The Crusader's Heart

by Kate Forrest

  “You must have been in a great hurry to leave Edinburgh without an escort to Stirling.”

  “David is unwell,” she began, but Sir Alex didn’t let her finish.

  “David’s health is failing, but he is nae on his deathbed.”

  “Even if it weren’t for the king’s health, I’ve been planning to go to Iona for some time. I did not leave in a hurry.” She kept her eyes on his. Averting one’s gaze implied deceit.

  “I know the king. He would not have sent you alone to Stirling without cause.”

  Isobel laughed. “You are determined to find a lie, Sir Alex, but you will not find one. As I told you when we met this afternoon, I did not require an escort.”

  “I see.” He smiled briefly, which Isobel found to be a strange response, and took another sip of his ale. “And the new nunnery on Iona will be your home?”

  “It is David’s wish,” she said firmly.

  “There are nunneries closer to Edinburgh. I’m surprised you would not wish to be closer to the place you call home.”

  For all the thinking Isobel did in a day, the thought to justify why Iona over other nunneries never came to mind. While the monastery and church of Columba were known beyond the shores of Scotland, the nunnery was still in its infancy. There were other holy locations closer to Edinburgh. Sir Alex was right. Their proximity to Edinburgh is what made them poor choices for the relic’s continued safety. Iona was the safest choice. But why would it have been my choice? It wasn’t, so she need not lie.

  “You must know of the great love David’s family has for Columba’s church. When his mother, Margaret, visited there, ’twas said she never saw a place more beautiful or holy. David couldn’t have chosen a better place for me.”

  “As you say, Lady Isobel.”

  Isobel did not like how he spoke those words to her. He did not trust her. Is it of consequence? He said he would see her safely to Iona. It was of little importance what he thought of her, so long as she and the relic reached the nunnery. If it doesn’t matter, why do I care what he thinks of me?

  Before she got lost in her thoughts, Sir Alex spoke again. “We’ll share a room this night and any night we stay at an inn or keep. We must appear as a married couple. ’Tis the best way to blend in.”

  “Is that so?” Isobel challenged, her thoughts on his distrust of her now gone.

  “Lady Isobel, you know I have the right of it. How would it look to the Stewart if I were to sleep in the hall with the men when I could be fast asleep next to my wife?”

  He was right, of course. Isobel could see that plainly. But how on earth could she spend a single night with him in the same room? She eyed the bed warily and looked back at Sir Alex. He downed more ale. Looking for courage? Isobel wanted to smile. He was nervous. Though he need not be. Nothing would ever happen between them. She needed to remember that as much as he.

  “I do not share my bed, Sir Alex.” She spoke the truth, but Isobel could feel the color in her cheeks rising at the idea.

  “Then it is good I dinnae expect you to share your bed, Lady Isobel.” He pointed to the floor. “That’s where I’ll sleep.”

  “On the floor?”

  “Aye,” he said, as he set to work making a bed for himself. He unrolled a plaid and laid it on the floor near the door. “The floor is good enough for me.” He sat down and stretched out.

  “That cannot be comfortable, Crusader.”

  “Crusader?”

  “You are a crusader, are you not?”

  He smiled at her. “Aye, lass. I’m a crusader, and I need no comforts.”

  “You sound arrogant, Sir Alex, but I will not argue with you.” She climbed into the large bed and closed the panels. The mood had lightened, and she was grateful.

  “Good night, Lady Isobel.”

  “Good night, Sir Alex.”

  She let out a deep contented sigh, not caring if he heard her. She would enjoy her night of comfort and pray that nights such as this were not scarce on the journey ahead. She had proven she could survive in the wilds of the Lowlands alone, but she was relieved to be alone no longer. David had chosen well. From what she could garner of him in such a short time, Sir Alex could defend her, and based on what had just transpired, he seemed to respect her. She did not have his trust, but that was not to be. She knew he would see her and the relic safely to Iona.

