As she came to stand before them, she looked down at the English soldiers and up at Rory, who shook his head in disbelief. He had never seen such a woman before, her piercing green eyes locked with his, a look of satisfaction on her face.
“Who are ye?” his uncle asked, and she looked away, as though unwilling to reveal the truth.
“A friend it seems,” she said, in an English accent.
But, as she did so, she raised her hand to her forehead. She turned back to Rory, her cheeks suddenly growing pale before she sank to the ground with a sigh.
“Quickly, she is faint,” Rory’s uncle said, rushing forward to catch her.
Rory stooped down, cradling the woman in his arms. She was very beautiful, with pale soft skin and long hair trailing across her shoulders. She murmured something, but Rory could not understand what she was saying, and he looked up at his uncle in alarm.
“What is wrong with her, uncle?” he said, but Duncan shook his head.
“I daenae know, lad. But quickly, we must get her to Lanercost. We are too far from Kirklinton to turn back now. Besides, the apothecary will know what to dae,” his uncle replied.
The woman was barely conscious, and it seemed that in the excitement of the fight, she had fainted, though she continued to mutter under her breath in words that Rory could not discern. He thought he heard the word “Musgrave” and perhaps ‘soldier,’ but that was all. Together, he and his uncle helped her stand and carried her between them along the path towards the monastery.
“What if more soldiers are on the road ahead?” Rory said, glancing warily around.
“I daenae think there will be. Those men had nay business on this path, though it worries me why they were here. The English are growin’ bolder of late, and we have heard reports of English soldiers as far north as Buccleuch, unheard of before,” his uncle replied.
Rory nodded. He felt nervous, but the need to get the woman to safety spurned him on. She had saved their lives, and they owed her that much, if not more. He kept a close watch on the path either side, looking out for signs of further ambush. But it seemed the way was quiet, and they met no one until they came in sight of Lanercost.
The ancient monastery sat close to a river, surrounded by farmland and paddock. A motley collection of houses had grown up around it, inhabited by peasants who worked the land alongside the monks.
Rory was glad at the sight of the red sandstone walls, bathed in the late afternoon sun. He had always loved visiting his uncle at Lanercost, and he was looking forward to seeing Owen again too. But the presence of this mysterious woman was unsettling, and the sooner her identity was discovered, the better.
“What dae ye think can be done for her?” Rory asked as they came towards the monastery gates.
“We shall see, lad. I think she is simply in shock. There are herbs and remedies to help her. If only yer father were here, tis’ ailments like this that he was often called upon to assist with. His healin’ hands as they used to say,” Duncan replied.
“My father was well known for it, but of late he …” Rory began.
“Of late, he’s had other matters to attend. Come now, let’s get her inside,” Duncan said.
They helped the woman along the track, and, as they did, several peasants peered curiously around their doors.
“Brother Duncan, what is this? Who is this woman? Is she hurt?” one of them asked, stepping forward.
“Tis’ all right, she will be fine. We came across her on our way here from Kirklinton. Tell the others to take refuge in the monastery walls this night. There are English soldiers on the path, and ye will be safer behind our gates,” Duncan replied.
The gates of the monastery were open, as they always were in the day, for the monks welcomed travelers and pilgrims. As they came to the threshold, an elderly monk stepped out from the gatehouse with a curious expression on his face, holding up his hands.
“Brother Duncan, the prior has been lookin’ for ye, but what is this?” he asked.
He was ancient, with a beard to his waist and a look of wisdom about him.
“This lass saved our lives on the path. I would have been back far sooner, but we were set upon by three English soldiers, and if it were nae for her, we wouldnae have survived. My headstrong nephew here was ready to fight them, but this lass intervened, much to our benefit,” Duncan replied.
The monk appeared worried, glancing over Rory’s shoulder as though he expected to see an army of English soldiers charging up the track towards the monastery.
“We should sound the bells, call the peasants inside the walls,” he said, and Duncan nodded.
“I have already told the villagers to seek shelter here. Though I daenae think that even the English are bold enough to attack a place of peace and prayer,” Duncan added.
“Ye daenae know what the English are capable of, Duncan. They killed my parents long ago, and they will kill us all in our beds one day, ye mark my words,” the monk replied, shaking his head.
“Nay one will kill ye in yer bed, Seth. I promise ye that,” Duncan replied, “but now, we need to get this lass to the apothecary. Is there space in the infirmary for her?”
“Aye, the two who were sick have left us now. Take her there, and we shall pray for her recovery and the safety of us all,” the monk replied.
Rory and his uncle helped the woman through the gates and into the cloister. It was an ancient place and had stood for some five hundred years, its bell now tolling from the high tower above. There was a sense of timelessness here, for it had been a place of constant prayer in good times and bad.
