Highland Jewel (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  Rose nodded once, content with her sound reasoning. The Lord knew her weaknesses and therefore counted her feeble attempts at piety more favorably than the seemingly much grander piety of the sisters.

  Likewise, the Lady Abbess must forgive her also.

  The bell chimed. Rose crossed herself and straightened rapidly, made hungry by her feverish rationalization—and bumped messily into Lady Sophie, the abbess.

  “Oh! Mother!” Rose gasped, grabbing the Lady Abbess’ frail form to keep her from tumbling over backward. “I didn’t see… I’m…” She gulped, wondering suddenly at the woman’s unexpected presence. “… sorry.” Her knuckles, she realized, were rather white as she gripped the elder woman’s robes in a somewhat irreverent clasp. “So… so sorry,” Rose mumbled, finally dropping her hands to brush gently at the wrinkles she’d pressed into the other’s robes.

  Their eyes met, Lady Sophie’s calm but patiently exasperated, Rose’s wide and unmistakably panicked as she remembered the lost cross.

  “So, so sorry,” she repeated, wondering dismally if she should admit her loss and craft a likely alibi for the cross’ strange disappearance, or pretend nothing was amiss and hope to God the abbess wouldn’t notice.

  “I wish to speak to you in the parlor,” said Lady Sophie evenly.

  “Speak…” Rose knew her voice cracked when she said the single word, which was quickly accented by the deep rumble of her stomach, set to panic at the thought of another missed meal. “Speak…”

  The abbess nodded and turned.

  “Yes.” Rose gulped again, trying to achieve the proper stoic demeanor. “Yes, Lady Abbess.”

  The parlor was a sizable room. It was divided by heavy, cast-iron grillwork which reached from ceiling to floor and separated the sisters from any visitors they might receive. Rose had spoken to Uncle Peter there, before he’d been accused of stealing the neighbor’s cow and thought it best to remove himself from the immediate vicinity.

  She wished she would find him there now, his round, jolly face watching her through the bars, but the far half of the room was blanketed in darkness, lit by only one sputtering candle.

  The Lady Abbess occupied the lone chair. The chaplain was there also, unsmiling and silent as Rose stepped into the room. For a moment all bravery abandoned her and she was tempted to flee, but she swallowed hard and prayed, pulling the creaky door shut behind her.

  Why was the chaplain here? It wasn’t that he frightened her. Indeed, despite all her misfortunes during her years at the abbey, he had been the one to plead for the sisters’ patience and understanding on her behalf. After all, he’d reminded them, Rose was young, and so full of life. She was sure to sometimes fall short of their expectations.

  Had she fallen so far short this time that she was about to be expelled?

  Panic gripped her. Despite how it might seem to the sisters, she truly tried to emulate their actions, to attain their contentment, but there was so much life outside these walls. There was so much to see and do and consider, that sometimes she felt as if she would burst if she did not escape for a short while.

  Generally though, she was content enough, Rose reminded herself quickly. It was true that the hours of prayer became long and tedious, but she had learned much in the way of healing in the past five years. Much that she would not have learned had she been allowed to remain with her parents on their small plot of land. But the Lord had taken them so quickly, allowing the fever to sear away their lives and leave her unharmed.

  “You wished to … speak to me?” Rose asked, clasping her hands behind her back and feeling the cool sheen of panicked perspiration on her palms.

  “Yes, my child.” It was the chaplain who spoke, his soft, even voice sounding worried and slightly sad.

  Rose braced herself, clasping her hands harder. They knew! Or did they? Best to confess to the lesser of her crimes first.

  “I’m sorry for my tardiness at morning prayer. Please forgive me,” she began speedily, but the abbess lifted one fragile hand to stop her words.

  “It is not that which concerns us just now,” said she, rising slowly, her expression solemn.

