The monk that had accompanied Jacqueline had barely spoken a word to her. She believed that he must have taken an oath of silence. As they reached the chapel, the priest came to them as they walked through the arch leading into the gathering room.
“Ye must be the lass Robert has sent here seeking an asylum,” he stated.
“Yes, I am. My name is Jacqueline Renold, Father. I thank you for your kindness in offering me sanctuary,” she said as she bowed her head to him.
“Ye are English. That I was no’ told,” the priest stated.
Jacqueline looked at him almost shameful for her heritage.
“English or no’, that is just fine, lass. God opens his doors and hearts to all of His children who seek it. All are welcome and will no’ be turned away from the house of God,” he continued and held out his hand to greet her.
Unfamiliar with Scottish customs, Jacqueline bent down and kissed the ring upon his finger. The priest looked at her and smiled.
“Yer chamber will be down the corridor with the other lasses staying wit us. We have strict rules here and expect them to be followed accordingly. I will send someone to assist ye.”
“I understand, Father. Thank you.”
Jacqueline walked down the narrow corridor and found the room at the end of the hall. Sitting down onto the straw filled bed, she laid back and sank into its softness. Jacqueline’s muscles ached from sleeping on the hard, cold ground. Lying in the bed now, she thought on how much she had missed the comforts that she was used to at Carlisle.
Sitting alone in the room for what felt like hours caused Jacqueline to do nothing but think. She wondered how different her life would have been had her parents survived. At the age of fourteen, she would have already been wed off to the first eligible bachelor. Being seventeen, she felt like a spinster.
She couldn’t help to think what had happened to James. One possibility remained that Jacqueline tried to disregard; that her brother or cousin had him killed. As much as she denied it, it would have been plausible. James was in the way of her cousin’s contract with Lord Wessex and Jacqueline knew all too well how important that contract was between them. She continued to think of everything and anything trying to avoid what had happened over the past few days. She thought it best to pretend that it never happened and that Ewan MacKinnon never existed.
One of the other ladies with whom she was to share a room, knocked on the open door and stood at the entrance. With her, she had a bowl of heated broth along with warm butter rolls that Jacqueline could smell from across the room. It reminded her of dear sweet Maggie and how she missed the auld woman. The young girl was close in age to Jacqueline. She had long reddish hair and her face covered in freckles. Her garb was a simple black nun robe and she appeared rather timid-looking.
“Hello. My name is Davina. I heard you were the English lass here to stay wit us. I have brought ye something to eat,” she softly whispered.
“Hello. My name is Jacqueline. Thank you for bringing me my meal.”
Davina seemed to have many questions for Jacqueline. Mostly about who she was and how she came to be at Ryelle Abbey. She also instructed Jacqueline of the rules that they were to follow while living at the abbey and the work they were required to perform.
In turn, Jacqueline learned much of her new found friend. Davina had joined the abbey when she was ten after given the choice to marry or become a nun. She took the path of Christ over the vows of marriage.
“You must wear this,” Davina said as she pulled out a long black robe from a small trunk for Jacqueline to wear.
Now that it seemed she got her denied wish to join the church, she was hesitant to become a full member of the convent, but she knew that it was for her own safety and she would be allowed to hide in solitude.
“Davina, I need to send a message. Do you think Father Modine would find a messenger for me?” she asked.
“I dinna think that is a good idea. Ye are to have contact wit no outsider. Father Modine was verra clear.”
“Please, it’s important. I shall be sending it anonymously so that there will be no danger to follow.”
“I will. But ye mustn’t tell anyone that I helped ye or I will be living out more penances then I already have.”
“I promise. Thank you.”
Jacqueline greedily snatched the freshly baked roll from the plate. Biting off a small piece, the creamy butter melted in her mouth leaving her feeling satisfied. Licking the butter off her fingers, Jacqueline took out a piece of parchment from the side table and began constructing a letter to inquire about James.
Shortly after, Davina returned with one of the monks. Jacqueline gave him the folded parchment and instructed him to send it directly to James’ family outside of London. She was uncertain if the letter would get to James or not, but she felt that she had to at least try.
For a monk, he would easily be able to cross the border into England without being searched or questioned, Jacqueline thought. She recalled many traveling missionaries from all over who were allowed entrance across borders only by offering a small contribution to the church, whether it was coin or grain collected among their travels. Many of the monks that had passed through Carlisle offered them barrels of whiskey they acquired from the Scottish. She remembered the Scottish whiskey had a better taste than the ones brewed and served in England. She recalled her cousin once saying that whiskey was the only good that came out of Scotland.
Once the monk had left, Jacqueline gave up her luxurious gown and donned the black robe Davina had offered and went in search of Davina to begin her day helping out the other women with their chores.
Sitting on the wooden stool, Ewan slammed back his third tankard of watered down ale. He had decided to stop at the pub to join Bram and Oliver just outside Carrick. He was angry with himself for allowing his thoughts to wander. Looking down at his mug, he realized that he was starting to miss Jacqueline, as much as he tried to deny it.
