Christ, the last thing he wanted was his father’s intrusion into his chamber tainting his time with Sellie. ‘Ye must realise by now that I dinnae want another bride like Flora. I want my Sellie, naebody else.’ He changed tack to reassure Celestina by telling her, ‘I visited with the priest to discover when he can marry us. The problem is the McDonall. The priest is aware of that and says he will stay on after my father leaves if need be. I felt that all went well, but he wants to meet ye, I hope ye dinnae mind?’
She nodded. ‘I think I would like to meet this priest.’
He kissed her and might have let the kiss take its normal course; however, he felt bound to tell her the truth. ‘Meeting him could present ye with some difficulty. I didnae tell him ye are a Selkie. It’s not that I’m ashamed of ye, it’s—ach dammit—he’s a priest, a man of God, and wouldn’t understand.’
Sellie’s mouth sweetly trailed across his collarbone and into the hollow at the base of his throat before she murmured, ‘I will not let ye down, Niall. I love ye.’
The words shocked him, he had never pretended to love Flora, and she didnae expect it, but Sellie? ‘Ach, me too,’ he replied, the word ‘love’ sticking in his throat.
Love. It was never something he had imagined finding. The thought sank in, making his heart swell as he admitted that, from Sellie, love was what he needed. Niall dipped his head for a kiss. He might not be able to say he loved her, but for certain he could show her by making love to her sweetly, tenderly, so there was nae mistake. And that’s exactly what he did.
Chapter 16
Celestina
What did the priest think of his quarters? Did he even know the last man who’d lived there had been taken out and hanged? Mayhap it only made a difference if ye knew the person who had died at the end of a rope.
Celestina knocked at the door, folded her hands and stood waiting, face patient, unsmiling lips prim, the way she always looked in church. The only thing missing was her rosary, the one regret of her leap into the waves. Then the door opened.
Niall might have warned her, but then how could he know what she expected in a priest. A plain man, his habit more fit for a monk than a priest until he smiled and she glimpsed a shimmer of kindness coming from his black robes. With a hand he waved her inside the quarters that had been prepared for the man of God.
Compared to Gordon’s taste, the furnishings were spare—a plain table and two chairs and another for reading by the fire. A narrow cot sat against the far wall and above it a wooden crucifix. He took one of the chairs at the table and signalled her to take the other, opposite him. Not until they were both settled did he speak. ‘I am Father Angelus.’
Her eyebrows shot up. An elaborate name for a dull-looking priest, though mayhap like nuns, suitable names were chosen for them. She took a deep breath and sought out what Aileen would call a skerrick of courage. ‘Father, it has been at least two months since my last confession.’
Father Angelus’ calm appeared to be tested for a moment, but his manner was kindly as he asked, ‘Do ye wish to tell me why, daughter?’
For a few moments she released the air from her lungs in a sigh, letting the tension leave her shoulders as she began her story. Celestina did not find it an easy task, however it was a relief to be able to describe her journey to Inverbrevie from Spain and her deliverers’ belief that she was a Selkie. ‘I have sinned Father, not by speaking the lie, but by being frightened to tell the truth,’ she said, finally running out sins.
Father Angelus did not seem surprised, ‘They are a superstitious lot in the Northwest and the Hebrides, though still good Catholics, unlike the Lowlands and England.’
‘My mother was English.’ Celestina wanted him to understand all that her family had been through, what had made her fearful. ‘My grandfather was an English ambassador during ‘Mary the First’ of England’s reign. My grandfather and his family never returned to England after Queen Mary died.’
He shook his head. ‘These are troubled times, daughter. Say a few Hail Marys, ten will do, and we will say nae more.’
Celestina bit her lip and prepared for another confession. ‘I do not have a rosary. It was lost as I leapt from the ship. The rosary was in my hand, held like a prayer, but disappeared.’
‘Then I shall find ye one. I always carry a few with me when I travel.’ He rose and opened a small box by his bed. ‘Here ye are, daughter. This is plain but it will suffice for now.’
The rosary was of unpolished wood, but the beads were linked with silver, and the cross was small but pretty. As soon as he dropped it into her palm, she felt somehow whole again. ‘This is ideal, muchas gracias,’ she told him in her native tongue.
