Chapter 20
The weak dawn light dappled over Joscelin’s eyes. She awoke and listened to the breathing sounds of the others in the cave. The fire still smouldered at the mouth. Tam must have fed the flames during the night. He was still asleep, but she doubted she’d manage to sneak past him without being seen. He was one of the most able men she’d ever come across.
She threw her cloak around her shoulders, being careful not to wake the women. She scooped up the damp cloth wrapped around the placenta and tiptoed out into the new morn.
“Sister Joscelin,” Tam muttered, as she darted past his bed roll. “Best take the bow if you’re going into the forest alone.”
She turned to face him. “No point. I’ve no skill in the use of the bow. I’m off to bury this, and then I’ll return. I’ll be back before the oats are ready to eat.”
Snatching his plaid, he hastily covering himself. “Well, at least take my hunting knife.”
“Thank you,” she said, raising her arm.
She attached his knife to her belt, and with a nod, slipped away from the clearing and into the forest. Tam was a decent sort, for a man. He was a skilled hunter, and he was also clearly influential in these parts. ‘Twas no wonder Isabel wanted to snatch the Highlander from Juliette’s grasp.
Joscelin had sent Isabel into the forest with him deliberately, hoping that the girl would rut with Tam. Once men like him went with a girl, they felt obliged to take care of her. Tam’s obligation to Isabel would bind him to their cause. She needed a benefactor, one with coin. The way it sounded, Tam had the ear of the Scottish king.
Joscelin trudged deeper into the forest. Looking ahead into the woods, she saw something shine. The sun had caught something that reflected back at her. Was it a set of eyes? Nay. Looking again, the shine was gone. Her imagination was playing tricks on her.
Her plan for Tam hadn’t worked thus far. He was proving more allusive than she feared. The sooner he and that little minx, Juliette, left, the sounder her hold on the others would be.
Joscelin crossed over the stream and headed uphill, looking for a famed rowan tree. There was a brisk nip to the air, but that would surely disappear once the sun rose higher. Who knew that the girl Juliette would turn out to be a midwife, or as good as. Both Mariot and Florie had warmed to Juliette although neither of those two were bold enough to make a play for Tam. Joscelin was not blind. Clearly, what all her women really wanted was to snare themselves a husband and breed. Fine, they could do that, but only once her Beguine order was up and running. By then, she’d be able to attract other women desperate to escape their brothers or fathers or husbands who beat them, or sold them, or regarded them as chattel.
She’d show the abbey at York. She’d make a better abbess than Superior Antonia had. Sister Joscelin would be a name many generations to come would know of. She planned to call her order the Sisters of Joscelin. The mere sound gladdened her heart. Her brother considered himself the successful one, but once she was done, his achievements would be overshadowed by hers. He was a country cleric and nothing more, whereas, one day, her name would be known throughout Scotland and, hopefully, even in England too.
She trudged uphill toward the row of ash trees. Staring into the distance, she thought she spied a curl of mist in the frigid air, appearing to be a breath. But then it was gone. To start with, she and the others would have to tend the sick. That would be the best way to generate good will, garner a reputation, and, of course, secure financial support for her order. But she was going to put her foot down when it came to lepers. There was nothing glamorous about leprosy. Who in their right mind would come join her order if they had to risk life and limb tending leprosy?
Of course, she had no intention of nursing the sick herself. Others would do that. Tending the sick would put her own life at risk, and if she fell ill, the illness might end her upward climb. She had great heights to scale, and a serious illness must not be allowed to scuttle her plans.
Joscelin stopped and glanced behind her. The hair on her neck stood up. Why did she feel like she was being followed? She peered at the trees and shadows behind her. There was nothing there. Gripping her bleeding cloth and the jelly-like placenta within, she trudged higher into the forest. Sometimes it was necessary to do things for the greater good. She’d already decided she might have to bed a man of the cloth. It was a horrendous thought, but if she could get with child, she would indeed have a powerful benefactor. The higher up in the church he was, the better. Once he’d broken his vow of chastity, then he’d pay and pay again to keep his indiscretions secret. It was a decent enough plan.
