She entered the hall with her chin held high and a new vigor in her step, for she knew that Fergus was well pleased with what she had wrought. ’Twas the closest she had felt to him in fifteen years and she never intended to let him slip away again.
Aye, ’twould not be long before they two were together again.
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time she reached Inveresbeinn, Jacqueline was certain that Angus would come for her. She secreted the tuft of heather in her barren chamber and knew she had but to wait.
She did not doubt that Angus was overwhelmed by the change in his fortunes and she was not so innocent of the world that she imagined everything would be set to rights so readily as that. He needed time to see to the details.
And perhaps he needed time to miss her.
But the days passed and the nights passed and no knight arrived at the convent gates.
Jacqueline decided that if she conceived his child, she would take matters into her own hands. She would seek permission to depart and if ’twas not granted, she would steal away. She would somehow contrive to reach Airdfinnan and she would tell Angus that he was to be a father. She was certain he would wed her then, for he was much concerned with honor.
But her courses came with perfect regularity, as though even her own body would defy her desire to have Angus by her side. Perhaps ’twas better, she reassured herself, for a match would be happier if she were more certain that Angus wed her for herself than out of a sense of duty.
A month came and went, and then another, and Jacqueline had to admit that ’twas possible the man did not miss her. It might well be that he did not love her—indeed, he had never pledged as much. She had thought he might, but then, how much did she know of men?
Precious little, it would seem.
Still she could not bring herself to surrender that dried cluster of white blossomed heather.
Contrary to her own expectation, Jacqueline found no solace in the tranquility of the convent. ’Twas more than clear that she had no calling. She was restless within its walls, always pacing, always fidgeting, always glancing toward the gates.
And she could not explain it. There were no loose ends to the tale she had witnessed, so ’twas not her curiosity clamoring for more news. The words in the Bible were as they had always been, and though they still held an allure, her thoughts oft drifted away from her studies.
Jacqueline found the days astoundingly long, the lessons overly tedious, and the opus dei hopelessly dull. On the morn that she was late for mass, she decided that this would not do.
Angus clearly did not come. And if he had not come by now, he would not come at all. Perhaps he had granted her the heather not because he had to overcome adversity to ask for her, but because he believed she had to overcome the adversity of her own character to be happy within these walls.
There was a sobering prospect.
Though ’twas disappointing beyond all, Jacqueline knew she had chosen her own fate. She resolved to make the best of it—for truly, if she could not have Angus MacGillivray, then she wanted no other man. The sole appeal of the secular world was that one knight—without him, she would be just as happy here.
Perhaps happier, for here her bridegroom was not physically demanding. Jacqueline studied with renewed diligence and labored with renewed vigor. She volunteered for every possible task, she gave her all to Inveresbeinn. She was exhausted when she fell into bed each night, though not tired enough that she was spared of dreams.
When she managed to sleep. Oftentimes, Jacqueline lay awake long into the night and indulged her weakness for Angus. She recalled his caress—a deed best done while the keen eye of the abbess was occupied in sleep—his crooked smile, his wry retorts. She remembered all too well the warmth of him curled around her, the heat of him within her and the security she had known in his presence. She thought of how his hard-won confessions delighted her, how his strength of character thrilled her, how his honorable intent made her heart swell fit to burst.
Aye, she loved him, with all there was within her.
And there was naught that could be done about the matter. Angus did not desire her, and she desired none but him. So, she would have none, though ’twas a poor exchange.
* * *
Six long months after her arrival, when the bite of winter first tinged the autumn air, she was summoned to the abbess. ’Twas the eve of Jacqueline’s first vows as a novitiate, beyond her initial pledge to obey the abbess and pursue her studies with diligence.
Had word come from Angus in this moment of moments? She fled down the corridor, without regard for proper decorum, and told herself she would surrender hope fully on the morrow.
Perhaps the white heather as well. ’Twas forbidden to have personal tokens, after all.
The abbess greeted her with eyes narrowed in disapproval. “You have much to learn before you take your vows on the morrow.”
“Aye, Mother.” Jacqueline bobbed her head, doubting that her impatience was hidden. If Angus came for her, she would be gone in a heartbeat. She hoped and hoped and fairly tapped her toes in her impatience to know the truth.
“Praise God that I forget what ’tis to be young.” The abbess shook her head wearily, then continued sternly. “Your guests await you in the chapel. I do not approve of visitors, Jacqueline, and you had best impress that fact upon your guests. I make one exception for each novitiate, for the change to the cloistered life is not always readily made. This would your sole exception and I bid you recall it well.”
“Aye, Mother.”
“You will return here and report fully to me what has transpired when your interview is done. As you know, we have no secrets at Inveresbeinn.” The abbess eyed her sternly, and Jacqueline imagined that she knew full well about the heather and every other secret any novitiate might have.
“Aye, Mother.” Jacqueline turned to race toward the chapel, wanting naught but to see Angus again.
“Comportment!” the abbess roared in voice that nigh shook the walls.
Jacqueline obeyed with only the greatest of difficulties.
