by Paula Quinn
“See.” She pointed toward the firth. “’Tis much as I remember it. I believe it the best outlook from the entire castle, and the best place to spot dolphins. Look there,” she declared excitedly. Alex followed the direction of her pointing finger to where a group of bottlenose dolphins leaped out of the waves. He stood a bit too long beside her taking in the view of dolphins frolicking in the glittering sea beneath an endless azure sky.
The aspect was indeed breathtaking, but he was already having trouble in that capacity with her standing so close. He quickly stepped away to organize his writing implements but, a moment later, he felt her presence looking over his shoulder.
“What is all this?” She moved toward the writing table, a quizzical expression on her face.
Alexander tracked her gaze to the open psalter and the sheet of parchment he’d been working on. “Please! Ye must nae be here,” he insisted. He’d never shown his work to anyone outside of the monastery before and felt an almost overwhelming urge to snatch it away.
“Fine. If ye answer my questions, I’ll go.”
Alexander gritted his teeth in consternation. Why did she persist? He didn’t understand the reason, but her very presence unnerved him. Was it because he’d had so little interaction with females in his life, or was it just this particular female who made him feel so uneasy?
“’Tis my work,” he explained. “I’m illuminating psalms for a Book of Hours. ’Tis my desire to become a scribe.”
“Illuminate? What do ye mean?” She reached over him for the sheet of vellum and held it up to the light. “’Tis beautiful work.” He flushed at her praise as she gingerly stroked her fingertips across the intricate scrollwork he’d added to the edges of the page. “It reminds me of the Pictish stone carvings at Rosemarkie. Have ye ever seen them?” she asked.
“Nae.” He shook his head.
“They are also verra intricately wrought.” Her gaze never left the parchment as she laid it gently back on the table. “What is a scribe?” she asked.
“Scribes can have a number of duties,” he explained. “They keep records and perform clerical duties for monarchs and kirks; they record historical events and, perhaps most importantly, they copy, translate, and illuminate the Holy Scriptures for posterity. Indeed, prayer books are our chief means of support at the monastery.”
“But why do ye need to do this illumination?”
“It isna a need so much as a desire to honor the sacred texts,” he said. “It is believed that illumination helps those who canna read to better comprehend the text. Our Lord clearly commanded His disciples to share His word with all of the world. The mission of the monastery at Portmahomack is to spread the written word of God to everyday people.”
“But what need have we to read them when we have priests?” she asked. “The Pictish people had no holy books at all. Their priests were the keepers of all that is sacred. They committed everything to memory.”
“Ye would trust all that the priest tells ye as God’s pure truth?”
Her forehead wrinkled as if she’d never considered the question. “Dinna ye?” she asked.
“Nae.” Alex shook his head. “I would seek the truth for myself. No man is incorruptible aside from the Lord. No man is without sin. And keeping knowledge is the most effectual means of holding power and controlling people.”
“And ye believe that these pictures can help the illiterate to read? Is this true?” she asked, staring more intently at his sketch of a shepherd holding a lamb.
He sensed something deeply personal in her question. “Ye dinna read Latin?” he asked softly.
“Nae.” She licked her lips and averted her gaze. “I canna read at all. My faither forbade it. He said women have no business with books. But even those who dinna read canna truly be ignorant of God,” she said. Her tone and expression had grown more animated. “His verra creation speaks His existence.”
Alexander studied her face with growing fascination. “Do ye believe that?”
“Aye,” she replied softly. “How can I nae?” She gestured once more to the window and the seemingly endless sea and sky.
For a breathless moment, she held his gaze with her large, luminous eyes. If he let himself, he could so easily drown in those sea-colored depths.
“Come, Alexander.” She suddenly, almost urgently pulled on his sleeve. “There’s something ye must see. Let me show ye a place where He speaks the loudest.”
“I canna,” he insisted with a shake of his head. In truth, there was no legitimate reason he couldn’t go. He just knew he shouldn’t be alone with her. She stirred too many unfamiliar feelings. Although he’d never felt this kind of attraction before, he recognized the danger.