  Chapter 4

  Holyrood Abbey, Edinburgh, later that night

  Robbie MacDonald stood in the back of the abbey awaiting the arrival of the bishop. Regret soured his stomach. He should be with Agnes and Murdoch, not doing the bidding of a greedy old man. He stretched his back, twisting side to side to loosen his muscles. He’d spent the day teaching his younger brother swordsmanship, something Robbie was late to do for the lad. He tilted his head up into the abbey. The Norman arches disappeared into the darkened ceiling above; only a few torches lit the perimeter of the church. At well past midnight, the spring sun had finally set, giving way to the blackness.

  Robbie was familiar with the blackness. It had crept inside him and refused to leave. When his parents had been cut down by thieves before his fifteenth summer, a little blackness bled in. But he’d done what was needed to care for his younger siblings, Murdoch and Agnes. Within a few years, he’d noticed Agnes’s health was beginning to fail. Without the means to seek the help of a physician, she’d only received care from a few local healers who would take furs in payment. It wasn’t enough, and none of the healers could tell him what was wrong with her. That’s when he took up the sword. Robbie had always been muscular, and with some practice, he’d learned he wasn’t bad with a blade. He began contracting himself out as a mercenary. The work made him question his morality, and the blackness inside him grew. Yet with his skill and efficiency came more jobs and more coin to get better physicians for Agnes. Yet, of all the physicians he’d been to, no one could heal her. That was why he’d agreed to meet with the bishop. The bishop said he could change all that.

  “You came.” It was the bishop. Following behind him was a servant carrying two velvet covered chairs.

  Robbie stood tall as the man approached from the front of the church. “You knew I could not refuse.”

  The old man nodded, waiting for the servant to place the chairs. Once he seemed satisfied with their placement, the bishop dismissed the servant and took a seat. “Sit and we shall talk.”

  “I will stand,” Robbie said. Only the king sat in the abbey; no man would disrespect him, present or not, by sitting in his church. No man, it seemed, except for the bishop. Folding his arms across his chest, he carefully watched the man who had summoned him. He was more ornamented than a crown. His fine gown sparkled with golden threads, and his hands were covered with gemstone rings. Even his finely made shoes reflected his wealth. The bishop was rich and powerful. Some claimed he had more power than the king himself, but the king was too preoccupied with his works to take notice.

  “Do you know why King David built this church here?”

  “Nae,” Robbie said.

  “Some years ago, when the king was a young man, he stood on this spot and had a vision of a stag and a cross.” The bishop nodded toward the altar. “He prayed there for days and days until he heard God’s voice speak to him and command that he build an abbey here, an abbey grand enough to house Scotland’s most treasured relics.” The bishop’s eyes filled with fire. “One particular relic has been kept here under the watchful eye of a dedicated few for a long time, but five days ago it was taken.”

  “Stolen?”

  “No. The king gave it to the orphan girl, Isobel.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I fear the king’s mind is not well. He doesn’t know himself, else he would have never let her take it.”

  “Where has she taken the relic to?”

  “I do not know her journey’s end, but I heard word she was headed toward Stirling,” the bishop said. “I have asked you here to find the girl.”

  “And retake
the relic?”

  “Yes. Bring it back to me, and I will send the best healers in the kingdom to see to Agnes’s condition.”

  Robbie’s spine tingled. He looked sharply at the bishop. I never told him Agnes’s name. Robbie felt uneasy about this mission, but he had no other choice. “You want the relic back so it can be protected?”

  “Precisely. Who knows what this girl intends to do with it? It has been safe here for decades, and I will see to it that it remains safe for many years to come.”

  “And you swear to send someone to help Agnes.”

  “I have the best healers in my charge, MacDonald. They will make her well again.”

  Though he knew the bishop lied about his intentions for the missing relic, Robbie could not walk away. He needed to help Agnes, and he’d exhausted all other options. He would take this mission and pray his sister would finally be well again.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, after they’d broken their fast with their Stewart hosts, Alex and Lady Isobel set out on their journey. A chill hung in the air, but the sun was bright. Alex welcomed the favorable weather.

