Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  He raised the blackened iron knocker on the cloister gate and rapped it twice.

  Not long and a monk slid open the viewing panel. “Yes?”

  “Sean MacDougall here, Chieftain of Dunollie. I’ve come to meet the Lord of Lorn, has he arrived as of yet?”

  “Afraid not.” The monk moved to shut the screen.

  Sean thrust the hilt of his dirk into the opening before it closed. “Then perhaps I may have a word with the prior. John Campbell and I were boyhood friends.”

  A single eye peered through the gap. “I shall inquire if he is able to receive visitors.”

  The monk slid the panel closed. To Sean’s surprise, the hinges on the big black gate creaked. When the door opened, the monk gestured to a bench in the cloister, walled on one side, hedged by a row of trimmed holly on the other. “Wait here.”

  Sean sat as directed. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, folded his arms, whistled a tune and then he stood. Not one to be idle, he paced. Behind the hedge someone chuckled. A woman’s voice.

  He peered over the shrubbery but saw no one. Only a few steps from the courtyard entrance, he walked to the break in the hedge and peeked around. A woman wrapped in blankets sat on a bench directly opposite from where Sean had been sitting. She wore a plain white veil atop her head and was looking down—in fact she was reading.

  The book must have been interesting because her shoulders shook as if she might be laughing. If only he could see the joy upon her face, he’d enjoy a good laugh himself.

  The woman’s hands trembled and she slowly reached to turn the page—as if she were very old—though her fine-boned hands appeared smooth and ageless. Her shoulders tensed as she struggled to grasp the vellum. Sean cringed at her effort.

  What illness afflicts the lass?

  When she finally had the page turned, the blasted thing flipped back the other way.

  “Argh.” The agony in her voice clawed at Sean’s heart.

  He strode forward and plucked the book from her fingers. “Please. Allow me.”

  The woman gasped as if she’d been accosted.

  Sean glanced at her face and froze. In that instant, his heart stopped, his mouth dried and his stomach plummeted to his toes.

  He knew her. Cared for her. But something was terribly wrong. In that moment, she appeared so vexed and more so, stricken by horror. Christ, she was so skeletally thin, but he could never mistake the pair of mossy green eyes encircled by rings of navy blue.

  He swallowed. “Gyllis?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

  She quickly averted her face. “Go away.”

  “It is you.” Sean knelt beside her. “My God, what happened?”

  Her shoulders tensed and she moved a trembling hand to block her face, seemingly afraid of catching a disease from him.

  He wanted to place his palm upon her shoulder, but stopped himself by clutching the book tighter. “You’re so frail and thin.” He cast his mind back. “Yet a mere two months have passed since Beltane…”

  “Please, return my book and leave me be.”

  Why was she being so despondent? They were friends—more than friends, for the love of God. “Will you not look at me—tell me what ails you?”

  She snapped her head around, tears welling in her eyes. Unimaginable pain and anguish stretched her features. “Must you taunt me?”

  The words came out as if she’d slapped him. “I would never do that.” He knelt beside her. “Tell me what happened…why are you here?”

  The fire that flashed through her eyes was akin to hate. What suffering had caused such bitterness? “As if you would care about me, Sean MacDougall. I’ll not have you make a mockery of me, not ever again.” Her voice choked. “Go. Live your life and forget I ever existed.”

  Sean reached for her hand and squeezed. A mockery? Not ever again? She couldn’t possibly mean that? He’d always adored Gyllis, always thought of her as his… He blinked successively. Why was she acting thus? “Please—”

  “Sir Sean.” A monk hastened toward him, brown robes billowing. “The Lord of Lorn has arrived. He’s asked to meet with you at once.”

  “I must go.” Sean regarded Gyllis and placed the book on her lap. “I’d like to visit you again.”

  She stared at the volume. “’Tis best if you did not.”

  Sean’s heart twisted with her every bitter word. Never had she been discourteous toward him. Why did Lorn have to be in such a damned hurry? He would have liked to find out more, but presently the lass proved none too eager to talk.

