The Mark of Salvation

by Carol Umberger

  WHILE THE KING AWAITED WORD from England, Ceallach headed back to Dunstruan. He’d been gone more than three weeks and Ceallach’s impatience grew as his horse trotted around the last bend in the rough track leading to the castle. Dunstruan came into view and Ceallach halted the horse. There was nothing extraordinary about the fortress. It looked much the same as many others—curtain walls surrounding a stone keep.

  Yet his heart stirred at the sight. When had this pile of stones come to feel like a home? Dangerous thoughts for a man who wanted to leave when his time as Orelia’s warden was finished. Ceallach had not been given a definite date for Orelia’s return to England, but both their departures from Dunstruan could not be far off. The thought did not cheer him.

  He rode into the bailey and the usual chaos of greeting and homecoming prevailed. He smiled and searched the crowd for Orelia. Since the day she’d seen his scars—and the night she’d calmed him after his nightmare—she was often on Ceallach’s mind. He needed to know she was well.

  He would have to tell her that he didn’t know when she’d be released from Dunstruan. He finally saw Orelia standing off to one side, not really a part of the castle folk—a guest, not a resident. She appeared to be in good health, to his relief.

  From across the crowd Orelia questioned him with a lift of her brows. He shook his head—he would have to give her the details later. For now his silent message told her that her visit had been extended. Orelia disappeared inside, no doubt wanting time to absorb her disappointment.

  While he took refreshment, Morrigan and Fergus sat down with him. “Devyn says the corn is ready to harvest so there is no need to delay,” Fergus said.

  Morrigan grinned. “In fact, we’ve been making preparations while you were gone. The harvest will begin in the morning. Keifer can barely stand it, he’s so excited.”

  Harvest. Ceallach could remember watching his father’s workers bringing in the corn and everyone enjoying the games and festivities afterward. The idea of such a celebration at Dunstruan appealed greatly. “Lucky for us that Devyn saw to the planting this spring or we’d have no reason to celebrate. Tomorrow we harvest!”

  When he’d finished talking with Morrigan and Fergus, Ceallach went in search of Orelia. He found her in the chapel, a small, plain room that Ceallach had not visited in his time at Dunstruan. A tiny window high on the wall and two candles provided light. There were no benches—just the stone floor and a kneeling pad along the rail. Orelia knelt there in front of the altar.

  His foot scraped the floor as he turned to leave, and she looked up as if startled.

  “Ceallach?”

  He hesitated. “I did not mean to disturb your prayers.”

  She smiled, and he would swear that the room brightened. He must stop thinking such foolish thoughts, especially about a woman just two months widowed who carried proof of her husband’s love. An Englishwoman who must leave to claim her child’s inheritance.

  “You didn’t frighten me. I was praying for you, and you appeared as if conjured from my petition. Come. Kneel with me for a while.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Praying for lost causes, are you?”

  She glanced down to where her fingers clasped the necklace she always wore. When she looked back at Ceallach she said, “Perhaps. But you are only lost because you refuse to listen to the shepherd’s call. I seem to remember your telling Keifer that sheep are stubborn.”

  He rubbed the scar on his neck. “I believe I also mentioned they are docile and not too bright.”

  Her expression was that of an exasperated mother to a wayward child. But she smiled and stood. “You have news for me?”

  “Our raids went well, but there is still no definite date for the exchange of prisoners.”

  “I thought as much. Yet another matter to pray about.” A tear welled from her eye and fell slowly down her cheek. She brushed it away.

  He put his arm about her shoulder in a brotherly hug. “I’m sorry. I know you’re anxious to go home.”

  After a moment, she moved away. “Stay with me here a while, Ceallach.”

  He swallowed, uncomfortable knowing that she would be praying for him but he couldn’t pray for her. Yet he could not refuse her request for company. “All right.”

  They knelt in front of the altar and Orelia bowed her head. Ceallach glanced her way and saw her lips moving. And like the gentle nudge of a shepherd’s staff, her faith prodded at him. He bowed his head before a distant God and offered a halting, awkward prayer for Orelia and her child. It wasn’t much; but it was something.

  EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Ceallach finished his contribution to the harvest celebration. Sitting on a bench against the stable wall, he wrapped the final twist of twine around a ball of wool.

  Keifer sat down next to him, his bright red hair glinting in the sun. “What are you making?”

  He watched intently as Ceallach picked up a needle and thread and began to stitch together a cover of soft leather stretched tight around the twine.

  Ceallach smiled at the boy. “What do you think it is?”

  “A ball.”

  Ceallach nearly laughed out loud at the lad’s reverent utterance. “Aye, it’s a ball. We will use it for a game later today.”

  Keifer’s eyes were bright with anticipation. “Will I be allowed to play?”

  This was the third such ball Ceallach had made since he arrived home yesterday, but the boy didn’t know that. Ceallach made the last stitch and tied off the thread, then handed the finished toy to Keifer. “The answer is yes. But you may play with this one now.”

  Pure joy lit the child’s face as he took the sphere into his hands and juggled it up and down, catching it in either hand. “Thank you, my laird.” Then Keifer threw his arms around Ceallach’s neck in a brief but breath-strangling hug. Though Ceallach had to swallow hard at the boy’s display of affection, Keifer simply backed up and tossed the ball to Ceallach. With a grin, he threw it back.

  After a few minutes of play, Ceallach asked, “Have you completed your chores?” He threw the ball.

  Keifer caught it. “Aye, my laird. You said we couldn’t leave until they were done.”

  “Then go and find young James to play catch with you until we’re ready to depart.”

  Keifer raced off in search of Devyn and Suisan’s son. Ceallach shook his head. Keifer was an active lad, always in motion. Ceallach had been challenged more than once to find things to keep the boy occupied, both physically and mentally. Although he enjoyed Keifer’s company, he would be happy when Morrigan found a permanent foster family for the lad. Ceallach was growing entirely too fond of these people and this place.

  Thoughts of Morrigan made Ceallach wonder if Devyn and Susian and the others were ready for the trip to the cornfields. Dunstruan’s cook had been feverishly preparing food for them to take along for a harvest picnic. Ceallach walked across the bailey and saw that the picnic supplies were already loaded into one of the wagons along with the sickles that would be used to cut the stalks.

  The corn had been planted on the hills to the west, and though it meant taking a rugged uphill path, most people would walk there rather than ride in the bumpy wagons that would be used to haul the harvested corn back to the castle.

  Ceallach spoke with the captain of Dunstruan’s meager guard. The portcullis had yet to be fixed so they relied on the stout wooden gate for defense. Ceallach wanted to ensure Lady Eveleen and Suisan’s safety, since they would remain at Dunstruan to see to the games and food for this evening.

  Soon they were ready to depart—Fergus, Morrigan, and Orelia waited for him to give the signal. But the boys were nowhere to be seen.

  While Suisan went to find the ever-wayward twosome, Ceallach went over to Orelia. “Are you sure you want to walk, Orelia?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes. It won’t hurt me, you know.” She smiled to soften her words. “The exercise will be good for me, and I really don’t want to be bounced until my teeth jar.”

  He n
odded at her sensible explanation. “All right. But if you get tired, say so.” He grinned. “No one will think anything of it if a delicate English flower has to ride,” he teased.

  She swatted his sleeve and Ceallach felt . . . like a cherished friend, like someone who mattered. He must rein in such senseless thoughts. But it made him feel good to see Orelia shake off her grief for a moment and smile. She had much to live for and seemed determined to make the best of her situation, despite the delay in going home. While she remained, he was determined to make it as pleasant as possible for her.

  They arrived at the fields without incident, Orelia walking the whole way. Devyn divided the workers and sent them to cut the stalks. The women and children would follow behind the men, gathering and tying the harvested stalks into sheaves. The men held races, seeing who could cut their way to the top of a ridge first. Ceallach won two of the three races he engaged in.

