by Jessi Gage
A stream of curses erupted from Terran, who leapt up and stalked back and forth across the room. “First thing a warrior learns is to ne’er lay hands one ordained by the church. We didna touch that poor excuse for a priest. We wouldna have, even if he’d put himself in the path of our swords.”
Terran spoke true. They’d slain the guards and the executioner, but they hadn’t touched the priest, who had fled into the kirk while Ruthven had disappeared into the keep.
“We didna touch him, but the fire did. According to Anselm’s friend, Ruthven’s priest was severely burned and might not live.”
“I hope the bastard dies,” Terran spat. “That goes for Ruthven as well.” Not an ounce of mercy in Terran for those who didn’t deserve any.
Wilhelm heartily approved the sentiment. But he must keep them focused on the matter at hand. “Rumor in the village is that Ruthven has ridden for Dornoch to issue a capias for us.”
Terran snorted. “Our kin would never fulfill it. Your father will most likely tear it to bits the moment Ruthven rides away.”
“Mayhap, especially after reading my letter.” Which would his father receive first, Wilhelm’s letter recounting the rescue and requesting Kenrick’s aid or Ruthven’s capias? The messenger had a day’s head start if Ruthven had left Perth this morn.’
“Even if my father ignores the capias, the charges will remain,” Wilhelm reminded his cousin. “We would eventually have to face Ruthven’s bishop, and we would have no hope of swaying him. Our only hope is to meet him action for action. ’Tis more imperative than ever we find a magistrate who will hear our confession and rule justly. Our only defense is an official ruling that can be pitted against the capias in court. Kenrick will help us.
“’Tis vital we avoid Ruthven until then. That is why we must separate. Ruthven canna be in two places. If the worst happens and one of us is arrested, the other can still work with Kenrick and find a magistrate to clear us.” That wasn’t the only reason Wilhelm wanted to leave Terran behind, be he didn’t want to burden the lad with the more important reason on his wedding day.
Hands on hips, Terran faced him. The grooming took. He looked like a man a lass would be proud to wed, except for his scowl. “You put too much faith in fairness, cousin. ’Twould be better to simply track Ruthven and slay the bastard. If we leave now, we can catch him before he reaches Dornoch.”
That would be Wilhelm’s preference as well, but killing Ruthven would ruin his chances at sitting in parliament one day. Terran knew it as well as he did. His cousin did not intend to cut Ruthven down in truth. ’Twas merely a fantasy.
“Aye,” Wilhelm agreed in jest. “Come, let’s saddle the horses. What will ye tell your bride? You’ll wed her when we return, if we escape judgment as murderers?”
Terran snorted and continued his pacing. “Speaking of the women, you claim your Constance will give testimony to aid you, but are you cert she willna attempt to sully your name? Or harm you on the road?”
A growl rose in his throat. He did not appreciate Terran suggesting Constance was capable of trechery.
Terran held up a hand. “Your truth sense told you she considers herself innocent of the crimes Ruthven charged her with, but beyond that, you ken naught of her. You canna be cert her testimony will help our cause. Somat about her is off, Will. Taking her with you could do more harm than good. If we must be separated, you ought to leave both the lasses with me.”
“Constance comes with me,” he said simply.
Terran rolled his eyes. “You havena pressed her for answers as yet, have you? What assurance do you have she’ll not attempt to harm you?”
“I shall obtain answers on the journey,” he said shortly. He wouldn’t explain to Terran how he’d assessed Constance needed gentleness. He wouldn’t explain to Terran how he longed to subdue her and make her his. “You forget I am a fine warrior. Think you I’d allow a woman to harm me?”
Terran threw his hands up in the air. “That’s bloody grand, Will, so long as ye doona require rest on the road. What will you do if she slits your throat in your sleep?”
Anger heated Wilhelm’s neck. “Enough. You speak of the woman who helped Aifric give birth. Your soon-to-be wife and daughter you trusted to her, but you willna trust her with me?”
