“You need not sound so skeptical that I will have that chance,” she grumbled as she matched his pace.
“Poverty, chastity and obedience,” he murmured, that undertone of humor in his voice. “’Tis all I have to say of that, vixen.”
They reached the edge of the forest, but he stayed her with a gesture. Jacqueline listened and heard the echo of hoof beats.
“A horse!”
“Or more than one,” Angus agreed. He whistled distinctively, as he had in the courtyard of Airdfinnan, the shrill sound enough to curdle Jacqueline’s blood.
But there came an answering whinny and the thunder of hoof beats increased. Jacqueline glanced to Angus, but he was studying the road intently.
A black beast that could only have been Lucifer galloped into sight, his reins flying wild behind him. Fast on his heels was a grey horse. Though that steed’s rider could not be clearly seen, his voice was readily identifiable.
“You faithless piece of horseflesh! ’Twas for naught that I saw you saved and that is the truth of it. I should have left you in Outremer where you would have been cut down years ago!”
Rodney roared and urged his horse to greater speed, but Lucifer had no intent to stop. “’Tis bad enough that you cannot tell me what has befallen the boy, but you might linger long enough to be caught! I should see you sold for sausage meat, for you are cursed amount of trouble, that much is not to be doubted.”
Lucifer stopped so suddenly that Rodney’s horse sailed right past him. The stallion stood his ground calmly, quivering from his exertions but flicking his ears.
Rodney swore with a vengeance. He turned his steed and cantered back, opened his mouth to tell the stallion what he truly thought, then made no sound at all as Angus stepped from the woods. Lucifer grazed with indifference, as though he would assure his pursuer that he had known Angus’ location all the while.
“So you are not dead, after all,” Rodney finally said.
“Not nearly.”
“But not for lack of an effort, by the look of you!” Rodney dismounted, his relief evident despite his bluster and hastened to shake Angus’ hand. “What madness seized you, boy, that you did not remain with the witch as we had arranged?”
“I thought it unsafe, as I recall.”
It seemed so long ago that they had been sheltered in Edana’s glade and Jacqueline marveled anew at all the adventures they had shared.
“And this one -” Rodney pointed at Jacqueline “- I can well expect that she has brought you naught but trouble, as women are so wont to do. I told you from the first, boy, that this scheme was ill-advised...”
“On the contrary,” Angus interjected smoothly. “Jacqueline has saved my sorry hide and that more than once.”
Rodney was silenced by that confession. He looked between the two of them and frowned, then was spared the need to answer—or admit that he had erred—by the noisy approach of a larger party.
Jacqueline might have taken Angus’ hand, but he stepped past Rodney to speak to his faithful steed. He checked the destrier from head to hoof even while the beast seemed to survey him similarly. Why did he ignore her now?
Then the party drew near enough to be distinguished each from the other and Jacqueline’s disquietude was dismissed. She gave a cry of delight when she spied Duncan, his brow as black as thunder, riding one of her mother’s palfreys. He dismounted and cast off the reins, heading directly for Rodney.
“What madness seized you to flee us like that?” he bellowed. “How dare you attempt to deceive us after all we have done? We have tried to fulfill your expectations and have acted in good faith...”
“I had to chase the steed!”
“A likely tale and one I am disinclined to believe.” Duncan shook his finger beneath the mercenary’s nose. “If my daughter Jacqueline has so much as a bruise upon her finger, I shall see that you live to regret your part in this for all your days and nights.”
“Good day, Duncan,” Jacqueline said quietly.
Her stepfather had been so focused on the man responsible for his anger that he had not looked about himself, as was oft the way with him. He started at the sound of her voice, regarded her in shock and delight, then abandoned his argument to catch her in a tight hug.
“Jacqueline!” Duncan swung her high, kissed her cheeks, then drew back to study her, his hands framing her face. “Are you well? Have you been injured?” Concern lit his eyes. “In any way?”
