by Quinn, Paula
A loud cough echoed against the walls. Alex jerked his head around to find young Kenneth standing on the threshold looking sheepish.
“Do ye wish to pray?” Alex asked.
“Nae,” Kenneth replied. “The MacAedh sent me to fetch ye to the keep. He awaits ye in the great hall.”
Recalling Domnall’s warning about crossing MacAedh, Alex swallowed hard. It appeared his hour of reckoning had come. Murmuring another short prayer, Alex rose and prepared to accept his penance for kissing Sibylla. Would he be sent away now? Avoiding her would be impossible. He’d already tried and failed. It was no good pretending. Whether MacAedh ordered it or not, he must leave Kilmuir. It was the only possible course.
*
Arriving at the great hall, Alex was surprised to discover a familiar black-robed figure seated with MacAedh at the high table. How could this be? He hadn’t even sent his letter yet! Was the abbot’s appearance an answer from God? He froze at the entrance. “Faither Gregor?”
The old priest turned and his weathered face broke into a smile. He rose and extended his arms. “Alexander! How do ye fare, my lad?”
“I am well,” Alex replied as the priest took him into an embrace. “And ye?”
“Much fatigued from my journey but I am blessed by the sight of ye,” the old man replied.
“Ye have indeed come a long way,” Alex said. He looked about expectantly but the abbot appeared to be alone. “Do ye travel unaccompanied?”
“Aye,” the abbot replied with a sigh. “My mission is a personal one and I have much farther still to go. I am thankful for the hospitality of such a generous host.” He looked to MacAedh who answered with a grin.
“A second man of God has comes to Kilmuir? I must wonder if there is a message in this.”
“The chapel of Kilmuir has been devoid of a priest for far too long,” Father Gregor chided.
MacAedh shrugged. “Perhaps ye are right, but I have become wary of Cenn Mór wolves in priest’s clothing. Come and sit, lad.” MacAedh urged Alex to join them at the table. He refilled his and the priest’s cup and then poured another for Alex.
Raising it to parched lips, Alex took a long swallow only to be assaulted by the sensation of liquid fire in his throat. “What is this?” he sputtered.
MacAedh eyed the abbot and then threw his head back with a laugh. “Have ye ne’er sample Uisge-beatha?”
“Nae,” Alex replied. “What is in it?”
“’Tis, the water of life, a drink of malted barley,” MacAedh answered.
Alex set the cup down and pushed it away in distaste. “Have ye ale or mead perhaps?”
“Give it moment lad,” MacAedh grinned. “Ye will come to appreciate the drink.”
Even as the thane spoke, Alex felt the fire diminish to a welcoming warmth that first pooled in his stomach and then slowly stretched its fingers outward to his limbs. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all. He reached for his cup and took a smaller sip.
“Where are ye bound?” MacAedh asked the abbot.
“I go to Dunkeld Abbey for a meeting of the abbots. Rumors abound that the king has sent for a bishop of Rome to conduct a full inquisition of the monasteries.”
“An inquisition?” Alex asked. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“He fears for his eternal soul if he does nae reconcile us with Rome before his passing. Just as the Pope believes apostasy in his own ranks was the reason the last crusade failed, David Cenn Mór is convinced that his trials as king are punishment for not bringing the Highland kirk into the arms of the Holy Catholic Church. He is determined to purge the land of heresy before he leaves this earth—starting with the Céilí Dé.”
The Céilí Dé, translated as companions of God, had established many early Christian settlements that dotted the Highland landscape. These were still governed by fiercely independent men who pledged their allegiance only to God. Their self-rule was well known to be a thorn in the king’s side.
MacAedh snorted. “’Tis nae enough that David feudalizes our land. Now he would even make our kirk a vassal of Rome?”
“There is far more in what ye say than I like,” the priest replied soberly. “There is great uncertainty in the fate of our monasteries.” He paused. “Many of the abbots fear what will be if they refuse to conform.”
“Surely ye dinna fear for yer position—“Alex said. He wondered what he would do if he were in the abbot’s place.
