The Mark of Salvation

by Carol Umberger

  “Aye. After your husband.”

  “But in Gaelic, to remember you.”

  He stared at her, took a deep breath as if she’d shocked him. “To remember me?”

  “Yes. You and Dunstruan.”

  He looked down at her with the same intensity as he had that night he’d told her about Peter. Then she’d only seen, only wanted to see, deep affection. Was it wishful thinking to believe that now she saw more?

  Ceallach took off his gloves and went to his saddlebag. He brought a piece of brecan cloth to her. “You and the boy can wrap up in this.”

  She stared at the cloth, then fingered it, running her hand across the pattern. “You finished the cloth we designed.”

  “Aye. Didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to give this to you, though.”

  In the gathering light of daybreak she noticed his fire-singed clothing. No wonder he smelled of smoke! Quickly but gently she laid Iain on the makeshift bed and stood up and covered him.

  “Aren’t you going to rest?” Ceallach asked.

  “Not until I see how badly you are hurt.”

  “ ’Tis nothing.”

  Annoyed with his stubbornness, she said, “I’ll be the judge of that.” She took hold of his hands—the gentle hands she had watched throw a shuttle back and forth on the loom. Turning them over she saw they were blistered and red.

  “Are you satisfied?” he asked lightly.

  “No. How did this happen?”

  “Why must you fuss—” The rest came out on a hiss of pain as Orelia let go of his hands and pulled apart the laces on his sark.

  The burned edges of the shirt allowed her to see more crimson skin. “Take your shirt off so I may see the damage.”When he’d done so she sucked in her breath. The burn was mild compared to what he’d suffered on his back—just redness like a burn from the sun. But the skin was not harmed underneath John’s cross. It’s imprint stood in white contrast to the reddened area.

  Ceallach had braved fire for her! Her eyes filled with tears and she took the excess of his plaid and dried them. Idly she wondered if he’d light a fire for himself now. She smiled at the thought and hoped . . . no, best not let her thinking get too far ahead of her circumstances.

  But surely God meant for them to be together. Hadn’t he marked Ceallach with the cross she thought she’d lost? Yes, she would claim Ceallach and his pride and his steadfast heart as her own. Whether he would return her claim remained to be seen. Love would not be easy for either of them, but she trusted God to help them over the obstacles.

  She walked to Morrigan and asked if the woman had any healing supplies. When Orelia returned to Ceallach her face must have revealed that she had a good mind to chastise him for not having his injury cared for before leaving Radbourne.

  Ceallach shook his head. “Save the lecture, Orelia. Until now, I honestly haven’t felt it.”

  “We have no salve or anything else to treat it with, Ceallach. Come to the stream. Maybe just soaking some cloth in cold water will help.” She turned her back and tore a piece of material from her chemise.

  WHILE MARY AND IAIN SLEPT, Ceallach and Orelia walked to the stream. Ceallach did as she ordered, leaning against a rock near the water’s edge. He relaxed, enjoying the whisper soft touch of her fingers as she tended to his injuries. The cool cloth did alleviate the sting that he was now very much aware of. “I suspect this will be my last visit to England.”

  She wrung out the cloth and laid it on his chest again. “And mine.”

  Surprised, he said, “You won’t return eventually to claim Iain’s inheritance?”

  “If he grows up to look enough like his father, perhaps he can return and try to claim what is his when he’s grown. If not, I’d rather he was a poor Scotsman than a dead English earl.”

  Ceallach said nothing. Only now did the full realization come to him. Orelia had left her past behind and looked to Ceallach for her future. But Ceallach might never be free of his past.

  She searched his face, apparently looking for reassurance. “Are you having second thoughts about taking me to Dunstruan?”

  “Aye. No, I’m . . . maybe.” Panic licked at him like the flames had earlier.

  From the folds of her clothes Orelia pulled out the parchment, the letter he’d written. The one that said he would come for her. “Did you mean what you said on this parchment?”