Jacqueline smiled and kissed his cheeks in turn. “I am most well and have not been abused. You need fear for naught.”
His anxiety eased and he smiled. “Praise be,” he whispered, hugged her again and kissed her brow. “Your mother would have had my hide otherwise.” Jacqueline laughed, welcoming Duncan’s attempt to lighten the mood.
Duncan stepped back then and eyed Angus who considered their reunion watchfully. “You must be Angus MacGillivray, the man who would claim Airdfinnan.”
“Aye.”
“I cannot grant it to you, for ’tis not in my hands.”
“I know that now.” Angus bowed his head and offered his hand. “I apologize for seeking restitution from you in error. And indeed, I owe you compensation for wrongfully seizing your daughter.”
“Her welfare says much to your credit,” Duncan said gruffly and shook the man’s hand. “What of Airdfinnan?”
While Angus told Duncan what they knew, the rest of the party from Ceinn-beithe surrounded them. Iain, Jacqueline’s step-sister’s spouse and Duncan’s foster brother, had ridden to her defense, as had many of the Gaels committed to Duncan’s hand.
They were rustic men, grim and reticent or garrulous with their rough charm, and their hearts were good. Jacqueline felt as though a dozen fathers or elder brothers expressed their relief that she was well. They engulfed her with their hugs and warm wishes, making her feel that she had returned to Ceinn-beithe itself.
A stab of loneliness pricked her heart, for she would never see Ceinn-beithe again once she joined the convent.
If she joined the convent. Jacqueline eyed Angus, willing a sweet confession from his lips.
She heard of how they had traveled with Rodney, intent on helping him win what they had not the right to grant, and how fearful they had been when she had not been with Edana, as Rodney so clearly expected.
’Twas then that Edana herself stepped forth, stooped with age, and reminded them that she had insisted they ride to Airdfinnan. Jacqueline was surprised that the older woman had made the journey.
“You had no way of knowing they were here,” Rodney protested. “One cannot object to a man balking at such advice.”
“It has long been said that Edana has the Sight,” Angus said, greeting the old woman with reverence. “And ’tis true enough that we were here.”
“’Twas not the sight, Angus MacGillivray, that told me you would ride here,” Edana corrected. “’Twas the simple certainty that tales must end where they begin. This one began at Airdfinnan and so ’twill end here, one way or the other.”
“Is that why you came?” Jacqueline asked. “For a storyteller must know the end of the tale?”
Edana cackled with laughter. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I just wanted to hear what tales fell from the silvered tongue of Duncan MacLaren. Even in my corner of the world, I have heard of his skill.”
Duncan bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment, though Rodney regarded the old woman with skepticism. “So, tell us what will happen now, if you truly are a seer.”
Edana chuckled, gesturing to Angus. “You have thanked a woman for her aid already once but, before all is done, you will do so again.”
“How can you see this?” Rodney scoffed. “’Tis naught but the whimsy of a woman who seeks to make other women of greater import than they are.”
Edana appeared untroubled by this charge. “There are things one sees and things one knows. I speak of what I know, though I see that we shall not soon remain alone.”
Edana lifted a hand. Jacqueline
and the men followed her gesture as she pointed at the rising column of dust that approached the keep of Airdfinnan from the east.
Chapter Nineteen
’Twas the Templars who arrived, though the two parties met on the road beyond Airdfinnan’s sentries. Jacqueline was not privy to whatever was said between Angus and the leader of the arrivals, for she was left in the custodianship of the men from Ceinn-beithe, though Duncan was directly by Angus’ side. The men conferred, then dismounted, retiring to the quickly pitched tent of the Templar master.
The men were efficient in setting their camp and beginning to prepare a meal, but not so busy that they did not watch Jacqueline. Each time she tried to draw near the council, another Templar abandoned his task and politely turned her away, even to the point of escorting her back to Edana.
“They have no place for women,” the old woman muttered.
“Whyever not?”
