by Adams, Alisa
Presently, she looked up at him and laughed. "Are we not a pretty pair? Both of us desperate to kiss each other with no idea how to do it."
"You want to kiss me?" His voice, normally so deep, was a squeak of disbelief.
"Very much so! I asked my maid what to do and she showed me. We kissed each other—it was so funny! So now I am going to do it to you."
He was about to protest but before he could say a word she had pulled his face down to hers and their lips were touching, caressing each other. Then she parted his lips with her tongue and gently explored his mouth. He was terrified, but after a few seconds, he did the same, moaning with desire as he strained her to him. Holding a woman in his arms for the first time was the most glorious thing he had ever done in his life.
When they drew apart, he stood trying to recover his breath, and he smiled at her without shyness. "I had no idea it felt like that," he said, shaking his head and laughing.
"Neither did I." She looked up into his eyes, and he knew at that moment he could never be a monk. Circumstances had dictated his presence in the monastery; he had had no vocation. Then he came back to reality.
"Marianne…" He shook his head sadly. "This is a lovely dream, but you know that we can never be together. Your father probably has a husband picked out for you already and I am a—" He broke off. What was he? He wasn't yet a monk, and he had no intention of becoming one. He was a free man but he had nowhere to go. His father would not tolerate him and his siblings knew nothing of his existence. He looked up at her pleadingly.
"Come with me," she said. She began to lead the horse but he stopped her.
"Ride," he ordered, "anyone passing will think it odd that you are walking."
She nodded and he helped her up, making a stirrup out of his hands.
"Tell me about yourself," she said. "Are you an orphan?"
"No," he replied bitterly, "I am a cast-off. My father took one look at me when I was born and sent me away. My mother could not stop him. She has always come to see me, though, very frequently and I love her for that. I have a brother and sister, both younger than I am, with no blemishes. They know nothing of my existence."
There was a pause for a moment and when he looked up tears were streaming down her face.
"I am so sorry," she whispered, "so sorry. No-one should be rejected like that."
"It is not your fault," he replied, "my father is cruel, and nobody is responsible for that but him. I have had a very strange life, growing up surrounded by men. I had not seen a female except my mother and statues of the Blessed Virgin till I was seven!"
Marianne was about to laugh, but seeing the sadness in his eyes, she changed the topic. "My brother is about the same age as you," she said, "vain as a peacock and so stupid!"
"What is his name? Is he older than you?"
"Yes," she replied, "two years. His name is Philippe. We all have French Christian names and Scottish surnames. It sounds very strange. I have two brothers and two sisters, none of whom I like very much." She sighed. "The best I can say about my parents is that they do not annoy me."
“I am sure you are jesting!” He laughed. "You are fortunate, nonetheless."
They rode for a while in comfortable silence till they saw the castle looming up in the distance. It was just beginning to rain, but they both knew that by the time they got to the castle they would be soaked through.
"Get on the horse," she commanded.
"No," he replied firmly, "that would not be fitting—a monk and a lady on one horse! I will walk."
"Then we will both be soaked," she replied, "and that is stupid. If you do not get on this horse I will be forced to dismount and walk."
He sighed, then hauled himself up onto the animal and put his arms around Marianne's waist. If he had not been so cold and wet he would have enjoyed the trip.
Marianne's hair smelled of lavender, and the heat of her body warmed his chilled bones. How much he wanted to bury his face in that silky hair and breathe her in like a perfume till he was dizzy with desire.
It took them only ten minutes more to get to the castle, where William handed the letter from the Bishop over to the butler. Marianne ordered a dry robe for William, and when he had changed and sent his habit to be dried, she smiled.
"We must eat," Marianne said and took him into the smaller of the castle's two dining rooms. She had a fire lit in the big grate so that they could warm up, and they sat beside it looking into the glowing flames in a contented silence.
Presently the food that she had ordered arrived, and he gasped at its richness and quantity. There was venison pie, rice in beef broth, and two baked pears with honey.
"I have never eaten food like this," he said, staring at it in disbelief.
"Then it is time you started, William," she smiled. "Do monks not eat anything but the plainest food?"
"We eat nourishing food, and there is plenty of it," William explained, "and sometimes we have spices to enliven it, but for the most part, it is stew, porridge, bannocks and perhaps some fruit in season. We have our own hives and buttery, but sadly, we cannot make our own wine."
He looked so sad that she laughed.
"Eat," she urged. "You can have more if you finish it all."
So, William ate. Long after Marianne had finished hers he was still on his second helping of venison pie. She watched him attacking the food with so much enjoyment that she realized what a rare treat it must be for him.
At last, he sat back, satisfied, and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
"I am sorry to be such a glutton, but I have never tasted anything like that before." Both his face and voice looked ashamed.
She covered his hand with hers on the table. "Never say sorry for eating," she whispered, "there are so many people out there who have nothing."
He was unaware that they were so close to each other until, almost involuntarily, he kissed her softly on the lips.
