Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3

by Ceci Giltenan

  He considered her a moment. “Would ye like to have a priest here, Katherine?”

  “You mean a resident priest like Father James, not just an itinerant? Is that possible?”

  “It can be arranged. Since ye are the reason we have adequate resources, the least I can do is give ye a priest if that is what ye want.”

  “If it really isn’t a problem, I would like that very much.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

  ~ * ~

  The storm blew out during the night and the day dawned clear and bright. Niall sent a messenger with an appropriate offering to the Dominican abbey several hours ride away. It thrilled Katherine when the messenger returned the next day, accompanied by Father Colm. As big and strong as any warrior, only his priest’s robes revealed his true calling. His crystal blue eyes sparkled with vitality, but his white hair and beard suggested he had at least three score years behind him.

  Katherine had a room prepared for him in the east tower and he immediately became an important fixture at Duncurra. Although clearly a very spiritual man, he was warm and friendly, always more than willing to help with whatever work he could. This endeared him to the clan instantly, and it was common to see him lifting stones to mend a wall, or helping to repair a roof. If anyone hesitated to accept his help, he informed them he considered the work a “corporal act of mercy,” and in failing to allow him to help them, they would deny him the opportunity to perfect his soul. Coming from a priest, this argument sounded reasonable, and upon hearing it, the villagers nearly always accepted his help. Katherine suspected the old priest just liked to stay busy.

  In the evenings Father Colm usually joined those gathered at the hearth, often telling stories that had everyone enthralled. On one of these evenings shortly after he arrived, Katherine finally learned why this gentle priest looked like a warrior. He was a warrior, or at least had been one before becoming a priest. In fact, he had been a mercenary, an extremely talented swordsman.

  The youngest of five brothers, he had been an ambitious young man. He had sought wealth and glory with his sword arm. He hired himself out to whatever lord or baron would pay him the most. Travelling throughout England and France, soon he cared little about the nature of the duties assigned to him, as long as the purse that came with them was heavy enough. Because of his skill and reputation for ruthlessness, the purses became heavier and heavier.

  “One day I found myself in the midst of a fierce and bloody battle. I had either forgotten the reason for the fight or never knew what it was in the first place. I was simply there to kill. I showed no mercy. In truth, my soul was empty—I had no mercy to show. I was covered in blood and gore, but none of it was my own. Opposing warriors lay dead all around me. I’m sure the stench of death permeated the air, but I didn’t notice. My broad sword was raised over my head, prepared to cleave yet another warrior in two, when for some reason I hesitated. I truly believe God stayed my hand, for in that moment of hesitation, I realized it was not a warrior standing before me.”

  “Who was it?” asked Tomas, enthralled.

  “It was just a scared lad, Tomas, a squire of no more than four and ten. His lord had fallen, he wore no armor, nor did he wield a weapon. In the moment I hesitated, he ran. I was horrified by what I had almost done. After that battle, I wondered how many faceless men, perhaps even boys, I had slaughtered for no other reason than to fill my own purse. Make no mistake, there are just wars. Certainly there is nobility in defending one’s home or fighting an injustice, but there was nothing noble in what I was doing. That realization shattered me. I asked to be released and I came home to the Highlands.

  “Once home, I realized simply walking away was not enough to soothe my conscience. My sins haunted me for years, but I found solace in faith. That is why I eventually became a priest. I used the riches I had acquired to help those in need.”

  “Can ye still wield a sword?” asked Tomas, rapt.

  “Aye, lad, I can, but while I would if I had to in defense, I shall never do so again for personal gain.”

  ~ * ~

  While she continued to feel ill and more tired than usual, Katherine loved being able to attend daily Mass once again. And she wasn’t the only one. She learned Highlanders in general tended to be very devout, so the chapel was often full.

  Edna, too, attended daily Mass, often with the giant Turcuil at her side. As conversation wasn’t his strong suit, Katherine suspected Turcuil felt less self-conscious with Edna when in an environment where the only words he had to speak were the responses of the ancient liturgy.