  He looked at the paper in her hand then at her face. “I did.” He could admit that he loved her, could not deny it. But that didn’t mean he could offer her marriage.

  “Generally, when a man tells a woman that he loves her, it means he loves her enough to face fire and ruin to rescue her. Which you did tonight, Ceallach.”

  Quietly defeated he said, “I thought you were in the room. And I couldn’t save you.”

  Orelia reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand. “I can’t imagine how painful that must have been for you—to think you’d failed again. To think me dead like Peter. I wish I could take away your hurt and pain, but only God can do that, and only if you allow it.”

  He’d more or less come to that same conclusion himself. But old habits and thoughts were hard to part with, and Ceallach knew he was a long way from accepting God’s love again.

  She removed her hand from his face and paced away and back. “I dreamed of Dunstruan all the while I was gone, Ceallach. Of the lake and the castle and of the weaver’s hut.” She stood on tiptoe. “But mostly I dreamed of the man who lived there.”

  Orelia kissed him on the lips, a gentle kiss of tender promise, and Ceallach could almost hear the demon scream in defeat, deep within the far reaches of his mind.

  He pulled away and looked at her with regret. How could she care for someone as undeserving as he? He looked away from her, anguished at the knowledge that his vows as a monk still held him. “I told you, I cannot make promises, Orelia.”

  She looked at him in confusion. “Cannot or will not?”

  Until Orelia, he’d thought himself incapable of love as well as undeserving. But she had awakened him to love and desire. If it were up to him, they would marry this minute. Then his heart and hands would be free to love, to touch, to embrace with all the passion of his lonely heart.

  “You must know that it is not a question of will, Orelia. I cannot marry—my vows forbid it.”

  “Then I will be your handfast wife.”

  Her statement shocked him. He struggled for words.

  “Suisan and Devyn are handfast, or they were before they found a priest to bless their marriage. We can do the same.”

  Anxious that she understand the situation fully, certain that she did not, he grabbed hold of her arm. “We cannot do the same, Orelia. In a year and a day I will be no less bound by my Templar vows than I am now. I promised God to live a chaste and obedient life of poverty.”

  She swallowed and her eyes brimmed with tears. How he hated to distress her, but he couldn’t give her false hope. Why had he ever written those words of love to her?

  Her lip quivered before she took a deep breath and blew it out. “Then we will simply remain handfast.”

  Her love, her foolish love, would bring them both to ruin because he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to fight it. “Why did you read the note, Orelia?”

  “I needed you. But I couldn’t ask you to come to England, to put yourself in danger. Especially after I knew you cared. And you came anyway.”

  “What have I ever done to deserve you?”

  She entreated him with her hands. “You are a man of honor, loyal and brave. What more could a woman ask for in a husband?” She swiped at her tears.

  He jumped up, jabbed his hand in the air and nearly shouted, trying to make her understand. “We cannot marry, Orelia. My vows are binding.”

  She didn’t back down, this English warrior woman. Instead, she stepped toward him, her eyes earnest with a faith that just might be strong enough for them both. “If they are binding, then you evidently believe in the God you made them to,
Ceallach. I assure you, God is bound to you. When you were baptized, the priest made the sign of the cross on your forehead, marking you as Christ’s, did he not?”

  “Aye.” He shrugged his shoulders, denying her words.

  But she would not be denied. “That mark is as permanent as the marks on your back, Ceallach.”

  He sank back down to the rock, put his head in his hands.

  Orelia stood at his side, brushing her hand through his hair as she might to soothe her son. “None of us deserves God’s love nor can anyone earn it. It is a gift.”

  He wasn’t sure he believed her—all his life he’d been told he must work for his salvation. ’Twas the whole reason for becoming a Templar, to earn salvation by using his warrior’s skills for Christ. He looked up at her. “Where did you learn such strange ideas?”

  “From John.” Her radiant smile warmed Ceallach. “John believed that God’s love is freely given. I believe it too. The question is, can you?”