  “We aren’t going on horseback?” asked Lady Isobel, as they walked down to the River Teith.

  “We’ll walk and ride, as needed. The mare isn’t young. She is not built for carrying two all day.” Alex had bought the horse when he arrived in Kirkcaldy. She was sturdy enough for the journey, but he didn’t want to overtax her.

  Lady Isobel nodded and bundled into her cloak. The one garment, he’d noted, she had not allowed the Stewart mistress to take for laundering.

  “What is our goal this morn?” she asked.

  “We’ll reach Loch Venachar by midday,” he said, as he walked ahead with the mare. “We’ll follow the water straight there.”

  As they walked on, Alex thought on what had also happened the night before. If only Lady Isobel had stayed on the bed with the panels closed. Instead, she’d stood looking at him while he dried himself with a flannel. He was trained to listen—to always be aware—and yet, he hadn’t heard her approach. Then he’d looked in her eyes and saw desire. It was unmistakable. It was also illogical. How could there be such a connection between them? He’d known the woman less than a full day, and yet, standing there in the room last night, he’d ached for her.

  I’ve been too long without a woman. Standing there last night, he had studied her carefully trying to understand it. Thankfully, he’d had the sense to clothe himself. The tension faded some, but he still needed the drink to steady himself. While trying to cool his blood, he thought about the unusual circumstances he found himself in. He thought on their conversation at Stirling. He was still surprised she’d journeyed alone to the castle. Though she was unusually well kempt given the days she’d spent traveling, she still looked exhausted. It made him angry the king hadn’t supplied her with an escort to the city. With so many in his service, someone could have been spared to accompany her.

  It also made him question why he was chosen as the escort from Stirling. There was something odd about this business. Why must she travel to Iona in such a way? Why not go on horseback with a party or by ship? For a woman of means, traveling alone or with a single male companion was not done. It made Alex consider the woman herself. Is she running away from someone or something? Her story provided more questions than information, and he did not like being deceived. He would take her to Iona, but he would not put himself at undue risk. Not until he learned this woman’s secrets.

  Even with his innate distrust of her, he genuinely enjoyed her company. He liked her and saw no reason not to be agreeable with her, but he would be on his guard.

  “The weather is favorable,” Lady Isobel said, pulling Alex from his thoughts.

  “For now, but it can change in an instant,” Alex noted, glancing behind him. He stopped midstride, nearly tripping over a rock, as he took in Lady Isobel. There she stood by the water, her eyes closed and her face lifted to the sun, soaking in the morning light. She looked so peaceful and content. A breathless sigh escaped her lips; he focused on her mouth. Her lips were a soft rose color, like the flowering sea pink that covered the cliffs and shores on Iona and Mull. He lingered over her heart-shaped face, noting her high cheekbones, which were slightly flushed, and her winged eyebrows. He’d observed her beauty yesterday, but seeing her in the sunlight was different somehow. She was beautiful—too beautiful—and he was painfully aware of it.

  Damn. He turned away quickly so she couldn’t see his arousal.

  “Are you all right?” Lady Isobel approached his side, so he continued along the shoreline, staying ahead of her.

  “Aye.”

  “It’s just that I thought I heard you mutter something,” she pressed.

  Apparently, he’d spoken aloud. He felt like a damned fool. Mission for the king. She’s going to be a nun. What am I doing? He cleared his throat and spoke as though nothing happened. “From Venachar, we’ll journey on to Loch Katrine, where we’ll spend the night.”

  “You take this route often?” she asked.

  Alex shrugged. “Often enough.” When Alex was younger, he’d travelled from Iona and Mull through the Trossachs and Lowlands with his father to meet with and maintain alliances among the clans. On their journeys, he learned the terrain well and set it to memory.

  “This will be a big homecoming for you, will it not?”