  As they neared the end of Advent, a time of prayer and fasting, Katherine threw herself into preparing for the feasts and celebrations of Christmas and the Epiphany. She ensured the entire keep was cleaned and decorated with holly, ivy, and bay. As he had promised, Laird MacLennan returned to Duncurra with a small retinue for the Christmas celebrations.

  Katherine had mixed feelings about Laird MacLennan. Clearly both Niall and Fingal respected him, considering him part of the family. Yet when he had first arrived with Eithne, Katherine would have welcomed more support from him. However, when he arrived days before Christmas, charming and affable, she thought perhaps she had overreacted. Malcolm’s presence brought one unexpected but welcome benefit—Eithne focused her full attention on entertaining him. This gave Katherine a much needed respite from her sniping. Soon she wondered why she had ever dreaded his arrival.

  After the flurry of activity leading up to it, Christmas came reverently. Duncurra celebrated the three traditional Christmas Masses, the Angel’s Mass at midnight, the Shepherd’s Mass at dawn, and the Mass of the Divine Word later in the morning. Then, in the afternoon, the clan celebrated with a huge feast. It had been several years since the MacIans had sufficient resources to allow for a celebration like this, so they threw themselves into it whole-heartedly. After the feast, those assembled removed the trestle tables so the music and dancing could begin.

  Katherine found the dancing captivating. As a member of the Scottish Lowland nobility, in her younger years she had learned formal courtly dances similar to those performed in England and France. However, the dances performed on this Christmas night were unique to the Highlands. She had never seen anything like them and she watched the beautiful, joyful dances with longing.

  Shortly after the music started, Niall, perhaps noticing her wistful expression, took her hand. “Dance with me.”

  She felt acutely ashamed and without meeting his eyes, began to stammer. “Niall—I—I can’t—I would love to—but I—I don’t know how.”

  “Then ye shall learn,” he said, ignoring her embarrassment and pulling her into the center of the room. She was terrified, knowing she would humiliate them both, but he only grinned at her. “Katherine, relax, it isn’t that hard.”

  As he guided her through the opening steps of the dance, she desperately tried to follow him. Astonished by how well her warrior husband could dance, Katherine felt even worse about her own lack of skill. When the pattern repeated, she found she had less trouble, until by the end of the dance, although not proficient, she felt more comfortable and was enjoying herself. When the dance was over, Niall pulled her into an embrace, kissing her, much to the delight of the other revelers. She stumbled through several more dances with him before begging him to have mercy on her. Breathing heavily, she retreated to her seat at the table.

  With the courage coming from a few tankards of ale as well as the urging of his comrades, she watched Turcuil pluck up his nerve and ask Edna to dance with him. Until that moment, Katherine let herself believe her dance skills weren’t terrible for her first time, but she became acutely embarrassed again when she watched the giant of a man dance the sometimes intricate country dances with ease. Noticing her discomfit, Malcolm asked, “Lass, what has ye so distressed?”

  Flushing even more deeply, Katherine answered, “It is a little embarrassing that every warrior in this room seems to be able to dance, while I stumble like a drunkar
d.”

  Malcolm laughed and patted her arm warmly. “Katherine, of course they can dance; they are Highlanders. Highland warriors practice intricate dances to help build their agility, and then they celebrate victory by dancing them. Ye have nothing to be embarrassed about. Even though these country dances are not simple, ye did very well for your first attempt.”

  He leaned a little closer and, lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said “Ye know very well if there had been much room to criticize, Lady MacIan would not have missed the opportunity, but ye will notice she doesn’t dance at all.”

  Katherine had to laugh at the notion that it was possible to consider silence from Eithne as praise. It did give her the confidence to try again when both Fingal and Father Colm asked her to dance later in the evening.

  The merry-making continued well into the wee hours of the morning. Katherine sat by Niall watching the festivities. So exhausted she could barely sit upright, but not ready to leave the celebration, she decided she would just rest her eyes for a moment.

