by Amy Jarecki
“Aye, but Alan told her it was his.”
“Her—a woman?”
“A whore named Osla.”
Sean smirked. “Credible source.”
“She wasn’t the most refined of women even for a whore, but she described him well enough—described his men, too.” Fraser frowned, his gaze darting left then right. He leaned in. “She said he’s amassing quite an army.”
Sean didn’t believe it. “I ken he’s got a following of roustabouts, but an army? She must have been jesting.”
“I’m nay so certain. She kent a number of names—and clans. Said he’s not only got disgruntled MacDougalls, he’s drawn in some lowlife Campbells and it gets worse.”
“Aye?”
“Lowlanders—hundreds of them. Osla said that’s where he is now.”
“In the Lowlands?”
“Aye—training for a reckoning.”
Sean studied the concern on Fraser’s face then swiped his hand over his mouth. “It sounds like the old hen grasped ahold of your ear and gave it a good tug.”
“I ken, it sounds farfetched, but Alan is a snake. I wouldn’t put it past him to be scheming something.”
“True, but I doubt he has the coin or the gumption to command an army. A handful of vagrants, I’d believe but no more.”
Fraser scratched his beard and glanced away. “I’m sure you’re right, but why not let me track him to the Lowlands—see for myself if the whore’s claims have any merit.”
Sean glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “I’d rather have you by my side as henchman. I trust you more than any other in the Clan MacDougall. You’re the best with a sword, too.”
“Thank you, m’laird, but my gut is telling me Alan MacCoul is up to something. I wouldn’t feel content to leave things unresolved with that man and his army.”
Sean reflected on Lorn’s advice. There had been raids and any threat must be investigated no matter how absurd. “Very well, but I do not want you traveling to the Lowlands alone. Choose two guards with whom to ride and I’ll expect to see you return in a month—two at the most.”
When Sean retired to his solar, he poured himself a well-deserved glass of whisky. He stood at the window for a moment and gazed out over the Firth of Lorn. A sultry breeze caressed his face and he sighed. Summer had always been his favorite season. The gardens were alive with greens and colorful flowers and the sea yielded an abundant harvest.
Sean sipped his whisky and savored the oaken flavor as it slid over his tongue. Every moment he’d been away, he had thought about Gyllis. I shall set out for the priory at first light. He turned and looked at the ledgers spread out on the table. But first I must make some sense of Murdach’s chicken scratch.
With a sigh, he placed a quill and inkwell on the table and sat in his upholstered chair. He spread a sheet of vellum to his right, opened a ledger and began to record sums, listing them in an orderly fashion as he deciphered the random splotches of ink made by his factor.
Two pages in, Sean had no doubt Murdach was blind. That’s bloody wonderful—how the devil hadn’t Da noticed all the errors?
A breeze blew in from the window and mussed the parchment. Sean glanced toward the sound of the roaring sea. Oh to be shed of responsibility and walking along the shore at sunset. Holding Gyllis’s hand. Warmth spread through him. Paralysis? I want to be the one massaging her thighs, not some recalcitrant monk.
But will she accept my help? She told me to stay away. How can I possibly do that? I’ve cared for her since... He thought back to all the times he and Gyllis had danced or talked or shared a meal together during his fostering. I’ve been such a dolt all these years. I should have asked her father for her hand whilst he was still alive. If only I’d had the sense to do so.
And now she’s…
He shook his head and stopped himself.
Ballocks. I need to see her.
After inking his quill, he calculated the sum of his figures. He then compared it to the balance written on the ledger. Short by five crowns.
The hour was growing late, but he couldn’t rest before he rechecked the numbers. After deciphering Murdach’s entries a second time, Sean again came up with a five-crown shortfall. It wasn’t a huge amount in comparison to his vast holdings, but over the course of a year, such losses would add up. He rested the quill in the silver holder and reached for his whisky.
