Instead she consoled herself that, as she’d said to him once before, it was her good fortune that it was the MacKiernan and not him she sought help from.
“If you look through the trees just ahead, you can see the light from the monastery.”
She jumped when he spoke, grateful he’d not tried to talk her out seeking the MacKiernan’s help.
The trees through which they rode seemed to loom over them in the dark but, in the distance, as if below them, she could just make out the flicker to which he’d referred.
“They leave a light on?” How’d they do that?
“A torch burns through the night, attended by a chosen monk, as a welcome to weary travelers.”
Weary travelers? She certainly qualified as one of those.
Thank the Fates the monastery was in sight at last.
Since well before sunset, the muscles in Drew’s leg had cramped without yield and he knew all too well that his only relief would come once he climbed down off this horse and moved around.
As usual, the big wooden gates stood invitingly open. The main keep was smaller than Dun Ard, though it abutted a chapel, which gave it the sense of size. He knew from a lifetime of visits that this main structure was only a minor part of the property. There were stables and workshops stretching out around the periphery of the property, bordering neat, well-tended gardens, with fertile fields beyond.
Drew directed his horse to the far side of the main stairs, turning the animal so that he might dismount on the side away from the light. If he stopped close enough to the building, he could use the wall to help support the weight he knew his leg would not.
Over the years, he’d learned many such tricks to hide his shortcomings.
The woman behind him lifted her head from his back, though she still clutched at his shirt.
Probably the best thing about the evening so far.
“There’s no women here, lass. Best you’d let me deal with the brothers, aye?” He’d never even seen a female traveler here, but surely the monks wouldn’t turn her away.
“Absolutely. All yours.”
Her pattern of speech reminded him of listening to Caden’s wife, Ellie. That in itself would serve to grow his suspicion that she came from a future time, even if she hadn’t mentioned his cousin, Mairi.
In preparation to dismount, he covered both her hands with his, gently unclasping and pulling them away from his waist.
That’s fair odd.
The bandage he’d placed on her thumb last night had gone missing. He’d want to remember to check that when he got her inside. A slice as deep as the one he’d seen in her flesh should remain covered to keep it clean until it healed. Perhaps the monks would have a salve he could apply to the wound before covering it with another bandage.
With a final pat to her hand, he swung his good leg over and dropped to the ground. As he’d planned, his back hit the wall with a hard thud but supported the weight his leg wouldn’t yet hold.
“Are you okay?”
Apparently he was more tired than he’d realized. Otherwise he would have thought to distract her attention while he dismounted. Now he’d simply have to cover his action.
“Uneven ground here,” he mumbled, making his way around the horse to the opposite side, giving his leg a few moments to adjust before he reached his arms up to assist her to the ground.
She felt firm and warm beneath his hands, much as she had toward the end of their day’s journey when she’d leaned in close, her head resting on his back. As her body came in contact with his, he could almost swear he felt her heart beating against his chest.
What a daft thought! Exhaustion and too many hours in the saddle were certainly taking their toll on his mind.
“Sweet terra firma,” she murmured as he released his grasp from her waist, her smile lighting up her whole face.
He paused, eyeing her more critically. She’d tied something around her hair to hold it away from her face, catching it up at her neck so that it flowed down her back and over her shoulder. The flicker of torchlight glinted off individual strands as if a halo surrounded her.
That would never do. Not in a keep full of celibate men.
Digging into his saddle pack, Andrew pulled out his spare plaid and tossed it over her head and around her shoulders, wrapping it around again to take up most of the slack.
“Hey! What’d you do that for?” She peered out the hood he’d made for her, irritation coloring her expression.
To cover you up.
“A proper lady would always be wearing her cloak on a journey.”
“Ah.” She nodded her understanding even as the furrows disappeared from her forehead. “And since mine is at the bottom of that river, we’re improvising. Good call.”
He breathed a sigh of relief as he caught up her hand, pulling her forward to the staircase. It wouldn’t have surprised him in the least for her to argue even something so simple as whether or not to wear the plaid.
They stopped at the top of the stairs and he reached down to adjust her hood once more, pulling it forward to hide her face better. As far as he knew, these monks weren’t around women very often, if at all. No point in flaunting her beauty.
The door opened immediately to their knock, exactly as it had on the other occasions he’d stayed here.
“Welcome, travelers,” the elderly monk began, cutting himself short as he made eye contact. “Andrew! So good to see you again! Yer in need of lodging this night?”
“We are, Brother John,” Drew acknowledged, allowing the man to pump his arm up and down. “I’d no have expected to find you serving at the door tonight.” Normally one of the lay brothers manned the door, not the prior himself.
“Aye, but we’ve many a traveler out on the road this evening, my young friend. My brothers are attending others’ needs. But where are my manners? Come in, come in.” Brother John stepped away from the door, gesturing a welcome for them to enter.
The old monk’s words didn’t sink in until they stepped into the hallway and found themselves face-to-face with the travelers in question.
Soldiers by the look of them.
Drew did a quick mental count. Ten. Unless there were more already in their rooms.
