opposite Isla’s distracting figure stepped toward her. Something fierce clenched about Callum’s heart. He pushed himself free of the doorway holding him upright and lifted the fire iron. ‘You cannae have her. Step away,’ he said weaving his way closer and pointing his weapon at the shadowed figure he saw as a threat.
‘Callum?’
He heard Isla call his name, but another unfamiliar woman’s voice spoke.
‘Holy Blessed Mother of God.’
‘Callum, all is well.’ Brother Mirek assured him and moved closer, but Callum’s attention was fixed on the man closest to Isla, the man he could not see.
He narrowed his eyes and squinted harder but still the man’s features remained concealed in shadows.
‘Callum,’ Isla called him again and turning, headed toward him. ‘I am well. My uncle, Father Beaton, has come from the priory.’
He frowned between Isla’s advancing figure and her uncle’s shadowed form. ‘I thought …’ God save him, it mattered naught what he’d thought. Isla was safe.
The tip of the fire iron fell to the floor. Small, gentle hands brushed his torso. Isla’s touch, her womanly scent pulled him back from the edge of the dark pit he’d almost fallen into.
‘Ye are supposed to be sleeping and healing, ye stubborn man.’
Her chastising drew him higher still. One hand curled about his upper arm like a caress. The other slid down his back and stopped above where the blanket sat low on his hips. Her touch was like a balm to his soul. He focused on the effects of her skin on his flesh, for the remembered sensations would be all he’d have.
In that moment he knew he’d not commit the rest of his life to the church. God hadn’t chosen him as he had Brother Mirek. He couldn’t have, else he’d never have met the woman standing so close to him now, the woman so far from his reach.
She’d chosen her future, the only part of her life where she’d h
ad the chance to decide for herself, had a choice in what happened to her. Callum refused to interfere in any way, even if giving her up meant surrendering the woman he loved, along with his heart.
* * *
The next time Callum gained his senses, he was back lying on the pallet he’d stumbled from to save Isla. He had no recollection of how he’d gotten there, or of how much time had passed since, but the memory of Isla’s touch about his arm and on his lower back lived on as if she’d removed her hand only a moment ago. Her uncle, Father Beaton, sat in the chair she’d once occupied, his features set in deep contemplation.
‘I thought you were Isla’s betrothed.’
The priest’s expression cleared. He looked at Cal. ‘’Tis a good thing I was not. I’ve seen ye with a sword and now ken ye wield a mean fire iron as well.’
Callum was surprised to learn Father Beaton had a sense of mirth, but he brushed the thought aside. ‘How is Isla?’ He wanted to know where she was and who was guarding her, but managed to hold his tongue still long enough for the priest to answer. He wouldn’t have come all this way to fetch his niece and return with her to the priory and then leave her to defend herself.
‘Isla is well. Both she and I ken we have ye to thank for protecting her.’ Father Beaton looked away momentarily before meeting Cal’s gaze once more. ‘My brother, Isla’s father, was fortunate ye were the one to care for him during his final days. For that and for fulfilling his final wish concerning my niece, I also thank ye.’
‘’Twas an honour. I only regret nae knowing your brother better.’
The priest smiled. ‘Thane was a good man with a kind soul. He loved his wife and children deeply. I too wish I’d known him better.’ Regret altered the man’s expression. ‘But enough of that for now. I dinnae want to leave before giving ye information I ken ye have been searching for. Information about yer mother.’
Chapter 19
The familiar smells of her home wrapped themselves about Isla as she sat cross-legged on the rug before the hearth. Twigs snapped and the soup she and Sorcha had made using what vegetables they’d been able to save from the neglected garden happily bubbled away. Had it really only been two weeks since she’d fled the burning outbuilding with the man who’d saved her? Two weeks of building a closeness with a man she’d never known, building a closeness unlike any other. A physical and emotional bond she hadn’t realised was possible with someone outside of her family. A trust she’d never experienced with another.
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