  He pursed his lips and grasped her hand. Bowing his head, he pondered at the frailty of the fingers in his palm, whilst he savored her sweet fragrance. It had always captivated him. Closing his eyes, he pictured the Gyllis he knew—the lass with the free spirit and easy laugh. He placed a gentle kiss on her hand and straightened. “Until we meet again, Miss Gyllis.”

  The monk beckoned him. “This way. Prior John said he would attend you after.”

  Walking away, Sean cast one last glimpse over his shoulder. Gyllis watched him out of the corner of her eye. That something dreadful had happened was a certainty. What, he intended to find out before he left.

  ***

  Gyllis stared at the book in her hands, except she couldn’t see it through the tears filling her eyes. If she could have curled into a ball and died she would have. How long had Sir Sean been watching before she attempted to turn the page?

  She never wanted anyone to see her feebly try to accomplish something she’d done with ease only months ago. Tears ran down her cheeks. She sucked in a deep breath to stifle her weeping, but it only served to heighten her remorse.

  Had he any idea how much it tore her apart to see him again? And he made no mention of why he’d broken his promise to sit on her plaid. Aye, it was a simple matter, but it had been a savage cut to her heart. Why, I mightn’t have become so ill if it weren’t for my broken heart.

  Her nose was running and it streamed over her lips, spreading an unwelcome, salty taste in her mouth. She opened and closed her fist. Blast it to hell. In one determined motion, she raised her hand and swiped it across her face. She blinked rapidly and stared at her fingers.

  “Heaven’s stars.”

  She raised the trembling hand again, but this time she missed her face altogether. That she’d first connected with her head at all must have been accidental.

  Groaning, she cast her gaze to the clouds above. Everything about Sean MacDougall reminded her of the fool she’d been. Happiness was only a fleeting speck given the duration of one’s life. How could she have ever expected to live happily? She smirked at the book on her lap—the pages were full of fairytales—events that could never come true.

  At least now she had no illusions. With life came pain and humiliation. She could not even visit the privy closet without assistance. How much worse can things become?

  Forced to succumb to the monk’s ministrations like a bairn still in swaddling clothes, she hated being dependent on someone for her every need. Everyone around her shot pitying glances her way. She didn’t want pity, she wanted freedom.

  This situation is untenable. She clenched her fists. I will walk again. With effort, she folded her hands and closed her eyes. God in heaven, give me strength to overcome this illness.

  Pushing the book aside, she bore down and swung her legs over the side of the bench. Her head swooning with the effort, she took in a deep breath. Sliding to the edge, she placed her slippered feet on the ground, just as she’d done many times with the assistance of Brother Wesley.

  But this time she was far more determined.

  With her palms flush against the bench, she shifted her weight onto her legs and pushed up. Wobbling with exertion, standing was excruciatingly slow. Her heart fluttered when, for the first time in two months, she stood unassisted.

  Her legs shuddering, Gyllis eyed the grass before her. One step.

  Swallowing, she inched her foot forward.

  Her knee buckl
ed. Gyllis cried out. Before she could fling her arms forward, she landed face-first in the moist grass.

  “Miss Gyllis,” Brother Wesley cried as he hastened to her side. “Whatever are you doing?”

  Her nose throbbed and she stretched her jaw to the side only to be met with a sharp pain. “My, that hurt.” Dear Brother Wesley, always rushing to her aid. If only she didn’t need his charity. He was a selfless and giving monk, and right now Gyllis needed him far more than she wanted to admit.

  “You mustn’t do that again—not without assistance.” He gathered her in his beefy arms. “Let us see you back inside.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Mark me—I will walk again and show Sir Sean MacDougall I can overcome anything.”

  Concern creased Brother Wesley’s brow. “Did he upset you?”

  ***

  The monk led Sean beyond the cloister walls to the stables where the Lord of Lorn waited with his men. Sean held out his hand in greeting. “Uncle, I must say I’m eager to hear what you have brewing, given the secrecy.”