  Dear God! They did know. But of course they would. “Oh!” Rose backed away a step, hitting the wall with a muffled smack, her face going pale. “That! Well…” she mumbled nervously. “I can explain. It’s really quite simple. It was so hot, you see, and…” Rose brought her hands forward to clench them in front of her simple robe. “I know it was wrong. And I promise not to do it again if you can but forgive this one slip. I didn’t mean to …”

  Her voice lapsed into silence as she recognized the identical expressions of surprise and uncertainty on her superiors’ faces.

  “Didn’t mean to—ah, disgrace…” She sucked in her lower lip, her eyes going wide as her gaze skittered from one aged face to the other. Well, hell, she realized with mind-numbing relief, they didn’t have any idea what she was talking about.

  “Perhaps you should take that up with our Lord, my child,” said the abbess, her pale eyes seeming to mildly chastise Rose for whatever violations she had perpetrated this time. “Just now we need to discuss another matter with you.”

  “A-another?” Rose stuttered, her emotions flung hither and yon with each word spoken. Had she done something even worse than losing the cross? It was possible, she supposed, for it seemed she was forever sinning in new and creative ways she’d never even fathomed were sinful. The time she’d used her rosary to tie the barn door shut, for instance. But the rope had been missing and …

  “Perhaps you know we’ve had visitors here at the abbey?” began Lady Sophie.

  “Well…” Rose hedged, not quite certain if she should admit her knowledge. After all, it was a sin to be too preoccupied with the business of others. Wasn’t it?

  “The fact is, we have had visitors,” continued the abbess. “Two men from Scotland.”

  “Scotland?” Rose’s eyes widened even further as she allowed her hands to drop to her sides. “Barbarians?”

  “Perhaps we are all barbarians in the sight of God,” said the chaplain quickly.

  “They have come looking for their kindred,” explained the abbess in her usual gentle tone.

  “Here? In England? But why…”

  “It seems they have come a long and hard way in search of an English lady and her Scottish-born child.”

  Rose frowned, her mind working quickly. “I know nothing about…”

  “The lady came here long ago, Rose. And died soon after of much the same fever that took your parents.”

  “Oh.” The awful fever was a greedy thing that showed no mercy. Already Rose could feel her eyes fill with tears at the haunting memory. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “And the child?”

  For one tense moment there was silence, then, “Dead also, I fear,” stated the abbess, gripping her own hands now, as if Rose’s worry was a contagious thing. “Both buried in our gravesite.”

  Rose cleared her throat, pushing back the pain of remembering and filling her mind with the present. She’d read the inscriptions on all the tombstones in the small cemetery and sometimes felt drawn there, as if an elusive peace beckoned to her from amongst the silent stones.

  “It seems the Scotsmen have come at the request of a dying lord,” continued the abbess. “It was his wife and child who came here those many years ago. Not knowing the two had died, the Scotsmen traveled here to find them. But…” Lady Sophie shrugged, looking old and worn. “I told them of the grave markers and—”

  “What were their names?” Rose interrupted distantly, an eerie sensation gripping her chest as the hair on her arms rose slightly.

  The abbess watched her silently, as did the chaplain.

  “They were of the MacAulay family, I am told,” said the Lady Abbess at last. “The mother was named Elizabeth. The babe—Fiona.”

  “Fiona,” Rose whispered. She felt oddly breathless and supposed it was part of her strangeness Papa had sometimes referred to and Mama h
ad always shushed him about. The strangeness that made the hair on her arms stand on end and her mind see shadowed, unexplained images. The strangeness Rose had promised never to mention to another living soul.

  The abbess cleared her throat now, moving a step closer. “When the Scotsmen acknowledged the deaths, they were most distraught. It seems the old lord had set his heart on seeing the child again.”

  “After all these years?” asked Rose weakly, trying to draw her mind from the unnerving sensations that haunted her.

  “Sometimes a man can only see what is important in life after he has lived a good deal of it,” said the chaplain wisely.

  The abbess nodded. “The old man is gravely ill.”

  “And in great pain,” added the chaplain.

  “The Scots fear he will die, or linger in agony if he is not attended to.”

  Realization began to dawn slowly in Rose’s mind, but she said nothing and waited.