They made their way through the cloister’s arches towards a staircase that wound up to the monk’s refectory above, opposite, which was the infirmary. The woman was trying to say something, but still, her words were delirious and muddled.
“Tis all right,” Rory said, as they came to the great old oak door of the infirmary, “now ye shall have the help ye need.”
Duncan pushed open the door, revealing the infirmary beyond. It was a large hall, beamed in heavy oak, and with a row of neatly made beds along one side. The sun was streaming through the windows, and on the far wall were shelves lined with hundreds of dusty old bottles and books.
At the sound of the door opening, one of the monks looked up from his duties. He was young, no older than Rory, his hair tonsured in the same manner as Duncan’s, and was tending to a man lying in a bed at the far end.
“Brother Duncan, dae ye bring me another patient?” he asked, looking at the woman.
“Aye, Callum, we met this lass on the path between here and Kirklinton. She collapsed shortly after rescuin’ us from English soldiers who attacked us. She seems delirious, too,” Duncan replied.
“Then get her to bed, we shall to see to her,” he replied, hurrying over and calling out to another monk who sat at a table by the window writing in a large ledger book, “Brother Luke, bring lavender oil and we shall see if we might revive her.”
The other monk went to the shelves, pulling out a large bottle of purple liquid, as Rory and Duncan helped the woman onto one of the beds. Rory was pleased to see her settled there. It had been a long walk to Lanercost, and he was tired, as was his uncle, who sat down wearily on a chair at the side of the bed.
“What a thing, God bless the lass for helping us,” he said, mopping his brow.
Brother Callum poured some of the oil into a dish and held it carefully by the woman’s face. The scent of it seemed to revive her immediately, and she opened her eyes, blinking in the light, and trying to sit up.
“Tis’ all right,” Brother Callum said, “ye are amongst friends here.”
The woman looked nervously around her but suddenly fell back onto the bed as the monks tried to catch her.
“Tis’ some illness of the mind,” Brother Luke said, “perhaps a stronger method of revival is needed?”
Brother Callum nodded, turning to the shelves and pondering the array of remedies before him.
“I think,” he said, turning back to Rory and Duncan, “that it would be best if ye left us to care for her. I will send for ye when she is revived. I daenae think she is permanently damaged. She is shocked and must be rested and allow it to subside. We will dae all we can for her in the meantime, I promise ye. It will soon be time for the evening office. Prayer is yer duty now.”
Duncan nodded and stood wearily from his seat.
“Come now, Rory. We shall see yer brother after we have sung the evening office,” he said.
Rory nodded. He paused a moment, looking down at the woman laid peacefully on the bed before him. She was stunning, despite her pale face. Her hair was thick, falling across the pillow on which she lay, and he could hardly take his eyes from her, her cheeks soft and supple, her eyes now closed as she breathed gently in the peace of sleep. He had never seen such a woman before, and she was surely no peasant. Who was she? Where had she come from? And why would an English woman attack English soldiers in defense of two Scots? It was a mystery and one he had every intention of solving.
Chapter Three
The monastery bell was tolling for the evening office, and the monks were making their way in solemn procession to the church. It lay at the center of the monastery, its entrance on the far side of the cloister. Rory had been there many times, and to be there now felt like a homecoming. As a boy, he had loved to visit his uncle in the monastery and hear the monks chanting at prayer. There was a timelessness to it, as though whatever troubles existed in the world, they were lost in worship inside this holy place.
“We will talk again afterward, then it will be suppertime,” his uncle said, before joining the procession of hooded monks into the church.
Rory followed on behind, trying to catch a glimpse of Owen amongst the others. He was glad that his brother had found such happiness. The church was dimly lit, the windows were high up, and only candles illuminated the altar and the quire. The monks took their places, and Rory slipped into a pew at the back of the church, where several village peasants had come to hear the prayers.
“Deus in adjutorium me-um intende,” came the opening words, and the monks began to chant their responses.
Rory closed his eyes, allowing himself to be caught up in the words and the sound of the chant echoing through the church. But he found his mind wandering to the woman in the infirmary above. The question of who she was and why she had saved them still foremost in his mind.
It was not only her bravery in rescuing two strangers but her beauty, too, which preoccupied him. She was no peasant girl, no servant, or a simple farmer’s daughter. She had a noble look to her, and skill with arms such as only a woman of rank and privilege could possess. But it was unsettling to look at her, even though he could barely take his eyes from her. There was something mysterious about her and a beauty that made him blush. She was alluring, and strange feelings rose within him, which he tried hard to control. The mystery was foremost in his mind, and, as the prayers continued, Rory could not help but think of her and pray that soon he would have the answers he desired.
The evening office came to an end, and the monks filed out, as Rory looked out for his brother and uncle. This time, he saw Owen and caught his eye, giving him a nod as he passed by. The monastery bell was now tolling for supper, and Rory followed the monks to the refectory.