  He and Fergus stood side-by-side, wiping sweat from their faces and looking down from the ridgeline after Fergus finally beat him to the top. Below them, the women and children worked in pairs, gathering stalks together and winding twine about them.

  A growing number of sheaves stood ready to be hauled to the wagons. Ceallach pointed to where Keifer and James manfully struggled to carry one between them. He lost track of the number of times the sheaf or one or the other of the boys fell until the poor mistreated corn was finally loaded on the cart.

  “What a pair of rascals those two are,” Fergus said.

  “Aye. They need a close watching. It seems Morrigan and Orelia have struck up an unlikely friendship,” Ceallach commented, watching the two women work together.

  “Aye, so I see. I can’t understand what they have in common, to have so much to say to one another.” Fergus shrugged.

  “Women always seem to have much to talk about.” Ceallach shook his head in bewilderment. “I’m hungry—let’s load the wagons so we can have our picnic. I’d offer to race you to them, but—”

  Like a small boy, Fergus took off running and, unable to resist the challenge, Ceallach raced after him. They reached the bottom of the hill at about the same time and bent over, panting and laughing, beside the two startled women.

  Keifer and James raced toward them, jumping on the men’s backs. Ceallach and Fergus fell to the ground as if tackled. And Ceallach laughed aloud when he held Keifer at arm’s length. Sputtering, the boy flailed about, trying to reach Ceallach. When Keifer leaned hard into Ceallach’s hand, he released him, and Keifer came stumbling toward him, then over him, falling down on his other side. Again, Ceallach laughed. Keifer giggled beside him, lying still for a moment.

  The gentle late summer sun shone through a thin layer of clouds, warm but not too hot. All around him, Ceallach could smell the earth where it had been trampled, and the grassy smell of the severed corn stalks. And above him stood the two most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Hands on their hips in mock aggravation, Morrigan and Orelia shook their heads—one blond haired, one black—at the men’s antics.

  Life was good. At such a moment as this, life was very good. For the first time in many years, Ceallach lifted his face to the sky and smiled. Maybe God had listened to Orelia’s prayers for him after all.

  Fergus reached up to Morrigan for a hand up and when her hand touched his he pulled her down on top of him. She shrieked and called him a few names Ceallach didn’t realize ladies knew. Her skirt flew up and Orelia hastily reached out and pulled it back for modesty.

  Skirt? Heavens above!

  Orelia caught his eye and grinned, then barely shook her head to warn him off before he commented on Morrigan’s unusual attire. Perhaps she understood better than he did how Morrigan had decided to wear women’s clothing for a change.

  Ceallach stood up, as did Fergus, who hauled the still squawking Morrigan up beside him. Fergus leaned close and whispered to Morrigan and she quieted immediately. The two walked off, leaving Ceallach alone with the widow.

  He turned to Orelia. “What did Fergus say to Morrigan to quiet her so quickly?”

  Still grinning she said, “I didn’t hear it but I suspect he threatened to kiss her.”

  “Kiss her!”

  Orelia looked at him strangely. “Well, yes. It’s what people do when they are attracted to each other.”

  “Well, aye. I mean, I’m sure you’re right . . . well, how about that.” He wasn’t sure what to make of such a thing.

  The other women had been busy spreading out the picnic lunch underneath a sprawling old oak. Ceallach’s hunger and thirst overcame his amazement, and he offered his arm to Orelia. “Shall we join the others?”

  Several fallen branches served as seats for the hungry harvesters. Ceallach noted that Morrigan and Fergus sat on different branches but close enough to talk. Ceallach led Orelia to the wagon where they each found bread and cheese and early apples. They carried the food to a seat with the others.

  They didn’t tarry once the meal was over. Everyone pitched in to load the sheaves so that they could return to the castle for the celebration. As they walked home behind the creaking wagons, a number of the women began to sing and soon some of the men sang along.

  Several of the tunes were familiar from childhood and Ceallach joined in. The walk to Dunstruan passed quickly, and soon the gates were opened for them to pass into the bailey. They unloaded the corn into the storage area of the barn, but one sheaf was kept aside for the night’s festivities.