‘So, daughter,’ his features took on a grim mien, and she feared what he was about to say. Suddenly the room felt small and airless. ‘Niall tells me that both of ye wish to be married. Is this correct? For if it’s against yer will I’m certain I can arrange yer return to Spain.’
‘I am not being coerced Father.’ Celestina held the rosary tight, as she had once before when her world and everything in it was about to be lost to her. ‘There is naught for me in Spain any longer. My brother died fighting in France, my father was washed off the San Miguel and drowned, as was my maid. My English blood has never stood in my favour, and still might not in Scotland, and Niall has been fighting the Spanish for many years, yet I feel when he eventually discovers the truth, he will not cast me off. However, if he decides he does not want me I will come to you.’
Celestina felt her face flush, as she remembered Niall and her in his big bed the night before. ‘I believe he will want me nay matter what. We are already hand-fasted, a strange custom I had never heard of before I came to Scotland. What I am trying to explain is that he could have kept me for a year, but he said it was far too long. He could not bear to wait, nor could I.’
Father Angelus smiled and looked content as he asked, ‘Do ye love him, lass?’
‘I cannot tell a lie, Father. I do,’ and with the last little bit of air in her lungs she said, ‘I love Niall, and I love his daughters. They need a new mam and it should be me, not the woman the McDonall brought with him yesterday.’
‘She is rich.’
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. ‘I too was rich. It does not always last. Riches can be lost, taken away from ye so easily. But love of the heart can only be given and cannot be stolen.’
Niall
He had seen Sellie make her way across the Bailey, sent her off with a prayer that the priest would be kind to his bonnie lass, his Selkie. With the prayer went the hope that she would understand all that the priest had to say and naught be mentioned that would scare her away.
As for himself, the moment had come to confront his father.
Niall had woken early and broken his fast in the kitchen with Ygraen, Beth, and Fiona, whau were still at odds with one another. The disruption spoiled his enjoyment in the homely smells of porridge and fresh baked bread with ham and was like to spoil his digestion. His was the blame. He had let the lasses get away with far too much, sorry for his motherless bairns, and even though Aileen had advised him to put his foot down firmly and give them a wee skelp when they became outrageous, it wasnae in him to smack a lassie.
Thankfully, Sellie’s arrival had immediately calmed his daughters down. She had a way with her, one that worked not only with him and his daughters, but also with Aileen and the other members of the Inverbrevie household.
Could she work the same magic on the priest?
Meanwhile, now was his turn to use if not magic then at least logic and persuasion on his father. He found him still sitting at the table in the Great Hall, a mug of ale in his hand as he led the conversation, as usual. Nae matter the subject, the McDonall always spoke as if he and only he had the right of it and would argue his point until he had turned everyone’s opinions around. In some ways, listening to him made Niall smile as he remembered his father and brother acting in just that way. Niall wasn
ae like his brother and, while he was still the second son, being agreeable hadnae mattered that much, and when his father had stuck his neb into Niall’s business, he had always felt inclined to punch it for him. Hearing his story, one might wonder why he had agreed to an arrangement with Flora. It had gotten him out from under his father’s roof, a great relief to Niall.
His brother’s death had made him the McDonall’s heir, but he had never wanted that; he had loved his brother, and never more so than when Hamish had been the barrier betwixt him and the McDonall. Mayhap he and his father were too much alike, but he hoped not.
Stepping up to the table, Niall spoke to his father, ‘When yer done here, can ye come to the muniment room and have that talk ye have been anxious to have with me.’ Best that the talk was held on his own ground, giving nae one the chance to butt in, especially Snelling. Niall still had a feeling that there was more in Snelling’s association with the McDonall than met the eye, and whatever their deal was, he didnae want to get caught up in any of their nonsense.
‘I’ll be with ye soon enough. I was discussing a wee matter with Snelling here.’