He thought to himself that as much of a pain in the arse as she was, Ewan found her to be most captivating. But what would an English lady want with a man like him. He was no laird, nor did he have any coin or home of his own to offer her. Besides, she hated him because of his name and to whom he was related. Not to mention, she was already in love with another man. Ewan could not compete with that. He felt foolish for even having these silly boyish feelings.
“I should nay have kissed her,” Ewan said quietly to himself.
“Did ye say something?” Bram asked.
“Bram, are you familiar wit a mission my father may have went on several years ago to Ireland?”
“Ireland? Heavens, if it was one thing yer father hated, it was traveling across sea. E’eryone kens that. Poor mon would get sick e’en looking at a vessel rocking back and forth. Having the sea toss a mon about made him a mon of the land. Why?”
“I was told that he may have been. Possibly went to join a peace mission.”
“Nay, I ken my uncle and he wouldna traveled to Ireland. No’ unless he had himself a good reason.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Funny to be asking such questions wit out a good reason, Ewan. What are ye no’ telling me?”
“Nothing. Go back to yer drink,” Ewan snapped.
Ewan knew that it was impossible for his father to commit such a cruel act. With him deceased, Ewan knew that he had no way to prove whether it happened or not. The piece of cloth that Jacqueline had mentioned was found within her mother’s hand was the only proof they had. Ewan pondered on how he could prove his innocence.
Ewan continued to quietly sit at the pub while listening to Bram and Oliver talk about the bonny lasses glancing at them from across the room. They were betting with each other who would bed one of them first. Their laughter and loud voices carried over the music a young lad was playing in the corner of the room.
Feeling annoyed with his unsettling mood, Ewan called out to the boy, “That be fine music ye be playin’ laddie wit yer lute
, but me head can take nay anymore of it.”
The small boy looked at him wide-eyed and ran off. Ewan did not mean to intentionally scare or upset the lad but his scowl did have a bitter tone. Tossing a few coins on the table, Ewan stood up and swung his scabbard over his back and decided to head out to camp. The sooner his mission was done the sooner he could return home and forget about Jacqueline.
“I will meet ye at the camp,” he said to the men.
“Ye are leaving? But ye would be missing out on the many fine lasses here. Ye ne’er deny a chance to bed down wit a lass. Plus Oliver here and I bet that ye would be the first to couple wit one of ‘em. Dinna want to make me lose my bet, would ya?”
“Bram, sometimes there are more important things in life than just a bedding,” he said as he turned away from him.
Bram yelled out, “That’s why ye are in a foul mood. It’s a lass, isn’t it? Ye have fallen for a lass.”
Ewan could hear him laugh as he exited the pub. He was in no mood for Bram to boast on and tease him about having feelings for a lass. He had no intention on telling Bram anything about Jacqueline and damn him now for knowing.
Over the next several weeks, the summer weather had brought in many rainy days and sleepless nights. Wicked thunderstorms would roll through the valley leaving the men without dry wood to warm themselves by a fire. Ewan trained hard with the men, readying himself for battle. Hundreds of men joined the campaign and it was only a matter of days until they marched east towards the River Forth to face the English forces. Each night, they traveled closer to where the scouts had spotted the English soldiers’ camp. William Wallace was leading them to Falkirk, just south of Stirling where the Scottish had claimed victory over King Edward’s army.
Ewan had never been more dedicated to this training, as Bram often pointed out. Bram had mentioned on several occasions that he believed Ewan was purposely keeping his mind on battle to forget something or someone. Ewan ignored his inquiries and questions in regards to the mysterious lass until Bram finally gave up. It had been over a week now since he last questioned him. Ewan knew that whatever he had or would have had with Jacqueline was over. She now lived a nun’s life and soon after battle, he would be heading home, whether it be Dunakin, or home to his Heavenly Father if he died on the battlefield.
In the early morning hours, their battle had finally come. Ewan stood along the ridge with over a hundred of his fellow warriors and stared into the faces of the English, waiting for the first cries of Wallace’s battle call. The intense rain made it hard to see across the valley, but the images of thousands of men staring back at them was haunting. Ewan agreed with those around him who were concerned over the difference in numbers Edward’s army had compared to their own. But no matter how many, and even if their chances were slim, they would stay and fight.
Ewan raised his shield as a hail of arrows flew through the sky and struck many of the men and shields around him. Wallace yelled out. Ewan charged alongside him towards their enemies. The battle had begun.
Chapter 11
“Bram,” Ewan yelled out in desperation when he noticed that Bram was limping and barely showing the strength to drag his sword behind him. Bram fell to his knees after being slashed across the chest by his assailant. Ewan ran towards the man with unrestrained fury. With one mighty strike of his sword, Ewan severed the man’s head from his lifeless body. Fighting off the men circling around him, he created enough of an opening to ward off any further potential harm to Bram.
“Ewan,” Oliver hollered out, “We must retreat. They are closing in from the left and the right.”
Ewan looked back at Bram. His motionless body lay upon the muddy ground. Ewan wiped his hand over his face to clear his eyes from the rain and sweat. Ewan stood silently searching for his fellow comrades. However, not many of them still stood.
