“Aye,” Morrigan said. “Edward seems ruled by hatred for the Scottish race even more so than by a desire to rule a country where there is no great wealth to be found. Half the country is wild highlands ruled by wilder men.” She gestured about her, a bemused, teasing light in her eyes.
Fergus grinned. “Here on the southern edge of the highlands we’re close enough to have some of the niceties of civilization. But far enough away to live life as we see fit.”
Yet Ceallach feared that Dunstruan wasn’t nearly far enough away from England for him to remain here. Once he finished serving Bruce as guardian for Lady Radbourne, he would seek a home farther north, perhaps on a remote northern island. Far away from a defeated king seeking revenge on hidden Templar Knights . . .
When the meal was over, Morrigan asked Ceallach to stay behind. “Walk with me,” she said.
He didn’t know Morrigan all that well and wondered what she could want with him. She’d made it clear a few minutes ago that she knew, or at least suspected, that he’d been one of the Templars at Bannockburn. Her request to walk with her had sounded more like an order, and he did as she asked out of curiosity.
They walked out of the main hall and into the bailey before Morrigan stopped and turned to face him. “I’m worried about my brother, Keifer. I haven’t seen him much since my father died, and I fear he has spent his life solely in the company of women. Keifer needs a man to teach him how to be a warrior.”
Ceallach hadn’t anticipated this topic of conversation and was momentarily caught off guard. “He is of an age to be fostered,” Ceallach said, not sure where this discussion was headed.
“Until I can arrange fosterage, I wonder if you would begin his training?”
Yet another person to be responsible for? What had Ceallach said or done that made people expect so much from him? How could he discourage her? “Can’t it wait until he’s permanently settled?”
“I suppose it could but I want to put some distance between the boy and our mother. I love Mother dearly, despite our sparring at the table. But Keifer needs to be weaned from her influence if he is to become laird of our clan.”
“He’s to be laird? I thought you were leading the clan.”
“I am. But contrary to my hedging with my mother, I would welcome the right man as my husband. My husband and I can lead the clan until Keifer comes of age. But by then he must be ready to claim his inheritance.”
Her plan had merit. “You are wise as well as feisty, Morrigan.”
She smiled. “I will take that as a compliment.”
He hesitated. “You hardly know me. Why choose me?”
“I know who and what you are.”
Her words could be taken as a threat but Ceallach didn’t think she meant them as one. He ran his fingers through his hair and decided to test her. “Then you certainly don’t want such a man training a young, impressionable boy.”
Morrigan crossed her arms. “I don’t believe a word of the charges brought against your Order. The king trusts you. That’s all I need to know.”
He could almost feel some of the weight lift from his shoulders at her declaration of trust. How could he say no to her request? And it would only be for a short time. “All right. I will accept Keifer as my fosterling until you make a more permanent arrangement.”
“Thank you.” She clapped him on the upper back in the way of comrades and he stiffened, anticipating pain. But the wounds had healed a long time ago. The physical wounds, that is.
“What is it, Ceallach?”
He laughed it off. “Nothing.” How long would he keep his emotions locked up tight? How long could he hide his deep need for just such everyday things as human touch? He met her gaze and his pain must have shown. In her wisdom as a fellow warrior she recognized that she mustn’t press further.
“We have both seen sights that left scars,” she said. She watched him for a moment. “I’ve found that it helps to talk about it.”
“So I’ve been told.” He said no more.
After a moment, she said, “I can only imagine what you suffered. I will pray that one day you’ll find the healing your heart needs, Ceallach. Perhaps the love of the right lady will restore you.”
He nodded, sensing they both knew Morrigan wasn’t that woman. “I don’t believe I’m capable of such love anymore, Morrigan.”
“I don’t believe that, but then who am I to judge?” She smiled ruefully. “Nearly twenty-five years old and as my sister so sweetly put it, an old maid.” When he would have protested she held up her hand. “It’s all right. Cassidy may be closer to the truth than I’d like to admit.” She paused. “Do you need some time alone?”
Morrigan was much too observant. He did feel a bit overwhelmed. “Aye, I do.”
“I’ll tell the others you have gone to check the sheep.”