  Father Colm sat on Niall’s other side with Diarmad, Fingal, and Malcolm, telling more stories from his young warrior days that had the other men roaring with laughter. Katherine was startled by one particularly explosive burst of laughter and raised her head, looking at the priest in confusion. Father Colm nudged Niall, inclined his head toward Katherine and said with a grin “I think it’s time ye took that one to bed.”

  ~ * ~

  The yuletide festivities continued for twelve days. The day after Christmas was the feast of St. Stephan the Martyr. After the extended festivities of the evening before, Katherine was surprised to see so much activity in the keep the next morning. There were baskets filled with hay, salt, and oats in the great hall. Upon seeing this she whispered to Niall, “What is all of this for?”

  “Did ye not seek St. Stephan’s blessing in the Lowlands?”

  “When I was little my papa gave coins to the poor on St. Stephan’s day, but Uncle Ambrose certainly didn’t.”

  “Here we ask St. Stephan’s blessing on horses and livestock. Father will bless the hay, salt, and oats during Mass and it will be distributed amongst the farmers. Then the blessed items will be given to sick or injured animals during the year. Father will also bless the horses in my stable after Mass.”

  Katherine had never heard of this custom. “Why? St. Stephan was a martyr who was stoned to death because of his faith in Christ. What is his connection to livestock?”

  Niall’s eyes twinkled as he said, “There are several answers to that question, lass. The first is, according to legend, St. Stephan had a horse that he loved, but the horse became very ill. Christ cured St. Stephan’s beloved horse and that is why Stephan’s faith was so strong.”

  “It sounds as if ye don’t believe that legend.”

  “Well, sweetling, I have had some fine horses in my life and I surely would thank God if he intervened to save one of them. However, I’m not sure I would face a stoning for the love of a horse.”

  “But it wasn’t for the love of a horse, it was—oh never mind,” she said when she realized he was teasing her. “What are the other reasons for blessing livestock?”

  “Some say because little work is done between Christmas and Epiphany, it is a holiday for the livestock as well, particularly for beasts of burden like horses and oxen. Since St. Stephan’s day falls on the first day after Christmas, it is a good a time as any to bless them.”

  “I guess that is reasonable, but I can tell by your grin there is more.”

  “Now, ye see, lass, in ancient times, before we all became God-fearing Christians and heathens roamed the land, it is said horses were sacrificed at the winter solstice. When Christians put a stop to animal sacrifices, the horses in the Highlands, being good Christians themselves, were exceedingly grateful and thanked the first saint whose feast day fell soon after the solstice. St. Stephan would have been an ungrateful sot if he had refused to be their patron, so it was really a case of the Highland horses picking the saint as opposed to the other way round.”

  Katherine laughed and Niall found himself thanking all the saints for giving him this beautiful lass, whose laughter must surely be sweeter than the songs of angels.

  ~ * ~

  The celebration continued the next day on the Feast of St. John the Evangelist. Father Colm blessed kegs of wine called “The Love of St. John” in the morning to be served later at the feast. This was a tradition Katherine was familiar with, however the Clan celebrated in another way, as well. Because St. John lived to be a very old man, the eldest members of the clan were honored at this feast and sat with Niall and Katherine at the laird’s table. Niall watched her with pride as she listened to their stories, laughing merrily with them. Once more he realized how fortunate he was she had accepted his clan as her own and treated these elders with the kindness and respect they were due. His mother, Lady MacIan in name only, didn’t even attend this feast.

  When the music started he claimed Katherine for dance after dance until she begged him to stop.

  “Aren’t ye tired of me stepping on your feet yet?” she laughed.

  “Was it ye who was stepping on my feet? I thought sure it must be Turcuil,” he said with a wink and laughed at her mock outrage. “Truthfully, Katherine, I would rather dance with ye all night and suffer bruised toes than dance with any other partner, regardless of how skilled she might be.”

  Katherine laughed. “That is the Love of St. John talking.”

  Niall laughed, too. He suspected love had something to do with it, but perhaps not the blessed wine. Taking her in his arms, he said, “Have I thanked ye yet?”

  “Thanked me for what?”

