“What?” This was too much. “Have you already forgotten? In addition to your felonious background, I see you also suffer from lapses of memory. I did not try to harm you. I saved you.”
“You call crushing my skull beneath the hooves of your horse ‘saving’?”
“Hooves can be far less painful than a sword in the back.”
“For you, perhaps,” she muttered.
“Don’t make me sorry I saved your neck.”
“Now it’s my neck you’ve saved.”
Alec glared for a moment at the hooded figure.
“Ebon was not even close,” he continued. “However, if your head had been crushed, you would not be here standing and arguing.”
“Oh, so it bothers you to have a person accuse you–”
“Aye, when I’m being unjustly accused of crushing someone’s skull.”
“It’s all the same. You tried.”
Alec stared for a moment at the fiery creature before him. He could not see her eyes, but he could feel the sparks of wit flying out at him from the dark recesses of the cloak. He shook his head, and amusement crept into his features.
“Your gratitude overwhelms me...not to mention your manners.” He smiled, placing the hood over Swift’s eyes.
“I am sorry, m’lord,” Fiona responded immediately, “if I do not measure up to what you are accustomed to–mainland peasant manners!”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” Alec quipped nonchalantly. “You measure up.”
Fiona stared up at the bird. Lord Macpherson might represent absolute worldly authority on this island, but even so, she was unwilling to allow him the last word. Nonetheless, she could not go on with this.
She needed to get back to the Priory. Fiona looked around for her bag and saw it lying beneath the front hoof of the great black beast.
Alec watched as she moved to Ebon and shoved with two hands at the shoulder of the massive charger. The horse’s ears flicked back, and the animal lifted his hoof as the woman snatched her satchel from the ground. She looked inside and stamped her foot before whirling on him. Clearly she was ready to say something to him, and Alec waited with interest. But instead of words, the woman dumped the shattered contents of her bag at his feet. Then, without further ceremony, she turned away from him, throwing the bag over her shoulder.
“Good day, m’lord,” she said dismissively, striding toward the woods on the far side of the meadow.
Fiona couldn’t help but smile as she moved through the grass. Of all the qualities David had mentioned in his description of the new laird to the prioress—and to Fiona—he had not brought up his incredible arrogance. The man was nearly impossible, but she, in this encounter at least, had more than matched him. The prioress, though, would surely be shocked if she knew Fiona had even met the laird—never mind the tone she had used with him. Fiona knew that, even though she had never met him, the prioress thought Lord Macpherson a gem. Day in and day out for the past few months, Fiona and the prioress had heard David go on and on about the virtues of this man.
“It is a good thing David never mentioned humility,” she murmured to herself. “Humility is still a virtue, I believe.”
“Then why don’t you practice it?” Fiona jumped at the sound of the voice over her shoulder. Stopping and turning abruptly, she found herself looking directly at the massive chest of the giant, who nimbly halted just short of barreling her over. The falcon was still on one wrist, the black charger trailing along in the grass.
Her next words caught in her throat. She had not expected to find him following her. Now his close presence stunned her into silence. She felt her heart begin to race at the excitement his nearness evoked in her, and this continuing response confused her momentarily. After all, she had encountered many men in her years at the Priory—she had never been cloistered. The Priory had always been shelter to travelers and those in need of protection from the fierce MacLeod clan chief. And she had for years brought what comfort she could to the men, women, and children of the leper community hidden away in the forests of Skye. But with all of that, never had a man’s closeness caused such a reaction in her. In truth, though, she had also never been so close to a warrior, to a laird.
Fiona shook her head to clear it of these unwarranted notions and backed away uncertainly.
“Why are you following me, m’lord?” she asked huskily, looking at the ground between them.
Alec watched her for a long moment before answering.
“Two reasons,” he responded finally, trying to draw her eyes upward to him. “First, I told you that I would accompany you to your destination...unless you would care to accompany me to Dunvegan. And second, I wanted to return these.”
Fiona hesitated, then looked up quickly. Lord Macpherson was holding the rosary beads in his outstretched hand. She reached up and took them from him, but not before he snatched her hand, turning it and holding it palm up for the briefest of moments.
For a fleeting moment Alec got a glimpse of a beautiful face and uncertain eyes that glanced up at him. Then, as her head lowered, he considered the perfect white hand that had taken the beads from him. They were not the callused working hands they should have been. He smiled. Whoever she was, she was no peasant. Almost in spite of himself, Alec found himself wanting to know more.
His eyes are blue, she realized. They were the same deep azure color as the sky above the Cuillins’ peaks. And for Fiona they were as full of mystery—and as alluring—as the Cuillins themselves.
“Umm...well...thank you, m’lord,” Fiona said haltingly. Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest. This was becoming quite difficult. She needed to get away. She was losing control of the moment; she was losing control of herself, of her very thoughts.
She also had to get back before the prioress really began to worry. “I...I honestly do not need your help. Please believe that.”
“Regardless of what you say, your options have not changed,” Alec said sternly. “Which is it? Dunvegan or...wherever it is you’re going?”
Fiona paused, weighing her options.