‘Nae rush, Father. I have plenty to keep me busy,’ he said, turning away to Jack, whau was sitting next to Isabeau under her chaperone’s eagle eye. His gaze flitted betwixt the three of them, but it was to Jack he spoke. ‘I’ve a lot to attend to, and my father wants a talk in a few moments. Will ye do me a favour and escort the ladies on a tour of the property? There’s a lovely view from the cliff top, and it’s a fine autumn day with little wind.’
‘I would be happy to do that for ye.’ He looked at the ladies. ‘How would a walk in the fresh air suit ye, ladies? There are some bonnie prospects to be had. Does either of ye sketch?’ he asked.
Quite obviously, his lieutenant had more experience in dealing with rich young lasses than he had for, ignoring Niall, Isabeau smiled at Jack, saying, ‘That would be a pleasure, Jack. Ye dinnae mind if I call ye Jack, do ye?’ Niall suspected a flirtation in the making, and he didnae have any qualms over encouraging its advancement.
Leaving them to get on with their own objectives, he headed for the muniment room with its rolls of parchment, most of which had occupied those same shelves when the Keep became his. By the layer of dust on most of the documents, he doubted very much that Gordon had ever even attempted to unroll any of them. However, as one whau had left everything to the steward, he realised now he had been lax in checking on the man who had such a strong hand in spending his money. An idiot he had been, too young, and as second in line hadnae seen the need to ken how to run an estate.
A bang on the other side of the panelled door announced his father. ‘Enter.’
His father’s presence always had the ability to make a room feel smaller, and with the two of them in the muniment room, the walls came in to meet Niall.
‘So here ye are,’ announced his father. ‘I never go into mine unless I cannae help it—leave all these papers and such to my steward.’
‘So, yer the one I take after, for that’s what I did. A mistake if ever there was one. That’s why I had to hang him. He was robbing me blind and, worse, he was fucking my wife.’ He put it crudely, making sure he got his point across. ‘Ye should take more of an interest in what yer steward’s up to.’
His father lifted a hand to halt his warning, but Niall got in first, ‘If yer going to say ye have nae wife for him to tup, think on yer estate and the clan. I cannae see ye volunteering to fight in France to resurrect yer fortune.’
The McDonall took the best seat, his prerogative as both father and Chieftain. Ancient, the chair had come with Niall to the Keep, made from leather and carved oak, two semicircles worn by backsides on the leather seat, the arms from fingers and palms smoothing the carving.
Happing his kilt about his thighs, the McDonall looked across Niall’s worktable and asked, ‘What do ye think of the lass I brought ye?’
Niall, hmmphed under his breath, ‘I dinnae remember making a request for a lass; a priest was what I was after.’
The McDonall clapped his hands and grinned ear to ear as if he imagined he had Niall now. ‘What use is a priest without a woman to marry? I can assure ye the lass has a better dowry than Flora brought ye, without a house ye have nae need of to tend. I think Snelling, her guardian, has nae notion of how to look after a lassie. What she needs is a husband. Isabeau Corcoran wants away from the Lowlands and the Free Church whaus followers she believes were responsible for her parents’ deaths. And I believe it’s true, for I’ve heard some awful stories.’
Niall could believe that. The world was swiftly changing. That didnae mean a man like Snelling didnae have other plans for Isabeau’s young brother, once the lad’s sister was out of his way, living in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands instead of amongst the growing commerce of the Lowland ports like Leith.
‘I cannae say I was best pleased with ye when ye announced to my bairns ye had brought them a new mam, without a mention to me.’ Niall leaned forward, his face closer to his father, and a growl in his throat. ‘I’m not looking for a wife.’
The McDonall followed suit, his elbow on the table and face mere inches away. ‘Ye have three daughters and nae son. I say yer in need of a wife, the wealthier the better.’ He pushed away from the table and shook his head, obviously disgusted.
Having begun thinking about what he wanted to say to his father since the moment he rose from bed this morning, Niall had still to make up his mind how he could explain to his father his reasons for choosing Sellie. Rocking back on the legs of his chair he let them slam down onto the flags with a bang that might be seen as a threat and decided to simply tell his father to more or less bugger off, and began by telling him, ‘Yer too late. I’ve already chosen a wife, and that’s the reason I sent for the priest.’