  He motioned to the celebration around them. “For this.”

  “Planning a feast is no great ordeal.”

  “Not for planning it, pet. The MacIans haven’t had much to celebrate, and nothing to celebrate with, for the last few years. It is only because of ye the clan is safe and whole.”

  “Nay, Niall, ye sought the king’s help, saving me and Tomas in the process. I have a home and family again.” The warmth and love Niall saw in her eyes took his breath away.

  Fingal, who stood nearby, said, “Perhaps ye would honor a member of your new family with a dance, then?”

  Katherine laughed. “If your toes can stand it, I suppose I can.”

  ~ * ~

  The third day after Christmas was Childermas, honoring the young boys in Bethlehem who were killed by King Herod. In the same way that elders were honored on the Feast of John the Evangelist, sometimes children were given special treats on Childermas.

  At the midday meal, Eithne asked, “Has young Tomas had his beating yet today?” Tomas’ eyes grew wide with fear and Father Colm looked up from his conversation with Cairbre.

  “We don’t observe that tradition at Duncurra,” Katherine said coolly. Tomas had had more than enough beatings in his life. He didn’t need another one to fully understand the cruelty of men.

  “I am glad to hear that, my lady,” said Father Colm. “It is a ridiculous custom and one that I don’t hold with, either.”

  “Come now, Father, Katherine,” Malcolm said, “some people think a child is destined to have bad luck if he doesn’t receive a few whacks in memory of the Holy Innocents.” Malcolm called to Niall, who was deep in conversation with Diarmad, “Niall, what’s this I hear about not beating children on Childermas?” Wide eyed with fear, Tomas slid off his chair, maneuvering very close to Katherine.

  Katherine found Laird MacLennan’s satisfied smile, as well as the pleasure he appeared to derive from Tomas’ discomfort, very disturbing.

  Before Niall could respond, Katherine said, clearly very irritated, “Laird MacLennan, please cease this discussion now. No one will be beaten here, today or ever.”

  “Katherine, dear, please calm down” said Niall. “I think Malcolm was just teasing.”

  She didn’t think Malcolm was teasing and she knew Eithne wasn’t. She answered,
“I apologize if I misunderstood you, Laird. Please understand, I don’t see the humor in beating a child or anyone else.” Katherine excused herself from the table, leaving the great hall with Tomas, who still looked terrified. She wanted to reassure him, so she took him to her room and sat with him by the fire.

  “Why does Laird MacLennan want to beat me?”

  She tried to explain Childermas and the reason for the custom, although it had always seemed absurd to her. “Tomas, it must have been a terrifying day when Herod murdered all the little boys in Bethlehem. Think how scared they must have been. There are people who think if children feel just a little of that fear and pain, they will remember the sacrifice of the Holy Innocents.”

  “But ye don’t think so?”

  “Nay. In fact, I think it may be easier to think about the Holy Innocents if we aren’t worried about ourselves, don’t ye?”

  “Aye,” he agreed solemnly.

  “Sweetheart, ye know I won’t let anyone hurt ye?”

  “Aye, but what if someday ye aren’t near? I don’t like him. I don’t like Da’s mother, either.”

  “I know, pet, some people are very hard to like,” Katherine agreed. “Sometimes it is just best to stay away from them.”

  ~ * ~

  “Well, that was rude,” snapped Eithne, when Katherine left the hall.

  Niall glared at Eithne and said to Malcolm, “I’m sure ye can understand, Malcolm, my wife is sensitive about the subject of beating.”

  “Niall, I am so very sorry, how thoughtless of me. How could I possibly have forgotten? I should go and apologize to her.”

  “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure she understood.” Niall assured him. “I promised Tomas we would go out for a ride this afternoon. I will tell Katherine again that you intended no harm.”

  Fingal watched the entire exchange, dumbfounded. Katherine had nearly died in Malcolm’s keep. He understood his mother’s callousness, but Malcolm’s surprised him. Fingal found Niall’s calm acceptance of the situation extremely irritating as well. When was he going to wake up?