Highland Knight of Rapture (Highland Dynasty Book 4)

by Amy Jarecki

  Eoin shoved back his chair and knelt at Helen’s side, grasping her hands between his palms. “You have made the right decision.”

  She cringed. “What if John refuses to appeal to the Pope on my behalf?”

  “He won’t. I promise.” Eoin swallowed. If John did not offer his assistance, Eoin would take Helen’s missive to the Pope himself.

  Her breath stuttered. “I’m so afraid.”

  Eoin took her hands and pressed her palms to his heart. “You can do this. I saw you act with more courage today than I’ve witnessed in many men.”

  “But what if Aleck discovers I’ve written the missive?”

  “I swear on my father’s grave I will tell no one. Whilst I am away, go about your affairs as if nothing were any different.”

  She leaned forward and buried her face in his shoulder. “I shudder to think what Aleck will do if the Pope does approve the annulment.”

  Eoin smoothed a hand over her back. “When the time comes, you will have my protection. I’ve vowed it before and I will stand by my word no matter what.” Eoin closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Helen’s temple. If only he could hold her in his arms all night and whisper that everything would work out for the better. But such an act would be folly. If they were caught together, Aleck would severely punish Helen. He took in a deep breath. “In the meantime, try not to worry.”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung tight. “I shall pray for your safety and swift return.”

  By the grace of God, her embrace felt heavenly. How much he wanted to kiss her again—to taste her succulent lips and mold her body to his.

  But he steeled his resolve. “Allow me to escort you back to your chamber.”

  “I think not.” She straightened and shook her head. “If anyone were to see us there would be a scandal—and that would make Aleck suspicious that I am up to something.”

  Eoin nodded. Of course she was right, but it didn’t sit well with him that she would have to traverse the cold passageways alone.

  He walked her to the door and placed his palm upon her cheek. “Sleep well m’lady.” She looked up at him, her lips red as rose petals, her eyes so filled with emotion. Leaning forward, Eoin had no inclination to stop himself. His tongue slipped out and moistened his bottom lip while he dipped his head and covered her mouth.

  His entire body ignited with unquenchable desire. He deepened his kiss and Helen matched his fervor. They bonded like a raging wildfire—two lost souls joining in the darkest hours of the night. The incredible softness of her unbound breasts plied his chest.

  God, he wanted her.

  The bed was only a few short paces behind them. But heaven strike him dead, he would not sully Lady Helen’s virtue. She’d already taken a great risk by visiting his chamber. It took every ounce of control Eoin possessed to pull away and catch his breath. “I’ll peer into the hall first. Once I’m sure ’tis clear, you must haste back to your chamber.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Iona ahead, m’laird,” Fergus bellowed from the stern of the galley.

  “Furl the sail,” Eoin replied. He’d opted to sail to Iona before meeting with Duncan Campbell at Dunstaffnage. Eoin had known the Lord of Glenorchy most of his life. Delivering news of the MacDonald raids in Sunart and Ardnamurchan would cause consternation. Duncan would want to act swiftly, which might prevent Eoin from delivering Helen’s missive with haste.

  Honestly, Eoin knew he should rush to Dunstaffnage, but a quick detour to Iona would only set him back a day. Besides, they’d beaten the MacDonalds by land and by sea. Alexander and his kin would need time to lick their wounds before they tried another foolish attempt to regain their forfeited lands.

  As the men heaved on the oars, heading toward Iona’s white sands, he thought about how Aleck MacIain would react when he discovered Eoin and his men had sailed to make a full report. Eoin had purposefully asked his men rise at dawn and set sail before MacIain had broken his fast. He couldn’t take a chance on the bastard insisting on sailing with them, even though Eoin would have been able to argue that Aleck’s arm needed time to heal. Eoin couldn’t give a rat’s arse about upsetting the damn Chieftain of Ardnamurchan, but if the moth-brained codpiece ever again released his ire on Lady Helen, Eoin would sooner kill him.

  When the galley ran aground on the white sands of Iona, Eoin jumped over the side behind Fergus. “Keep the men near. I’ve some business at the abbey. We sail for Dunstaffnage as soon as I return.”