That made her smile in memory of Angus’ conviction that she had not the mettle to pledge poverty, chastity and obedience. Indeed, she would rather pledge her heart to him.
If only she had the chance.
She pulled open the heavy wooden door of the chapel, summoned a smile and stepped into the interior. Her smile faded as her mother and Duncan turned to greet her.
She had thought that “visitors” meant Angus and whoever rode with him, perhaps Rodney or another. ’Twas ingracious of her to be disappointed, for her parents had traveled far for a brief visit. Jacqueline smiled anew with genuine warmth, though her heart was aching.
He did not come. He would not come. This was to be her fate and she had best accept the truth of it.
“Welcome, Maman, Duncan. ’Twas beyond good of you to ride so far when the abbess permits such short visits.”
Her mother’s gaze saw too much as always, though that woman came forward to seize her hands with a warm smile. “You were not expecting us,” she chided, then kissed Jacqueline’s cheeks. She surveyed Jacqueline shrewdly, too close to miss any flicker of emotion. “But who else would visit you before your vows, child?”
“No one,” Jacqueline whispered, for ’twas true. She kissed Duncan in turn and squeezed both of their hands. “How is everyone at Ceinn-beithe?”
“Well enough. And you?”
“Well enough, Maman.”
“You were right in this, Duncan,” Eglantine commented, giving Jacqueline’s cheek an affectionate pat. “I should never have objected to Jacqueline’s decision. Look how demure she has become—surely this life suits you well, child.”
“Well enough.”
“Truly?” Duncan asked, his gaze searching.
“Truly. The choice is made and ’twas made by me.” She spoke firmly if somewhat dutifully. “You have invested hard-won coin to see my desire fulfilled and I shall do my best
to honor your endowment.”
Her parents exchanged a glance. “But are you happy, Jacqueline?” her mother insisted.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course!” Eglantine framed Jacqueline’s face in her hands. “You know I desire only to see you happy and naught else can approach the import of that,” she whispered with the conviction Jacqueline expected of her. “Tell me what you truly desire, child. Tell me now, afore ’tis too late.”
But ’twas not within the realm of her parents’ influence to change her fate. Jacqueline smiled in reassurance. “I merely wonder whether I might have been as happy if I had followed your advice. That is all. I miss you all in this place.”
“Just us?”
“Aye.” Jacqueline nodded, dropping her gaze that they might not see her lie. Naught more was said, though she knew they wondered.
Her mother stepped back and dug within her purse. “’Tis true that we are not permitted to speak with you overlong,” she said crisply. “But here is a letter that you might read at your leisure in which I tell you all the news of Ceinn-beithe.”
She pressed the missive into Jacqueline’s hands. “And here is another from Esmeraude, no doubt telling you how she has no one to torment these days.” Duncan chuckled beneath his breath. “And Mhairi sends greetings as well, though even I would be hard-pressed to make sense of her scribble.”
Jacqueline closed her fingers gratefully over this touch of the outside world, yearning with all her heart that she could leave this place with her parents.
“And even Alienor sends some word,” Eglantine continued briskly. “She wished to send you one of the brooches wrought by Iain, but I told her ’twould be taken for the greater glory of the convent. She insisted the abbess would wear no gift intended for you and had Iain draw it for you instead.”
Jacqueline smiled at this blunt assessment for she could well imagine her half-sister saying as much. She opened the missive and peeked at the drawing, which was lovely enough to make her breath catch.
Jacqueline –
I am not permitting Iain to sell this until you take your final vows in case you see sense afore ’tis too late. Think of this, sister mine. Only a witless fool would live with women when she could have a man in her bed instead.
– Alienor
Jacqueline choked back a laugh and looked to her mother, whose eyes sparkled. Clearly she had read the missive or been told of its contents already.
“I should wish another babe upon her,” Jacqueline jested.
“Iain has seen to that. The midwife says Alienor will deliver in midwinter.”
“She will be busy, if naught else.”
“She has yet to learn to curb her tongue, our Alienor,” Eglantine said mildly, then caught Jacqueline unawares with an incisive glance. “Do you agree with her?”
Jacqueline looked down at the missive. “I do not think I have this choice,” she said carefully. “’Tis the convent for me.”
Her mother exhaled in exasperation, but Duncan laid a hand upon his wife’s arm. “You know that our concern is solely for your happiness, Jacqueline,” he reminded her.
“Aye, I know it.” She hugged them both and stepped back, doubting that she would be allowed to even see them again. Aye, she was effectively dead and gone from this world, just as her mother had tried to tell her all those months ago.
Her vision was blurred by sudden tears and she clasped her letters tightly against her heart. They were so precious and would undoubtedly become more so as her loneliness increased.
But how could she ask them to grant another rich gift to the convent to see her freed of this place? Indeed, her choices had already cost her family too dear.
“I love you both so very much,” Jacqueline declared, her tears slipping down her cheeks. “I thank you for all the sacrifices you have made on my behalf.”
“Ah, Jacqueline, you know I would do any deed for you.” Her mother caught her close, hugging her so tightly that Jacqueline could not draw a breath. She did not want to, but returned her mother’s embrace with equal ardor.