Shame Florie hadn’t bedded a higher cleric—a man with influence and coin. But she was a simple enough girl from a humble background and had fallen for her priest. When she realised she was with child, she’d refused to blackmail her lover. What was the point? Mayhap next time Florie would make a better job of it and tempt a bishop, or even an archdeacon. Yes, she must have a stern word with the girl and twist her arm a bit.
Still no rowan tree in sight. She’d heard it whispered that burying a placenta under a rowan brought good luck and prosperity. Folks claimed that eating a placenta made you strong. She’d eat it, if she truly believed the myth. Surely the placenta would be no different to any piece of meat. All meat makes the body strong. Anyway, the thought of eating the afterbirth made her stomach twist. This placenta was going to get buried, and it would bring her prosperity and everything her heart craved. Above all else, she wanted recognition. She wanted it so much that the need ached inside her.
Something dashed past. Her eye caught the movement. There was something out there. A deer perhaps? A fox? Most likely, it was just a bird flying by. Mayhap she’d give up on the idea of finding a rowan tree and bury the placenta under a sturdy pine. Folk respected these giant Scottish pines. Why not bury the afterbirth here? There were any number of pines to choose from too. Besides, the blood was beginning to smell, and her hands were coated. She’d had enough. She wanted to bury the thing, wash her hands, and rush back to camp to break her fast. Her stomach rumbled. Yes, she’d bury it right here, and then she’d hurry back and enjoy oatcakes and broth.
She had jobs aplenty for them all. Just because Florie had given birth, didn’t mean that she was exempt. Women in the fields gave birth, stood up, and then carried on cutting the harvest with their babes strapped to their backs. She would be firm with Florie. Her order was for tough women. There’d be no room for privileged hangers-on.
She knelt down, found a suitably shaped rock, and began peeling back the earth. She never got further than an inch before she felt the warm breath on the back of her neck. She spun around, her heart thumping. She wanted to scream, but she was much too afeared. The scream was caught in her throat. Her eyes went wide as cauldrons, and she fought to breathe.
The huge head of a grey wolf stared back at her. There was no time to reach for Tam’s hunting knife. She shook her head and moved back an inch, but then she felt her hips smack into the giant pine. No, no, no, this cannot be happening!
Then the wolf lunged, going for her throat. Her sight faded. She wasn’t that aware of the pain, but she did realise her throat was torn because the blood gushed, wetting her hands. She fumbled for the knife, but it was all too late. The wolf’s jaw was wrapped around her bleeding neck. Darkness followed until there was nothing left.
~ ~ ~
Tam studied the position of the sun in the sky. Sister Joscelin had been gone a fair while. They’d all eaten oatcakes and supped tea, and the women had taken turns fussing around Florrie and nursing the tot. Aye, he is a bonnie lad. He hadn’t wanted to hold the babe, not at first, but Juliette thrust the bairn in his arms. He hadn’t been prepared for the feeling of joy. He’d gone along with her wishes and cuddled the newborn. Strange. The wee tot unleashed something inside him—emotions he wasn’t expecting. He felt a rush of prote
ctiveness for the tiny lad. He was starting to see why men wanted to be fathers. One day, he might just have a son of his own.
A few hours passed, and still sister Joscelin hadn’t returned. True enough, it was peaceful in camp without her around. The women were more relaxed, enjoying the early hours with Florie and her child. But his concern was growing. Where is she?
Sister Joscelin didn’t seem the type to get lost. She came across as capable and in control. But then, the forest was as new to her as it was to them all. She could have wandered too far and now be hopelessly lost or injured. He’d better go and track her down.
He stoked the fire into a blaze. “Juliette, I’m going to find Sister Joscelin. She’s been gone too long. Doona let any of the others into the forest. Stay right here and keep the fire stoked. A fire will keep foxes and the like away. Carry a blade with you at all times, just in case.”