  Alex tensed. He was returning home without the means to restore his family to their former glory. There would be no grand homecoming, for he’d failed his people. Knowing that saying anything less than “Aye” would stir up more questions, Alex nodded. “I’m eager to return.” He’d be more eager if he’d secured the marriage contract with the Earl of Angus’s daughter or returned from Crusade with the coin many expected he’d possess. He could not dwell on the things that were lost to him now. He needed to move forward. And right now moving forward means getting Lady Isobel to Iona.

  As planned, they stopped for their midday meal along Loch Venachar. Just as they were finishing their biscuits and cheese, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance. Alex peered up at the ominous black clouds moving in from the west.

  “We’ll need to seek cover. The skies will open any time now.” Alex scanned the forest for shelter. “I’m afraid the trees are our only refuge.”

  The thunder roared again, getting closer. Alex knew they had only a matter of minutes before a torrent of rain hit them. He gathered up the remnants of their food and placed everything into the leather bag he wore strapped to his back. He helped Lady Isobel off the driftwood they’d been using as a bench, and along with the mare, they hurried up the rocky shoreline into the thicket.

  “What trees make the best cover?” Isobel asked. She was peering up at the thin pine trees that dominated the forest.

  “Unfortunately, not these pines,” Alex said, taking her and the mare deeper into the woods. The rain was spitting now, and soon they would be soaked to the bone. This part of the forest was ancient, and the tree limbs were over fifty feet above them. They needed to find newer growth. He quickened his pace and cut in so they ran parallel to the loch. If his memory was correct, farmland lay ahead. With any luck, they’d find shelter there.

  A few minutes later, the rain was coming down in a steady stream, but they had gotten lucky. They’d come into a clearing, and ahead Alex could see a plum orchard.

  “There,” he said, pointing ahead of them. They raced under the cover of the trees. A few pink petals clung to the branches, but for the most part, the trees were blessedly full of leaves. He guided Lady Isobel under the cover of a tree situated a few rows into the orchard. He tied the mare under a taller tree beside them and returned. He had to bend to avoid brushing against the branches. Kneeling down, he held out his open palm waiting to see if any water droplets fell into it, but none did. “No rain will get through. We’ll be fine here for a while.”

  “I wonder how long it will last,” Lady Isobel said, sitting down against the trunk of the tr
ee.

  Alex shrugged. Storms could last for minutes or days. He would wait as long as he could before he pushed them onward.

  ****

  Isobel couldn’t take the silence between her and the crusader anymore. They’d sat under the plum tree for what seemed an hour without speaking a single word to each other. After listening to the steady hum of rain falling, her other senses focused in on the warrior sitting beside her. Today, he wore a fresh short-sleeved linen tunic, and he smelled of something masculine, yet floral, like wild roses. Roses? How odd.

  “Why do you smell of roses?” Isobel asked.

  Sir Alex grinned. “Noticed, did you?”

  “It’s not every day that a man smells of roses.”

  “Indeed,” he said. He reclined with one knee bent and the other leg crossed; one palm was planted firmly on the ground while the other toyed with a twig. “It’s the rosewater I brought back from Crusade. I put a few drops on my tunic.”

  “It’s nice,” she said.

  He nodded in thanks, still reclining. The muscles in his arm flexed from supporting the weight of his upper body.

  Unconsciously, she licked her lips. When she finally drew her attention away from his arms, she studied his face. His profile was to her, highlighting his firm jaw line and how his wet hair clung to his neck and the side of his face. An impulsive thought entered her mind: she could reach over and touch him.

  Nervously, she looked away and closed her eyes. Control yourself, Isobel. ’Tis just a man. Like any other man. Except this one smells like…cloves, wild roses, and…She searched for the other scent. She couldn’t describe it exactly, but it was heady and distinctly masculine. Surely it is a sin for a man’s smell to create such need. Her eyes snapped open.

  “What is it like on Iona?” she shouted. Clearly, she’d startled Sir Alex because he’d jumped at the sound of her voice.

  “What?” His eyebrows arched, and he looked alarmed.

  She straightened her back and primly swept out her skirts, making sure every inch of her legs were covered. “Forgive me. It’s just that I’d like to know about Iona, since it is soon to be my home.”