  The corn was no sooner unloaded until Keifer ran over to Ceallach. “Will you show us the game now, my laird?”

  Ceallach ruffled the lad’s hair. “Aye. And when you’re done playing, don’t forget that you are to decorate that sheaf of corn for tonight.”

  “I won’t—James is going to help me.”

  “Good.” The activity would keep them both out of trouble.

  “What game shall we play?” Morrigan asked.

  Ceallach produced the balls he had made as well as a long, narrow piece of netting he’d had Suisan fashion out of string. “Jeu de paume— handball,” he said.

  “I’ve heard of it,” Orelia said. “The French play it, do they not?”

  “Aye. It is very popular with the royal family there.” Ceallach pointed to the hitching post to his left. “We need to stretch the net across the court and fasten it to something on either side.”

  Morrigan took one end and Fergus the other and after quite a bit of laughter and a good deal of trial and error, they stretched it and hung it to Ceallach’s satisfaction.

  Ceallach clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “All right, we’re ready. Who will play first? Orelia?”

  She shook her head and Ceallach realized that running to and fro and risk tripping on her skirts was probably not a good idea for one in her condition. Suisan and Devyn gamely agreed to play while Ceallach acted as teacher and arbitrator.

  As they lobbed the ball back and forth across the net to each other, Ceallach taught them the intricacies of keeping score. When the adults grew tired, Keifer and James and other children took turns.

  Orelia came to stand by Ceallach as he watched the children play. “Your game is a big success.” She paused. “Have you been to France?”

  As casually as he could he said, “I lived there for fifteen years.” He hoped that would satisfy her curiosity.

  “Really? I would love to go there some day.”

  He’d seen Paris in every season, since his monastery had been but a few miles on the outskirts. But he wanted to end this conversation before it touched on things he’d rather not talk about. Before she could ask more questions, he shouted at the boisterous boys. “Take care you don’t damage the net, lads.” He moved away from Orelia, relieved to end the topic of conversation though bereft of her company.

  He nearly ran into Morrigan who was stomping toward the front gate. Even in a dress she walked with a purposeful stride. Her expression was both angry and frightened. Ceallach followed her, instinctively grabbing up his sword, a
s did Fergus and Devyn.

  No one questioned Morrigan—Ceallach had left the gates open so the locals could join them, and he and Fergus assumed there was a threat. When the three of them rounded the corner into the main area of the bailey, Morrigan stopped and Ceallach halted behind her. Fergus went to her side, weapon at the ready.

  Strangers sat astride their horses in the bailey of Dunstruan.

  TEN

  All actions undertaken on campaign shall be done in accordance with strict military order.

  —from the Rule of the Templar Knights

  Days and nights had no beginning or end as I lay moaning in agony in the belly of a ship bound for Scotland. My sergeant, Jean Paul, as fine a Frenchman as ever lived, escaped the inquisition and torture by feigning a feeble mind. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Jean Paul’s brilliance at scrounging and haggling had amused me on our trips to the Parisian marketplace near our Order’s house. But now his skill saved my life.

  Three days after Peter died, Jean Paul negotiated our escape from prison. Ever resourceful, Jean Paul found us passage aboard one of several Templar-owned ships that had escaped King Philip’s greed. Scotland’s king was the only monarch in Europe who offered us safe haven. In return for sanctuary, we sold the ship and its contents to provide Bruce with money and weapons for his fight against England. For these past seven years I have lived as a wanted man, bitter and alone except for Robert. But now my life is bittersweet—there is a light in the darkness—another man’s woman.

  CEALLACH STARED AT THE UNFAMILIAR mounted men who had ridden through Dunstruan’s unguarded gates.

  “Hello, Uncle Angus,” Morrigan said as the leader and two of his men dismounted.

  Not strangers to Morrigan, then. Ceallach lowered his sword when he saw Morrigan signal behind her back not to draw their weapons. He saw Fergus sheath his sword and Ceallach followed suit.