The Devil of Jedburgh

by Claire Robyns

  Breghan dropped to the ground and pulled her legs in tight. There was nothing left to do but tuck her chin in and give way to the sobs. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. She cried until there were no tears left in her body, and then she choked on dry sobs that racked her aching chest. When that was done, she stared at the forest floor of mud and rot until the pattern glazed her vision.

  Whatever Arran believed he’d done, he hadn’t. Whatever monster he thought himself to be, he wasn’t. That was the only certainty she could still hold on to. She couldn’t go back to him now. She needed time to clear his abrasive order from her head, to erase the memory of those empty eyes looking straight through her. She needed time, just a few days, just until she didn’t have to fight for every breath.

  She found the road easily enough. The position of the sun told her it was late afternoon; she’d been huddled in the forest for a good few hours. Anyone pursuing her would have reached the confluence of Jed Water and the Tiviot River by now. Which was fine by her. She wasn’t going that far. The direction she’d chosen had been instinctive, but her gut wasn’t leading her to the comfort of her home and family. She knew that now. She wasn’t that reckless, or stubborn, not even when she wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t leaving Arran. She was looking for answers and she knew exactly where to find them.

  She was still partially hidden in the roadside canopy when she heard the thunder of pounding hooves. Breghan pulled her mare in deeper and peered between the mesh of leaves. She recognised Broderick at once by his massive form. The man riding with him was smaller, too short and slender to be Arran. She hadn’t expected Arran to come after her, not in the state she’d left him. If the stable lad or guard had gone first to Broderick, Arran might not even know she’d left. And if he did, she doubted he’d care much at this moment.

  Breghan danced her mare out into clear sight. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, she had a message to convey.

  Broderick didn’t give her the chance. He was almost upon her before he came to an abrupt halt and issued, “I’m no’ interested in explanations or excuses, you’re coming with me.”

  The other man hung back to look on with wide eyes.

  “Where is Arran?” she asked. “How is he?”

  “The laird is halfway between hell and Donague Castle.”

  “He’s chasing after me to Donague?” she gasped.

  “In addition to the search parties spread out in every direction. I don’t know what you did or said to him and I don’t want to know. You can deal with the devil you’ve unleashed in your own good time.” He turned to his companion. “Ride after the laird. He’ll be scouring the countryside as he goes. There’s a chance you could catch up to him before he reaches Castle Donague and that half of the parish is turned upside down as well.”

  Breghan waited until the man had ridden off before informing Broderick, “I’m not returning to Ferniehirst quite yet.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He reached across to grab her reins.

  Breghan dug her heels in and Angel shied to the side. “You’re frightening my mare.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse about your mare or your female sensitivities.” He reached again, trapped the leather in his fingers and slowly reeled her in. “We can do this the easy way or my way.”

  Angel skittered at the scent of stallion and reared. “Broderick! I’m pregnant.”

  “Sweet Mary, you’re with child?” His fingers dropped away from her reins, his face parched white. “You’re racing about the countryside with the laird’s bairn in your belly. Have you lost your bleeding mind!”

  She had, actually, but only for a short while. Breghan urged her mare to a safe distance. “I won’t return to Ferniehirst willingly,” she warned him, “and not even you’re such a boar as to manhandle a pregnant woman.”

  “The laird will have me strung and quartered if I don’t bring you home.”

  “Arran will be relieved to hear you escorted me to Jedburgh Abbey and personally delivered me through the gates.” She flicked the reins and prodded Angel into a steady gait toward Jedburgh.

  A moment later, Broderick was riding at her side, fuming and muttering beneath his breath, “A woman will stop at nothing to get her own damn way.”

  Breghan bit down on her tongue.

  But Broderick didn’t stop there. He went on and on, and when he got to, “…turning the whole damn country inside out on a bloody whim,” she could no longer keep her silence.

  “I was frightened, angry, scared and confused,” she ground out, her temper heating beneath his rash and unfair judgement. “I imagine the concept of such emotions are beyond you, but at least try to appreciate that it was a little more than a whim that’s causing you so much inconvenience.”

