‘I will miss ye.’ A small sniff followed Sorcha’s confession.
‘And I ye,’ Isla said. ‘But ye ken where I’ll be so perhaps once yer settled, ye could ask yer husband if ye can visit me at the priory.’ Sorcha had never met her betrothed, but from what she’d been told of him, Isla doubted he’d agree to such a suggestion. Her friend’s failure to respond doubled her doubts on the matter.
‘I am forever grateful for yer help packing up my things and setting the cottage in order.’ The task had taken them two days, but Isla would never have managed to do it all so quickly on her own. ‘Ye must thank Maude for me, too.’
Sorcha released a soft snort that sounded similar to the muffled sounds of slumber coming from the corner of the room, where her father had sat in his favourite chair most evenings. Father. Her heart squeezed. I miss ye so.
‘I will tell her, when she wakes. I’ve never known anyone to sleep as much as Maude.’ Sorcha’s companion released an extra-long, extra-loud snore.
Isla’s lips twitched. She managed to hold in her giggle right up until Sorcha’s laugh filled the air. The sound was freeing and she let loose her own. It seemed an age since she’d laughed and experienced something other than sorrow and concern.
Sorcha’s hand covered hers and she settled her own on top. Their merriment faded.
‘I will miss ye, Isla. I will miss yer goodness and yer laugh.’
Isla swallowed past the lump her friend’s words caused to form in her throat. ‘I will miss yer schemes and yer descriptions.’
‘Ha! Ye are to blame for those. I would never think to describe some of the things ye ask of me.’
Isla grinned. ‘Like how did Callum’s chest look when he came to defend me wearing only a woollen blanket and wielding a fire iron?’
‘His face looked fierce with determination. The hard flesh across his chest shifted in waves as he lifted his arm to defend yer honour. The blanket clung to his lean hips as his—’
‘Stop.’ Isla fanned her hand in front of her face to cool the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘Ye are wicked.’
‘As are ye for asking,’ Sorcha said and laughed. ‘But it does cause me to wonder if my betrothed would look as... memorable if clad in a similar fashion.’
Isla smiled but her senses were caught up in the memory of Callum’s warm skin and solid muscles under her palms, her fingers.
Sorcha’s hand settled over hers. ‘Are ye certain the priory is where ye want to go?’
Despite the warmth of the remembered fire in the priory’s kitchen during her recent visit, a chill awakened low in her belly and spread at the thought of spending the rest of her life within Restenneth’s walls. The inner coldness seeped down into her legs. Isla was grateful she wasn’t standing. The cold continued up and filled her chest at the precise moment an imagined picture of Callum and his bared chest formed in her mind. The chill tangled about her heart.
Spending the rest of her days doing God’s work wasn’t the cause of the chill. Spending the rest of her life without Callum was. He’d made her realise she had the power to enrich other peoples’ lives and wasn’t the constant burden and bother she’d come to believe she was. He’d made her feel beautiful and special and reminded her she was more than a daughter or someone to wed or barter. She was a woman. She had choices. She mattered. All with his kiss.
But she’d bargained with God. She’d given her word. Callum’s life for her dedicating the rest of hers to doing God’s work.
‘Aye, ’tis for the best,’ she finally replied, laying her hand over the top of Sorcha’s. ‘I’ll nae be alone. My uncle will be with me.’ Uncle Norval had come to take her back to the priory with him. ‘We leave tomorrow.’
* * *
‘Ah, ’tis good to see you nae longer need another to ’elp you stand.’
Callum made a final adjustment to his plaid before turning to greet Brother Mirek. ‘’Tis good to be able to stand in one place without the chamber swaying to and fro.’ The friar smiled and nodded. ‘’Tis also good to be wearing more than a blanket. My thanks to you and the others for washing and stitching my clothes.’
Brother Mirek dismissed his gratitude with a flick of his hand. ‘You’re leaving?’
‘Aye.’ It was time to go. Time to meet up with his friends and return to the Borders.