Shall I confront Murdach first thing in the morning or head to the priory to see Gyllis? His mind made up, Sean closed the ledgers, rolled the vellum of sums and secured it inside his doublet.
10
If there was anything Sean hated, it was waiting. How difficult was it for a priest to announce his arrival? Was Gyllis having a bath? He continued pacing. If John doesn’t return by the count of ten, I shall go looking for him—or Gyllis, whomever I find first.
When he reached nine, John stepped into the cloister, looking stern. “I’m sorry. Gyllis refuses to see you.”
“What?” Sean spread his arms to his sides. “I will not leave until I gain an audience with her. At the very least, she must give me a chance to explain why I hastened to away from the fete last May. I’d agreed to sit on her plaid, but before the feast I received word of my father’s death.”
Opening his arms, John strode toward him. “Is that why she’s so upset with you?”
“I can think of no other reason.”
John grasped the cross hanging around his neck. “I do not believe—”
Sean pushed past him and marched ahead. “Where is she?”
John hastened to keep pace. “She is vulnerable.”
“Do you not think I ken?” Sean barreled around the corner and opened the first door. “I’ll find her if I must open every door in the priory.”
John skirted in front of him. “Please. She needs more time—she’s incredibly frail.”
Sean again pushed past and flung open another door. “That is exactly why I must see her now.” Sean slammed it, grinding his back molars. “Damn it all, tell me where she is.”
John’s gaze shifted along the corridor to a door at the far end. “Perhaps I could deliver a missive on your behalf.”
Sean turned in the direction of John’s stare. “There’s no time for that.” He strode directly to the door at the end.
“Please.” The priest scuffled after him. “I have parchment and a quill in my quarters.”
Sean ignored John’s plea and yanked open the door.
Gyllis gasped, her eyes horrorstruck, she clapped a hand over her mouth. A monk had her skirts up around her thighs, his fingers clear up to her…
“Unhand her!”
Shoving her kirtle down, Gyllis scooted back.
Sean grabbed the lecherous monk by his collar and yanked him up. Before the man could raise his arms, Sean slammed his fist into the sniveling maggot’s pasty face. With a high-pitched wail, the monk toppled to the floor. Sean advanced.
“No!” Gyllis shrieked.
John darted between Sean and the monk, seizing Sean’s shoulders. “Have you lost your mind?”
Enraged, Sean broke from John’s grasp. “Did you not see him? He had her skirts hiked up so far I could see—”
“Miss Gyllis requires stimulating massage several times per day. I assure you, Brother Wesley has taken an oath of celibacy.”
Sean glanced at the monk now sitting on the floor, rubbing his jaw.
“Are you all right, brother?” Gyllis asked.
The monk nodded. “Aye.” He stood, giving Sean a wide berth.
“How could you barge into my chamber and accost a man of the cloth?” Gyllis moved slowly, but folded her arms, her face redder than a boiled lobster.
“Apologies, Miss Gyllis.” Sean couldn’t have made things any worse with his bravado, storming into her chamber like a jealous cur. “I did not think.”
Gyllis pursed her lips—God, her face was still as lovely as sunrise. “No, you did not.”
“Miss Gyllis
, please,” Sean pleaded. “Allow me a moment of your time, ’tis all I ask.”
John grasped Sean’s elbow and squeezed. “If I must resort to force to make you leave, I will.”
If anyone in this God-forsaken priory could pose a challenge, it was John Campbell. He’d been a damned good knight before he became a priest, but Sean doubted he’d sparred much as of late. He steeled himself for a fight.
“I will hear him.” Gyllis held up a trembling hand. “Leave us.” She looked to John. “Brother Wesley will be standing directly outside the door should I require his assistance.”
Sean tried not to grin.
The bumbling monk, bowed. “Very well, Miss Gyllis. We can keep the door ajar if you wish.”
Gyllis met Sean’s gaze and then looked down as if she were embarrassed. “That should not be necessary.” The high color in her cheeks betrayed her unease.