The priest shrugged. “’Tis only speculation at present, but I go south to learn the truth of it. Which leads to my second purpose in coming here.” Father Gregor laid a heavily veined and ink-stained hand on Alex’s knee. “I’d hoped to give ye more time, lad, but ye must begin to consider yer own future.”
Alex’s heart raced in apprehension. “Ye speak of my vows?”
“Aye.” The priest nodded. “I dinna encourage ye to return to Portmahomack, unless it is truly where God is leading ye.”
“I have many questions, Faither Gregor,” Alex replied. “Questions about my family.”
The priest looked to MacAedh. “Have ye have told him?”
“Aye. What little I ken,” MacAedh replied. “But the lad deserves to hear all of it.”
MacAedh set down his cup and rose from the table. “Ye have much to discuss between ye that doesna involve me. I will leave ye in peace.”
Alex and the abbot sat in silence for several minutes after MacAedh departed the great hall. Alex tried to gather his scattered thoughts but found his mind muddled.
“Why did ye nae tell me before about my faither?” Alex asked.
“For yer own safety, I was vowed nae to speak of it,” he replied. “But I had faith that all would be revealed to ye in God’s good time.”
“Did ye send me here for another reason than tutoring?” Alex asked.
“Aye,” Father Gregor confessed. “In truth, ’twas nae MacAedh’s idea for ye to come here, but mine. Ye needed to experience another life and I trusted MacAedh nae to betray ye.”
Father Gregor had all but admitted he’d sent Alex to Kilmuir under false pretenses.
“Why?” Alex asked.
“Because ye have the right to ken who ye are. Whether ye choose to acknowledge it or nae, ye are, indeed, the grandson of King Alexander, and as such have a legitimate claim to the throne of Scotland. The time will come soon that ye must decide whether to serve the king of all kings, or to seek yer own earthly crown.”
He’d never understood why the abbot had discouraged him from taking his vows once he’d turned eighteen, as other novices had done. It was because he knew all of this! Alex jerked to his feet and began pacing. “And now I dinna ken what to think or what to do!”
“’Tis a heavy burden, indeed,” Father Gregor replied. “I would have saved ye from this if I could have. Come lad, let us walk out of doors,” the priest urged. “I find far greater peace walking in God’s creation than enclosed by the walls of man.”
They exited the keep and crossed the courtyard, past the kitchen garden and the armory to a sea gate leading down to the firth. The two men perched on a boulder and stared out at the inlet. They had fallen into a long silence. Alex’s body was restless and tense but he willed himself to exercise patience. The answers would be forthcoming when the abbot was ready to speak.
“How much do ye remember from before?” Father Gregor finally broke the silence.
“Nae much,” Alex replied. He recalled very little of his childhood before arriving at Portmahomack, and almost nothing of his sire. “I was verra young and now it’s been so long that all becomes hazy. I ken that my máthair’s name was Annis, and that we once lived at a place called Fettercairn. I remember the castle, the forest, the river. I remember playing with other children. I can vaguely picture my máthair’s face but I dinna ken much of my faither. He was often away and my máthair was always fretful and sad.”
“Aye. She would have been, poor lass.” The priest shook his head sadly. “Fettercairn is in Mearns.” Father Gregor continu
ed. “Ye were born there. ’Twas I who baptized ye. I was also the parish priest who performed the marriage rites between yer máthair and faither. I knew Malcolm Mac Alexander since he was a wee lad. He grew to be a braw man—smart, strong, ambitious, but he bore the taint of illegitimacy.”
“My faither was a bastard?”
“Nae.” The priest shook his balding head. “He wasna. The marriage between yer grandsire, King Alexander and yer grandmother who was a daughter of the Mormaer of Mar was consecrated by the Scottish kirk.”
“I dinna understand. How could my faither be illegitimate?” Alex asked.
“Because King Alexander gave in to pressure from Henry of England. After marrying Alexander’s sister, Henry desired to strengthen his dynasty by placing one of his own bloodline on the Scottish throne. He proposed a marriage between King Alexander and one of his own bastard daughters. Though he was already wed, Alexander agreed to put away his Highland wife on the pretext that the marriage was nae consecrated by the Pope.”