‘You ken the lass and ’er uncle ’ave already gone?’
The muscles in Cal’s stomach clenched and pulled at the stitches of his wound. He’d been doing well trying not to think about Isla.
‘You cannae pretend you dinnae care. A blind man, or woman, could see you ’ad feelings for the lass.’
‘She made her choice.’ And somewhere deep down in the pit of his gut he was happy for Isla, or would be, once he found all the tiny pieces of his shattered heart and pieced it back together. She hadn’t even said goodbye.
‘And now you’ve learned what you came to the Highlands for, what will ye do?’
She hadn’t even given him the chance to tell her the news about his mother. ‘I head for Braemar to meet up with Duff and Adair.’ He wondered if either of his friends had been fortunate, like him, to discover anything about their families.
‘And when you return to the Borders?’
An impossible question to answer when his heart would be with a woman who’d chosen to devote her days to God while living out her days in a priory between Aberdeen and Redheugh Castle.
‘The church is nae my calling.’ Finally knowing he hadn’t been chosen by God as Brother Mirek believed happened to those meant for a life in the church was a relief. ‘Beyond that …’ Callum shrugged and shook his head before meeting the friar’s eye.
‘You ’ave too much to give to spend your life alone. ’ave faith and patience, lad.’
He’d believed Isla was the one who’d been chosen for him. He’d been wrong. His faith concerning a woman meant for him was wearing thin, his patience as threadbare as his well-worn shirt.
But he’d found a good friend in Brother Mirek. A guiding hand much like he wanted to believe his father might have been had he known he had a son. Another revelation Father Beaton had shared before he’d ridden south with his niece, the woman who’d captured and journeyed south with Callum’s heart.
Enough! He’d encouraged Isla to decide what she wanted and she had. He had to respect and accept her choice.
With his gut twisting and writhing in silent knots no one could see, Cal gathered his belongings and headed for the door.
‘I will walk you to the town’s southern gate.’
He wasn’t certain he’d make good company for the friar, but he liked the man and after all Brother Mirek had done for him, he’d not tell him he’d prefer to make the walk alone. He gave a nod over his shoulder and marched through the friary and out the front entrance.
He narrowed his eyes to reduce the sun’s glare as he stepped outside for the first time in five days. Almost a sennight wasted while he lay oblivious instead of using the time to win over Isla. Mungo stood waiting for him, his long black-tipped nose turning in his direction before dismissing Cal with a swish of his black-tipped tail. It appeared his neglect had upset his mount too. But once Cal ran a firm hand around Mungo’s ear and along his solid neck, the beast pushed his nose into his palm, begging for more attention.
Cal secured his sack to the saddle, a space that now looked too large for only him. How long would it be before he rode without feeling the loss of Isla sitting snug between his thighs? How many miles would he have to travel before he once again enjoyed the solitude instead of feeling alone? Right now, he felt as if a part of him were missing. He was suddenly grateful for the friar’s company and pleased to be walking rather than riding.
He gathered his mount’s reins, and with a first and last look at the friary’s outer front entrance, glanced at Brother Mirek, wondering if he knew how well Isla had done to get him there. She must have been afraid, but she’d succeeded. Warmth filled his chest for her. Pity she’d never hea
r how proud her actions made him feel. Cal turned away from the friar’s knowing gaze and started for the gate.
‘’ow is your strength?’
Cal peered down at legs that did not feel like his own. ‘Nae as good as I’d like.’ Something about Brother Mirek made him feel at ease and speak the truth.
‘You should ’ave waited and rested another day.’
‘I am already late.’ He and his friends were to meet in Braemar with a week to spare in late July. They would then travel south together in time to celebrate Lammas, the first day of the wheat harvest with the Elliot clan. Only five days of July remained. ‘I will rest once I’m home.’
Home. Strange he’d never referred to Castle Redheugh as home before. Now he’d searched far and wide, it felt good to finally feel a sense of place for where he’d spent most of his life.