“Off you go. We’ll be fine. You said yourself the Irish outlaws are no longer tracking us. They’ve given up.”
“Aye, well, ye never know. Isabel, have ye got a blade?”
“Of course. I’ll keep the women safe. You’ve no need to fash about us.”
“See as you do. If anyone comes, don’t trust them. Treat everyone as the enemy.” He scooped up the bow and leapt into the forest.
The sooner he was away, the sooner he could return. And Sister Joscelin better be lost because if she was resting somewhere, dozing, or causing trouble, he’d have a few stern words of his own. She wasn’t the only one who could be bossy. By wandering off, she’d put Juliette’s safety in jeopardy, and her safety was not something to be taken lightly.
He followed Joscelin’s trail. Her path was easy to follow. She’d hiked upwards over fresh bracken, flattening the grasses, tearing branches, and leaving a fresh trail that a blind man could follow. There was another reason she’d proven easy to track too: the trail of blood. She’d carried that wretched afterbirth wrapped in a sodden cloth. Almost everywhere he looked, he spotted droplets of blood. It was a worrying thought. They were in a forest, in the wilderness, and although it was spring, there were plenty of animals around keen to hunt an easy meal.
He’d been gone for neigh on half an hour when he noticed a mark in the leaf litter. Paw prints. By the looks of things, he wasn’t the only one tracking Sister Joscelin. He hurried on and began calling out her name. He’d call and then listen, but naught but the birds or crickets would respond. Another ten minutes on, and he stopped dead. There, under that great Scottish pine, something fearful had happened.
Blood. He picked up the dirt and felt the stickiness between his fingers. Fresh blood. Oh, dear Lord. And there were dig marks and a flat round stone someone had used to plough a way into the dirt. He removed the bow from his back and placed an arrow at the ready. Moving stealthy now, he followed the trail of blood. Drag marks. Something substantial had been dragged this way. He followed, always glancing about himself as wary as a cat.
Up ahead, Tam spotted a pool of blood and more dragging marks. He followed the marks until he was behind a rock and stopped dead. Clothes. Joscelin’s clothes, torn and covered in blood, were scattered about. His hunting knife lay in the grass, still attached to Joscelin’s belt. He claimed his knife back, as well as her belt and her Paternoster beads. A little further on, he found a boot, and then after another while, he discovered a lump of skin with hair attached—Sister Joscelin’s hair. He slumped down to the earth. There was no denying it now. She’d been attacked and killed by an animal: a huge grey wolf. There was no point in tracking the wolf. Joscelin was no longer alive. He saw enough evidence to be sure of that fact. There was so much blood and bits of stomach and skin. She was gone.
He’d best rush back to camp and protect the others. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Juliette. He’d lost his first wife, Helena, because he’d been too preoccupied with his king and country. He would not make the same mistake twice.
Bounding back, puffed from his flat-out pace, he was almost at camp when he slowed. What on earth would he tell the women? He would simply tell them Sister Joscelin was gone, not including any graphic details, and he knew this without a shred of a doubt. He knew Juliette loved details. She wanted everything detailed: who said what, and to whom, what they looked like, what sort of facial expression they held, on and on without end. But this time, she was getting none of it, even if she pushed. The less she knew, the quicker she would recover. There was no need for her to be traumatised, nor the others either.
He entered the camp, his head held low.
Juliette beamed and rushed up to him. She looked around. “Where’s Joscelin? Didn’t you find her? How strange. Do you suppose she is lost?”
He held up his palm. By now, the others had gathered around. There was no point in putting this off. “Sister Joscelin is dead. I’m sorry.”
The novices crossed themselves and started chanting prayers. But Juliette scowled. “What do you mean dead?”
He shot her a weary look. “Just what I said. She is gone. She will not be coming back. She is in heaven now.” At least he hoped she was.
Juliette shook her head. “But she can’t be dead. She was alive this morn.”