“I was there when she tended Aifric and Anice. If you have your way, I willna be there to defend you—as I vowed to your da I would—should she attempt to harm you.”
“She willna.”
“You canna predict such.” Terran’s cheeks took on a ruddy hue. Anger riled them both, but they kept their argument quiet. It would not do to raise voices in an abbey.
“I can,” Wilhelm insisted.
“No. You canna. You desire her. I see that. Think you I doona understand desire?” He smirked.
Aye, Terran understood desire, all right. He had understood it and paid it more heed than he ought since he was but a lad.
“A bonny one she is, cousin, but she has secrets in her eyes. I doona trust her to ride alone with you to Inverness. If you insist on taking her, I must go with you. One of us must watch the woman at all times.”
“No.” Frustration banded his lungs, because there was no ideal scenario. “I need you safe. Canna you see? Ruthven has many allies, more than we do. If we’re arrested together, we’ll have no hope of refuting Ruthven’s charges.”
“Then we refuse to be taken.” Bloodlust shone from Terran’s eyes.
Wilhelm sighed. He must make his cousin understand. “Listen, brother. My parents have only me. What will happen to Dornoch if we are both taken and accused? She’ll be left without an heir. If I am arrested, you must flee with your bride and find another way to clear our names. If a way canna be found, then you must remain hidden until Ruthven forgets his grudge.”
There. He’d said it without saying it. Terran would understand his meaning, that he feared losing his life to this plot of Ruthven’s, and if he did, he feared leaving Dornoch without an heir. Wilhelm could bear whatever punishment came his way if he knew Terran would eventually return to their home.
Terran’s eyes widened as the implication sank in. They hadn’t spoken of such things before, but Wilhelm and his father had. “Christ, Will. It willna come to that, surely. Ruthven canna end you over this.” He spoke the words with confidence, but uncertainty showed in his eyes.
“He might.”
Terran wiped a hand down his face.
“I need you safe,” Wilhelm impressed upon his cousin and truest friend.
“I understand,” Terran said solemnly. “But that leaves the question of your Constance. I doona trust her.”
“I do.”
“I would say you are a fool to do so, but I have never known you to be foolish.”
He strode to the cupboard and removed the one thing that condemned Constance, not of being a witch and a spy as Ruthven had claimed, but of having secrets that might pose danger to them: her travelling sack.
Terran lifted it by a strap and tossed it on the floor at Wilhelm’s feet. “Has she answered for this?”
Terran had found Ruthven’s guards pawing through it in the stables. Apparently, they’d lifted it from the priest’s quarters after he’d convicted her of her so-called crimes. Terran had taken it in the confusion caused by the fire.
True to Ruthven’s claims, its contents were queer. Though Wilhelm hadn’t had time to search her possessions thoroughly, he’d found the fire stick Ruthven had mentioned and had noted some strange materials, including a book too neatly-written to have been penned by a man’s hand, even a skilled scribe. The images within were perfect renderings, as if a magic mirror had somehow transferred them to the oddly-white pages. Would that he had found the time to study these and her other items more closely, but he had been far too busy.
“I havena spoken with her about it as yet.” Between her healing and Aifric’s birthing, there hadn’t seemed a good time. Though mayhap ’twas more a matter of cowardice than timing. If Wilhelm confronted
her, he risked her rebuilding the walls he’d only just convinced her to let down.
By going slow and easy with her, he had gained her trust enough that she spoke naturally with him, whereas she still used a false English dialect with everyone else. He’d succeeded in luring her into his embrace in the garden. She had sought comfort in his arms, if only for a moment.
She would explain the contents of the sack, but he did not wish to demand an explanation. He wished for her to offer it to him because he had fully earned her faith, a goal he intended to accomplish during the four-day journey to Inverness.
“Yet you claim to trust her?” Terran’s expression said it all. He thought Wilhelm was blinded by his affection for the woman. The supposition was not unwarranted. If their roles had been reversed, Wilhelm would feel the same.