“So my faither was declared illegitimate to remove him from the line of succession?”
“Aye.” the priest replied grimly. “’Twas a violation to the covenant of marriage. God Himself commands that no man put asunder the holy bonds of wedlock. But kings are often wont to place themselves above the commands of God.”
“What happened to Alexander’s Scottish wife?” Alex asked.
“He put her away in a convent and then sent yer faither to be raised by his máthair’s kinsmen in Mar. Though he’d disowned him he still heeded his son’s protection. Yer faither was a proud man who was determined to claim the birthright that was denied him. When King Alexander passed with no heir from the new union, he saw his chance. His Highland kinsmen rallied to his cause, but Henry of England backed his new protégé, David Cenn Mór. The Highland nobles rose up in support of yer faither with a force of ten thousand men, but David Cenn Mór had the backing of the English and defeated them with a great slaughter.”
“What befell my faither?” Alex asked. “I ken now that he was betrayed, but what became of him?”
“Only two people ken for certain,” the priest replied slowly. “The king and Eachann of Mearns, but no one has spoken of him these last seventeen years.”
“And my máthair?” Alex pressed. “What do ye ken of her?”
“She was the daughter of MacLeon of Mearns, the man who killed King Duncan. Yer faither wed her to gain the forfeited MacLeon lands but then fell in love with her and swore to make her queen of all Scotland.”
“Do ye ken what became of her?” Alex asked. “Does she still live?”
Father Gregor shook his head sadly. “To win favor with the king, her brother promised her in marriage to a Norman.”
“Marriage?” Alex searched the priest’s face. “But she was already wed to my faither. Surely she wouldna have done such a thing if he lived.”
“She was given little choice, so she chose her own destiny,” he replied softly.
Alex’s heart raced. “What are ye saying?”
“The anguished lass cast herself from the cliffs of Castle Dunnottar.” Father Gregor made the sign of the cross.
Alex was dumbstruck. “She took her own life? That was why she ne’er sent for me?”
“Aye, lad.”
Alex turned his face to the sea, gazing out at the waves cresting and crashing on the shore. His kind, loving, and beautiful mother had come to such a state of despair that she’d thrown herself to her death? His heart wrenched as he shut his eyes on the image of his mother’s lifeless body dashed against the rocks under the dark shadow of Dunnottar. The vision that brought on a swell of emotion so great it threatened to drown him. The mixture of anger, frustration and grief were a physical pain so profound that his body shook with the effort to contain it.
’Twas all his uncle’s doing! God damn him! God damn him to the infernal gates of hell!
Alex felt the abbot’s approach and then a bony hand resting on his shoulder. “Be ye assured that those who have sinned against ye will one day be accountable to God. Ye must find peace in this truth, Alexander.”
“I canna!” Alex wrenched away. “There will be no peace for my soul until justice is done. I will see my máthair and faither avenged. I swear it.” Alex didn’t know how, or where, or when, but he would not rest until he saw Eachann of Mearns punished for his crimes.
“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” the abbot softly quoted. “I urge ye to submit to the Lord and seek His guidance in this matter.”
“I have prayed much of late in search of His will and He answered by sending ye,” Alex replied. “Now I dinna ken what to think.”
“Be patient,” the priest advised. “And He will reveal His will.”
Father Gregor said nothing more as he and Alex climbed the hill back to the castle. Alex appreciated the old man’s sensitivity. Dusk had cast its long shadows over the keep by the time Alex and the abbot returned.
“Do ye depart in the morn?” Alex asked.
“Aye,” the abbot replied. “After Lauds.”
“Then I will see ye in the chapel,” Alex promised.
The priest raised a bushy brow. “Ye dinna sup with us?”
“I have no appetite,” Alex replied. Food was the last thing on his mind. His stomach was still in knots. He also had no desire for polite conversation or merriment while his spirit was in deep mourning. It would take time to reconcile his thoughts and emotions. For now he needed silence and solitude.
“I ken ye need time alone, lad,” the abbot said. “I’ll make yer excuses to MacAedh.”
“Thank ye, Faither,” Alex replied. “And thank ye for finally sharing the truth.”