“If you must know, I am going to the Priory...for medicine,” she said, standing in front of the towering figure. “But are you not at all afraid of my sickness? One of those men back there said I have the plague. The other lepers said the same thing. Does that not concern you?”
“No!”
“Why not?” Fiona asked, taking in a deep wheezing breath and preparing to unleash one of her well-practiced coughing fits.
“Stop that counterfeit cough right now,” he ordered. “Don’t you know you could hurt yourself coughing like that?”
“I cannot help—”
Alec reached with his free hand and grabbed her by the shoulder. His action shocked her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. Into those dangerous blue eyes.
It was the first time Alec looked directly into her hazel eyes. They were the color of the ocean on a summer day. Alec saw within them the same power of the depths that had frightened him for so long...until he had learned to master his fear. But these eyes also drew him on, enticing and yet challenging him.
“You may be able to gull ignorant dolts like those three fools,” the warlord said quietly, “but I have seen enough of the plague to know you don’t have it. And as for your...other acting, you are neither peasant nor leper.”
Fiona found herself admiring his features. The long lashes and the stern set of his jaw. And then, as if suddenly remembering who she was, who he was, Fiona became aware of his hand on her shoulder. His hold was anything but gentle.
“I don’t have to tell you who I am,” Fiona whispered determinedly.
“No, you don’t. But your options—”
“They’re not my choices. They are yours. Why don’t you just let me be? Why don’t you go?”
“I’m through arguing with you, woman.” His voice was now authoritative, commanding. “I’m tired of giving you choices. We’re going to—”
“Fine,” she said, in
terrupting quietly. “The Priory. But we must go now.”
From the hard edge in his tone, she knew he meant every word.
The warrior released his grip on her shoulder, and as she turned toward the wide path leading through the woods, Alec wondered what had come over him to take hold of her in that way. She definitely had gotten under his skin. That was it. Why, she’d come very close to riling his temper.
For some time they walked together in silence, each deeply involved in thoughts and the mystery of the other. But the sounds of the spring woods broke into their individual musing, lightening their thoughts the farther they went.
Quite soon the forest gave way to open fields. A shepherd drove a flock of sheep past the two travelers. No doubt on his way to the pond in the meadow. The warrior thought the lad was about to speak to the hooded figure, but on recognizing Alec, the shepherd started uneasily and said nothing, moving cautiously to the other side of his flock.
They were now on Priory lands, Alec realized.
From what he had learned, these lands and all those areas administered by the Church had always been spared the customary violence and looting supposedly controlled by, but actually conducted by, Torquil MacLeod and his men. Rumor had it that Torquil was actually afraid of the prioress’ wrath and had kept his men away. From the looks of the carefully plotted fields and the hedged pasture land, Alec thought that the area showed a prosperity that only years of peaceful industry could produce.
On various occasions since his arrival Alec had had occasion to meet the prioress’ brother David at Dunvegan, and he liked the man. It was from him that Alec had learned of the nun’s iron rule and the respect that she was able to instill in all. It was perhaps because of this that she had, for many years, continued to be a beacon of hope for the people of Skye...and Alec meant to keep it that way.
“Have you ever chanced to meet the prioress?” he asked, breaking the silence and casting a look at the woman beside him.
Fiona fought back a wry smile. “Aye, Lord Macpherson, once or twice.”
“You seem to know who I am, but I still do not really know who you...are,” he said, stumbling over the last word as the woman’s hood fell back, revealing for the first time the full extent of her beauty. Beneath the hood she wore a linen veil that only partially concealed the stunning waves of red hair framing a face of perfect proportion and complexion. The hazel eyes, the straight nose, the full lips, and the sculpted chin...enough to distract any man, but there was something else about her. He was certain that today was the first time they’d met, but he felt he knew her. His mind told him so. But where? How?
“No, m’lord?” Fiona responded. “How curious! You seem to know well enough who I am not!”
She looked straight ahead at the path when the warrior turned his gaze on her.
“I thought this morning you were a fairy,” Alec said. “Crossing my path and then disappearing in a wisp of misty air.”
Fiona shot a quick look at the warlord. “I can see the old wives’ tales of our island have made an impression on you.”
“Aye, but you are clearly very real,” Alec continued, admiring the color that was lingering on her cheek. He studied the perfect beauty of her face. His eyes lingered on the heavy drape of her cloak, obviously worn to hide a slender body. “Now I am beginning to think you are more like my falcon Swift.
“Are you, m’lord?”
“Aye. Each of you wears a hood, but I should tell you that hood does little to hide what is beneath. In fact, I believe it only served to get in your way when you tried to fly across that meadow back there. Swift, as you saw, flies quite well without her hood.”
“Swift flies when you allow her to,” Fiona said pointedly. “Her freedom is a matter of your whim, m’lord.”
“Her desires and mine are not so far apart,” he answered. “Why do you think she returns to my wrist?”
“I can’t imagine.” She smiled. In spite of her feelings about captive birds, in spite of her feelings about everything, Fiona was beginning to feel quite comfortable as they got nearer to the Priory. But looking up at his strong profile, Fiona felt a pulse-quickening thrill race through her. She turned her eyes to the path ahead, forcing herself to ignore the unexpected emotions that were drawing her attention from his words. But she could not ignore this sudden glow of happiness that was stealing through her.
