by Amy Jarecki
“Ten or so—two different raids.”
“You must stop all insurgence, else you’ll have an uprising you cannot control.”
“No need to worry overmuch about me.” They came to a split in the trail and Sean chose the wider, more traveled path—though he’d rather have taken the overgrown one had he not been accompanied by the older man. “I reckon we’re far enough away from the others. What is so important to make you opt to meet here?”
“One can never know whom they can trust.” Lorn eyed him. “Especially a young chieftain who’s only come into his title.”
Sean gaped. “You no longer trust me?”
“’Tis not you, but rather your men. To prove my point, you just said yourself Dunollie’s suffering from raids.”
Sean opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but Lorn held up his hand. “’Tis always the way when a new pup rises to power. Someone feels thwarted and wants to test your grit. Deal with reivers firmly. In a few months, things will again settle.”
Sean didn’t want to admit he had a few misgivings about the loyalties of some of his father’s men. However, this conversation cemented his decisions. He must weed out the conspirators quickly. “You’ve no cause for alarm.”
“That is what I like to hear.” Lorn plucked another leaf—a birch this time. “I wanted to meet with you in secret because I’ve given it a great deal of thought and have decided to act on your suggestion.”
Sean looked toward the clouds, rifling through his memory of the last time he’d seen Lorn—Beltane. What the devil had they talked about? “I beg your pardon?”
“Must I spell it out?”
With no idea, Sean shrugged.
“Since May I’ve given it ample thought and come up with no other option. I’m to wed Dugald’s mother.”
Sean grinned. Now he remembered the conversation. And that had been the first time in his life he’d realized that at nine and twenty, he was aging. Had his uncle finally come to his senses? “At last you will make your son legitimate?”
“Aye.” Lorn glanced over his shoulder as if he feared someone was following. “But you must keep it quiet, lest my enemies learn of my plans—especially Argyll and the Campbell lot.”
“Heavens, Uncle, the Campbell Clan could be your greatest allies—especially the Glenorchy sect.”
Lorn flicked his leaf into the brush. “Mayhap, however, I’d prefer if you kept it between us.”
“Very well.” Sean stepped around a mud puddle. “What do you need from me?”
Lorn stopped and craned his neck to face him. “Protection. I need your army to provide ample guard during the ceremony and the feast.”
Sean remembered well the lands Lorn had bequeathed him when he reached his majority. The gift was given on the promise a call to arms would be forthcoming whenever needed. “You’ll have my sword and my men. Have you set a date as of yet?”
“Autumn—when the leaves start to turn.”
“Why wait?” Sean asked. “You should have brought Mary MacLaren to the priory and had John Campbell marry you this day.”
Lorn waved his hands. “No, no, that will not do. There are formalities to arrange—the first being a visit to King James to ensure his blessing.”
Sean was no stranger to the dealings of court. “And his sanction of lands.”
“Of course. The only reason I’m proceeding with the marriage at my advanced age is to ensure my title remains with my line.”
Sean chuckled. “And the Earl of Argyll doesn’t inherit the Lordship of Lorn.”
“Exactly.”
Sean glanced toward a raven squawking at them from a tree limb above. “You are aware, the king’s enforcers could add iron-clad protection for you and your bride.” He didn’t want to use the moniker Highland Enforcers. That had originally been the label used by Black Colin Campbell and it had stuck. Everyone knew there was no force in the Highlands that could match the well-trained group of knights led by Lord Duncan Campbell, but Lorn would never admit dependence.
The older man clapped Sean on the shoulder and headed back toward the priory. “Let us keep this quiet for now. The fewer people who know my plans, the less likely my enemies will cross me.”
“Agreed.”
“In the interim, you need to see to it you weed out all backstabbers from your clan.”
Sean balled his fists. “No one wants that more than I.”
“’Tis good to hear.”