“Ye must nae let the worm of vengeance eat its way into yer heart, lad,” the priest warned. “If ye do, ’twill surely destroy ye.” On those words, he turned toward the keep.
After parting company with the abbot, Alex returned to his room but sleep eluded him. Time and again, his mind conjured the hazy memories of his mother and father. Having never closed his eyes, Alex rose hours before dawn to join Father Gregor in the chapel for Lauds. After the hour together in prayer, they returned to the keep where Father Gregor prepared to take his leave.
“Would ye like me to send a man to accompany ye to Dunkeld?” MacAedh asked. “The roads are unsafe for a lone traveler.”
“Nae, lad,” Father Gregor replied with a shake of his head. “’Tis safe enough for me. ’Twould be a desperate robber, indeed, to molest a penniless abbot with only a sack of day old bannocks and a skin full of ale.”
“Nevertheless, there are those who would take it and leave ye naked by the wayside,” MacAedh warned.
“If any man is in greater need of my possession than I, he may have them,” Father Gregor replied.
“Ye would just give them up without a fight?” MacAedh asked.
“Without a thought,” the old man corrected. “The Lord has always provided all of my needs.”
Though the priest protested, MacAedh nevertheless insisted on providing a horse and a generous provision of food for the journey, but Father Gregor still refused the offer of an escort.
“I would go with ye,” Alex volunteered. It made little sense to remain at Kilmuir. Continuing his work with Domnall seemed a fruitless pursuit. Any headway he’d made had been damaged by his growing bond with Sibylla.
“Nae, lad,” the priest replied. “’Tis best ye remain here for the nonce. I will pass by again on my return in a fortnight. We will talk more of yer future then.”
My future. Alex’s spirit was growing increasingly uneasy. It seemed his future, as well as that of the monastery were both uncertain, but he had no choice but to wait on the abbot’s return. Alex assisted the old man into the saddle and watched after him long after he departed through the castle gates.
“Did ye find the answers ye seek?” MacAedh softly asked.
“Some,” Alex replied. “But it only led to more questions. I am much unsettled by it. How
did ye deal with yer brother’s death?” he asked.
“I was much younger than he. Too young to join the fight, though I would have done so, if allowed. Angus was my hero. I mourned him. I still mourn him.”
“Do ye ever yearn for vengeance?” Alex asked.
“Yearn?” MacAedh’s lips formed a grim smile. “I live for the day.”
“The scriptures tell us that vengeance belongs to God alone.”
“That may be,” MacAedh replied, “But the Lord oft works His will through His ready servants. I have waited a long time with much patience. When the time comes, I will be both ready and willing.”
Chapter Nine
Sibylla awoke to a cacophony of sounds—horses whinnying and men shouting. Eager to know the source of the tumult, she leapt from bed and strode to the window where she flung open the shutter. Six men were dismounting in the stable yard below. Their horses were lathered and spent, and the riders didn’t look much better.
Ailis and Fiona, tousled and rubbing sleep from their eyes joined her at the window. “Who are they?” Ailis asked as three of the lads materialized to take charge of the horses.
“I dinna ken,” Sibylla answered. The men were travel-stained, but rode quality horses, and judging by the bulging saddle bags, they were men of wealth.
“I have seen none of them before. Have ye?”
“Nae,” Ailis answered.
Sibylla craned out of the window for a better view but the men’s faces had turned away. She could catch only snatches of Gaelic and another dialect she couldn’t comprehend.
“I think they must have come from the Isles,” Ailis said after a time. “I have heard their tongue afore.”
“Do ye suppose they are just passing through on their way to the gathering at Inverness?” Sibylla asked.
“Nae,” Ailis said. “The Lord of the Isles is no vassal of David Cenn Mór. There is no reason for Somerled to send his men to Inverness.”
“Do ye suppose Uncle invited them?” Sibylla continued speculating on the scene below.
As if in answer, MacAedh himself strode out to greet the men—arms open wide. But after a few words were exchanged, the smile vanished from his face. Whatever news they carried was obviously not as well received as the messengers themselves.