“A quarter hour. ’Tis all I will allow—even for you,” John said. “And the door shall remain ajar.”
“My thanks.” Sean ushered the two holy men out of the small cell and pushed the door until only a sliver of light shone through. When he turned to face Gyllis, he swallowed, completely at a loss for words. “Uh.” He shifted his feet. God, her face was aglow with fury—and something pained. He guessed he’d hurt her deeply by not sending his regrets at Beltane.
She inclined her head toward the stool. “Will you sit? Looking up at you is making my neck sore.”
She obviously had no intention of making things easy for him. But moving toward the seat gave him a moment to gather his thoughts. He may as well start from where they’d left things in May. “Were you aware my father passed?”
Slowly, she covered her mouth with her dainty hand. “Oh my, I hadn’t heard. When?”
“Beltane. My kin were waiting with the news at the footrace finish line.”
Her delicate eyebrows drew together. “Your kin?”
“Aye, Jinny the healer and her husband, Angus.”
Her hand slid to her cheek. “The woman you embraced is married?”
Sean bit the corner of his lip and grimaced. “You saw that, too?”
“Aye.” Gyllis blushed scarlet. “After Alan slashed you with the blade, I hastened from the curtain wall to see if I could be of assistance.” She cringed. “When I found you in another woman’s arms…I…I…” She blinked in rapid succession. “And then you didn’t come to the feast nor did you send word.”
He reached out and held his hand steady for a moment, then took a chance and grasped her palm. Her fingers were cold. “I must ask your forgiveness. I was distraught with the news. Then things fell into mayhem and I was gallivanting around the countryside chasing after thieves and visiting crofters to ensure their loyalty.”
She stared at their interlaced fingers. “It sounds as if you’ve had a difficult time.”
Touching her calmed the thrumming beneath his skin. “Nowhere near as troublesome as things have been for you.”
Gyllis tugged her hand away and rubbed it, refusing to meet his gaze.
Sean’s fingers throbbed where her hand had been. He wanted to reclaim it and declare his undying love, but that would be nonsensical. If only he could pull her into his arms and make her well again. “I want to help you.”
She smirked. “What on earth do you think you can do that the monks have not already attempted?”
He didn’t have an answer. “What treatments have they tried?”
“Massage mostly, and tinctures that never seem to work.”
“But your hands have more dexterity than since I last saw you. What about your legs?”
She harrumphed. “No good whatsoever. I still cannot take a step without falling.”
“Can you stand?”
“For a moment.”
“’Tis a good sign.”
She looked up. “How do you ken?” The pain in her moss-green eyes was unmistakable.
Sean’s heart squeezed. He was no healer. “I just do. Besides, you promised me dancing lessons.”
“Please.” She covered her face with her hands, her long tresses dropping forward. “You are completely daft if you think I shall ever be able to dance again.”
“Pardon me for being so bold to think you will.” Sean scooted the bench away and kneeled before her. Again he grasped her hand and rubbed it between his warm palms. “Are your hands always this cold?”
“I suppose, aye.”
“Please allow me to warm them.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
Using her shoulder, she shyly moved a lock of hair from her face. Though the gesture was innocent, it was unbelievably seductive. Had she not appeared so frail, he would have wrapped her in his arms and kissed her lips—ravished them as he’d done in the garden at Beltane.
Moistening his lips, he lifted her hand and kissed it. Her scent’s more heavenly than a field of heather. “If it would bring you a modicum of comfort, Miss Gyllis, it would be an honor to see you again.”
She held his gaze for a moment, her bottom lip slipping beneath her top teeth. “Please do not tease me.”
He drew his eyebrows together. “I would never do anything of the sort.”
“You are a chieftain now. You said yourself you’ve a great many affairs to attend. The last person you should concern yourself with is a silly cripple.”
A lump took up residence in his chest. “Do not say that. You are as beautiful today as you were at the festival.”
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast.