After seeing the Lord of Lorn off, Sean returned to the garden, but Gyllis was no longer there. He looked at the sundial. The afternoon was growing late and soon the monks would head to the nave for vespers. He turned full circle. Could Gyllis be staying in the dormitory? It wasn’t usual for monks to take in the sick, but he had no idea if Ardchattan had an infirmary.
One thing he knew for certain, he wouldn’t find her whilst turning circles in the garden. When he headed toward the cloisters, John stepped around the corner.
Sean opened his arms. “Just the man I was looking for.”
“Sean MacDougall.” With a hearty laugh, John pulled him into an embrace. “Bless it, ’tis good to see you.”
“Bloody oath.” Sean stepped away and took in the telltale black robes. “How long has it been?”
“Years.” John gestured for him to continue walking. “Word has it you’re the Chieftain of Dunollie now.”
“Aye. Da passed two months ago.”
“I am sorry.” John bowed his head. “I shall pray for his eternal soul.”
“My thanks.” Sean grasped John’s sleeve and rubbed it between his fingers. “So you’ve attained the exalted rank of prior in record time, I see.”
“Aye, I’ve found my calling—no more armor and swords for me.”
“Or women.”
John frowned.
Sean shook his head. “Bloody waste of a fine knight.”
“You sound like my brother.”
“Apologies.” He clapped the priest on the back. “I should be offering congratulations.”
“No need. We live a life of humility here, void of pride.”
That certainly was the man Sean knew. John Campbell never could be accused of suffering from the sin of pride—something Sean envied in his friend. Envy, yet another sin. But he had something of a more serious nature to discuss. “I saw Miss Gyllis when I first arrived.”
“Aye, she mentioned as much.” John frowned.
But Sean didn’t let the dour face dissuade him. “What happened to her?”
“Paralysis.”
Sean gulped. “’Tis worse than I thought. She looks so frail. When did she become afflicted?”
“She fell ill on the journey home from the May Day festival.”
“That long ago? What are her chances of recovery?”
John steepled his fingers. “Who knows? The longer she goes without being able to walk, the less likely she will ever find her legs.”
“My God.” Sean pushed his hands through his hair. “I must help her.”
“What do you think you can do?” John stopped outside the chapel doors and faced him. “She was very upset after she saw you—refused to eat—I couldn’t even get her to take a sip of mead.”
His mind swimming, Sean barely listened. “But we’ve been close ever since we were young. I always thought…” He couldn’t say it, not to her brother. “I want to see her.”
“I’m not certain ’tis a good idea.” John grasped the latch. “Whatever happened between you two?”
“Pardon me? We’ve always been…” He almost said sweethearts, but that wouldn’t sound right confessing to a priest, or to her brother, no less. “Good friends.”
“Something about your visit upset her. What did you say?”
“Me? Nothing at all.” Sean grasped John’s elbow. “Please, I want to see Gyllis again.”
John sighed and looked to the sky. “I should not agree, but you seem emphatic—and I do not approve of leaving things on a sour note. Give her a sennight or two. Sh
e’s so frail. Any upset could ruin her progress.”
“Must I wait that long? I’d prefer to return on the morrow.”
“Please, I ask you to heed me in this.” John placed his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “For Gyllis’s sake.”
“Very well, if your request is for her benefit.” Sean clenched his teeth—Gyllis was exactly who he had been thinking of, but good sense told him not to argue, else he could be banned. “My thanks.”
“No need for gratitude.” John held up a finger. “If she has an adverse reaction on your next visit, I shall have no recourse but to request that you stay away.”
Mounted on his warhorse, Sean puzzled while he rode the six miles back to Dunollie Castle. Beltane seemed like it had happened years ago, yet it had only been a couple months. At the feast, he’d danced with Gyllis. She’d never looked so radiant—healthy and lively on her feet. How quickly the paralysis must have come on.
He chuckled, remembering how delightfully forward she’d been. Ah yes, and the kiss he’d stolen in the garden had been sublime. That she had never been properly kissed was a certainty and it made his blood thrum to think he’d been the first gentleman to claim her lips. His grin stretched wider.