“Because she knows that the hood is only worn temporarily and she trusts me.” Alec threw a quick glance at the lass. “Not to mention the simple fact that she...well, clearly enjoys my company.”
“Is that so?” Fiona laughed. It was the first time he had heard her laugh, and Alec liked the sound of it. “Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, m’lord, but your falcon and I are not so much alike.”
“You don’t enjoy my company? My charming wit? My courtesy? My manly good looks?”
“Nay, m’lord,” she answered, pausing for effect and suppressing a laugh before continuing. Lord Macpherson was well aware of his own charms, Fiona thought. “Actually, what I meant is that, unlike your falcon, my hood is permanent.”
“Nothing is permanent,” he said, but suddenly he grew serious, his thoughts recalling the events in his own recent past. On things he had once truly believed to be permanent.
“The vows of the convent are not just permanent, m’lord. They are eternal.”
Shaken from his own thoughts by her statement, Alec whirled to look at her. He was not even sure he’d heard her correctly. A nun! Instantly he retraced in his mind the events and the conversation of the morning. Turning his attention to the path ahead, he could not help dwelling for a moment on his own attraction to this nun, and it made him feel strangely uncomfortable. And what exactly had he said to her? A nun!
Fiona peered up at the man walking beside her and smiled. This warlord, sent to control the wilds of Scotland’s Outer Hebrides, suddenly looked like a schoolboy. First shock, then a flush of embarrassment registered on his face, then his features tightened into a scowl of displeasure. When he directed this glare back to her, Fiona looked away. What a wonderfully unexpected response, she thought. She should have tried this sooner.
When Alec did speak, though, his voice was anything but angry.
“So you live at the Priory?” he asked in as cordial a tone as he could muster.
“Aye, m’lord.”
“Then why do you dress this way?”
“To tend the sick.”
“Have you been at the Priory long?”
“Aye, m’lord. As long as I can remember.”
“And you are not sick in any way?”
“No, m’lord,” Fiona responded sweetly, turning her bright eyes on him. She gave him a brilliant smile. “But thank you for asking.”
Alec’s heart pounded in response. Her eyes and her smile could bewitch a man
“Tell me,” Alec asked after a moment, “do they still teach religion at the Priory?”
“Naturally.”
“And they teach the value of virtue?”
“Aye, indeed they do, m’lord.”
“Are meekness, truthfulness, and obedience still considered virtues?”
“Absolutely, m’lord.”
“Then are you not...are not all the nuns of your Priory expected to practice them?”
Smiling to herself, Fiona thought back over the morning’s events. Of her forwardness, of the tales she’d told, of her bland refusal to obey his simplest commands.
“Nay, m’lord. That is a different order.”
Coming over a rise, the two saw the walls of the Priory rise up in the distance. A huddle of huts formed a neat village at its gates, and the smoke of the morning fires hung comfortably in the air above. A brown and white dog ran out from a pen beside the closest cottage, and his friendly barks blended with the rhythmic hammering of the smith already hard at work in the forge. The smell of roasting mutton reached Alec, and the stirring in his belly reminded him that he hadn’t anything to eat today.
T
he folk of the village directed surprised looks at the two as they walked along the lane that led to the gates of the Priory, and Alec did not wonder at their interest or their surprise. He had been encountering the same looks in other villages for the past four months.
The gates that led through the high wall surrounding the buildings and the church comprising the Priory were open, and when the two entered, an ancient blue-robed porter carrying a long and stout staff hobbled over, nodding his yellowed mane at the warlord and directing a warm and toothless smile at Fiona. She touched his hand affectionately as they passed.
“As I told ye, lassie, no rain,” he chuckled. “Nary a drop.”
“Aye, James.” She smiled. “A fine morning.”
Alec looked around at the orderly plan of the Priory grounds, at the church directly ahead, and at the stables and guest quarters to the left, with a small orchard rising behind. To the right, the chapter house, with its business offices and school, and what he assumed to be the nuns’ quarters beyond. Alec could see the smoke rising from what must be a kitchen building behind the living quarters, and he guessed there was probably a well-tended garden behind that. Between the nun’s quarters and the church, paths of white crushed shells crisscrossed a small quadrangle of greensward, cultivated herbs, and flowers. Neat, efficient, and pleasant, Alec thought approvingly.
His eyes had no sooner taken in the buildings and grounds than a young boy came racing and whooping across from the stables. The warrior watched the lad come full tilt, never slowing a whit and throwing himself into the embrace of the young nun. She stumbled a step back to keep from falling down but quickly regained her footing, hugging the child tightly to her.
“Sorry, Malcolm. I know you’ve been wait—”
“The prioress is angry. She is so mad at you,” the boy blurted out. “She went right to the chapter house after Mass this morning. She would not even talk to the chaplain. She—”
“Hush,” Fiona soothed, crouching before the boy as she glanced nervously in the direction of the chapter house. “I’ll take care of it.”
Angel of Skye Page 5