“Brother Marcus is preparing a small repast for all of you. He’ll send word as soon as it’s ready. And by the time yer finished with yer meal, we’ll have yer rooms ready as well.” Brother John, ever the gracious host, beamed his gentle smile over those crowded into the hallway. “Until then, perhaps you’d care to make the acquaintance of yer fellow travelers.”
When the prior laid his hand on Drew’s shoulder, it was as if the elderly monk had instead taken hold of his guts. He knew in that instant there was no avoiding what would happen next.
“I’ll begin yer introductions with my young friend, Andrew MacAlister. He’s been a frequent guest at the priory on his journeys over the years. If I’m no mistaken this is a first visit for you gentlemen, though, is it no?”
Nine sets of hard eyes focused on the man who was, without a doubt, their leader.
“It is indeed. Sir Peter Moreland,” he intoned with the barest nod of his head, his English accent echoing through the hallway. “At your service, good prior. And who might this enchanting creature be?”
Moreland’s gaze focused beyond Drew, honing in on Leah. As he’d introduced himself, Leah’s grip on Drew’s hand had tightened and she’d moved in a step closer to him. When the man turned the attention of all present in her direction, she crowded closer still, so much so, in fact, Drew doubted there was a feather’s width between them.
To say that the man frightened her would be, in his opinion, a vast understatement. More interesting still was his own immediate reaction. He didn’t like Leah being frightened.
Didn’t like it one little bit.
“She might be my wife.” The words slipped out with only minimal thought. There could be no better plausible excuse he could think of to be on the road, alone with a woman.
“Andrew!” Brother John clasped his hand, pumping it up and down once again. “When did this happen? You made no mention of it on yer last visit to us. I canna understand why no even yer own sister’s husband spoke a word of this when he was here but a fortnight ago. It’s no like him at all.”
Much more information than Drew cared to share with the men listening so intently to every word.
“Ranald had no knowledge of my plans, Brother John. We’re on our way to inform my family even now that we’ve wed.”
“Ah, a clandestine marriage, is it?” Moreland’s smirk said much more about him than his words. “Will you make it a regular marriage in the eyes of the church once you reach your family?”
Drew pulled Leah from behind him, enclosing her in the circle of his arm around her shoulders. As hard as she gripped his hand, he wasn’t sure he’d ever regain the feeling. Still, she proved her intelligence by keeping her wits about her and remaining silent.
“An exchange of consent is every bit as legally binding as marriage vows taken in the face of the church, are they no?” He met the Englishman’s stare without blinking.
“True. Acceptable enough for unenlightened heathens. But the church views it as a sin, isn’t that the case, good Prior?” The grin on Moreland’s face, as if painted on, did not reach his eyes.
The prior’s lips tightened into a thin tight line as he slowly nodded his agreement.
That Moreland’s attitude of superiority grated on Drew’s nerves he’d readily admit, but that was no reason to make his friends at the priory uncomfortable. Certainly not a reason when only a small embellishment on this already fabricated tale could easily make his friends feel better.
“Dinna fash yerself over it, Brother John. It’s of no consequence. My lady and I will be about doing the right thing in the eyes of the church as soon as we reach my home and our laird can make the proper arrangements.”
“Brother Marcus asked that you all be seated now.” The young novice who’d interrupted to announce the invitation stared around the room as if so many strangers all at one time were a concern to him. Or perhaps it was that so many of the strangers were English soldiers.
Drew was simply grateful for the lad’s arrival.
“Excellent. Thank you, Rufus.” The prior extended a hand toward the tables at the far end of the room, his hearty smile restored. “It’s naught more than some porridge and bread, but it will fill yer stomachs before you retire for the night.”
Drew waited, his arm still sheltering Leah, for the others to go on ahead before he followed Brother John into the great hall.
Inside, both the prior and the young novice hustled about, directing their guests to seats at the big wooden tables near the front of the room.
Drew allowed his gaze to scan the room dispassionately, as if he’d lost complete interest in his fellow travelers. With a little good luck, perhaps he and Leah would find themselves seated at a table separately from Moreland.
As usual, good luck was nowhere to be found.
Seated directly across from the man, he’d have no rational choice but to continue their conversation.
“And your family, my lady?” Again Moreland had fixed his piercing stare on Leah. “Might I be so bold as to ask, are they aware you’ve wed?”
“They are indeed, Sir Moreland, and happy for it, too. My father could hardly wait to be rid of me. One less mouth to feed.” Leah didn’t look at the knight as she responded, instead keeping her eyes fixed on the trencher she shared with Drew. The sad little smile playing over her lips made her words all the more convincing.
Drew could only hope she understood that the farther afield she strayed from the truth, the harder it could be to keep the story straight.
Or could there be some grain of truth to what she said? Now that he thought on it, she’d spoken of an uncle and a grandfather, but had made no mention of a father.
He’d make sure he reminded her of the dangers inherent in inventing stories later. For now, whatever the case, a gentle nudge from him to alter the direction of their conversation couldn’t hurt.