  “They have asked that we send someone learned in healing,” admitted the chaplain finally.

  The room was silent for a moment.

  “Me?” Rose’s single, startled word surprised even herself.

  “It would be a long journey,” said the abbess gently. “Fraught with danger.”

  “But I…” Rose lifted her hands in open supplication. “I promised my mother I would live out my days in this house. I promised myself to the work of the Lord.”

  “This too is the Lord’s work,” reminded the abbess. ‘Tending those who suffer.”

  “There are other healers,” Rose said, suddenly frightened by their expressions, their intentions. They wished to send her away. Because of her poor conduct? “More knowledgeable healers than I,” she blurted rapidly. “Surely…”

  The chaplain shook his head slowly. “There are none as gifted as you, my child.” He drew a deep, weary breath. “Even Lady Mary, rest her soul, was not so gifted as thee. And you are strong—that strength will be needed for the journey.”

  Rose was silent for a moment, remembering the heat of her mother’s hand as she gripped hers with desperate strength, begging for her promise. “If it’s my past sins…” began Rose abruptly, “I will make amends. I will do better.” She took a step nearer. She had promised her mother and her Lord that she would live out her days in this abbey. “I can be like the others. Truly—”

  The abbess raised a blue-veined hand. “It is not because of any shortcomings on your part, child.

  Although…” She smiled gently, her pale, patient eyes steady. “I doubt at times that the Lord wishes you to be… like the others. Still, it is not for me to command you to go. The decision is yours.”

  “Then I must stay.” Rose stepped quickly nearer, taking the Lady Abbess’ hand in her own. “I made a vow.”

  “I believe the Lord would understand, should you see the need to go,” said the Lady Abbess.

  But the vow had also been to her mother. “Promise me you’ll seek the peace and safety of the convent,” she’d begged. “Promise me you’l1 never speak of the things you see in your head.” Her voice had been only a whisper. “Do not dwell on them. Do not think of them. People would not understand, would not accept. Go to the abbey, Rose,” she’d pleaded. “Do the Lord’s work. You’ll be safe there.”

  Sometimes in the quiet of prayer time or during the darkness of night Rose would consider that. Safe from what? Were the images that sometimes appeared in her head evil things?

  “I must stay, Lady Abbess,” she said, guilt wearing heavily on both sides, worry making her voice soft. “I must keep—”

  “And let me auld laird die?”

  Rose gasped, dropping Lady Sophie’s hand to find the source of the voice that came from behind the iron grill.

  “This is one of the Scotsmen. Come to plead his cause,” explained the abbess, but Rose failed to hear her words, for her entire attention was riveted on the large, dark shape of the barbarian behind the wrought-iron rail.

  God’s whiskers! It was the dark image from her dreams! Breath stopped in her throat while her heart seemed to have gone stone-cold in the tight confines of her chest. “Who are you?” she whispered, knowing her words were rude and failing to care.

  Quiet held the place.

  “I am called Leith. Of the clan Forbes.”

  His burr was as thick as morning fog—and as chilling. Rose felt a shiver take her, frightening her with its intensity. “I can’t go with you.” She whispered the words, as if saying them too loudly might awaken some evil demon.

  “Canna?” The Scotsman gripped the grill tightly, the flat of his broad nails gleaming pale in the light of the lone candle. “Or willna?”

  “Please.” She drew back quickly, not knowing why, but feeling the frightful power of his person, the terrifying knowledge that he had appeared to her in her sleep. He was a large man, perhaps the largest she’d ever encountered. Or was she allowing the shadows and her own too-vivid imagination to frighten her?

  Lifting her chin up slightly, Rose clasped her hands before her chest, drawing upon inner reserves she was supposed to possess. “Do not ask me to break my vow to my God,” she pleaded weakly. But within, she questioned her true motives for refusal. Fear?

  “Ye vows dunna urge ye to help a man in need?”

  The Scotsman’s tone was somewhat jeering, she thought, and lifted her chin higher. “My vows urge me to follow my conscience and not the brutish insistence of a man with no understanding of my faith.”