But Terran didn’t see how she was when they were alone together. He only saw her steely bravery and the stubborn lift of her chin. Wilhelm had seen a vulnerable side of her. He had seen sweetness in her gaze when she looked on him. Constance would not intentionally cause him harm. Of this, he was cert. But who she was and where she had come from he still did not ken. Terran was right to be cautious.
“I trust her in this. And I ask that you trust me. The items she carries are queer, but they doona cause me alarm. Remain here with Aifric for a fortnight. If I havena returned or sent a message by then, take her and the bairn far away. Wait a time, then send a message to our kin to learn of Ruthven’s movements. I will do all I can to clear both our names, but should I fail in whole or in part, you must return to Dornoch only when ye deem it safe.” He gave Terran a look of significance.
His cousin’s grave expression told Wilhelm he understood that could mean waiting a very long time, mayhap even until Ruthven’s death.
The baron was the same age as Wilhelm’s father, so it did not please Wilhelm to think of his passing, but kenning what he did of the man, any grievances Ruthven held would not be released while he lived. If Wilhelm could not clear their names, at least his cousin would be safe once their accuser died, or more accurately, when Ruthven’s political alliances dissolved upon his death and powerful men like the bishop no longer had motive to honor them.
Terran ground his teeth. “I gain a wife and daughter this day. But you ask me to risk losing my cousin and closest friend. I will never forgive you if we part ways here and I ne’er see you again.”
Wilhelm grasped his shoulder. “All this is merely precaution. I intend to return. I have my own woman to wed, after all. Think you I lust for the executioner’s blade when I have such a bonny mystery to sink my teeth into?”
Terran grinned, but his serious eyes proved he understood the uncertainty they faced. “Aye, teeth and other things.”
Any other day, Wilhelm would have scolded his cousin for suggesting such impropriety. Today, Wilhelm only shook his head and laughed with him. It might be the last time, after all.
“Let us hope she doesna sink a blade into you first, aye?” Terran clapped Wilhelm’s back and strode for the door. They had a wedding to attend.
Chapter 11
The chapel was the size of the living room in Connie’s condo. At the front, a stone alcove housed a shrine of some saint or other. Similar alcoves along the sides framed busts of other figures she might recognize if she had studied religious history. Three rows of stone benches served as pews, but their little group didn’t use them. Rather, they all stood around Anselm at the front.
Terran supported Aifric on his arm, the pair facing Anselm. Hovering a few steps away were Elias, one of Anselm’s young monks, and Sister Bethany, the nun Anselm had sent for. Connie learned she had arrived late at night and after a brief examination had pronounced Anice healthy and Aifric underfed but healing well.
Connie stood two steps behind Aifric, rocking sweet Anice. Beside her Wilhelm held himself at military ease. He took up so much space that when she rocked his way with Anice, her shoulder brushed his elbow. She could have taken a step sideways to gain some personal space, but she didn’t. Neither did he.
With his straight back, lifted chin, and clasped hands, he projected strength and power. She could certainly picture him as the laird he would one day be. His only movement was the occasional glance her way, accompanied by a twitch at the corner of his mouth. That momentary softening of his expression made her stomach flutter. The sensation, though pleasant, caused her distress.
She had never felt attraction like this for a man before. The temptation to explore it rode her hard, especially after her talk with Aifric.
Once she left the monastery with Wilhelm, it would take them several days on horseback to reach Inverness. They would be alone on the road—and at night when they stopped to rest. Opportunity to indulge her desires would abound. But opportunity did not demand action.
What kind of person would she be if she allowed Wilhelm closer only to leave him at the first chance? She would be as heartless as the men she avoided at all costs, the ones who took a new woman home every night, never committing, never sparing a thought for anything but physical satisfaction.
If two people had a mutual need to satisfy each other and they agreed their relationship would be brief and to the point, more power to them. But she’d witnessed too many women at work sniffling their way through the day after trusting promises made by men who never intended to keep them. She had held and comforted Leslie too many times after similar heartbreaks.
