Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  “Angelic! That’s it. You’re truly an angel. What other creature but an angel could make me love her even against my will? I loved you when you ran away from our wedding, and I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  “And I loved you even as I ran, hoping that you’d come for me and woo me.”

  “But you and I were too wise to woo peacefully,” he told her.

  “Here we are,” she said contentedly. “For the moment, at least, at peace.”

  “But how long can that last?” he laughed, leading her through a door and down a hallway toward the Great Hall.

  When she said nothing, he decided it was best to change the subject.

  “I saw my mother earlier, walking about the castle. Here it’s only a week since her fall, and she’s doing all the things she was doing before.”

  “Aye, just as you were doing, not even a week after nearly dying from a sword wound.”

  “But I was completely healed.”

  “She is, too,” Kenna told him. “Forcing her to stay in bed for a few days worked well. Your father and the rest of the household needed to see that her recovery was gradual. But in truth, she regained her strength in just a few hours.”

  Robert came into the far end of the hallway and ran to them. His face was flushed.

  “You need to go to the library immediately,” he told them. “They need you. They need you both.”

  “What’s wrong?” Alexander asked.

  “A messenger just arrived, mistress. Your brothers, Giles and Ninian . . . they’ve been kidnapped.”

  Chapter 31

  Do not you love me?

  Emily had no talent for healing like Kenna. Working with the sick was out of the question. In fact, she found she grew squeamish at the sight of blood.

  But the good sisters of the priory had quickly reminded her that the jobs in the chapter house had to be earned. They were not given out freely, no matter how highborn an entering postulant might be. The prioress decided the safe place for her to start was in the kitchens.

  After only a few days, the stocky, red-faced nun running the kitchen was begging her superiors to find Emily something else to do. Anything. Indeed, the prioress was now searching frantically, before she burned down the entire priory or poisoned the staff.

  Emily’s hands were beginning to look like skinned meat from the scalding and the cuts from sharp knives. And the burns up and down her arms were dreadful. She had two egg-sized lumps on her forehead from slipping on a wet floor and from banging her head on an iron cooking pot. She seemed vulnerable to any accident.

  She knew she was paying the price of a lifetime of being pampered. What bothered her was that she was being taught some very basic lessons about real life and she was a disaster.

  But she wasn’t giving up. There was no going back to Craignock. She’d written a letter to her father and sent it off from Dunstaffnage. He would be angry, she knew. But she’d decided it was best if she told him in her own words, rather than putting it all on Kester.

  Taking responsibility for her actions. That was what she was going to do.

  And she’d told Kester that contacting Kenna was out of the question. Not right now. Not when her cousin was still new to her own circumstances. Also, she knew that any communication with Benmore Castle would come across to James as another effort to deceive him. She’d done him enough harm.

  “Do you see how stiff the dough is, Emily? Add a little more water. Pour it right over my hand.”

  Emily focused on the old nun she was helping today with the baking. The wrinkled hands were wrist deep in the dough she was kneading. She added the water.

  “Nay,” the nun directed sharply. “Too much. Add more flour.”

  “We’ve finished this flour. I’ll be right back with more.”

  As Emily headed to the special pantry where they stored the flour, she thought she heard the wizened old nun cursing under her breath. There was a problem when she tried to help any of them. These gentle women gave her orders, assuming Emily knew how much to pour or how to mix or how to take the loaves of bread out of an open oven. She didn’t. But she would learn. She had to. This was her new life. True, the obstacles were humbling, but they made her realize how much she lacked. Correcting her mistakes also made her work harder and gave her less time to cry over James.

  Emily grabbed a large wooden bowl off a shelf and shoveled flour into it. She tried to guess how much the nun would want. It was better to bring out more than less.

  She stepped out of the pantry and her heart stopped dead. A giant was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The sun was behind him, so she couldn’t see his face. But there was no mistaking the long red hair, the tartan, the way he filled the opening with his height, the width of his shoulders, his presence.

  Don’t show any weakness, Emily told herself. Be strong. Be fearless. You are a baker now. You don’t need him or anyone.

  Clutching the bowl to her body, she started forward. One step and she went into a puddle she hadn’t seen before. One moment she was striding confidently, the next she was lying on her back with a coating of flour on her and a cloud of white hanging above.

  He’d overheard what Kenna and Alexander said about her being distraught, but James never imagined she might try to choke herself with flour.

  He strolled inside. Several of the nuns were already leaning over, trying to help her. She was covered with white powder. It was in her eyes, her nose, her mouth, and in both dimples. She looked like a fish out of water, gulping for air, as she struggled to wipe the flour away.

  Looking at her now, only a step away, he realized that for the first time in more than a week, his head didn’t hurt. His heart wasn’t aching. His mood wasn’t foul. He was actually smiling.

  She was sitting, struggling to get to her feet. The nuns saw him, nodded in acknowledgment. He motioned for them to say nothing and pointed at the door. An old nun smiled.