“Why nae?” she asked. “Ye’ve hardly left yer room since ye arrived here. Surely my uncle wouldna begrudge ye an hour or two.”
“I have much to do in preparing yer brother’s lessons.”
“Nae today!” Sibylla replied.
Before he realized what she was about, she tucked his psalter into the bodice of her gown. “If ye want it back,” she called over her shoulder as she flung open the door, “ye’ll come to the burn.”
*
Sibylla couldn’t stifle her laughter as she ran for the stairs. She hadn’t planned to take his book, but he’d seemed beyond persuading any other way. Stubborn creature! She’d acted on the reckless impulse for his own good. Alexander was far too young to be so solemn. There seemed only one way to get him outside—so she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She sprinted down the entire flight of tower stairs and through the great hall before she even dared to look behind her. Was he following?
“Lady Sibylla! Stop! Please!” he cried out.
“Nae!” she laughed “Tis too fine a day to be cooped up like the chickens!”
She was already panting but pressed onward through the bailey where she passed her younger sister, Fiona, leading a cow toward the milking shed. “Come to the burn,” Sibylla cried out. “And bring fishing poles!”
Sibylla darted through the gates and then down the well-worn path leading to the thickly-wooded glen. Her lungs were on fire, but she kept running, refusing even to slow down until she arrived at the burn. Out of breath, she collapsed on the mossy bank and waited. Had he followed her or had he given up?
A few seconds later, she had her answer when he came crashing through the trees like a raging bull.
“Ye had nae right to take that! That psalter is irreplaceable! Give it back to me,” he commanded, his voice quivering with fury.
A tiny shiver passed through her body as his gaze bored into hers. For a moment, Sibylla simply stared back at him. She never could have imagined him reacting with such passion. Did this silly book really mean so much to him?
Feeling contrite, she retrieved the volume from her bodice. “I-I meant no harm. I only wanted to get ye outside for a time.”
“So ye resorted to trickery?” He snatched it from her hands. “Why dinna ye just ask?”
“But I did!” she insisted. “Ye wouldna come.”
“Because I have nae time for—”
“For this?” She made a wide gesture to encompass the magnificent landscape—the mossy-banked burn snaking gracefully through a glen shaded by a tall canopy of verdant green hardwoods, and the rushing white cascade that emptied itself into a crystal clear pool.
Alexander’ gaze flickered as he took a silent survey of his surroundings. Sibylla said nothing as she watched his expression slowly change… soften.
“’Tis a beautiful place,” he quietly assented.
“’Tis what I wanted to show ye. This is where God speaks to me,” she said.
“Do ye nae seek him in the chapel?” he asked.
“Do ye think he hears me better there than here?” she asked.
“Nae,” he confessed.
“I like it better here,” she said, adding with a grin, “’tis also the best place to fish.”
“Fish?” he repeated blankly.
> “Aye! Dinna ye like to fish?” she asked.
“I do,” he replied, looking less vexed and more uncertain. She was intrigued by his solemn, gray eyes, but she wished he would smile. She’d yet to see him smile or hear his laughter. Sibylla didn’t know why she was so curious about him. Perhaps it was just the contrast of his quiet manner compared to her volatile brother and boisterous kinsmen.
“Would ye stay then?” she asked softly. “Fiona should be bringing the poles any minute.”
“What would yer uncle say?” he asked.
She shrugged. “He doesna like to fish.”
His glower returned. “’Tis nae what I meant.”
“I ken what ye meant,” she teased. “They will all ken where we have gone. I told my máthair just yesterday that I would get ye to come fishing.”
His dark brows shot upward. “So I’m the victim of a conspiracy?”
“Aye,” she laughed. “I’m afraid so. But ’tis only because we dinna want ye to perish.”
“Perish?” He looked puzzled. “I dinna ken.”
“Since ye dinna eat meat, we need more fish. And this burn is the best spot on the whole of Black Isle for brown trout.”