Something about the intensity in Wilhelm’s eyes when he looked at her told her he didn’t feel casual about her in the least. She’d suspected he had feelings for her, but after talking with Aifric this morning, she couldn’t help entertaining the possibility that this handsome, intelligent man had more than a fling on his mind.
While such a possibility was flattering, she must not encourage him. If she did, he would assume her feelings were more than physical. Which of course they weren’t. She couldn’t afford emotional attachments here when she intended to leave soon. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
Anselm’s brogue filled the chapel as he began the wedding ceremony. After a brief greeting, he began speaking in another language. It took Connie some minutes before she recognized it as Latin. Once she identified the language, she was able to interpret the majority of what he said thanks to her boarding school education. That had been years ago, though, and she was rusty.
She could pick out enough words to know he was reciting from memory the Bible passage where the woman is said to have been made by God from a rib in the man’s side. She’d heard this bit at weddings before and it always offended her. It made it seem as if women were inherently dependent on men, even from the very beginning of their existence. What nonsense. She refrained from rolling her eyes, but a huff of annoyance managed to escape her lips.
Wilhelm noticed. “’Tis Latin,” he told her. He must have thought her annoyance was due to not understanding because he began interpreting for her in whispers that felt more intimate than they should.
Latin had been long enough ago that she found his interpretation helpful as Anselm continued. The current passage was from the New Testament. She knew because Wilhelm told her so. The section described several attributes of love. Love is patient, kind, not self-serving. She enjoyed the novelty of hearing a wedding ceremony in this formal, precise language. Even more, she enjoyed Wilhelm’s closeness and attention.
His brogue wove a spell of romance around her. Anice was a warm, trusting weight in her arms. She found herself closing her eyes and finding great beauty in the moment.
“Entreat me nay to leave you,” Wilhelm translated. “Or to turn back from following after you. Where you go, I will go. And where you lodge, I will lodge. Your clan shall be my clan, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die and there be buried. The Lord so do to me and more also if aught but death parts you and me. That is from the book of Ruth,” he said. “’Tis one of my favorite passages in all of Scripture.”
She caught his eye and found him lookin
g solemnly at her.
Her heart squeezed. Forcing her gaze from Wilhelm’s, she focused on the passage.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered truthfully.
In fact, she’d never heard it before, at a wedding or anywhere else. It fit the situation perfectly. Aifric was leaving behind all she had known, not out of choice, but because if she returned home, Ruthven might hear of it and attempt to execute her again. Connie had gathered as much in overhearing conversation between the men the last two days.
She had also learned that Wilhelm and Terran were essentially fugitives of the law after rescuing her and Aifric. Their staying at a monastery was no accident. They were giving her and Aifric time to heal, yes, but also taking refuge while they planned their next step. Knowing Wilhelm was in trouble because of her made her appreciate what he and Terran had done that much more.
It also redoubled her determination to give testimony to clear their names. Maybe that task was one of those gifts of purpose Wilhelm had mentioned in the garden. She might be thousands of miles and hundreds of years away from home, but she had something important to do. That fact made her being here bearable, more than bearable, if she was honest with herself.
She wasn’t too proud to shed a few tears as Anselm led the bride and groom through the vows. She didn’t even mind the obey part. It seemed to fit the era. Aifric would want to obey her husband. He would want to provide for her. They were both products of their time, and Connie was beginning to see that if it made them happy, there was nothing wrong with that.
As the vows came to an end, deep happiness swelled in her chest. Aifric and Terran were practically strangers to her, but their union felt like a family celebration. Aifric’s eyes shone with love when she gazed up at Terran. His eyes hooded with affection when he leaned in to kiss her, sealing their vows.
Anselm intoned a prayer, reverting again to Latin. Then Elias led them into a modest dining hall with a single long table running the length of the room. Several cooked birds dotted the top of the table, likely pheasants or some other small game. Two wooden bowls of steaming root vegetables occupied the center. Near the archway to the kitchen, a monk filled cups from a barrel. The drink looked like the weak beer she’d drunk at every meal she’d been served at the monastery.