  Nuns wearing black habits hastened along the path beside the nunnery as Eoin made his way toward Iona Abbey. He removed his helm and bowed his head respectfully, but the women hardly noticed him and continued on their way.

  The cloistered world of nuns and monks was foreign to him. He couldn’t imagine taking a vow of poverty, chastity and obedience and then hiding from the world, praying at all hours—godly and ungodly.

  When the path curved toward abbey, Eoin sped his pace. He was met at the cloister gates by a pair of sentries dressed in the uniforms of the Knights Hospitallers, with red crucifixes emblazoned in the middle of their white surcoats. They crossed their poleaxes in front of the door.

  “Eoin MacGregor, Chieftain of Clan Gregor, here to see Sir John Campbell, Bishop of the Isles.”

  “State your purpose,” said one.

  Eoin thumped his cloak over the spot where he’d secured the missive. “I bear an urgent message from the bishop’s family.” He dared not allude to Lady Helen in any way.

  “The bishop is seeing no visitors this day.”

  Eoin sauntered forward, smoothing his fingers over the hilt of his sword. “Did you not hear me? Sir John’s family needs his attention straight away. Find someone to notify him of my presence before I summon my men and burn this gate to a cinder.” He eyed each man with a deadly squint. “And neither of you will live to see it.”

  One nodded to the other. “Go, fetch the brother.”

  In short order, an unarmed monk ushered Eoin through the gate. “The Bishop is a very busy man.” The man’s ring of brown locks shook with his head. “I’m not certain he’ll be able to see you today.”

  Wearing a hauberk, helm, dirk and broadsword, Eoin was a tad over-armed for hallowed halls. “Just tell him who I am. We were good friends before Sir John joined the priesthood.”

  “You may refer to him as His Worship, or Bishop Campbell,” the monk corrected, sniffing through his upturned nose. When they entered a square cloister surrounding a well-manicured courtyard, the man pointed to a bench. “Wait here whilst I inform the bishop of your presence.”

  “Very well.” Sitting, Eoin glanced at the masonry of the uniform archways. He’d been in the vast nave of the church, but never in this courtyard. A mourning dove soared down and sat atop a bronze statue in the center of the courtyard. Its wings whooshed. Eoin heard the bird’s movement so clearly, he sensed that he’d stepped away from the world for a moment. Through the quiet, he could hear his own heartbeat—yet his senses weren’t heightened as they were before he stepped into danger.

  He chuckled. Mayhap I should be a bit uneasy, given the message I bring.

  Footsteps clattered through the adjoining passage, interrupting the ethereal tranquility. The monk stepped into view. “The bishop will see you now. You must be an important man, indeed.”

  Eoin stood. “’Tis good to know Sir John isn’t too busy to visit with an old friend.”

  “Please try to remember to address him as Bishop Campbell, m’laird.” The monk led Eoin to a large oak door and pulled on the blackened iron latch. The stone passageway had been rather stark, but the chamber beyond the door gleamed, alive with rich red tapestries trimmed with gold.

  John has done quite well for himself. Clearly, the Bishop of the Isles is a man of abundant wealth.

  Seated in a great upholstered chair, His Worship looked as if he could have been the Pope. He wore a brilliant red velvet chasuble trimmed with gold over a long purple dalmatic, and atop his head he
wore a matching mitre. More affluent clothing had not the king.

  Seeing him, the bishop stood and held out his arms. “Sir Eoin. My word, what a surprise.”

  Eoin took John’s hand and kissed it. Every finger was bejeweled with rings bearing enormous stones. “’Tis good to see you, Bishop Campbell.”

  “Please, old friend. Call me John.”

  Eoin gave him a pointed look. “Not ‘Your Worship’?”

  As expected, John turned red. Aside from his garb, he remained the same humble man Eoin knew well. “’Tis a moniker I abhor and a dear friend from my past will not refer to me thus.” He gestured to a smaller chair. “You are fortunate to find me at home. I’m leaving for Rome on the morrow.”

  Eoin grinned and removed Helen’s missive from beneath his cloak. He did have impeccable timing. “How very fortuitous, indeed.”