“What of you, Moreland? You dinna have the sound of someone from the highlands. What brings you here?”
The knight paused in lifting a cup of wine to his lips, his false smile giving way to a genuine laugh. “Discreetly spoken, MacAlister, if what you’re trying to say is that I sound like an Englishman.”
Could he have misjudged the knight? It almost sounded as if the warrior had a sense of humor. “That was indeed my meaning.”
“Then you are correct. My men and I accompanied my uncle and his party north. We parted company with them at their destination yestereve to continue on our way in a quest for our king.”
“What quest could possibly bring you this far?”
Moreland’s smile disappeared, his solemn expression a clear indicator of how serious he considered his task. “We’ve come in search of the traitor Wallace. He and those who hide him. They all will answer to our king for their actions against the crown.”
No, he hadn’t misjudged the man at all. An English soldier, born and bred.
“We’d heard rumors Wallace and his men stayed to the eastern lowlands.” The prior spoke from behind Drew’s shoulder where he hovered with the novice at his side.
“Yes, we’ve heard those stories. And you can rest assured, King Edward has sent men to scour that area as well. All the same, we’ve no intention of leaving any stone unturned. The traitors will be brought to justice to answer for their crimes.” Moreland lifted his cup but once again returned it to the table without it touching his lips. “We’ve also a rather personal search to conduct, as well.”
“A personal search?” Drew studied the man across from him, noting that, beside him, Leah lay down the bread she held, dropping her hand to her lap.
The smile returned to Moreland’s lips and he lifted his cup again, this time taking a drink before responding. “My uncle’s reason for coming north with us was to take a bride. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, it appears the girl had gone missing, so we’ve split our party to look for her while we search for the traitors. Bad form all around, really, for a man Lord Moreland’s age to journey all this way only to find his bride’s run away the same day he arrives.”
A runaway bride? Drew suddenly sensed a need to move forward in this conversation with great caution.
“Your uncle must be sick with worry for his future wife’s welfare.”
“Ha!” Moreland snorted his derision. “Sick with anger for the trouble of his travels more likely. He’s not a man who takes well to disappointment.”
Sounded to Drew as if the lass in question had made a wise choice.
“Do you think we might be shown to our rooms soon?” Leah leaned in to him, tugging at his sleeve as she quietly asked her question. “Our long journey is wearing on me, I fear.”
“Of course!” Brother John motioned for the novice to remove the remains of their meal. “I will show you there myself.”
Drew stood, turning to Leah to assist her to stand and ushering her ahead of him. He stopped a few feet away from the table, tilting his head in farewell to his dinner companions.
“I wish you luck on your search.”
Moreland acknowledged the gesture with a like one of his own. “Oh, no fear. We’ll find the ones we seek. We’ve a good description of the woman. Funny thing about that, too.” The knight paused to take a swallow from his cup before continuing. “Your own lovely lady is a perfect match for the description we were given.”
Nine
Cozy, much?” Leah stood as she had since the prior had shown them to their rooms, her back against the wall, arms crossed. “These guys bring a whole new level of meaning to the word austere.”
Drew wholeheartedly agreed, though he remained silent on the issue. The monks were doing the best they could. Brother John had apologized for their lack of “proper” marital accommodations before showing them to the only room they could offer
with a bed large enough for two: the room set aside for the abbot’s visits.
Standing here in the abbot’s accommodations, Drew wondered little that that august man made his home at a larger, wealthier monastery.
Leah cleared her throat and tried again. “The only way I see two people sleeping in that bed is if they’re both under the age of five. And small for their age, at that.”
The room itself was narrow and cramped, with perhaps the smallest fireplace he’d ever seen. He suspected they’d need the fire to offset the chill they’d likely get from the large, shuttered window opening in the outer wall. Even now the flame of the candle sitting on the tiny desk at the foot of the bed danced and sputtered as a breeze wafted down from the ill-fitting shutters. The bed itself, though roughly half the size of his own at Dun Ard, was still a sight better than others he’d seen here at the priory.
“It could be worse. Most of those men you saw in the dining hall will be sleeping on the floor in a common room tonight.”
“I don’t really care where they sleep. But that bed still isn’t big enough for the two of us. Period.”
The tremulous huff of breath that followed her declaration told him more than her words and at last he thought he understood her concern.
Drew prided himself on reading people. He’d learned early how rare it was for people to say what they meant. Even more rare for them to mean what they said. Over time, he’d cultivated the necessary skills to look beneath the social games. It was easy enough. He only needed to separate himself from the crowd, stand aside, and observe.
The signs had been there all along with Leah. He’d simply not taken the time to see them. Her discomfort came not from the size of the bed, but in sharing a room with him.
“Dinna fash yerself over the bed space, Leah. You’ll no have to share it this night. I’ll take the floor.” Though he wouldn’t be foolish enough to deny the appeal of curling close to her, his body wrapped around hers, his arms encircling her curves.
The thought brought with it an involuntary flush of heat and a tightening of muscles.
Healing the Highlander Page 7