Edana smiled. “Because they are caught betwixt one world and the next, these warrior monks. They pray like cloistered monks, then they wage war like men of the world. I oft have thought they must have some confusion as to the will of God.”
“They seem to show no such uncertainty.”
“Nay. But men oft can deceive themselves of what passes for the truth.” Edana seemed to find this a merry jest, though Jacqueline did not share her laughter.
“But why spurn women? I too have been within Airdfinnan’s walls and noted much of it.”
“But you are young and beauteous, lass.”
“That has naught to do with my wits!”
“Nay, but it has much to do with how troubled these monks are in your presence. They may be chaste, but they are yet men beneath their robes.”
Jacqueline glared at the tent. “I would still like to know what they are saying.”
“If desires were steeds, we should have a fortune in horseflesh, lass.” Edana sounded so disappointed in this that Jacqueline touched her arm in sympathy. The older woman smiled. “Come, let us bathe in the Finnan. I have been long without a good soak and ’twill ease the worries of both of us.”
Jacqueline could not imagine what worries Edana might have, but she went with her. They found a pool where the water flowed more slowly and the rocks hid them from view. They bathed and laughed together, their companionship surprising Jacqueline. She quite liked Edana’s tart commentary.
But she was shocked when the older woman rose from the water and let her hair hang wet down her back. ’Twas true that the tresses were whiter than white, as shining as fresh snow, and long, but that was not the source of Jacqueline’s surprise. ’Twas that the woman herself was less crooked than she recalled. Edana cast her a smile and dried herself quickly, then hastily enfolded herself in her tattered garb once more.
“Do not look so startled, lass. It has long been maintained that the fount of youth itself is none other than the mighty Finnan. And indeed, I have heard tell that the pool of the lady’s own well in my glade is fed by an underground fork of the Finnan, one that slips through the land of Faerie.”
Once the older woman stepped out of the river, her vigor seemed to falter, as though proving the merit of her words. Jacqueline offered her hand in assistance and Edana sighed as she settled upon a rock, sighing with satisfaction.
“Even if ’tis a lie, a woman can savor the fleeting sense of youth once more, no less the conviction that all is possible.”
Edana looked sharply at Jacqueline and Jacqueline studied her features, amazed what difference the removal of dirt made. Edana must have been quite beauteous in her own time.
“Remember lass, that each day is a blessing, though each night, we all age a little more.”
“Who could forget such a truth?”
“People forget it all the time,” Edana retorted. “’Tis a feat indeed to appreciate what one has for one’s own, to reach for what one desires, yet to never be consumed by lust for what can never be.”
Jacqueline found her gaze straying to the distant tent once more, wondering which of those categories addressed her love for Angus MacGillivray.
* * *
On the following morning, the runner returned from Airdfinnan and confirmed that Father Aloysius would accept the impartial opinion of the Templar master in this matter.
’Twas understood by all that the archbishop would have the final say, as Airdfinnan had fallen beneath his jurisdiction, but none underestimated the influence the master could wield. Pledged to neither the King of Scotland, nor the King of the Isles, and independent of the archbishop himself, the master was answerable only to the pope.
Indeed, his counsel could not have been avoided by anyone who chose to be perceived as just.
The horses were saddled, the five knights from the Templar foundation dazzling in their white tabards marked with red crosses. They wore red cloaks similar to Angus’ own though theirs had seen fewer adventures. Their mail gleamed, their horses stamped, their caparisons fluttered in the breeze.
Angus was similarly garbed, though he had no tunic any longer. His mail shone dully beneath his stained cloak, though he sat upon Lucifer as regally as a prince. He watched the master and did not glance to Jacqueline.
The master of their foundation was garbed all in white, with the exception of the cross upon his chest. His destrier was the only other of the same ilk as Lucifer. That stallion was dappled grey, though no less proud a beast. The other knights rode stallions, larger than the palfreys Jacqueline knew, but not as fearsome as these two destriers.
