by Adams, Alisa
Gregor considered this. “I hope I don’t smell so bad,” he remarked dryly, making her laugh. They were sitting on a bench facing the quadrangle of grass in the middle of the cloisters. There was a half-moon above them and Teresa had brought a lantern with her, so they were able to see quite well. They sat for a long time talking, making each other laugh, teasing each other.
He was like no other man Iona had ever met. Cameron was her brother so she loved him as such. She hated her father and loathed the Baron, but Gregor was different. He was funny, he was kind, and he made her body feel things it had never felt before. And the fact that he was handsome too was a definite advantage!
Suddenly she said, "You are a postulant like me, and I wanted to ask you what made you choose this life."
The change of topic and the tone of her question took him by surprise. He was silent for a moment, thinking. "I was at a point in my life where I had no idea what I was going to do next," he replied, frowning. "Then I met Columba and I realized that the mind he has contained everything I wanted to know. He has a mind like a treasure house except that instead of jewels he has knowledge. He is the most astonishing person I have ever met. Lately, though." He paused again and shook his head. "I have decided that it's not the life for me. It is far too restrictive and I like the company of women too much. Does that shock you?"
"Not at all," she answered, "I like the company of men too, but my story is a long one and no doubt you have heard it before.”
He decided not to pursue the subject since she obviously did not want to discuss it. “But this place is so crowded,” he protested as he looked around himself. There were women, children and cats everywhere. “And not just with people. How can you stand it?”
"I like it here,” she answered, “although I have only been here for a few days." She looked up and smiled. “It is restful, and the women are genuine and down to earth. I love children. By the way, my name is not Teresa, thank God!" She cast her eyes heavenward in gratitude.
"Let me guess what it is. Hmm…" He began to reel off a number of girls' names but she shook her head after every one. “Ailsa? Morag? Donalda? Catriona? Thomasina? Adamina? Flora? Saundra? Annie? Mairead?" Then he laughed. "I give up."
"I am surprised it is so difficult considering your companion's name."
Gregor smacked his hand against his forehead. "Columba… Iona! Of course!" He gazed at her for a moment. "It is a beautiful name and you're beautiful too," he said huskily.
She blushed. "Thank you, and you are very handsome," Iona replied, “even if you do resemble a big black cat!”
He laughed and then grew serious. He was about to say something else when they heard footsteps coming from the direction of the chapel.
“I will wait for you tomorrow,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling. “I have a feeling we have much to discuss!”
He caught her hand, smiling. “Do not keep me waiting. And bring a bible—we must be praying if we are caught!”
She nodded, waved, and with one last mischievous glance, disappeared around the corner. Gregor turned to see Columba and Mother Cecilia walking towards him.
"Gregor!" Columba sounded delighted to see him, "why are you sitting out here in the cold night air?"
"I wanted to think, Father," he replied, laughing. “It is much easier out here.”
Columba smiled. “I beg to disagree. The smell of cats disagrees with me.” He coughed and looked at Gregor keenly.
He knows, Gregor thought, he always knows.
The sisters never turned any woman or child away, so Iona's dormitory was very crowded. That night she lay down on her narrow mattress and thought of Gregor. The last thing she thought about before she drifted off to sleep was his eyes, a green so dark they were almost black, with long dark lashes. She saw them twinkle as he smiled at her, then laughed to herself. She would be astonished if that man ever became a monk. She sat waiting for him the next evening in the Cats’ Courtyard, as she thought of it now. He sneaked in grinning at her guiltily.
“You told me not to keep you waiting, so I hurried.” She laughed.
“I’m sorry.” He hung his head in mock shame. “Mea culpa,” he said sadly, “my fault. I was caught by one of the children who desperately needed me to teach him to juggle.”
“You can juggle?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “I am so impressed!”
“One of my more useful talents,” he said dryly, “it is really useful when it comes to dealing with the mundane things of life such as making a living!” He was making fun of himself, and Iona liked that. He gazed at her sadly for a moment. “I will be sorry to go, Iona. It’s been pleasant getting to know you.”
“And you, Gregor,” she replied. They lapsed into silence for a moment. However, it was a comfortable silence.
At last Gregor broke it. “Do you think you would marry?” he asked suddenly, “if the right man came along?”
She laughed. “Are you proposing?” She sighed. “I’m jesting. I might if he was good to me.” She was looking down at her hands to avoid his eyes. They looked ludicrously small against Gregor’s, which looked strong enough to crush rocks. His eyes were so kind, and if she were different, less shy and bolder, she might have thrown herself into his arms there and then.
“I am leaving tomorrow,” he whispered, “to accompany Father Columba to see the Bishop of Skye. May I come back this way and see you?”
Iona looked around herself uneasily. When she looked up at him her eyes were troubled. “I may have a problem with that,” she replied, taking out her bible as two young novices came around the corner and sat down beside them. Gregor did the same and pretended to read a passage she was indicating as she said softly, “Meet me in the henhouse tomorrow after breakfast. There are things I need to tell you.”