"William…" she stood up, pulling him with her, "I want to show you something. You can get a wonderful view from the turrets."
He followed her out of the dining room and they ascended a long curving staircase, then turned left into a long hallway with doors on each side. He frowned. They were no longer ascending a staircase, but perhaps there was one at the end of the corridor, he reasoned. But he never got to find out, because she opened a door and led him inside a beautifully appointed bedroom. He looked around him at the silk wall hangings, the scarlet coverlet and hangings on the intricately carved bed, and the jewel-covered carpets.
"William," she whispered, "I know I am being very wicked, and I am encouraging you to be the same, but please if you do not want me, tell me now. Then we can put it behind us and forget each other."
"I have never—" He shook his head, lost for words.
"Neither have I," she replied.
"But you are so lovely and I am this blemished creature."
"Did you never hear that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, sweetheart?" She kissed the purple skin of his birthmark. "You are beautiful to me. Do you not want me?"
He let out a ragged breath. "More than anything in the world," he murmured.
"Then let us teach each other," she suggested, and the look in her eyes made him weak with desire.
43
Meeting and Parting
They had given him a set of hose with a tunic over it, such as the servants wore when they were working, and he pulled it over his head and let it fall to the floor. She gazed at him then put her palms on his chest, running her palms over its smooth hairless skin. He had always felt strange about having so little body hair, but Brother Jean-Pierre had explained to him that if God had wanted him that way he would have made him so. He took his hose off and she looked at the rest of his body.
He saw her swallowing with nervousness and he was about to ask her if she wanted to change her mind, but she put his hand on her breast and whispered, "Undress me."
Neither of them had ever seen a naked member of the opposi
te sex before, and for both of them, the experience was profoundly arousing.
They lay down on the bed and did nothing but kiss for a long time, savoring each other’s bodies, rubbing, touching, embracing. Her fingers touched his manhood and he groaned with pleasure, then instinct took over. Driven by some primitive impulse, he eased inside her but stopped when she made a little squeal of pain.
"I'm sorry -" he would have pulled out again but she stayed him.
"Don't stop," she begged, her eyes wide with wonder. Somehow, she knew that after the fleeting moment of pain a wondrous experience awaited her.
He kissed her again, molding her breasts in his hands. She was moaning his name without realizing it, thrusting her hips up to meet his, trying to reach something that was just beyond her grasp. Then she reached it, a spike of ecstasy that she had never known before and could never have believed existed.
William had experienced the same sensation as he thrust into her, faster and faster, till it overwhelmed him and he lay on top of her, shuddering with the force of it.
They said nothing for a while. They were both too stunned and delighted with what they had experienced, and by tacit consent, they wanted to relive it for a while.
Presently, he rolled onto his side, taking her with him so that they were facing each other.
"Heaven could not be better than that," she smiled, kissing him again.
"If it is not, I would rather stay here with you forever," he took her hand and placed it on his unblemished cheek, but she put her other hand on the marked one.
"I could love you forever too.” She sighed. "But now, I am afraid we must go back. You will have to go up to the turrets so that we have a good story to tell."
He laughed and kissed her breasts one more time before reluctantly patting from her. They both dressed, sneaked out and went up to the wet and windy roof of the castle. It was freezing, and they peeped out from the doorway for exactly five seconds before ducking back in again, shivering.
"Now you can say you have seen the turrets," she said, eyes twinkling, and they laughed as they went downstairs.
Over the next three months they were able to see each other four more times, and then only when the Bishop had to send letters to Marianne's mother and father. The time after that was a gloriously sharp late summer day, and his heart was jolting with excitement as he walked towards the castle.
Marianne came running out to meet him, her face a mask of distress. He could see that she had been crying, but had no way of comforting her.
"Do not touch or kiss me," she sobbed. "My love, it is over. One of the servants saw us going into my room and told my father. He is marrying me to the Baron of Portree next week, as quickly as possible 'to put an end to my wickedness' he says. I have no means of getting away. There is nothing I can do - he is watching me even now. Goodbye, William. I will always love you."
She took the letter from his hand, then turned and left him. He stood watching her until she disappeared inside the castle. Afterward, he could not remember walking back. The only thing he was aware of was that his cheeks were wet and it was no longer raining.
"So that is our story," he finished sadly.
"And after a few weeks the Baron realized the child was not his," she assumed and frowned in puzzlement. "But how did you know that Craig and the Baron killed her?"
"The monastery is not a very private place," he replied. "Not even for confessionals. One day I was cleaning in the vestry, and I heard someone come into the church very noisily. It was one of the priests and the Baron. He confessed everything and implicated your father too. That was the first time that I realized that Marianne was dead and that she had been with child - my child, although the Baron had no idea of that. I felt my heartbreak.
I felt it physically as if I had been stabbed." He paused for a moment to steady himself. "The priest cannot break the seal of confession, as you know, but I carried that knowledge with me for weeks, not knowing what to do about it.