“Is that so? Ye dinna need bait or poles for trout,” he said. “’Tis simple enough to catch them with yer bare hands.”
“Aye?” Sibylla cocked her head and studied him. Was he in earnest? She couldn’t quite tell. “I dinna believe ye,” she finally said. “They’re too fast, nae to mention slippery.”
“Nae so if ye take the right approach.”
“A’right,” Sibylla challenged. “Show me how ’tis done.”
“Verra well.” Alexander carefully placed his psalter on top of a large boulder, and then tied his tunic above his knees. She noticed that he wore no shoes, but many Highlanders did not in the summer months. Her gaze tracked upward to his long, muscular calves that were well proportioned to his height, at least half a head taller than Domnall. His whole body was lean and his features were angular, but that would surely blunt with maturity—not that he was in any way unpleasing. On the contrary, she found him quite comely—even if he did have a chin as smooth as a bairn’s bottom.
“Are ye just going to sit and watch?” he asked as he climbed down the bank.
“I’ll wait and see if it works before I freeze myself,” she replied, biting back a laugh as his body braced in reaction to the frigid water. “But ye can be certain, if ye catch one. I’ll catch two.”
Her gaze followed his every movement as Alexander crept slowly upstream, feeling under the rocks. “They like to rest under rocks so ye begin by walking against the current and feeling under the ledges,” he explained. “And they always face upstream. Otherwise, water would enter their gills the wrong way and they’d drown.” He suddenly froze and whispered over his shoulder. “I found a big one.”
“Aye? What now?” she asked, rapt with interest.
“Ye slowly work yer fingers up his body from the tail to his belly. If ye stroke just the right way, ye can coax him into a dream state. That’s when ye reach for the head, grip hard, and pluck him from the water.”
Growing more excited, Sibylla kicked off her shoes, and removed her hose to join him but, unlike Alexander, she could not hold back her gasp as she entered the icy burn. By the time she’d waded to his side, he had both of his hands under the water.
“He’s ready,” he whispered. A second later, his hands shot up with a wildly thrashing speckled fish that he quickly landed on a boulder.
“Ye made it look so simple,” she said. She was truly amazed at the ease in which he’d caught it. “Why would anyone fish any other way?”
“’Tis a skill that takes practice to master. ’Tis now yer turn.”
Determined to impress him, Sibylla crouched down and slowly waded upstream, holding one hand out for balance as she reached the other under the shelf of rock cropping outward from the bank. The footing in the stream was slick with algae, and the water soon weighted her skirts which made the task much more difficult than she’d imagined. How had he made this look so easy?
After several minutes, her fingers finally came in contact with a soft and slippery form. She stifled an excited squeal. “I think I found one!”
“Aye?” Alexander grinned in encouragement. “Now slowly stroke his body.”
“How do ye ken it’s a he?” she asked. “Maybe it’s a she?”
“I dinna ken what difference it makes,” he mumbled with a shake of his shaggy head.
“It’s gone still,” she murmured.
“Then now’s the time. Reach in with both hands and grab its head. Hold tight, for it will fight ye the moment it awakens.”
Sibylla put both hands around the fish and plucked it out of the water, but the moment its head broke the surface, it began thrashing fiercely. It was the biggest she’d ever caught, which made maintaining her balance and holding the fighting fish a greater challenge than she’d anticipated. Her foot slipped out from under her and, with a shriek, Sibylla fell backward into the water. Though sputtering, kicking, and flailing, she refused to release the fish.
“Let it go, lass!” Alexander cried, his eyes wide with panic as he waded toward her. He was there in seconds. Placing his hands around her waist and lifting her up and out of the water as easily as he’d landed his own catch. “I wouldna have ye drown for a bluidy fish!”
For a dazed and breathless moment, Sibylla stared up at him with the fish flopping between them. “I wouldna have drowned,” she whispered. “As ye can see, ’tis only thigh-deep.”
Alexander gazed down at the water and then back up at her with an endearing look of chagrin. “So ’tis.”