  “My heavens, child, but we can’t clean you up here,” she chided. “Come with me. I’ll take you outside.”

  James slipped through the kitchen door. Outside, the morning sun was shining through the smattering of clouds. He waited near the door. It took only a minute, but it felt like a year before the kindly nun led Emily out. He offered his hand, and the old woman put Emily’s hand in his.

  She immediately tensed, but James held on and drew her out into the sunshine. The nun disappeared back onto the kitchen.

  “I thought it was you,” she sputtered, trying to wipe the flour from her eyes. They were finally open, and blue orbs peered out at him from the chalky white features.

  “Is that why you took such a graceful tumble? Trying to run away?”

  “You’re the one who runs. Not I.” She looked down at the ruined dress, at her hands. She touched her face and grimaced. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m certain that it can have nothing to do with me. The prioress’s office is just that way.” She waved in the direction of the buildings. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I need to clean up and get back to work.”

  She started around the building. He followed. Her dress was plain homespun wool of a dull, indefinable color. Somewhere between gray and brown. The white veil she’d been wearing when he first saw her had disappeared in the fall she took. James stared at the blond curls escaping the thick braid bundled in a knot at the back of her neck. He wanted to touch them, feel their softness against his lips.

  She spun around on her heels. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve already finished my business with the prioress. What I have left to do involves you.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  Her face was still covered with flour, and the blue eyes glaring from beneath thick, powdery lashes were fierce.

  “I have a great deal to say to you.”

  “If it is more of an apology from me that you’re after, then you can just march out of here. I have no more to give. And there is no point in it, anyway. You don’t hear. You don’t underst
and. You don’t forgive. You have no heart.”

  She walked away before he could say anything in his own defense. He followed. This time, she stopped by the well, dragging out a bucket of water and grabbing a drying towel from the rough-hewn table sitting nearby.

  “Will you please go? I don’t wish to be harassed.”

  “Am I harassing you?” he asked softly, reaching over and wiping the flour from the tip of her nose.

  She leaped back as if she’d been burned. He had to reach out and grab her arm as she nearly toppled backward into the well.

  “A wee bit susceptible to accidents, I see.”

  “Nay, not in the slightest!”

  “So none of this is accidental. The damage you’re doing is intentional.”

  “What damage?”

  He took the towel out of her hand and dipped it in the water. “These bumps and bruises. The accidents. The prioress told me that you have good intentions. You are committed to become part of their community. You work hard. But you’re a disaster as a nun.”

  “Who are you to talk to the prioress about me?”

  “I had to make sure of your plans. I wanted to be certain this was not another trick.”

  She tried to step away; he gave her no room. She was trapped between him and the well.

  “What I’m doing, where I am, how I live my life today, tomorrow, or forever has nothing to do with you. So be on your way. Get away from me. I never wish to see you again.”

  “Liar.” He smiled. “Making that arrangement to kidnap me. Then telling me the truth when you could have had what you wanted. Then throwing away your future with Chamberlain. Even walking away from your family and settling on this. Everything you’ve done has to do with me. What kind of nun fabricates lies such as these?”

  James used the towel to swab lightly at her brow and nose, and then her cheeks. Her eyes stayed open, watching him. He dipped the towel in the water again and ran it across her full lips, causing her to take a sharp breath.

  “Now, tell me again that you don’t want me here.”

  Color bloomed in her newly washed cheeks.

  “Why are you doing this, James?”

  “Because I want to hear your words again. What you told me that day in the mill.”

  She shook her head. “Nay, never again. I no longer care for you.”

  He leaned toward her. “Don’t you?”

  His lips were inches away from hers. James realized that her breathing had become ragged, unsteady. The blush was spreading down her neck. She didn’t turn her face away.

  “Very well,” she said, frustrated. She pushed at his chest. He didn’t budge. “Perhaps a little.”

  “Well, I care about you, too. And far more than a little.”

  She shook her head, forcing herself to think clearly. “This doesn’t explain why you’re here. How did you know where I was?”

  “Your man Kester told Kenna. I overheard Kenna and Alexander talking, and here I am.”

  This time she slipped around him and walked off.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, keeping up with her.

  “I will not allow you to be manipulated because of a sense of guilt.”

  “Guilt?” He took her arm and turned her around.

  “Aye, guilt,” she retorted. “You come here and see my meager lifestyle that I have chosen, and right away decide to do the honorable thing. But I will not have it. I will not tolerate it. Go away. I don’t want you here. You’re interfering . . . with my life.”

  She walked away.

  Riding from Benmore, a dozen possible conversations ran through his head, but this was not one of them. In the best-imagined discussion, James had pictured arriving and finding that she was delighted to see him. Immediately, Emily would again declare her love, and he would admit how much he loved her, too. And then, they’d set their wedding date.

  She wasn’t making this easy.

  But all the people moving about the open area and gawking at them were not helping, either.

  He caught sight of Emily disappearing through a doorway and ran after her.