“Thank you, Morrigan.” It felt good to be understood. To be known to some extent, by someone other than Robert. Fergus would be blessed if Morrigan welcomed his suit for her hand.
Ceallach had never considered that he might find a woman who would accept the damaged man that he’d become. But Morrigan’s perceptive words made him wish, for the first time, that such a thing might be possible.
TWO DAYS LATER CHAOS REIGNED AGAIN as Fergus and Morrigan’s family gathered in the bailey. They’d decided they would all ride to Innishewan to inspect the estate and return before dark. Ceallach wondered if the entire castle would be thrown into such upheaval every time they departed and returned.
Everyone else seemed to be taking it all in stride, so maybe women were just natural harbingers of chaos. With a shout that overcame the noise Lady Eveleen came barreling through the others.
“Where is my son?” she demanded. Fergus shrugged and no one else answered. She turned to Ceallach.
“He is tending to some chores for me.”
“Well, he needs to come and mount his horse so we can be off to Innishewan. Where is he?” she repeated.
Ceallach searched for Morrigan amidst the crowd but didn’t see her. “I have promised to teach the boy to wield a sword. ’Tis time he had such lessons.”
Lady Eveleen paused, looking uncomfortable. Only the most overprotective of mothers would forbid her son to learn to wield weapons. “An excellent idea. But I’m afraid he won’t have time today. Perhaps when we return.”
“Why not allow him to begin today, Lady Macnab? He’s of an age to be fostered, and it’s past time to start his training. I am willing to take on the task until he can be placed with a foster family.” Keifer was certainly of an age, but was his mother ready to let him go?
Morrigan had quietly made her way to stand by Ceallach.
With a sharp look at her daughter, Lady Eveleen said, “I suppose you’ve spoken with Morrigan already?”
“Aye.”
“Then it will do me no good to discuss it further. I’m glad you thought of it.”
He suspected she knew very well that it had been Morrigan’s idea. “I’m glad you approve, my lady.”
“Yes,” she said with less certainty. “I should like to bid him farewell.”
“His training has already begun. He’s learning the first thing a knight must know.”
Anxiously she asked, “And what might that be?”
Ceallach grinned. “The proper way to clean a horse stall.”
He saw her shoulders relax and she smiled before she walked away to find her youngest child. It had been difficult for Ceallach’s own mother to let him go so that he might learn the ways of men and warriors. It was no different with Lady Macnab.
Morrigan said, “Well done. She would have fought me—thank you for setting her at ease.”
“Not at all, Morrigan. It will be . . . good for me to have the boy about.”
“You are more than generous, Ceallach,” she said, eyes shining. “My brother will learn much from you indeed.”
“We’ll see about that. I suspect the boy will teach me a thing or two too.”
Eveleen returned in a few minutes and seemed resigned to Keifer’s staying at Dunstruan. “I’ve told Keifer I’ll expect a full accounting of his behavior when I return,” she said to Ceallach.
“A good idea, madam.”
She mounted her horse and soon the bailey emptied. Wondering what had possessed him, Ceallach went in search of his pupil.
MORRIGAN HAD INVITED ORELIA to go along to Innishewan but Orelia declined. She didn’t feel up to spending time with Morrigan and her mother just yet. Instead she wandered down to Dunstruan’s kitchen. The cook was only too happy to have help with the bread making.
Being around other people meant she must hold her emotions in check, think of something other than her grief. The repetitive, mindless work of kneading the dough gave Orelia time to think. Time to pray. And prayer helped to ease her heart. She felt her grief lift bit by bit, day by day. Perhaps she should continue to stay busy instead of hiding away in her room.
To Orelia’s surprise Ceallach walked into the kitchen with Morrigan’s young brother close behind. The knight spoke with the cook, and she gave the boy a slice from one of the cooled loaves along with a piece of cheese. While the boy ate, Ceallach came over and stood next to Orelia.
“Keifer and I are going to round up the sheep. Would you mind helping?”
She kneaded the dough a final time, shaped the loaf for baking, then set it with the others to rise. She wiped her hands on her apron. “You want my help?” Orelia couldn’t disguise her surprise.
“Aye. Everyone else is busy with other chores.” He stared at her flour-covered hands. “Never mind. It was a bad idea.” He turned to leave.