  “And what brings you to Iona?”

  Since leaving Mingary, Eoin had thought about how he’d broach the subject of Helen’s plight with John. This was a matter not to be blurted in an outpouring, but needed careful depiction. He began by explaining the MacDonald uprising, which came as no surprise to the bishop—Duncan had ensured the Abbey was on alert as well—thus the heightened interrogation by the guard upon Eoin’s arrival. Then he went on about how, much to his chagrin, he was assigned to Mingary and Aleck MacIain.

  “How is my sister enjoying being lady of the keep in Ardnamurchan?” John rubbed his hands with a broad smile.

  Eoin met John’s expression by frowning and placed the missive on the small table between them. “Lady Helen is the reason for my visit.”

  John picked up the letter and examined the seal. “You haven’t read this, I see.”

  “No, the lady entrusted it to me in utmost confidence.” Eoin leaned forward. “Her situation is unbearable. I’ve seen swine treated better than your sister.”

  “Helen? Mistreated?” A deep crease formed between John’s brows. “How preposterous.”

  Eoin’s lips thinned. “I would have had the same reaction if I’d not witnessed her husband strike her.” Then he jammed his finger into the table for added effect. “And I’ve seen telltale signs of further abuse as well.”

  John ran his thumb under the seal. “Who in their right mind would raise a hand against Helen? Of all my sisters she is the most genteel.”

  “True, and Lady Helen is frail as a lark. Though she has the heart of a lion.” Eoin launched into a detailed description about how Helen held Mingary with a handful of aged warriors during the MacDonald attack.

  John perused the missive, his frown growing deeper.

  When Eoin described the part about Aleck humiliating Helen by insisting he be tended by his leman, Mary, the bishop held up his hand and asked for silence. His eyes reflected alarm. “This also says she fears for her daughter. I was not aware she’d birthed a bairn.”

  “Aye, Maggie—she named the lassie Margaret after your mother.”

  “’Tis a good name.” Scratching his beard, John looked toward the window as if deep in thought. “Do you honestly think Aleck MacIain would threaten the life of his own daughter?”

  “I believe so.” Eoin nodded. “He’s refused to see the bairn because he wanted a son—has told Lady Helen he’ll marry Maggie off as soon as her menses show.”

  The crease between John’s brows pinched. “’Tis not unusual to make an alliance when a lass reaches such an age.”

  “True.” Eoin pointed to the missive. “If Maggie should survive that long. And if Lady Helen births another lass, I’m afraid MacIain will stop at nothing to snuff your sister out.”

  John shook his head. “Few annulments are granted—even fewer when requested by the wife.”

  “But surely, with your sister’s life in danger…there could be an exception. You have the power of the church behind you. How could you force her to remain in a marriage where she is being beaten?”

  “She could retire to the nunnery right here on Iona. I would guarantee her sanctuary.”

  “Helen has already asked to be sent to Iona with the bairn.” Eoin looked John directly in the eye. “Sir Aleck told her he would kill her first.”

  John again held up a hand. Eoin pictured the bishop doing this often when considering a grave decision. Again John read the missive. “I cannot believe Helen has been mistreated so.”

  “With all due respect, I would not be here if I hadn’t witnessed such abomination myself. Jesus, John, you know me, and moreover are aware I would not speak falsely to you or any man of God.” Eoin spread his palms. “Can you not appeal to the Pope on this matter?”

  The bishop folded the velum and slapped it in his palm. “If it is in the best interest of my sister, I will present her supplication to the Pope. This news is disturbing and I believe we should make haste. I fear for her safety and that of my niece.”

  Eoin attempted to mask his relief with a frown. “As do I.”

  “Do what you can to protect her until I send word.”

  “I shall. I must meet with Lord Duncan and then plan to return to Mingary forthwith.”

  John stood and ran his hand down his beard. “Before you go, I must ask one thing.”

  Eoin quickly rose as well. “By all means.”

  “As I recall during your fostering, you fancied Lady Helen. Ah…you haven’t committed a sin?” John drew out the word sin with a suggestive lilt.