He nodded and sat for a few more moments then left. He was stunned at his own strength of feeling for this lovely young woman. They had shared so little time together, but it seemed that their futures were intertwined. He had dreamt it. He had never told Columba about the dream, although he had a feeling he would understand, it all added to the feeling that he and Iona were meant to be together.
9
The Bishop of Skye
Next morning in the henhouse Iona was standing with a basket of eggs over her arm waiting for him. She turned around as he came in and cautiously put it on the floor. For a moment they stood gazing at each other, neither quite knowing what to do next. Then, suddenly making up his mind, Gregor crossed the floor in two paces and pulled her into his arms. Iona gave an involuntary gasp of surprise as he kissed her with a passion born of desperation. She responded in kind, her every sense afire with need, knowing that it was their first and last kiss.
When they drew apart, he looked down into her eyes and his were fierce. "I have known you only a few days," he whispered, "but I know I will never forget you. I am returning this way in a few days - please let us talk some more - get to know each other better. You could even come with me. I am going to the mainland.”
She nodded and smiled at him. “I would like that,” she replied. As she looked back at him, she saw a glimmer of hope, but then the flame flickered and died as quickly as it had appeared. She sighed and shook her head.
"But my father will find us. He has ways of doing so that are ruthless and cunning." Her voice was bitter and hard, and tears began to leak from her eyes. "He will threaten, bribe, and even torture to get what he wants, and you are only one man. He has dozens. And Gregor—it is too soon."
Gregor thought fast. "You are quite safe as long as you are here? None of the sisters will tell him anything?"
"No, they will not." She shook her head firmly, “but he will no doubt guess where I am.”
"I have to escort Columba to the Bishop's palace, and it will take a few days. By then I will have planned what we can do." Then a note of doubt crept into his voice, "if you want to come with me, of course."
She reached up and pulled his head down for another kiss. "Of
course, I do," she murmured, “I would do anything to get away, but Gregor, we hardly know each other, and I would hate you to think I was using you.”
“I don’t.” He smiled and kissed her hand. “Look after yourself till I see you again.” For a moment longer, they gazed at each other before he turned and strode away across the grass without looking back.
Columba and Gregor walked on for a long time in total silence. Gregor was thinking of plans for his strategy to rescue Iona and Columba was praying for him. Each of their minds was occupied with their own concerns, and neither wanted to break the silence and ruin his concentration.
Gregor had built and discarded a dozen plans since he left the convent, but all of them depended on getting a band of men together in case they should meet Iona's father and his band of soldiers. He did not want to have to go back to the mainland for reinforcements but if that was the only way, then it would have to be done. He sighed. All this for a woman he had not even known until two days before.
When they arrived at the cathedral complex, one of the younger novices, Brother Gerald, took them on a tour around the cathedral and monastery. He looked very proud of it, and Gregor soon saw why. He was amazed at the size of the complex that held the cathedral. As well as the church and its side chapels, there was the monastery with its refectory, kitchen, dormitory, bath-house and hospital.
Beside the kitchen was a buttery, brewery, butcher and a small mill with stones for grinding barley and oats. There were innumerable storehouses for everything from furniture to carpentry tools to farm implements. Outside were barns and outhouses for animals and the storing of grain, and a vegetable and herb garden.
Beyond that were acres of arable land that grew barley and oats and pasture for a mixed herd of goats and sheep. The wool from the sheep was used for making blankets and the monks' robes and was spun then woven by the monks themselves using two looms in one of the outhouses. There was a burn at the foot of the brae on which the complex stood, making it completely self-sufficient.
Occasionally the monks would buy linen for clothes and altar cloths, and very, very rarely a merchant would be summoned from the mainland to sell them silk for new vestments and robes. These were expensive extras, however, and not strictly necessary for survival.
The Bishop of Skye was a tall, excessively thin man, with cadaverous cheeks and sunken eyes. To Gregor, he looked as though a good puff of wind would blow him over at any moment. However, he had a voice like the sighing of a breeze; gentle, soft and melodious, a fact which Columba had, perhaps deliberately, forgotten to mention.
"Father Columba!" He extended a hand so that Columba could kiss his ring.
Gregor did likewise, feeling a trifle foolish.
"I have not seen you in an age, Father!" the bishop cried joyfully. He began to walk with them, talking to Gregor as they made their way to his office beside the church.
"Gregor, I had heard many tales of Father Columba, he of the memory that never forgets, and the tales that make one laugh and laugh. I was truly not prepared for the reality, though. You can ask him anything, anything under the sun, and he can tell you about it in the minutest detail! I see this brain." He tapped on Columba's head. "Like a sponge, sucking up knowledge wherever it goes. And do you know what the best thing about Father Columba is? Do you?"
Gregor shook his head, smiling. Columba was looking at the floor. "He is not afraid to laugh at himself!" The bishop gave Columba a playful dig in the ribs which sent him staggering sideways, but the bishop did not notice.
"He will tell you about the time he fell at Our Lady's feet, not out of devotion, but because he tripped. Do you know, that statue is now called 'The Weeping MaKenna?' From that day on tears came from her eyes and they have not stopped since!" He paused for breath and Gregor took the opportunity to get a word in edgewise. He had heard this story before, but for the bishop's sake, he pretended that it was the first time.