“We can no’ save ‘em. His blood is no’ on yer hands, Brother. We must retreat now,” Oliver said as he cupped Ewan’s shoulder, seizing him from taking another step.
Oliver was right. The only thing Ewan could do now was retreat if he wished to live. For a moment, it was a hard decision for him to make. He came into this battle willing to give his last breath, but evidence showed that they were losing this fight and there was no honor in giving up.
Ewan saw a small group of men who had survived the slaughter flee towards the forest of Torwood. With a guilty conscience, he looked back at Bram one last time and ran towards a rider-less horse and climbed onto its back. Racing away from the battle he headed off into the woods. The heavy rain falling down had washed away most of the blood and grime on his clothes.
When he got to the edge of the forest, he glanced back for a moment as the English knights had begun to retreat from their victory and continued onward. Catching up with Oliver and the other men, they were badly wounded. But Ewan knew that it wasn’t their injuries that caused them to remain so quiet and emotionless. They were broken men. Tired, hungry and exhausted, they traveled together towards home.
Jacqueline was grateful for the kind treatment the monks and nuns had offered her and adjusted well to her new life. She had taken up the care of the young as well as work in the gardens. Jacqueline was not at all ashamed of giving up the life she once knew to remain as a servant of God and its people for the rest of her days.
Father Modine had been kind enough to offer her prayer and private teachings within her chamber, but today she had decided to venture off down to the chapel herself.
The clean crisp air blew in from the opened windows causing Jacqueline to take a deep breath in. Her bedchamber provided no fresh air as there were no windows within the small space. Jacqueline was never one to manage being cooped up in a place for too long.
Turning the corner into the chapel, Jacqueline sat down at one of the benches in the back as the rest of the monks and a few members of the congregation took over the rest of the room. The chapel was not much different than that of Carlisle Abbey. It had a tall vaulted ceiling and beautiful paintings that hung high on the walls. She listened to the preacher speak both in Gaelic and Latin, even though she only understood the Latin. She thought the Gaelic language to be confusing and hard to comprehend.
The teachings he spoke of were to live by the word of God. Jacqueline believed herself to be a very Christian woman and she tried to live up to the church’s teaching and only faltered in one area, her King. Edward believed himself greater than God, and even though he was a king of man, he too was a servant of God. The other teaching the priest spoke of was forgiveness. Immediately Ewan crossed her mind. She knew that the guilt she felt would have to stay with her forever. She felt awful how she treated him. He may be a MacKinnon but he wasn’t the one who killed her parents and he was not even aware what his father had done. She tried to convince herself that she allowed her mouth to run solely based off the anger she felt but knew that it was no excuse for her behavior.
After the sermon, Jacqueline headed to the altar to light the candles for prayer. Jacqueline felt that she had many things to pray for. She prayed that the war between the countries would soon meet its end. She prayed for her brother’s forgiveness and asked for forgiveness in return for betraying her king and country. And she prayed for Ewan to have safe travels on his road back to the Highlands, not knowing how far away his journey would take him. Jacqueline had never seen the northern Highlands. Growing up, she had only heard stories of its vast beauty and how it was desecrated by the barbarians who lived there.
Just as Jacqueline was about to light the next one, the door to the chapel swung open and a gust of wind blew out all of the candles she had lit. Davina ran to the altar and gave the sign of the cross. She bowed down and sat on her knees with what appeared to be a missive clutched in her hand. Seeing the saddened look upon her face, Jacqueline scurried over to her to console her friend.
“Are you alright?” Jacqueline asked.
Davina looked at her as if she had witnessed death before her eyes. “I have received a miss
ive from my sister. My brothers went to Falkirk without my father’s blessing to go off into battle and were killed. So many Scots have died. Only a few survived and many who had survived were taken prisoner.”
Jacqueline felt pity for Davina’s loss, but could not shake the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. Falkirk was where Ewan had mentioned he was heading after they parted. Davina held up the piece of paper for Jacqueline to read it.
My Dearest Sister,
Deacon and Lachlan were killed during the battle at Falkirk. Mother and father are well but grieving their loss. They say they marched in the rain…one by one and side by side. They were heavily outnumbered. Many of our kinsmen were slaughtered. Fear not as they fought with honor and gave their lives for the heart and soul of Scotland. Few managed to escape the massacre but no’ many of them made it home. May they rest with the angels, dearest one.
Anna
No matter how many times she read it, Jacqueline would not accept the possibility that Ewan could be among the dead. Jacqueline tightly held onto Davina’s hand for comfort. Both women prayed for the souls of those who had perished.
For the remainder of the day, Jacqueline decided to remain in solitude. She took her meals within her room and did not do any of her chores for that day. She even opted out of going into the village to visit with the children, which was something she had always looked forward to. As she sat in her room, Jacqueline couldn’t help but want to reach out to Robert the Bruce. She thought that perhaps he could provide her with more information. She knew that Ewan would probably never want to see her again after the way she behaved, but if she could only hear word of his safety, that would be all she would need.
April Holthaus - The MacKinnon Clan 02 Page 9