  Though he should have expected this question, it still took him aback. Eoin shook his head with vehemence. “Never. Neither I nor the lady would stoop to such a disgrace.”

  John patted Eoin’s shoulder. “I thought no less, but it was a question that needed asking. If an annulment is to be considered at all, there must be no errant behavior on Lady Helen’s behalf, else she could end up tied to the stake and burned.”

  Eoin shuddered. He couldn’t deny he hadn’t thought about Helen in that way. But John’s words drove home the need for saintly behavior. “When can I expect word?”

  “I will request an audience with His Holiness as soon as I arrive in Rome, but traveling across the channel can be treacherous, no matter the time of year. Two months is my best estimate.”

  Bowing, Eoin thanked the heavens this detour to Iona hadn’t been in vain. “I wish you a safe journey.”

  ***

  He didn’t usually lie abed when injured, but Aleck’s arm bloody hurt. He blamed Eoin MacGregor for that. The bastard had been none too gentle when he’d applied the splints. Aleck growled. He’d wager MacGregor took great pleasure in setting the bone.

  The bastard again set sail without saying a word. At least I no longer have to put up with his stench.

  Mary offered him a tonic. “This will help with the pain, m’laird.”

  Aleck scowled. “Does it have whisky in it?”

  “’Tis willow bark steeped with valerian.”

  He pushed it away. “I’ll not take another one of your concoctions without a healthy tot of whisky.”

  “Are you planning to continue to act like a milksop, m’laird?” Mary huffed.

  “Pardon me?”

  She placed the cup on the bedside table. “In all seriousness. You allow Lady Helen to force me to tend the pigs and then you refuse a wee bitter brew because it hasn’t a dram of spirit?” She chuckled and squeezed his upper arm. “You still feel like a brawny Highlander.”

  He batted her hand away. “Silence.” He grabbed the cup from the table and threw it back, forcing himself not to make a sour face. “What is this you say? Helen made you tend the pigs?”

  She sat beside him and smoothed her fingers over the plaid. “Did you not command it?”

  He shifted against the pillows. “Of course I would do no such thing. When did this occur?”

  “After Sir Eoin left for Sunart, Lady Helen took charge as if she were lord of the castle.” Mary thumped the bed. “She shouted orders to everyone, and then she pointed at me and gave me the lowliest duty of all.”

  Aleck frowned. It came as no surpr
ise that Helen acted out against his leman, now that she knew the truth. Though Helen had never shown she possessed a backbone. Regardless, it was a relief he no longer needed to pretend. Before Helen had birthed the worthless female bairn, Aleck had felt compelled to keep his affair hidden from his wife—but now he cared no more.

  He’d never been attracted to Helen. First of all, she had no figure whatsoever. If she bound her breasts, she could pass for an adolescent boy. He hated her demureness, always trying to make everything right, always doing things to compensate for his gruff miens, as she’d referred to them. She had no idea how to handle the affairs in Ardnamurchan. If he showed the slightest inkling of compassion, his clansmen would start taking advantage. Aye, a chieftain had no recourse but to rule with an iron fist, lest he lose his lands and his castle to someone closer to home than Alexander MacDonald.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Mary cut through his thoughts.

  “As soon as I can use this arm, I’ll hunt down Alexander MacDonald and send him to hell.”

  Mary frowned. “I meant, will you allow Lady Helen to treat me like a stable hand? Do I mean so little to you that you’ll allow her to command me to tend pigs?” The tenor of Mary’s voice rose with every word until she sounded on the verge of hysterics.

  Aleck was in no mood to hear supplications even if they were from the woman he loved. But when the flicker of ire in Mary’s eye softened into a seductive glint, his heart squeezed. Truly, he could never allow Helen to mistreat his leman. If Helen had done her duty and had grown pregnant when they’d first married—and birthed a son—Aleck would not be in this predicament.

  Helen would be dead.

  He reached out and grasped Mary’s hand. “Ask Sir Grant to bring Lady Helen to me and I will see to her priorities.”

  Mary turned his hand over and swirled her middle finger around his palm. “But I’ve something to tell you first.” Her words were pensive. It wasn’t like Mary to be shy about anything.