"So, he is not only a genius and a comedian, Your Grace but now a miracle worker?" He laughed. "Perhaps he is now eligible for canonization!"
Columba shot him the kind of look that would have felled lesser men. "Thank you, Gregor, but I have no wish to be elevated to sainthood." His tone was firm and deliberate. "There are much more worthy candidates than I."
"Anyway, he might become saintly and unbearable." The bishop laughed. "and that would be a tragedy."
"Enough!" Columba put his hands up and laughed in his turn. "Be serious for a moment. Your Grace, why did you want to see me?"
"Come and let us speak privately," the bishop said. He directed Columba to his office and waved Gregor away. "Perhaps Brother Gerald can find you some refreshment and show you where to sleep while I talk to Father Columba." His tone was dismissive, and Gregor felt annoyed, but he grudgingly acquiesced.
Once in the bishop's office, Columba sat down. The bishop looked at Columba seriously. "I want to send you on a mission," he told him.
Columba raised his eyebrows. "Anything, Father," he replied calmly.
"There is fighting in the Lowlands, as you know.” At the mention of this, he looked sad. "Although there are priests there, we do not have enough to cope. I want you to train more. Not only are you a godly man but God has gifted you with a mind in a million. They need someone like you, Columba," he said and sighed. "I have many priests, but none that can do what I am asking of you. I need you because of that brain of yours."
Columba nodded. "I will do it," he said, his voice soft but firm.
The bishop nodded firmly. "We will be sending you to Inverness, then Perth… " he droned on, and Columba sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Brother Gerald led Gregor to the refectory, where he was given bread, cheese, ale and honey. "Honey?" Gregor said in disbelief, "I cannot remember the last time I had honey!"
"We have our own hives near the herb garden," the young monk said, rather smugly, Gregor thought.
He decided that he really did not like this place much, but that could have been something to do with the place he had just come from. There was something vastly different about a community of women to a community of men. Men by nature were more prone to violence, but even in a tranquil environment like a monastery, there was a spirit of competitiveness that was inbuilt into the nature of all the male gender.
Women were softer, gentler, but could sometimes undermine each other in the subtlest of ways. But they formed networks, communicated well and supported each other. As well as all that, Gregor thought, they just smelled better. He laughed aloud at that then fell on his meal as if it was going to be the last one he ever ate. He was shown to his cell by Gerald. It was one specially reserved for visiting monks but had a bare, Spartan appearance, with a narrow bed, a wooden chair, and a chamber pot. It’s one ornament was the plain wooden cross on the wall.
However, at least it was private. The rest of the monks slept in the communal dormitory, and Gregor could not imagine any joy in sharing his space with a hundred or so snoring strangers. Despite the early hour, he lay on the bed and was soon fast asleep.
10
The Bargain
A few weeks earlier…
Baron Hector McLaughlin of Portree thought of himself as a kindly man, but an unlucky one. He had been married twice and had been widowed both times. One of his wives had died of consumption, and the other in a riding accident. She had been carrying a child. It seemed that he was destined to be unlucky in love; at the age of forty-five he had no sons and time was running out if he wanted to be a father before his dotage. He needed to instill the virtues of manhood into the boy before he was sixteen.
So, when Laird Craig McCallum had come to him offering the hand of his daughter in marriage in exchange for a substantial sum of money he was very willing and very excited. There was no price he would not pay for a son of his own. It did not occur to him for one moment that he might sire a daughter.
The Laird and he had worked on a small project before, one of a personal nature, so they knew each other v
ery well. He had been told that he was quite a handsome man. He was tall and fair, with regular features and blue-gray eyes. He would have to do something about his weight, though. His stomach was expanding so much that any exertion quickly tired him, and his clothes were constantly having to be let out to accommodate his widening girth. He would have to slim down if he wanted to please his wife in the marriage bed.
He knew, of course, that a woman's task was to give satisfaction to her husband and that her only function was to get with child, but it was easier to achieve this when she was not constantly struggling and screaming. He did his best, therefore, to be gentle, even though a certain amount of discipline was sometimes required.
He received the Laird McCallum on a bright morning in early July. The two men were friends, but this was business, so they conducted themselves accordingly. They sat drinking spiced wine and talking over the harvests, the price of wool, the vegetable crops and innumerable other topics of interest before the heart of the matter was reached.
"Now, Craig," the Baron began, "since we have worked together before, this should not take long. As you know, I have seen your daughter. She is very comely."
"Iona is beautiful," Peter McCallum said proudly. “She would be a good wife for any man."
"She is definitely a virgin?" the Baron asked shrewdly, "because I want no spoiled goods."
The Laird nodded. "She has been properly chaperoned her whole life. I pledge on my honor that she is pure."
The Baron nodded, thinking. "And I must know that she is fertile. I must have sons before I am too old to train them into manhood. I am not getting any younger."
"As you know, only God can tell if a woman is fertile," Craig said cautiously, "but my daughter will be accommodating. You will have as many opportunities as you wish to sire your child on her."