If I told someone I would likely not be believed, and anyway, who is going to face down a Baron without a hefty amount of evidence?" He stopped again, thinking. "The only person I could tell was Mother, and she told me your story. I could not believe that the same evil monster was ruining my sister’s life as well as ending my love’s. Mother asked me to be ready, so I was. The rest you know."
There was silence between them for a moment. She took his hand and said softly, "And you are still suffering the pain?"
"At least I know there will be justice, although it will never bring her back." He smiled at her. "It has been an enormous comfort talking to you about it."
"That is what sisters are for, William," she smiled, "and now I know that you never were a monk."
"I never will be now." He answered, "after I knew that Marianne was dead I seriously thought of taking my vows, but I am so very, very glad I did not."
"William, I know you don't want to hear this," she said gently, "but one day a sweet, gentle girl may come along and love you just as Marianne did, and you will love her too."
He smiled sadly. "So, you have the Sight now, sister?"
"Only where my loved ones are concerned," she laughed, "and you are one of them, William, as much as Cameron, or Mother, or Gregor."
William put his arm around her shoulder. "I thought that after Marianne died I could never be happy again. But I have a brother and sister, a new brother and sister-in-law, and though I will always have a wounded heart, it is not shattered any more. I love you too, my sister."
44
The Departure of Columba
Columba had to leave them to go on with his mission. It was a sad parting, especially for Gregor, who, having spent so much time with the priest, had come to love him like a brother. Everyone else had left to go back to their own estates, but Columba, at Gregor's request, had stayed for two more nights to be with his friend and his wife. Now he looked at them fondly by the light of a warm, blazing fire and envied them their closeness. The love of God was the ultimate love, but sometimes he longed for someone to warm his bed at night.
Something struck him as he looked at Iona. She was sitting beside Gregor with her head on his shoulder, but her hand was resting on her belly and she had an expression on her face of utter content. "Iona, you are with child," he said and frowned then shook his head in disbelief that he was even thinking such a thing.
Iona burst out laughing. "Father, even if that were true, it would be far too soon to tell. I have not—" She broke off, embarrassed.
"I understand," Columba said quietly, "but I am right, and you will see soon enough."
Gregor laughed, "Father, forgive me, but how would a priest know something like that?"
"I have no idea," Columba said, smiling his gentle smile, but it never fails."
"I will be so sorry to see him go," Gregor whispered, "he has been my friend for so long and I will miss him sorely."
They were lying holding each other, having just made love. This time afterwards while they were still cozy and contented, was almost better than the act itself, Iona thought, although she knew that Gregor would never agree with her.
"I will too," she said drowsily, "he married us, after all. So much has happened in the last few weeks, though, it seems like an age. I think his prediction about the pregnancy is a flight of fantasy, though."
"Most likely," Gregor murmured, kissing her hair. "Oh, Iona, what would I do without you? If there is a baby I would be the happiest man on earth."
But she had not heard him. She was already asleep.
Gregor was so unhappy about Columba leaving that Iona had to stop him fussing like an old woman before he left.
"Have you got everything?" he asked anxiously. "Food? Spare clothing? Enough money for the boat?"
"Gregor, shush!" Iona laughed. "Father Columba is an adult!"
Gregor nodded, pulled himself together, and embraced Columba tightly. "I will never forget you, my friend," he said hoarsely.
"Gregor, yo
u are breaking my ribs!" Columba replied, then he took their hands, "and I will never forget you either, Gregor, or you, Iona. And we will see each other again, I am sure. God bless and keep you both - and the baby."
With that, he mounted his horse, then Gregor summoned his guard, and the two of them trotted out of the main gate. At the end of the drawbridge, Columba turned and waved, then he was gone.
"Life is never going to be the same again," Iona sighed, "but a baby?" She laughed.
Two days later she leapt out of bed and made it to the chamber pot just in time to be violently sick.
Without Craig's malevolent influence, Beglin castle seemed like a different, brighter place. Donalda began to walk about the corridors, feeling confident and showing her blemished face without self-consciousness.
Just before they left to go back to their own estate, Columba had gathered the McCallum family to say goodbye. He touched the scarred cheeks of Donalda and William, then said a whispered prayer, before turning to everyone and saying:
"May God bless you and keep you all from harm, and may He give you happiness, fruitfulness and peace. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen. Goodbye, my friends. We will meet again."
Donalda put her fingers on her cheek where Columba had touched it. "It's tingling," she frowned, "it feels very strange."
"Mine too," William said, then shrugged. "Maybe it was a miracle," he laughed.
"Dinnae laugh, William," Elisha warned. Since Craig's departure, she had come out of herself in an amazing way. "Funny things happened roon Faither Columba's before.
Yon Sutherland place - naebody could get the stench o' evil oot o' it. He blessed it an' a thunderstorm blasted it tae bits. A thunderstorm roon here! I havenae seen ane fer years an' there's been nane since. Mairi is usin' it as an orphan sanctuary noo, so good has come oot o' evil." She paused, then said awkwardly: "I think he is an angel."