  He was quiet, but his eyes held her in cold perusal. “And me, I thought we shared the faith of Christ. But na. Me God calls for bravery of spirit.”

  He’d called her a coward, she thought in silent shock. The man dared enter the hallowed walls of the abbey and imply she was less than godly! He had the manners of a boar in rut! In fact, she’d met boars in rut who were more becoming, she decided, refusing to acknowledge the fact that her own manners and thoughts were far from a model of purity.

  “Regardless of the fact that you think me spiritless,” she said, breathing hard and raising her left eyebrow in stern condescension, “I shall not go with you.” She turned stiffly away, feeling his hot gaze on her back and trying to still the tremor in her hands.

  “Na even if I return what is yers?” he asked huskily, his voice so soft only Rose could hear.

  She froze in her tracks. Her heart had risen suddenly into her throat and now refused to beat. “Mine?” she breathed, managing to turn toward him.

  “Aye.” He nodded.

  She watched him in breathless panic, seeing one corner of his mouth lift in a devilish smile.

  “Found near the wee lochan yonder,” he murmured.

  Chapter 3

  Her cross! Rose clenched her hand over the empty place where it usually lay against her breast Air rushed into her lungs in one breathy inhalation. God’s toenails! The barbarian had found it!

  Behind her the abbess and chaplain were silent. Did they know?

  “If ye could find it in yer heart to come…” The Scotsman slipped one hand neatly into the pocket of his dark doublet, his voice quiet. “There’d be na need for discussing—last night.”

  Her gasp was audible now. Her hand rose to where her throat was covered by the coarse wimple, as if to shield herself from his eyes. Had he seen her nakedness then, or just found the cross?

  With a concerted effort Rose drew the shattered remains of her dignity about her, but her hands shook near her throat and she wondered if he could see. If the abbess learned of her shameful behavior of the night before, she would surely banish Rose from the abbey—or worse. She swallowed once, thinking fast and hard. But there seemed to be very few choices, for through the fabric of the barbarian’s pocket she was sure she could see the telltale outline of her perfidious cross. “Your…” She cleared her throat, trying to sound concerned and sympathetic, but the single word squeaked rustily, so that she had to clear her throat yet again.

  “Your lord is very … ill then?” she breathed.

&nbs
p; “Verra ill.” His smile was gone now, replaced by an expression she could not discern in the dimness.

  “And he has a … Christian soul?” she asked weakly.

  He hesitated only a moment. “Aye. He does.”

  ‘Then…” Her fingers curled emptily near her chest as she lifted her chin a bit. “It is my duty to go.” She’d said the words stiffly, with not the least bit of feeling, and Leith raised his brows silently.

  “Ye’ve a heart of gold, lass,” he murmured, but his tone held no more sincerity than hers had.

  “You will find a companion to travel with her,” commanded the abbess softly. “Someone from the village perhaps.”

  The Scotsman nodded, his gaze shifting to Lady Sophie.

  “And you will vow to protect her,” added the abbess.

  “Aye, lady,” he promised solemnly. “With me life.”

  Rose noticed with some irritation that the tone he used for the abbess was vastly different than the tone he used with her. There was no sarcasm now, no quirking of the lips that would make one wish to slap him. Only sober, quiet respect as he spoke to that lady.

  “And return her here—if she wishes—after you have no more need for her skills.”

  “Aye,” Leith promised, then shifted his deep-set eyes, so that they clashed abruptly with Rose’s. “I will return her when I need her no longer.”

  Rose would have paced but there was no room in her cell. Instead she sucked her lip and wrung her hands.

  The man was Satan personified. She was sure of it. Who else would be sneaking about in the woods in the midst of the night? she wondered, dismissing the fact that she herself had been there. Who else would ransom the cross of a poor postulate of the Lord to gain his own ends?

  And what were his ends exactly? For all she knew there might not even be a dying laird.

  Prayer time came and she prayed—with a vengeance. They would leave in two days. Enough time, he’d said, for her to gather her belongings and say her good-byes.