‘The first evening you arrived wounded at the friary,’ Brother Mirek said, as they turned the corner where Isla’s cottage sat at the furthest end of the road, ‘Sorcha’s father was called to deal with certain troubles at the south gate.’
Cal glanced in the direction of the gate they were now heading for and remembered the friar briefly mentioning the troublesome lot.
‘Three local men, all known to Aberdeen’s commander, demanded entry into the town after dark. After the gates were closed.’
The knots in Callum’s gut suddenly tightened. Had Sorcha’s father let them in?
He glanced at the man keeping a steady pace beside him as they neared the end of the street. Brother Mirek met his look, but only briefly, before slowing his steps to a stop and looking pointedly to the right.
Cal stopped as an odd sense of alarm and awareness mingled in his blood, leaving him alert and ready for whatever and whoever was waiting for him.
Dalziel Somers stood beside his horse in front of Isla’s cottage. In that instant Callum was grateful she had left Aberdeen. Her former betrothed was the last person she’d want to be near. The older man was unarmed and was standing as still as stone.
Without taking his eyes off Dalziel, Cal spoke. ‘You knew he would be here?’
‘’e ’as been waiting ’ere from sunup to sundown for two days.’
Since Isla left with her uncle. ‘Waiting for me.’
‘’e wants to talk. Says ’e ’as things ’e needs to tell you.’
Had Morgan survived? The man’s death had never been Callum’s intention, though some might believe he deserved to die. Knowing three men had created a disturbance nights before boded well that Dalziel had been in the company of his son and his bodyguard, Conan.
‘I will keep Mungo company until you’re done.’
Cal released the reins into Brother Mirek’s care, and with one firm stroke along Mungo’s neck with one hand, he curled the fingers of the other about the hilt of the sword at his waist. He walked toward Dalziel. The older man shifted on his feet. He looked nervous. But his gaze remained on Cal’s and his shoulders held high and rigid. He was a proud man. Cal halted when he could clearly see the individual silver threads in the other man’s beard, his curiosity growing about what Dalziel had to say.
‘I have heard many men,’ Dalziel stopped to clear his throat. ‘I have heard many men,’ his voice sounded stronger the second time, ‘most of them men of the cloth, say God works in mysterious ways. Ye, Callum from the Borders, are a true mystery.’
Callum held his guarded expression, refusing to show the surprise the other man’s statement caused. He was the man he was. He was honest and he spoke his mind.
‘Ye are fierce and skilled with yer sword. I have learned ye are a man of honour, a man who keeps his word. Most men I have known with such traits are priests, or friars or men of the cloth. But nae ye.’
Cal wanted to suggest Dalziel change the company of men he had been keeping then for he knew many men with similar traits. But this journey into the Highlands had shown him speaking one’s mind, even if it was honest and true, wasn’t always for the best. He held silent.
‘Morgan—’ Dalziel stopped and swallowed and for the first time since Cal had come to listen, the older man broke his gaze. ‘Morgan told me all that happened of late.’ He paused and swallowed again before meeting Cal’s eye. ‘And of all that happened years ago.’ Regret and pain fractured Dalziel’s words. ‘I am to blame.’
Knowing Dalziel had confronted his son, at Cal’s suggestion, surprised and pleased him.
‘I loved Isobel with everything I was, but in losing her to Thane, years later, in my anger and misery, I lost my son.’ Dalziel slowly shook his head and peered at the ground. ‘I paid more attention to Isla than the son I was blessed to have with another. The son I pushed away and ignored.’
Cal held silent as pity for the man’s mistakes helped ease his grip about the hilt of his weapon.
‘Morgan was wrong to do what he did, but he was driven to it … by me. All he wanted was my attention, but even after Isobel’s death …’ Dalziel stopped and turned his head away.
‘I should never have made a bargain to marry Isla as payment for my silence. Thane was a good man. He deserved a better friend. My son deserves a better father. Isla is like the daughter I never had. She deserves to wed a man who loves her as a husband should.’