  The building was ancient but smelled surprisingly of mint and lavender. The hallway was narrow and dark. He heard footsteps going up the stairs and he followed. She was closing a door behind her, but James put his boot in the jamb and then shoved the door open. He stepped in behind her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

  He closed the door behind him. The room was small and cramped, with only a narrow bed along one wall for furniture.

  “Let’s begin again.”

  “You’re not listening, as usual. I’m a nun now. Get out.”

  “You’re not a nun. You’re far, far from even becoming a nun. And frankly, the prioress wishes you’d stop trying to be one.”

  “That is between her and me. But this is still my cell, and I’m ordering you to get out.”

  He raised both hands. “Why won’t you give me a chance to start again?”

  “Why? So you can come up with more reasons why poor Emily should be saved, and why you’re the man to do it?”

  “How about if I list a dozen reasons why it’s James who needs to be saved, and Emily is the only woman capable of doing it?”

  Her eyes met his. She stepped back until she bumped up against the wall. “Please, James. Don’t play games with me.”

  “No games.” He moved closer to her. “I’ve been miserable since the day I walked away from you. And you can ask anyone if that is true or not.”

  He wanted to reach for her, enfold her in his arms, but he was afraid she’d run. And he wanted to finish what he had to say.

  “True, at first I was angry that you’d bested me at my own game. Before I even reached Benmore, I was stupid with misery because I realized that I still loved you. My gloom only increased as I thought back on your words, on the way you tried to make me understand your reasons and how everything had gone wrong. And how I had rejected you. Then, I lay awake at night searching for a reason to go after you, to stop your wedding to Chamberlain, devising plots to break into Craignock Castle and steal you away. ”

  He closed the distance between them, cradled her face. Her eyes were misty when they met his.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I was, hearing that you were at this priory. That you’d rejected the marriage to the Lowlander. I knew then that you truly loved me. I rode here on the wing of an eagle to say this . . . I love you, Emily.”

  Her fingers moved up his chest. “I love you, James.”

  “Then you’ll marry me.”

  As she kissed him, the priory on Loch Eil lost yet another nun.

  Chapter 32

  They swore that you were well-nigh dead . . .

  In exchange for the safe return of Giles and Ninian, the healing stone had to be delivered by Kenna and her father the next day.

  Maxwell’s demands were clear. The exchange was to take place at midday at the market cross of a small village a half-day’s ride to the southeast of Benmore. No armed company of Macpherson warriors inside the village. If more than three accompanied Kenna, the twins would be killed.

  The messenger carrying the letter was a poor farmer who had no idea of the severity of what was at stake.

  Alexander exploded on hearing the demands. He wasn’t about to endanger Kenna’s life by letting her go anywhere near Maxwell. The man was a snake, as ruthless as he was deadly.

  Kenna had other ideas. She was going. There was no question of it. And she worked hard to make him see that he would do the same thing if his brothers’ lives were in jeopardy.

  A score of Macpherson and MacKay warriors accompanied them from Benmore to a field at the outskirts of the village, and that was where they set up camp. They would wait there while the exchange took place. Alexander wanted Maxwell to know that, while they were not breaking the terms of the exchange, the Macphersons were not to be trifled with.

  She and Alexander, Magnus MacKay, and Colin rode in alone. The place
was a muddy market village, consisting of three or four dozen cottages of stone and wattle and thatch, clustered around a low kirk at the bend of a wide, slow-moving river. The market square was filled with farmers and craftsmen, buying and selling. Smoke from cooking fires hung in the air beneath a lowering sky. Sheep and cattle grazed on the fields by the river, and the rugged Cairngorms stretched away to the south.

  The village was like a hundred others that Kenna had seen in her life. Around the square, craftsmen and women plied their trades beneath overhangs of thatch in front of cottages. Children and dogs ran wild, and every stranger was greeted with a crowd of wee folk and barking hounds and curious looks from the villagers.

  Though the village was at its farthest border, this was still Macpherson land, and the village elder ushered the laird’s son into his cottage and then left them. Time was growing short, but when Magnus declared that he and Colin would go to the market square to make the exchange, an argument ensued. They were his sons, the MacKay asserted. He would make the exchange. Kenna and Alexander would wait there together.

  She wasn’t happy about it, and neither was Alexander, but it was midday. She shook her head and shrugged in resignation.

  “We’ve spoken about this, and we’re at peace with it,” Kenna told her father, holding out the pouch and the stone. “I would give far more for the lives of Giles and Ninian.”

  The MacKay laird held up a hand. “Nay. There’s no need. I had this made.”

  He placed a piece of stone into her hand. It looked similar in size and color to what she had. Lines and figures had been etched into it to make it look genuine.

  “Aye,” her father said. “It’s a fake, but how will this bastard Maxwell know the difference? I’ll give him this, and we’ll have the boys.”

  Kenna glanced at Alexander. He looked as doubtful as she was feeling. “Perhaps he’s seen whatever it is that Evers has. Father, we can’t take a chance of him realizing the deception and hurting the boys.”