His father’s eyes almost popped from his head, and the McDonall almost shouted at Niall. ‘Who is she, and where is she from? I didnae think there was any place around here to meet a wife.’
‘Ye seem to forget that I am a man whau does a lot of travelling. How many journeys have I made to France and back? Ye have nae notion of the life I’ve led since ye married me off to Flora. How many visits have ye made here since then? Four mayhap. Yet, ye still believe ye have the right to rule my life, and me a man over thirty and a father of three. And dinnae think to blame Flora’s adultery on me and the life I’ve been living in order to keep home and hearth together.’ He turned and reached for the bundles of Gordon’s letters on a shelf behind his seat and tossed them on the table. ‘I’ve proof here if ye have a mind to read them. I had both Flora’s and Gordon’s letters. I burned hers. Their fascination with each other began long before ye arranged a marriage for the two of us. If yer easy disgusted though, I wouldn’t read them.’
His father’s face lost its colour, became as grey as his hair was turning. ‘I had nae notion.’ The McDonall reached out a hand for the letters then immediately dropped the bundles of parchment as if one touch might already have tainted him. For a few moments his father sat and simply breathed deeply, yet, though to all appearances he was still, the same couldn’t be said for his brain. ‘So where did ye say this lassie is that ye want to marry.’
Niall let out a long sigh, aware his father never gave up. ‘I didnae say, but for yer information, at the moment she is visiting with the priest.’
The McDonall’s eyebrows fluttered up and down a moment or so, while his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. ‘Have I met her?’
How did ye win with a man determined to worm out yer secrets? Niall’s mouth flattened as he gave in and told his father, ‘She was with my daughters when ye first arrived, but I didnae want to put her through the pressure of meeting a lot of strangers, especially after yer boorish announcement. She’s a quiet wee thing and not used to a lot of men.’
His father nodded thoughtfully and said, ‘If ye wish I’ll apologise, but ye must concede I had nae notion.’
Mouth in a wry twist, Niall muttered,
‘I could tell that by the looks ye were giving her right under my nose.’
The McDonall laughed. ‘Aye, well, she’s a fetching wee thing. I cannae say I blame ye. I imagine ye’ll be having the wedding soon.’ He snorted. ‘Best keep an eye on that lieutenant friend of yers; he’s a fine-looking lad and a Grant.’
Truthfully, Niall revealed, ‘That means naught to Sellie, and besides he kens we’re already hand-fasted.’ Now his father had been told almost all, Niall hoped he would be satisfied.
‘Well I cannae say as I blame ye, son,’ he assured, him walking over to Niall’s display of weapons as if he was happy to move on. ‘There’s naught wrong with yer taste in women. Nor in swords it seems.’ He tapped the guard with a nail. ‘This one with the gold pattern inlaid down the blade is a beauty. I would say it was made by a master.’
Niall agreed. That’s why he had paid more than he could easily afford. ‘Toledo steel. It’s the best of them. I had it off a Spanish officer, not this year but the last.’
‘Have ye used it?’
‘Not in anger.’ Niall chuckled. ‘I still carry great-grandfather’s axe, a guid Scots weapon, and it can create fear in the enemy.’
The McDonall grinned. ‘Aye, the axe head was his, but the handle has been replaced over and over.’ With a lift of his eyebrows he mentioned, ‘It’s a wonder ye didnae use it on that scoundrel of a steward. By the sounds of it, he deserved naught less.’
‘It was suggested. Some of my men thought it a guid notion. But it’s one thing to kill with the axe in the heat of battle, and another in cold blood.’ Niall walked across the room to where shelves filled the wall behind his table and chair and reached for the flask of Uisge beatha. ‘Would ye like a drop, father? Niall had nae notion how long it would last, but for the time being it felt as if they had come to an understanding. ‘I ken it’s early in the day, yet I feel like this is an occasion.’
His father took the dram, slid his arse back into the auld chair, his weight probably rubbing more colour off the studded leather. ‘I’m happy to keep ye company. We might have settled our wee problem, but I still have to deal with Snelling and give him the news. Dinnae have the wedding too quickly, let me see him on his way back south. He’ll need to find some other fellow to take the lass off his hands.’
Bride From the Sea Page 13