  “Deliberately putting yourself in danger and assuming there’ll always be one or two men rushing after you in case something goes wrong isn’t an inconvenience,” he said in a blistering voice. “It’s bloody insanity.”

  “You know nothing of the circumstances that chased—” Breghan cut herself off, suddenly understanding. “This isn’t even about me, is it? You’re still angry that Janet ignored you in Edinburgh and slipped into the palace.”

  Broderick snorted and grunted, then set his eyes on the road ahead without another word.

  At least I shut him up.

  She should leave it alone. Broderick was far too angry with her right now to consider anything she had to say. But Janet had tried blasé, brash and bold; the only thing left was blunt.

  The road forked just before entering the town of Jedburgh, winding up the north bank of Jed Water through dense woodland. The abbey was a short distance further up the slope, the cluster of pale stone ranges rising above the tree line to preside over the town.

  Breghan slowed to a clopping walk on the ascending path and called out, “Janet only wanted to do something heroic, so you’d forget she was a mere woman long enough to notice she existed.”

  “She has the attention of every man from here to Edinburgh and back, what the hell would she need with one more?” He flung over his shoulder.

  “Yours is the only one that interests her.”

  “Not from where I’m usually looking.”

  Breghan could scarce believe it. The bear of a man was actually capable of an emotion other than anger. “You’re jealous!”

  “You’ve gone mad and this conversation is over.”

  Breghan smiled at his rigid back. “This conversation’s long overdue, but Janet’s the one you should be having it with. She’s in love with you, completely and utterly besotted, and if you don’t feel the same way, have the guts to say it to her face so she can get over you.”

  “I’ve better ways to waste my time,” he growled. “You brought Janet to Ferniehirst and she’ll go as soon as you do, m’lady.” He frowned over his shoulder at her, a frown that slowly receded as his thoughts apparently caught up to current events.

  She wasn’t going anywhere, not with Arran’s babe in her belly. Still, she decided the full truth wouldn’t hurt. “Janet followed you to Ferniehirst after that day we visited her cottage. If she does leave, it’s because you never bothered to ask her to stay.”

  Broderick’s head snapped forward and stayed there until he reached the iron gate built into the perimeter wall. He dismounted and came to assist her. “The abbot will want to know how long you plan to visit.”

  “I was under the impression there is a convent attached to the abbey.” How much had Allison Crawley invented in her head?

  “A small cloister of sisters,” Broderick confirmed, indicating to a narrow path that disappeared around a bend in the stone wall. “They have their own grounds and a separate entrance. The accommodations are unsuitable for guests.”

  Breghan had only intended to get answers, but now the prospect of lingering awhile was a balm to her frittered nerves. She needed the calm and tranquillity and Arran needed time. He would know where to find her when he was ready. “I’l
l be content with a straw bed on the floor.”

  Broderick gave her a hard stare, the kind of stare reserved for someone who was being purposely difficult. “The sisters keep only two donkeys and have no stables for your mare.”

  “Then take Angel back with you.” She handed over the reins with a terse smile.

  The glint in his stare melted. “Jesu, you intend to join the sisterhood?”

  “No,” she assured him softly, “I want far too much from life.”

  He stared a moment longer, then released a heavy breath and went to tie both horses to a nearby tree. “I intend to inform the laird of your whereabouts the minute I return.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  He took her by the arm and led her along the path, pushing brambles out of her way and steadying her when she stepped awkwardly on an exposed root. “Arran will come after you, he’ll never keep away.”

  “I hope so too.” She glanced up at him, smiled when she found his frowning gaze on her. She doubted this was the start of a long-lasting friendship, but she was grateful for an arm to lean on right now, even if it belonged to Broderick.

  The convent entrance was an arched wooden door. Broderick tugged on the weathered rope and a short while later a trepid voice asked their direction.

  “The Laird of Ferniehirst’s wife seeks shelter,” was all Broderick needed to say to get the bolts rapidly sliding back.