  With a grin, Lorn offered a firm handshake. “And I’m all too eager to share it with you.” He inclined his head to a path leading into the wood. “Come, walk with me—away from prying ears.”

  Sean cast a sideways glance to Lorn’s men. Could the earl not trust his inner circle? I suppose I shall find out.

  Together they walked into the wood along a well-kept path, one obviously used by the priory monks on a regular basis.

  Lorn plucked a maple leaf and twirled it between his fingers. “How have you been coping since your father’s death?”

  “Well enough.” Sean shrugged. “A few head of cattle have gone missing, but nothing too alarming.”

  “How many head have disappeared?”

  “Ten or so—two different raids.”

  “You must stop all insurgence, else you’ll have an uprising you cannot control.”

  “No need to worry overmuch about me.” They came to a split in the trail and Sean chose the wider, more traveled path—though he’d rather have taken the overgrown one had he not been accompanied by the older man. “I reckon we’re far enough away from the others. What is so important to make you opt to meet here?”

  “One can never know whom they can trust.” Lorn eyed him. “Especially a young chieftain who’s only come into his title.”

  Sean gaped. “You no longer trust me?”

  “’Tis not you, but rather your men. To prove my point, you just said yourself Dunollie’s suffering from raids.”

  Sean opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but Lorn held up his hand. “’Tis always the way when a new pup rises to power. Someone feels thwarted and wants to test your grit. Deal with reivers firmly. In a few months, things will again settle.”

  Sean didn’t want to admit he had a few misgivings about the loyalties of some of his father’s men. However, this conversation cemented his decisions. He must weed out the conspirators quickly. “You’ve no cause for alarm.”

  “That is what I like to hear.” Lorn plucked another leaf—a birch this time. “I wanted to meet with you in secret because I’ve given it a great deal of thought and have decided to act on your suggestion.”

  Sean looked toward the clouds, rifling through his memory of the last time he’d seen Lorn—Beltane. What the devil had they talked about? “I beg your pardon?”

  “Must I spell it out?”

  With no idea, Sean shrugged.

  “Since May I’ve given it ample thought and come up with no other option. I’m to wed Dugald’s mother.”

  Sean grinned. Now he remembered the conversation. And that had been the first time in his life he’d realized that at nine and twenty, he was aging. Had his uncle finally come to his senses? “At last you will make your son legitimate?”

  “Aye.” Lorn glanced over his shoulder as if he feared someone was following. “But you must keep it quiet, lest my enemies learn of my plans—especially Argyll and the Campbell lot.”

  “Heavens, Uncle, the Campbell Clan could be your greatest allies—especially the Glenorchy sect.”

  Lorn flicked his leaf into the brush. “Mayhap, however, I’d prefer if you kept it between us.”

  “Very well.” Sean stepped around a mud puddle. “What do you need from me?”

  Lorn stopped and craned his neck to face him. “Protection. I need your army to provide ample guard during the ceremony and the feast.”

  Sean remembered well the lands Lorn had bequeathed him when he reached his majority. The gift was given on the promise a call to arms would be forthcoming whenever needed. “You’ll have my sword and my men. Have you set a date as of yet?”

  “Autumn—when the leaves start to turn.”

  “Why wait?” Sean asked. “You should have brought Mary MacLaren to the priory and had John Campbell marry you this day.”

  Lorn waved his hands. “No, no, that will not do. There are formalities to arrange—the first being a visit to King James to ensure his blessing.”

  Sean was no stranger to the dealings of court. “And his sanction of lands.”

  “Of course. The only reason I’m proceeding with the marriage at my advanced age is to ensure my title remains with my line.”

  Sean chuckled. “And the Earl of Argyll doesn’t inherit the Lordship of Lorn.”

  “Exactly.”

  Sean glanced toward a raven squawking at them from a tree limb above. “You are aware, the king’s enforcers could add iron-clad protection for you and your bride.” He didn’t want to use the moniker Highland Enforcers. That had originally been the label used by Black Colin Campbell and it had stuck. Everyone knew there was no force in the Highlands that could match the well-trained group of knights led by Lord Duncan Campbell, but Lorn would never admit dependence.