“But it doesna lessen the deed,” she said softly, her gaze seeking his. “Thank ye for yer chivalry, Alexander.”
His body stilled except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his gaze locked with hers. In that instant, something seemed to awaken between them. It was as if he, like she, experienced a sudden awareness of every breath, of every heartbeat.
Her grip on the fish went slack. Letting it slip from her fingers, Sibylla then grasped the woolen fabric of his tunic. Eyeing his mouth, she rose up on her toes, willing him to kiss her. Would he accept her invitation? Partially closing her eyes, she held her breath and waited for him to make the next move.
*
Alex’s stared down at Sibylla with his heartbeat filling his ears. Her eyes had closed and her breaths had become softer as she subtly tilted her face toward his. He knew what she wanted, but he had no experience of kisses. Nevertheless, the urge to meld his lips with hers sprang forth from some deep unconscious place. And the longer he held his hands at her waist, the stronger the urge became.
“Have ye ne’er kissed a lass?” she asked, opening her eyes with a questioning look.
“Nae,” he replied with a hard swallow.
“I’ve ne’er been kissed either.”
His attention fixed on her soft, pink lips. He licked his own in uncertainty as his conscience battled with the desire to feel them on his own.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Please, Sibylla,” he pleaded. “It’s nae ye, it’s just that I—” He shook his head with a groan. “We shouldna do this.”
“Why nae?” she asked. Why wouldn’t he kiss her? She was certain he felt the desire.
“Because kissing only leads to temptation.” His hands fell from her waist and clenched by his sides.
“But one kiss can surely cause no harm.”
He responded with a scoffing sound. “Only one bite, said Eve to Adam.”
She frowned back at him. “Ye think I would bite ye?”
He shook his head with a snort. “Do ye nae ken the story of Adam and Eve and the forbidden fruit?”
“Nae,” she replied, “But I would gladly hear it—after ye kiss me.”
“Sibylla! Alexander!” a voice suddenly called out.
“Over here!” Alexander answered.
Fiona came into view, dragging fishing poles behind her. “I thought I’d ne’er find ye,” she grumbled. “Sibylla?” Her eyes widened when she caught sight of her sister. “Ye’re drookit! Did ye take a swim in the burn?”
“Aye, but ’twas nae my idea,” Sibylla replied wryly. “We were catching fish and I slipped.” She held up the single trout Alex had landed.
“I’ve ne’er seen such a fine catch!” Fiona gushed. “How did ye do it without the poles?”
“’Tis a secret.” Sibylla gave him a conspiratorial wink, but Alex didn’t return her smile for fear of encouraging her.
“I must return now. I’ve much work to do.” He took up his psalter and tucked it under his arm.
Alex left the burn with his mind still tangling with his emotions. He’d been sorely tempted to kiss her and had nearly given in to the desire. Only Fiona’s arrival had saved him from temptation, but was her arrival a blessing or a curse?
A kiss in itself was no sin, he told himself, but Sibylla wasn’t just any lass—she was the chieftain’s niece. Given his position at Kilmuir, he could not permit what almost happened today ever to happen again.
*
Sibylla watched Alex go with a tightening sensation in her chest. She wished she knew what he was thinking. They were having such a wonderful time together until the end. What had gone wrong? Might he have kissed her if Fiona hadn’t interrupted? Sibylla feared she might never know.
“A word of advice to ye, Sister?” Fiona spoke up as if reading her mind. “When ye decide ye want to be kissed, ’twould probably be best if ’twere nae a priest.”
“I wasna trying to kiss him!” Sibylla protested, a lie, though she would have denied it to her dying breath.
“Nae? That’s nae how it looked,” Fiona said, unconvinced. “He’s nae for ye, Sibylla, dinna ye ken that?” At barely thirteen, Fiona saw far too much, but her younger half-sister had always been wise beyond her years.
“Aye,” Sibylla sighed. “But have ye ever wanted something ye canna have?” She continued wistfully. “It seems the knowing only makes ye want it all the more.”