  Ceallach closed his eyes. If he accepted this, it must come from conviction, not from convenience. Only then could he welcome the hope of a life together with her. He opened his eyes and gazed at her beautiful face. Tenderness and desire awakened in him. “I want to, Orelia. But even if I do, I cannot break one set of vows for others that now suit me better.”

  Gravely she said, “If you were a less honorable man I would not love you half so much. But what are we to do?”

  “I don’t have an answer other than prayer, Orelia. That is all I know to do.”

  “That is enough for now.” She smiled, and he knew that somehow, this would come out right.

  EIGHTEEN

  All things are possible to him that believeth. . . "Brothers will refrain from boasting of Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. past prowess or brave deeds."

  —Mark 9:23–24

  —from the Rule of the Templar Knights

  At Bannockburn, I buried my Templar surcoat and my past along with it. Though I’d proudly worn the red cross for many years, now that badge of honor could cause my death. Yet through the years many people have died defending their faith.Why did I think I was different?

  The cross of Jesus always has power over death if I have faith in the God who died for me. I cannot deny my past any more than I can deny the cross of my Savior and Lord.Somehow, with God’s grace, I will move on to the life and the purpose God has planned for me.

  I believe; help my unbelief.

  AT MIDDAY CEALLACH WOKE THE OTHERS. He was anxious to reach Brough yet today and rejoin Bruce, to have the added safety of increased numbers. And he worried about Robert. Had the man’s good luck given out? Had the English patrol somehow overcome Bruce’s men?

  After a cold meal, they mounted up and again headed north. Iain had been well behaved, under the circumstances, but had become more and more restless as the day wore on. Everyone was glad to reach Brough that evening, and Ceallach relaxed when he saw Bruce and the others waiting there for them. Though one or two sported bruises and cuts, none of the Scots had been seriously injured in the skirmish with the English.

  The campfire burned brightly as they sat around it that night. The flickering light illuminated Fergus’s hands as he used them to illustrate the story. “The man’s face—I wish ye could have seen the patrol commander’s expression when we rode up behind him.”

  Fergus chuckled and continued his tale. “He and his men were no match for us. The king pushed him toward me and we fought them a bit before backing off and letting them retreat.”

  Morrigan said, “And I missed it all—rode all this way and never drew my sword.”

  “Just as well,” someone called out. “Those soldiers would never live it down if they retreated from a wee Scottish lass.”

  The jest didn’t seem to offend Morrigan—she laughed as readily as the rest at the Englishmen’s expense. Ceallach supposed Morrigan was well used to such good-natured teasing.

  “Orelia, we brought back a prize for ye,” Fergus said. “One of George’s men fell from his horse.”

  “He didn’t fall—I knocked him off,” someone boasted.

  “All right then, a lovely bay palfrey lost its rider and I grabbed the reins. She’ll be a perfect mount for ye.”

  Orelia’s maid, Mary, would still have to ride double, but the men would take turns in order to ease the burden on their horses. Ceallach thought wistfully about how Orelia would no longer have her arms about his waist . . .

  He mustn’t let his thoughts drift there. Barring a miracle, they would not marry. Ceallach was doomed to burn again. But when the man next to him passed the flask of whiskey, Ceallach did not drink to dull his yearnings.

  After a restless night’s sleep, Ceallach awoke and got his and Orelia’s horses ready. The saddle on Orelia’s palfrey lay more flat in the front than Ceallach’s war saddle, and she was able to place her son in front of her. Both she and the child seemed satisfied with the arrangement.

  When they rode out, Bruce directed them off the road and into the woods in order to skirt several villages. He did not want to gain the attention of the barracks at Carlisle. Late that afternoon, Ceallach breathed a sigh of relief when they safely crossed the border into Scotland. Two days later they arrived at Dunfermline Abbey.