  The older man clapped Sean on the shoulder and headed back toward the priory. “Let us keep this quiet for now. The fewer people who know my plans, the less likely my enemies will cross me.”

  “Agreed.”

  “In the interim, you need to see to it you weed out all backstabbers from your clan.”

  Sean balled his fists. “No one wants that more than I.”

  “’Tis good to hear.”

  ***

  After seeing the Lord of Lorn off, Sean returned to the garden, but Gyllis was no longer there. He looked at the sundial. The afternoon was growing late and soon the monks would head to the nave for vespers. He turned full circle. Could Gyllis be staying in the dormitory? It wasn’t usual for monks to take in the sick, but he had no idea if Ardchattan had an infirmary.

  One thing he knew for certain, he wouldn’t find her whilst turning circles in the garden. When he headed toward the cloisters, John stepped around the corner.

  Sean opened his arms. “Just the man I was looking for.”

  “Sean MacDougall.” With a hearty laugh, John pulled him into an embrace. “Bless it, ’tis good to see you.”

  “Bloody oath.” Sean stepped away and took in the telltale black robes. “How long has it been?”

  “Years.” John gestured for him to continue walking. “Word has it you’re the Chieftain of Dunollie now.”

  “Aye. Da passed two months ago.”

  “I am sorry.” John bowed his head. “I shall pray for his eternal soul.”

  “My thanks.” Sean grasped John’s sleeve and rubbed it between his fingers. “So you’ve attained the exalted rank of prior in record time, I see.”

  “Aye, I’ve found my calling—no more armor and swords for me.”

  “Or women.”

  John frowned.

  Sean shook his head. “Bloody waste of a fine knight.”

  “You sound like my brother.”

  “Apologies.” He clapped the priest on the back. “I should be offering congratulations.”

  “No need. We live a life of humility here, void of pride.”

  That certainly was the man Sean knew. John Campbell never could be accused of suffering from the sin of pride—someth
ing Sean envied in his friend. Envy, yet another sin. But he had something of a more serious nature to discuss. “I saw Miss Gyllis when I first arrived.”

  “Aye, she mentioned as much.” John frowned.

  But Sean didn’t let the dour face dissuade him. “What happened to her?”

  “Paralysis.”

  Sean gulped. “’Tis worse than I thought. She looks so frail. When did she become afflicted?”

  “She fell ill on the journey home from the May Day festival.”

  “That long ago? What are her chances of recovery?”

  John steepled his fingers. “Who knows? The longer she goes without being able to walk, the less likely she will ever find her legs.”

  “My God.” Sean pushed his hands through his hair. “I must help her.”

  “What do you think you can do?” John stopped outside the chapel doors and faced him. “She was very upset after she saw you—refused to eat—I couldn’t even get her to take a sip of mead.”

  His mind swimming, Sean barely listened. “But we’ve been close ever since we were young. I always thought…” He couldn’t say it, not to her brother. “I want to see her.”

  “I’m not certain ’tis a good idea.” John grasped the latch. “Whatever happened between you two?”

  “Pardon me? We’ve always been…” He almost said sweethearts, but that wouldn’t sound right confessing to a priest, or to her brother, no less. “Good friends.”

  “Something about your visit upset her. What did you say?”

  “Me? Nothing at all.” Sean grasped John’s elbow. “Please, I want to see Gyllis again.”

  John sighed and looked to the sky. “I should not agree, but you seem emphatic—and I do not approve of leaving things on a sour note. Give her a sennight or two. She’s so frail. Any upset could ruin her progress.”

  “Must I wait that long? I’d prefer to return on the morrow.”

  “Please, I ask you to heed me in this.” John placed his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “For Gyllis’s sake.”

  “Very well, if your request is for her benefit.” Sean clenched his teeth—Gyllis was exactly who he had been thinking of, but good sense told him not to argue, else he could be banned. “My thanks.”