  Breghan raised a brow at him. “Is there no place where the Devil of Jedburgh doesn’t strike fear in every heart?”

  “’Tis no fear of Arran that gains you entry today,” he said. “The abbey depends on the protection Ferniehirst provides against the more fanatical followers of Knox who are hell-bent on razing every Catholic institution to the ground.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on her as she said a quick farewell to Broderick and slipped inside the walled garden. The only part of the nun not covered in black robes was her face, but her blue eyes held traces of soft humour and her smile was kind. She asked no probing questions, although she did comment in a lilting voice, “You brought no belongings.”

  “I—I didn’t expect to be here long.” She hadn’t even brought a cloak with her. “I’m afraid I didn’t plan very well.”

  “Few who come to us ever do,” the woman said in her kind, smiling voice. “I am Sister Mary.”

  They’d passed through a low door and down two roughly hewn steps into a dimly lit hall, but Breghan didn’t need a closer look. The Mary she sought would be at least middle-aged, if she were still here at all. The room was long and only wide enough for a single row of trestle tables along one side. Five black-robed nuns were seated at one table, heads bowed and fingers busily at work on the large tapestry between them. As she walked by, they glanced up, only for a moment before lowering their eyes again. The silence was like a tangible voice, ordering her to quieten even the soft tread of her slippers on stone.

  Once they were in the short passage beyond the hall, Sister Mary said, “We’re a small, informal order and don’t have a Mother Superior. Sister Agatha is in charge and I will inform her of your presence as soon as she’s finished with her prayers.” She opened a door leading into a communal bed chamber. “Our queen visits often at the abbey, you would be far more comfortable there. Sister Agatha could arrange accommodations, if you wish.”

  Breghan thanked her but declined. “In truth, I’m looking for a woman by the name of Mary who might be here.”

  “We have five Sister Marys,” she said with a warm smile.

  “This Mary would have first come here ten or so years ago. Oh, and she was a midwife.”

  “Ah, you must mean Mary from the infirmary.” Sister Mary put her hands together, nodding. “I don’t know how long she has been here, long before I joined. Mary isn’t a sister, she has never taken her vows, but she lives here as one of us.” She turned to go, saying, “I’ll let her know you wish to speak with her.”

  Breghan sank down onto the closest pallet, suddenly light-headed and boneless. As if the onslaught of the day’s emotions had steadily been grinding away at her body and now, finally, there was nothing left. She sat, taking shallow breaths and watching the play of light on a ray of sunshine beaming in through the only window in the room, until a faint click jerked her gaze to the door.

  The woman who entered clearly wasn’t a harbinger of good tidings. Her face was sharp, deeply haggard, her brown eyes narrowed with a permanent scowl line buried between them. Her silver hair was bound into a tight braid that fell to her waist. She wasted no time on greetings. “So, you are married to Arran Kerr.”

  “We are handfasted.” Breghan pushed to her feet on unsteady legs, her hands resting protectively on the slight swell of her belly. “I am with child.”

  If at all possible, the woman’s severe expression tightened. “I trust the laird is pleased.”

  “Arran is distraught,” Breghan said, fortified with a rush of anger that this woman, this stranger who knew Arran’s darkest secrets, might think otherwise. “Do you recall that night at Ferniehirst when Elizabeth died in childbirth?” The woman looked at her in silence for so long, Breghan was at once unsure. “You are the midwife Mary who attended at Ferniehirst that night, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve spent ten years trying to forget,” Mary said at last.

  “Please, I need to know. Tell me everything about Elizabeth, everything that happened.”

  “There are times when the past is best left behind.”

  “This particular past is bleeding into the present.” Breghan walked up to her, pleading, “Arran told me I’m condemned by his hand. Do you understand? He honestly believes I’m already dead by mere fact of being with child.” Her breath thinned out and her voice went hoarse. “He said I’d made a murderer out of him again and I need to know why.”