They parted finally, both trembling, then kissed each other’s cheeks. Jacqueline could not help but think it might be for the very last time. Duncan embraced her as well and she sank to the bench as they departed. She lifted her tear-filled gaze to the crucifix above the altar and thought of sacrifices made.
She recalled her mother’s sacrifice, in leaving all she knew so that her daughters might wed for love as she had not. She thought of her mother’s determination that there not be harsh words between they two, as there had been between Jacqueline’s mother and grandmother over her mother’s arranged marriage.
’Twould change naught, but she owed her mother the truth.
“Maman!” she called and heard their footsteps halt at the rear of the chapel. She did not turn, but bowed her head. “I would have you know that you called matters aright in this.”
“I do not understand.”
“You insisted that I pledged to join the convent out of fear, fear of men, fear fostered by Reynaud. You said that the right man, a man of honor, could dismiss my fear and show me the happiness to be found in love.”
“Aye, I remember.”
“And you were right, Maman.” She swallowed, then attempted to lighten the silence behind her. “I wanted you to know, because I know how you do love to be proven right.”
She felt her mother’s hand fall on her shoulder, but did not look up. “Then why are you here, child?”
“My regard is not returned.”
“But had you not told this man of your desire to take these vows?”
“Aye, but he did not protest my choice! He clearly had no desire to change my thinking in this.”
“Perhaps he did not wish to test your vow.”
Jacqueline met her mother’s steady gaze. “Or perhaps, Maman, he did not desire me.”
“Then he is a fool.” To Jacqueline’s surprise, her mother smiled at her, her eyes filled with warmth. “Or he is of a rare breed of man who respects the choices of women sufficiently that he does not challenge them. Such esteem does not mean that his heart is empty, indeed it oft signals the opposite.”
And she turned to gesture to the back of the chapel.
Jacqueline turned, not daring to wonder, her heart nigh stopping when she saw Angus standing beside Duncan by the door. He watched her avidly and she had no doubt that he had heard her confession. Her cheeks burned but he did not so much as blink.
“Do you stand fast in your choice,” he asked quietly, “now that you know what ’tis you face here at Inveresbeinn?”
Jacqueline straightened. “It seems I must.”
“You could leave.”
“I have no means to replace the endowment and I would not ask my parents to do this for me.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “You might persuade another to make the payment.”
“I will not be bought and sold like so much chattel.”
Angus smiled slightly then. “But brides are bought with endowments all the time. Would you not accept a donation made to this establishment in your name in lieu of that dowry?”
“’Twould depend upon the groom,” she whispered.
He began to walk toward her. He was taller than she recalled, though his presence was as commanding as ever. He was dressed in blue of so dark a hue it might have been black. His tabard was edged in purple, the crusader’s cross abandoned for a purple thistle. His familiar red cloak was cast over one shoulder and he still wore that patch over his eye.
Airdfinnan suited Angus well, she saw, though there were still shadows in the depths of his eye.
“Aye?” he asked, when they nearly stood toe to toe. “You are particular then?”
“Very particular.” Jacqueline held his gaze. “Indeed, there is only man who will do, and then only if he makes the pledge I yearn to hear.”
“Is that the truth of it?” He shed his glove and touched her chin with his fingertips, co
axing her to look at him fully.
Jacqueline felt that familiar tremble dance over her flesh. “Aye, ’tis.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “The odds against any one man would seem most formidable.”
“The man I would wed has a will wrought of the finest steel.”
“He sounds most fearsome. Why would you wed such a man?”
She eyed him boldly. “I told him the truth of it already. ’Tis time he made a similar confession to me.”
Angus’ gaze searched hers as his thumb moved leisurely across her chin. He seemed to be choosing his words, but Jacqueline was too impatient to wait.
“Why did you come, after all this time?”
“There is something of yours that I would return.”
“I left naught of import with you.”
Save her heart, but she would not tell him that so readily again.
Angus’ lips quirked. “So you might believe,” he murmured and she was certain that he knew the truth. But he reached into his purse and withdrew something so small that it nigh disappeared on his broad palm.
She leaned forward to look, startled to discover ’twas that single golden hair which she had granted to him. “You still have it?”
Angus stared at the hair, avoiding her gaze. “A lady’s favor should not be discarded so casually as that. And truly it has become as a talisman to me.”
“Of what?”
“Of beauty.”
Jacqueline turned away, disgusted that he pursued her for her looks alone.
Angus halted her with one fingertip upon her elbow. “Are you not sufficiently curious to hear all of the tale?”
“Not if it involves golden tresses and a visage of unrivalled beauty. I have prayers to recite.”
He smiled at her. “It involves but one golden hair, and though the hair is indeed beauteous, ’tis what it recalled to me that granted it such power.”
“What power?”
His smile faded. “The power to banish memories best forgotten, the power to bring sunshine into darkness and healing where there was naught but pain.”
She looked at the hair, then eyed him skeptically. “Because it is the hue of sunlight?”
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