Cal’s gut tightened at Dalziel’s last statement. The man was right about Isla and Cal could be that man, that husband who loved her more than life itself. But didn’t he know she’d chosen to marry herself to the church rather than any man?
‘Something I have said touches ye deeply.’
Cal looked up to find Dalziel’s narrowed gaze studying his face. He tightened his jaw, unsure of what he’d revealed with his expression.
‘I sail at dusk and dinnae ken if Morgan or Conan or I will ever return. But before I leave Scotland’s shores, for once in my life I believe I am about to do something right.’
Despite not feeling hostility from the older man, Cal’s grip about the hilt of his sword tightened and he silently wished his legs felt stronger than they presently did. But Dalziel didn’t know of his lack of strength and never would. Cal had obviously revealed too much already and would now pay for his lapse.
‘From the moment ye gave Isla over into my care at the priory until the moment ye came to fetch her at the inn, the lass spoke of nothing but ye. Nae once did she say she was afeared of what was going to happen to her. Nae once did she beg to be released.’
Cal fought hard to keep his own confusion from his face. He had no clue as to where Dalziel’s conversation was heading, or what the purpose of his words were.
‘Now, having time to think on it, I am pleased Isla didn’t see me as the monster I had become. All due to losing the woman I loved to another man. I dinnae ken if it would have been more difficult or easier to lose her to the church rather than a man, especially if I didn’t believe she was suited or meant for such a life. Here is my advice to ye, advice I wish someone had given to me.
‘She’s made her choice, but ride after her and see her one more time. Ask her if she is certain and tell her why ye ask. Tell her ye love her. Then let her decide. Ye may never have the chance again.’
Chapter 20
Cal slowed Mungo’s galloping pace to a stop and dismounted at the dip in the path that now seemed familiar. His heart still thundered in his chest at the thought of what he planned to do and all he needed to say to Isla once he reached the priory. She and her uncle would have reached their destination at least a day before, but the uncertainties plaguing Cal grew larger and more real the further he rode south.
Dalziel’s advice was sound. He needed to ensure she knew exactly how he felt about her. He needed to tell her he loved her. His heart clenched in his chest. Not at the thought of speaking the truth but in fear of her still choosing a life in the church over him. Not knowing would be worse.
He climbed the small rise that led to the inn where he’d decided to stop and let his mount have a short rest and a drink. Deep down in his gut he knew he was hesitating. He
could make the journey to Restenneth before full dark, but his lack of confidence in himself was holding him back. He needed to conquer his fear. He needed to know if Isla loved him too.
‘One short stop and we ride until we reach the priory.’ He spoke the words to his mount, as if they were for Mungo, but in truth they were to bolster his own courage. He peered ahead at the inn and slowed his steps at the unexpected sight that greeted him.
The sun’s lowering light splashed the long sandstone building gold and brightened the dark skirts of the woman currently dangling out of the inn’s small window. The very same window he and Isla had slipped out of to avoid being caught by Dalziel and Conan. His heart seized at the thought of Isla trying to escape alone. But Cal had just left the men they’d been fleeing from in Aberdeen. She’d made this journey with her uncle. Who could she possibly be running from now?
And then he saw the tall figure leaning up against one corner of the inn. Arms folded across his broad chest, the tip of his sword glinting from beneath the hem of his black robe. Why was she running from her uncle and why was he standing by watching her?
Cal drew closer as Isla stretched her booted toes toward the ground. Norval Beaton glanced his way and straightened away from the wall. He must have recognised Cal for he beckoned him to come closer with his hand but immediately placed a finger against his lips signalling for him to approach quietly.
He dropped Mungo’s reins, knowing his horse would stay in that spot, and continued closer on his own. He headed to the left of the inn, the opposite side to where Father Beaton stood and downwind from where Isla finally stumbled to the ground.
With a soft grunt and several uncertain steps backward, she righted her balance and he heard her draw a breath and release it.
The Saint Page 20