  “Dear Lord in heaven.” Mary sank to the floor, her face ashen. “I never imagined he’d still be carrying this burden.” She shook her head on a deep breath. “She’d been in labour for two days before I was called in. Arran hadn’t even known she was pregnant with his child.”

  Breghan went down on the cold stone before her. “She never told him?”

  “Elizabeth served in a tavern in town. Arran was just about seventeen then, heir to Ferniehirst. I would imagine she was scared, assumed no help would be forthcoming, tried to hide her pregnancy as long as possible…” Mary gave a small shrug. “By the time she grew desperate enough, the old laird and Arran were away, first on border patrol and then up to spend some months at court in Edinburgh.”

  “Was she a—” Breghan couldn’t say the word. She’d sat by Elizabeth’s grave, her heart had reached out to the dead mother and child. Whatever else Elizabeth might have been paled in comparison. “You do think it was Arran’s babe?”

  “I believe Elizabeth kept herself to herself. Serving lasses who serve more than ale and whiskey quickly earn a reputation,” Mary answered. “The old laird was overcome with joy and Arran, though in some daze from everything that was happening, never once questioned Elizabeth or denied her claim.”

  Mary went on to tell of how Elizabeth had slowly faded away with each passing day, of how Arran sat by her side through the screams and the slow loss of her life’s blood from her tortured body. She grew silent for many minutes, the pulled out of her story to say, “My father often travelled to France to further his studies in medicine. After one such trip, he described how he’d worked alongside a surgeon who’d cut a baby from the mother’s womb and both had lived. The same procedure, he told me, used to separate mother and child after death so they may be laid each in their own grave.”

  A sheet of ice spread over Breghan’s skin, from head to toe like an incoming tide. “You did cut the babe from Elizabeth’s belly.”

  “Elizabeth had been falling in and out of consciousness for days, delirious with fever.” Mary wrung her hands together, her voice hoarse. “I explained to Arran that the baby was too big, Elizabeth’s body too small and fragile to push the b
abe out. There was naught to do but try and save the babe. She was so close to dead, I thought she already was… She came to, screaming as I sliced through her womb. I shoved the baby in his arms so I could take care of Elizabeth, but that scream was her last… Arran froze stiff in shock. Then the door burst open and he lost his mind, shouting curses about women and the devil.”

  “He was only seventeen,” Breghan whispered, her heart tearing open at the seams. “How could you do that to him?”

  “The birthing cord was wrapped around the babe’s throat, had probably been so for days… All hope was already lost. I was desperate to save at least one life in that room.”

  “All these years he’s lived with that.” Her voice shook, her throat raw with unshed tears. “All this time, all that pain, tortured with the picture of his baby needing to be ripped out of the womb. You ran away, fled to the safety of the abbey.” She looked at Mary, unable to draw upon a single thread of sympathy for the woman’s ashen face. “You should have stayed to explain to him, again and again until he understood. How could you do that to him? How—how could you…? He was just a boy.”

  She tried to stand, couldn’t, had to crawl to the pallet where she curled up into a ball and wrapped her arms around her stomach. She lay there, shivering, her mind blanked with the horror of what Mary had done, her heart weeping for Arran.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A full two days passed before Arran came.

  Breghan was taken through terraced gardens flown with summer colours to the highest level by one of the Augustinian monks, who left her at the door to the abbey church. Above the full length of the centre aisle, an arch of lead windows filtered in the daylight to warm the sandstone walls. As if sensing her presence, Arran turned, rising slowly from his pew in front of the choir circle to watch her approach.

  His jaw was covered with two days of beard, his eyes sunken deep in their sockets. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept, eaten or had a sane minute in days. His Kerr plaid and fine linen shirt did nothing to tame the wild beast riding just beneath the surface. The grim line of his mouth didn’t soften as she drew close. “You are well and safe, in spite of my abhorrent behaviour. Forgive me, Breghan.” His voice was a thick burr, his gaze dark and searching. “I canna expect your forgiveness, but I’ll ask nevertheless. Forgive me.”