The Templar sergeants and squires were armed and mounted as well. When the pennant bearer lifted their standard before the master himself, Jacqueline felt that a foreign pageant, of which they only heard tales in these parts, came to life before her eyes.
The men silently formed a procession, the pennant bearer first, followed by two Templar knights. Then followed the master, then Angus and Rodney, then Duncan as a local dignitary and some of his men. Jacqueline and Edana rode together, the squires and sergeants and remaining knights behind.
Sentries were left at their camp and at intervals along their approach. It seemed the master was not entirely trusting of his host.
The wooden bridge groaned beneath the weight of the horses and the Templars paced their approach accordingly, leaving no more than three upon the causeway at once. Again a sentry was posted on the shore along with one of the knights, another pair of sergeants taking up positions on either side of the gate. This master did not intend to be cornered inside Airdfinnan, Jacqueline guessed, which hinted at Angus’ counsel.
Father Aloysius was waiting for them, garbed in robes so simple that he might have been a pilgrim seeking favor. He seemed bowed beneath the weight of his responsibilities and more humble than Jacqueline recalled.
“I welcome you to Airdfinnan,” he said to the master. “For we are graced by your presence.” Father Aloysius folded his hands together and shook his head. “I would invite to you to the hall, but as you can see, it has been ravaged by needless violence.” He sighed. “We have yet to even bury our noble dead.”
“You are not alone in your grievances, Father,” the Templar master said curtly. “’Tis why we are here, after all.” And he strode to the sole chair that had been brought into the courtyard, claiming it for himself without invitation.
Father Aloysius’ lips tightened, then he sat upon one of the benches to the master’s side. The monks and sentries pledged to him gathered around. “I believe we should start with the crimes wrought against my holding.”
“With respect, Father, we shall begin where I decree we shall begin,” the master retorted. “And I believe we should begin at the root of the matter, in the identity of this man. If he is Angus MacGillivray, son of Fergus MacGillivray and legal heir of Airdfinnan, then his attempts to regain this holding were justified. And truly, he has destroyed only his own property in that case, which is his responsibility to repair.”
Father Aloysius opened his mouth but the master held up a hand. “On th
e other hand, if he is not Angus MacGillivray, then he had no right to attempt to seize this holding and owes restitution, either to its rightful heir or to that heir’s trustee.”
The master shed his gloves and accepted a dossier from one of his squires, unrolling several pieces of vellum from within. “There are other issues, of course, and other matters requiring discussion, but let us begin at the beginning.” He looked at Angus. “Who are you, and how can you prove it?”
Angus stepped forward and his voice carried over the company with confidence. “I am Angus MacGillivray, born to Annelise and Fergus MacGillivray, here at Airdfinnan, some thirty-one summers past.”
“Who can vouch that you are who you say you are?”
“I can.” Rodney stepped forward. “I have served him for fourteen years.”
“And how did you meet?”
“I was serving as a sentry on the Jaffa Gates of Jerusalem. He came, having been beset by thieves upon that treacherous road, bearing the body of the man who had been assigned by his father to protect him in his journey to the east.”
The master looked up. “And you chose to serve him why?”
“Because he was so young, no more than a boy; because he had lost the only person that he knew in that distant land; because he was valiant enough to ensure that his companion was buried as befits a man; because he spoke with the lilt of one from my own homeland.” Rodney looked at Angus. “There were so many reasons, and I regret not a moment of what has ensued from that choice.”
“Yet you did not know him before that day?”
“Nay.”
“So you had no means of being certain that the name he gave you was truly his own?”
Rodney frowned. “Why would a man lie of such a thing?”
“That is precisely what we seek to determine on this day.”
“Then, nay, I had no way of knowing that Angus was not who he claimed to be.” Rodney stepped forward, clearly not having had his say. “But may I say that ’twould be beyond credible for him to have lied to me on that day, some fourteen years past, in order to make a claim on this holding on this day, after all that we have seen and done.”
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