She invited me to sit on her plaid—and then Angus and Jinny came to tell me Da had died.
Sean pulled his horse to a stop and slapped his forehead.
God’s teeth, I neglected to send my apologies. Has anyone informed her as to why I’d been called away?
9
Gyllis sat sideways on her bed, reclining into a mountain of pillows propped against the wall. John massaged the sole of her foot—the feeling must have been returning because it caused a mildly painful sensation of pin pricks.
She squeezed her eyes shut. A picture formed of Sir Sean and how horrified his face had looked when he first saw her in the garden. Every time she thought about Sean MacDougall, Gyllis shook her head and forced her mind to focus on anything else. Presently, the story of how Sir Gawain had opted to allow Dame Ragnelle to choose whether or not she would be cursed by ugliness during the day or at night replaced imaginings of Sean’s azure eyes. Gyllis loved how Sir Gawain’s selflessness resulted in breaking the spell and thus turned Dame Ragnelle into a beauty forever. If only such chivalry existed.
She sighed.
If only Sir Sean could do something to break the miserable spell that plagues me. She tsked her tongue. Curses, there I go again, finding any way to allow that lusty laddie into my thoughts.
“Push the sole of your foot against my hand,” said John, seated upon the stool beside her bed. He had been helping her more as of late, and for the past week, Brother Wesley had been away on an errand to Iona.
Gyllis grasped the bedclothes and squeezed. Though the dexterity in her hands had not fully returned, in the past fortnight she’d become adept at turning the pages of her book. Threading a needle was yet to be accomplished. She grimaced and tried to push against John’s hand with all her might. Though her forehead perspired, he seemed not to be putting forth any effort at all. Gyllis let out a puff of air. “Blast it.”
“Keep trying.”
She wanted to scream. “I am.”
“Good.” John grinned—he could calm an entire room of grumblers with his smile. “Now just a bit harder.”
Gyllis pushed. “Och, you are killing me.”
“Simply trying to make you stronger.” He rubbed his knuckles into the sole of her foot. “You made a good effort.”
“Thank you.” She watched him while he lifted her other foot and started in massaging her leg. He was so different compared to Duncan. Her older brother was a commander of men, a warlord and chieftain. Somehow, John had inherited all the traits to make him Duncan’s opposite. Though they both had inherited the Campbell good looks.
“What do you aspire to, John?”
“Me?” He chuckled. “I suppose to spread the word of God and tend wee lasses like you who come to the priory in need of care.” It was typical of him to respond with something vague.
Gyllis persisted. “Do you ever miss riding with the Highland Enforcers?”
“Not really. I enjoyed the companionship, but I never could stomach living by the sword.”
She adjusted her shoulders against the pillows for added comfort. “I suppose it would be unsettling to ride into battle knowing it could be your last day on this earth.”
“It wasn’t my death I was worried about so much as worry for others. Even vile men who’ve committed crimes have souls. I never believed I had a right to take a life—not ever.”
Gyllis admired his handsome face, now framed by dun-colored locks with the top of his head shaven. “You would have made a fine husband.”
“And you talk too much.” He kneaded his fingers into her thigh. “What about you? You should be thinking about marriage soon.”
She rolled her eyes to the cross on the wall above her head. “Oh, you are full of practicality—all lassies stricken with paralysis leap from their beds and proceed to the altar.”
“I’m serious. You are beautiful and charming.” John looked up and narrowed his gaze. “Why only a fortnight or so ago, Sir Sean MacDougall inquired about you—he showed genuine concern.”
Gyllis harrumphed. “Sir Sean is the last person I’d marry. Besides, he’s the type to take his vows and the following day ride off with Duncan and never look back.”
“I suppose he has an adventuresome spirit—though I’ve not met a more trustworthy friend.”