“Tis’ good to see ye brother,” Owen said, pulling back the hood of his habit and coming to embrace Rory warmly, “so, father has allowed ye away from yer duties for a night, has he?”
“Father is away in the north, though I daenae need his permission to walk out here,” Rory said, and Owen laughed.
“Nay, I suppose nae. But ye have brought a mystery to Lanercost, uncle Duncan was just tellin’ me of it,” Owen said, as the three of them walked towards the refectory.
“A strange business and make nay mistake,” their uncle said, shaking his head, “I just cannae understand who she is.”
“Perhaps she is revived a little. We can check on her after supper. Then yer mystery may be solved,” Owen replied.
Supper in the refectory was a simple affair. There was a bowl of soup, bread, cheese, and beer. But Rory was hungry, and he tucked in eagerly, keen to hear news from Owen, though his mind occupied with questions about the woman.
The refectory was noisy, for the monks did not observe their customary silence when guests were present. The monastery was full of villagers, for news of the English soldiers on the path had spread, and it seemed that no one wished to remain outside the safety afforded by the walls that night.
“We shall have nay space left,” Duncan said, looking around him.
“They will have to share a cell with ye,” Owen said, and their uncle laughed.
“Ye try sharin’ yer cell with ten peasants and tell me how ye like it. Nay, the night is warm, they shall sleep well enough in the cloister,” he replied.
“And ye brother, what news dae ye have for us?” Owen asked, and Rory shook his head.
“All is well at Kirklinton, our mother sends ye her love, and Evie is happy with Hamish and the children, I am sure they will come and visit ye soon. Tis’ to Klinross that father has ridden to visit the Laird there, tis’ vital that we keep our alliances strong, particularly now,” Rory replied.
“And does he take that … what is his name? Niall McCall with him?” Owen asked.
Rory sighed. He nodded, having no desire to be reminded of Niall. He was a man only recently introduced to the household, a man who had helped their father after a riding accident some months ago. He had taken the Laird in and bandaged his wounds before returning with him to Kirklinton. Ever since then, he had been a firm favorite and had accompanied Fraser Elliott everywhere.
Rory disliked him, for no one knew anything about him, except that he came from a clan in the north and was a farmer of some sort. Now, he had their father’s ear, and the two were rarely apart. It made Rory jealous to see the trust which the Laird had so quickly placed in Niall, allowing him freedoms and privileges, which even Rory himself did not have.
“Aye, he has taken Niall with him, though against my better judgment,” Rory replied.
“And since when has our father ever asked yer judgment in any matter?” Owen replied.
“Come now, Rory is to be Laird. I am sure my brother treats him in such a manner. This Niall McCall will nae trouble ye for long,” their uncle said, shaking his head.
“When ye are married, father will trust ye more,” Owen added.
Rory looked up at him angrily. What possible difference could it make whether he was married or not? Their father should respect him as a man and not merely as the provider of an heir.
“And why is that? I am nae married, I hardly need to be reminded of that,” Rory said, scowling at his brother.
“Come now, Rory. Tis’ time ye were married. There are nay end of women to suit ye,” Owen said.
“And what does a monk know of marriage and women, Owen?” Rory replied, “tis’ all right for ye. Ye have found yer vocation, ye are happy here at Lanercost, and I am delighted for ye, is that nae enough? Why dae ye have to interfere in my life?”
“Peace now, brothers, this is a house of prayer, even if we are in the refectory enjoyin’ our supper. This is what we spoke of earlier, Rory. Ye will find the right person to marry in the Lord’s time, nae ours, and Owen, ye should realize that too,” their uncle said, looking from one to the other and shaking his head.
“Aye, I only want ye to be happy, Rory,” Owen said.
“Then stop remindin’ me of how unhappy I feel,” Rory replied, “ye know that the lass I always wished to marry was Caitlin Macready, but she saw me as a brother, nae a lover. She is married now, and I must accept that fact. But tis’ easier said than done. I cannae simply forget the love I feel for her. Ye cannae understand that, Owen.”
“Ye think that because I am a monk, I cannae understand love?” his brother replied.
“Nae the love that I am speakin’ of nay,” Rory rep
lied.
Owen was about to reply when their uncle raised his hand, a signal that the meal was over, as was the conversation.
“Enough now, tis’ soon time for compline and I for one am lookin’ forward to my bed,” he said.
They finished their meal in silence, Rory casting occasional angry glances towards his brother. It was always the same, whichever member of his family he was with, the talk soon reverted to his marriage or the fact that it seemed unlikely to happen. He knew his duty was as the sole heir of Kirklinton, but finding a wife he could truly love, was no easy matter, and it was a task which weighed heavily upon his mind. Suddenly his thoughts were filled once again with the beautiful woman lying in the infirmary. He pictured her face, the softness of her skin, and her long flowing hair.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 3