  ORELIA WAS GRATEFUL for the little mare. After Ceallach’s confession that he could not marry her now—indeed, doubted he could marry her at all—she needed to put some distance between them. She and Mary spent the days after they arrived at Dunfermline caring for Iain in the two-room suite assigned to them. Iain had completely recovered from the food poisoning and explored everything around him. More than once, Orelia was happy to have Mary’s helping hand.

  Every morning before she broke her fast, Orelia went to the chapel and prayed. She prayed that Richard and John were united in heaven. She tried to envision Alice there with them but couldn’t quite manage it. That she would leave to God.

  And Orelia prayed for Ceallach, that he would believe—truly believe—that God loved him and wanted only good for him, including love. She saw him mostly at meals, and each time she saw him wearing John’s cross it renewed her hope. The memory of John and his reminder that she was not alone, no matter what happened, sustained her. Could Ceallach see his way clear to make new vows in this new chapter of his life? Vows that would honor his Lord in a different way? The solution lay between Ceallach and God. Orelia would not interfere.

  A week after their arrival, Mary took Iain to the abbey garden to search for butterflies, and Orelia sought out Ceallach. She found him in the stable, repairing his saddle. She stood just inside the door and gazed at him. He sat on a bench, head bent over his task. So tall and strong, such capable hands! And a heart so tender . . .

  She would follow him anywhere, if only he would allow it. But she understood that he still struggled with the dark one and his lies. She must be patient while God turned Ceallach’s heart back to the light.

  She smiled, thinking of Ceallach’s aversion to fire. Then she walked into the aisle and he noticed her.

  “Hello, Orelia.” He stood up and led her to the bench he’d been occupying, but neither of them sat down. He appeared quite uncomfortable as they stood face to face.

  She stared at John’s necklace.

  He stared at her face.

  “When are—”

  “How is—”

  He smiled. “You first.”

  She chuckled. “When are we going to Dunstruan?”

  His smile disappeared. “Fergus and Morrigan will leave in another day or so.” He still held the tool he’d been using, and now he stared down at it in his hands. “I thought perhaps they could take you and Mary and Iain with them.”

  She felt her shoulders sag with disappointment. “You aren’t going home?”

  He bent to lay the tool on the bench, avoiding her. “I can’t, Orelia. I am not strong enough to resist the temptation of taking you as a handfast wife.”

  “Well, at least that’s something, that you
find me tempting.”

  He straightened and stared at her, his expression full of hunger. “Never doubt my desire for you, Orelia. Or my desire to marry you.”

  She stared at him, awed and amazed by this declaration. “But you still seek answers.”

  “I do.”

  “And when you find these answers, what if you cannot be released from your earlier vows? Will you send me back to England?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have to go back unless you want to. Dunstruan is yours. Yours and Iain’s. I’ve had the papers drawn up.”

  “What? You can’t do that! Dunstruan is your home, not mine.”

  “Orelia, I’ve never owned anything my whole adult life. I have no need to start now. And I will rest easier knowing that no matter what happens, you are safe and well taken care of.”

  She would not cry. She would not! She didn’t want to accept this gift, and yet how could she refuse? She didn’t want to live there without him. But she might not have a choice. How else were she and Iain to make it? To find shelter and enough land to generate an income so she wouldn’t have to depend on charity? Once again she reminded herself to trust in God.

  She must give Ceallach the freedom of mind to find his way back to God. For the path he had for him. She only hoped she wouldn’t have to wait a lifetime. And that that path was one that joined with her own.

  Resigned, she said, “I will leave with Fergus and Morrigan.”

  “Good. I’ll come for you at Dunstruan, God willing.”

  She reached up and caressed the necklace. “All you need is to believe, Ceallach. Listen for his word, for his direction. God will do the rest.” Orelia turned and left the stable, her sight blurred by tears, and went to the chapel to pray.

  The next morning she left for Dunstruan.

  CEALLACH WATCHED ORELIA LEAVE, wishing he could leave with her. But as much as he hated to see her go, he knew he needed more time. Time to attend to unfinished business. He saddled his horse and with provisions for several days, headed for Stirling and the battlefield on the Bannockburn.