“I cannot fill my head with thoughts about that man. He’s vile.” Her voice trailed off and she swallowed. If only she could actually void her heart of her feelings for Sir Sean. Before she’d fallen ill, he had thwarted her. How would he treat her now that she was a cripple? “Let us talk about something else.”
“Very well.” John reverted to long languid strokes that made Gyllis’s leg tingle. “I’ve been thinking. When you return to Kilchurn, we could move your things to the first floor solar.”
Gyllis shook her head. “When I return to Kilchurn, I will be walking and able to climb the tower stairs.”
John stopped rubbing and looked up. Sadness filled his eyes. “What if…”
“Do not say it. I…I am making progress.” Gyllis strained to pull her foot from his grasp. “I will walk again, whether God sees fit to help me or I am forced to do it on my own.”
“I appreciate your fighting spirit, but….”
“But what?”
“As humans we are only flesh and blood. Sometimes we can picture our bodies doing things they’re incapable of.”
“Enough!” Gyllis scooted to the edge of the bed and inched her feet onto the floor.
John stood and held out his hands. “Let me help you.”
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
His lips formed a thin line, but he took a step back.
She leaned forward until her chin was over her knees. Giving herself a healthy shove, Gyllis attempted to stand. Her legs faltered. With a startled gasp, her weight shifted too far forward. Having given too much of a push, she teetered then fell straight into John’s outstretched arms.
A wail caught in her throat. She balled her fists and pounded them into her brother’s chest. “Curses, curses, curses to paralysis! Why did this happen to me? Why can I not walk away from this damnable bed? I hate this. I hate it, I tell you!” Gyllis had been sick for so long, she couldn’t take it anymore—couldn’t face her miserable life. She was hopeless, useless and without a single prospect.
When she burst into tears, John lifted her into his arms and sat on the cot. Oh his lap he cradled her for what seemed like an eternity, patiently rocking back and forth while she bawled like a bairn. “There, there, Gyllis. Everything will be all right.” His soothing voice calmed until sleep took away her pain.
Swaying in his saddle, Murdach, pointed. “There she is, m’laird.”
Sean had never been so happy to see the ominous outline of the Dunollie battlements looming against a
sultry summer sky. They had spent the last fortnight visiting every crofter who paid rents. True, Sean relished being on the trail, but this excursion with his factor had no adventure. And though this mission had been extremely important to renewing and securing loyalty, he was relieved it was at an end.
Chatting with clansmen about the rents wasn’t at the top of his list of entertaining subjects. If a crofter’s rents were up to date, the conversation turned to more interesting pursuits. But more often the people who made a living off his lands had fallen behind, and thus it was necessary to sit down and discuss a plan to set their accounts back to rights.
Murdach had been some help, but the aging factor proved to prefer his quill over his tongue.
Sean grinned at the portly man, then turned round to face his guard. “Let us make haste and we shall enjoy Dunollie whisky tonight.” He dug his heels into his horse’s barrel and led the canter along the shoreline to the castle.
Once inside the gates, he led them to the stables and dismounted.
Murdach hopped off his gelding with a grunt. “Will you be needing me for anything else, m’laird?”
“Nay. Put the ledgers in my solar and then go home to your lady wife.”
“My thanks.”
Sean gave his reins to his squire and sighed. Even the air at Dunollie smelled fresher than it did outside her walls.
“M’laird.” The man’s voice came from behind.
Sean whipped around and a grin spread across his face. “Fraser!” He embraced his friend and slapped him on the back. “I was wondering what had happened to you.”
The warrior’s eyebrows drew together and he inclined his head away from the guard. “May I have a word in confidence?”
“Of course.” Sean led him to the rear of the stables. “Did you find Alan?”
“Aye, at least where he’d been hiding.”
Sean rolled his hands in anticipation of more.
“An eyewitness reported he was holding up on Kerrera.”
Sean drummed his fingers to his lips. “That island is chartered MacDougall land.”