“I want to see you again. Will you please allow it?”
She drew in a sharp inhale and hesitated for a long moment. “Aye,” she whispered.
Sean could have picked her up and swung her in a circle. “Thank you.” Restraining his exuberance, he kissed her hand again rather than risk breaking her bones. “Now, would you like to show me how you stand?”
Cringing, she leaned away. “Oh no, it would cause too much embarrassment.”
That damned lump stretched over his heart again. “Why? Are you afraid I will laugh?”
“Nay.” She looked down.
He lifted her chin with the crook of his finger until her lovely green eyes met his. Ah yes, the irises were still circled with navy blue. He could lose himself in those eyes forever. “Then why?”
“I am afraid you will never come back.” Her voice trembled.
Without thought he slid his hands to her shoulders. “Ah, Miss Gyllis. Nothing could keep me away. Spending time with you is as natural as breathing.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Honestly?” She focused her gaze on his chest.
“Aye. I love you. Always have.” He heard the words bubble from his mouth before his mind realized what he’d said. Sean’s tongue went dry. He did love Gyllis. He’d just never admitted it to himself.
Before she looked up, she gasped.
When her gaze met his, her eyes were filled with life. They were as bright and clear as they’d been when he’d watched her dance at Beltane. “You’d best not be teasing a poor, crippled lass, Sir Sean MacDougall.”
11
The following morning, Sean sat in his solar with Murdach and Angus, but he looked directly at the factor. “Please explain how five crowns went missing from your figures.”
Holding his palms out, Murdach appeared to be completely flummoxed. “Five crowns, m’laird? Are you certain?”
Sean snatched the ledger and slapped in down in front of the fool. “Aye I’m bloody certain. I lost a good amount of sleep over it as well.”
Murdach looked across the table at Angus. Blast it, Sean could have sworn the pair was in collusion.
He shoved back his chair and paced in front of the hearth. “Ballocks! You are two of my most trusted men.”
“We’ve done nothing to incite your ire, m’laird,” said Angus.
Sean whipped around and slapped his palms on the table. “No? Why are both of you sending silent messages across the table at one another?”
Angus sat back and shook his head. “We are doing no such thing.”
“Then where are my five crowns? How long has this been going on? Must I call in others to replace you?” He’d already decided to ask Angus to retire when Fraser returned. Murdach as well—the man could scarcely see past his nose.
“This was my fault. Do not blame Angus,” Murdach said. “I must have made a recording error. Please, if you must punish someone I am guilty as charged.”
Sean threw up his hands. “How long were you my father’s factor?”
“Near thirty years, m’laird.”
“And how old are you now?”
“Eight and fifty.”
Sean resumed his pacing, this time gripping his hands behind his back. “You provided satisfactory service to my father for thirty years?”
“Aye.”
“And how often did he catch your errors?”
“Rarely.” The man scratched his chin. “As a matter of fact, I do not believe he ever complained of errors or my loyalty.”
Most likely because he couldn’t read a damn thing you scrawled on a sheet of parchment. Sean waved a hand in front of Murdach’s face. “How is your eyesight?”
The factor grasped the lapels of his doublet, perspiration beading above his lip. “Not as good as it once was, but I still manage.”
Sean sat in his chair and groaned. “I have decided ’tis time for you to retire.”
“But sir—”
Sean held up a hand. “I’ve made my decision. You will receive a pension and continue to live out your days in the cottage with your missus.”
Murdach stared across the table at Angus, a frown pulling down his jowls. “As you wish, m’laird.”
Sean regarded his henchman who should be seeking retirement as well. However, with Fraser away, it was best to leave things with Angus alone for the time being.
A rap came at the door. “A missive from the Lord of Lorn, m’laird.”
Sean eyed the two men. “I’ll return momentarily.” He crossed the floor and opened the door. Stepping into the passageway, he accepted the note. “Thank you,” he said rather loudly. “Come with me whilst I fetch that for him.”