“Sit down all of you, by the fire. We’ll have tea and make plans.” But his words fell on deaf ears.
Isabel was walking in small circles and chanting a prayer. Florie clutched her babe to her breast, tight as could be, the tears trailing down her cheeks. Mariot was praying too and trying to hug the others as she mumbled prayers at a furious pace. Juliette was the only one looking at him with a cross face.
“How can she be dead? That’s ridiculous. You saw her dead? You should have carried her back, so we could bury her. How did she die?”
He glared at her and then moved his eyes at the others, begging her to consider their feelings. The others had known Sister Joscelin for four years, and Florie had known Joscelin all her life.
Juliette whispered, “But where is her body?”
“Gone.”
“Gone? Then how do you know she’s dead?”
“Her clothes and other bits of evidence. Now stop pushing. I refuse to say any more.”
Juliette’s eyes flashed wide, and she whispered so that even he had to struggle to hear, “You mean she didn’t fall off a cliff or hit her head on a rock? You’re saying she was eaten by a wild animal?”
“Hush. We’ll tell the others she fell and that I buried her there. Colour the story for them any way you please, but make sure they know without doubt she is dead because she is dead. There is no way she survived that attack.”
Juliette went over to Mariot and hugged her. Then she hugged each of the others in turn, even Isabel. Once he’d given them a while to cry and pray, he called them all around the fire and brewed up wild mint tea. He noticed that Juliette sat close to him, her eyes never leaving the forest.
“Are you well, Florie, after the birth of your wee tot?” he asked.
She nodded, and the tears ran from her cheeks.
“And babe is strong too?”
“Yes, praise the Lord.”
“So, that brings me to what’s next. From what I could see, it was Sister Joscelin’s dream that you novices band together and form some sort of informal nunnery, helping the sick in Scotland. But obviously, that dream is over now, at least for the time being anyway.”
They remained silent, each studying the fire and saying naught.
“So, with Sister Joscelin gone, I think it’s best if you three women come back to the king’s castle with us. There will be a place for each of you there. When I am made Laird and have my own castle and lands, you are welcome to join my clan. Or, if you wish to return to England, to your families, then it’s likely the king will organise horses and escort.”
Juliet threw her arm around Mariot. “Come back with us.”
They agreed readily enough because what other choice did they have? They would need to travel more carefully now. He’d place Florie and the baby in the middle of the group and come down hard on them if they strayed.
“I think it best if we leave on the morrow. At first light, after a good night’s sleep, we begin our journey home. And tonight, we keep the fire raging. If any of you need to answer a call of nature through the night, then you must do so within a few feet of the fire. No exceptions. The forest is a dangerous place. Remember that.”
Chapter 21
Juliette bolted upright, struggling to remember where she was. Her palms were wet and sweaty, and her head pounded like a village drum. A night terror, that’s all it had been. She sunk her face in her hands and tried to quell her jumping heart. She was not being eaten alive, thank heaven! In her dream a monster wolf with mesmerising eyes had eaten one of her legs and was making a start on her arm. She should laugh about it now, but mayhap something similar had happened to Joscelin. Her death might really have been that dreadful. The wolf was still out there somewhere. By now, he might have an empty belly again. Dogs had highly developed senses of smell. They could detect a meal that was miles off. Surely a wolf would be able to smell a whole camp filled with women. By now he’d also realise just how tasty English girls were. Juliette decided she’d had quite enough of this forest. The sooner they left and made it safely back to Dingwall Town, the happier she would be.
Tam glanced over at her and then at the other women sleeping soundly. “What’s the matter, Lass? You’re shivering so.”
She closed her eyes, willing her tears to stay put. Don’t let him offer me sympathy, otherwise I really will cry. Howl, even. “A night terror, tis all,” she whispered, trying not to wake the others. The air was still a thick nugget black.
Thistles and Thieves: Highlander Romance (Troublesome Sister Series Book 2) Page 17