“Wait. That was the last loaf.” The thought of leaving the confines of the castle and taking a walk appealed to her. She took her shawl from a peg on the wall. “I would love a walk and a change of scenery.” Even if it meant spending time with the gruff Scot.
“Good. Follow me.”
And with no more than that he walked back out of the kitchen, grabbing the boy by the collar as he went. Orelia hastily took off her apron and hurried after them.
She and Keifer fell in behind the knight, not sure if he even knew they were there. Outside the walls of the castle for the first time since they’d arrived, Orelia was astounded by the beauty of the place. She’d been far too miserable and the day’s weather too ugly to notice the countryside when she’d arrived.
The castle was situated, like most fortresses, on an outcropping of rock. They walked north toward a forest of ancient oaks.
Young Keifer remained quiet and Orelia wondered if something bothered him. But as they rounded a curve in the path, the lad exclaimed, “Look at that!” And he took off at a run.
“Don’t scatter the sheep!” Ceallach yelled.
Keifer’s gait slowed but he was still well ahead of them.
Orelia looked to where Keifer had pointed. To their right, the land fell off gently and in the distance, down a gentle slope, sunlight reflected from a deep blue lake. Surrounded on all sides by forest broken occasionally by grassland, the rich summer green and the azure water made a breath-stealing sight. Orelia slowed to take it in then stopped altogether next to Ceallach, staring.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” she whispered, as if speaking aloud might make the sight disappear.
“Look there,” Ceallach said, pointing to the left shore. A flock of sheep moved out of the trees and onto the meadow. A faint trail, brown against the verdant green, wound its way to the water’s edge and the sheep followed it, single file.
As the animals reached the water they spread out and drank, the lambs frolicking in the shallow wetness. How Orelia wished she had some parchment to sketch the wondrous view! She continued to stare, forgetting that they’d come out here to round up the sheep.
Ceallach said, “It’s glorious, isn’t it?”
His voice had lost its gruffness—he seemed as genuinely moved by the pastoral sight as was she. “Yes, that it is.” She looked at the blue water. “When I see such beauty I see God’s hand at work and I want to capture it somehow, preserve it so I can see it anytime I wish.”
He paused and shifted. “Are you an artist, then?”
“I can sketch. But what I would truly love is to create a tapestry of it.”
“Then we’d best round up the sheep so you have yarn to do so.” Abruptly he turned and walked away. “Keifer! Come along!” he shouted.
Orelia hurried after him, wondering at his changeable moods. But she forgot the warrior and his moodiness when they came to a small hut. A man worked in a garden behind the round building. From the shade at the side of the hut a good-sized collie dog got to its feet and came over to greet Orelia.
The dog’s tail wagged lazily and Orelia offered her hand to him. He sniffed and his tail wagged harder so Orelia scratched his head. When he sat down beside her she knew she’d made a friend.
Ceallach said, “You have a way with animals.”
“I was raised on a country estate as was my husband.” Indeed the collie reminded her of one of John’s favorite dogs on their own estate and for a moment she fought the tears that came with the memory. But crying wouldn’t change anything, and it certainly didn’t make her feel better. The lovely view of the lake had soothed her heart and reminded her of John’s assurance of God’s presence. She drew comfort from the knowledge that she didn’t have to face her problems alone. She would concentrate on that rather than her sorrow.
A short, dark-haired peasant came out of the hut and greeted them shyly.
“Lady Radbourne, this is Joseph. He and his dog are going to help us with the sheep.”
They walked back toward the overlook of the lake but now took a path that led to the lower land where they’d seen the flock. The collie stayed close at the peasant’s heels, ears alert, nose testing the air. When they drew closer to the sheep the dog’s agitation was palpable. Clearly he wanted to race ahead to join Keifer and get to work.
A word from his owner calmed the dog. They rounded a bend in the path and there were the sheep. They’d moved into the shade of the woods after getting their fill of water. Keifer stood on the edge of the lake, tossing pebbles into the water. “Keifer, come here,” Ceallach called.
Orelia quickly counted about seventy-five animals. She spotted the rams with their horns right away. The lambs were all several months old and in good health. They eyed the dog with suspicion, but when he sat on the edge of the herd and merely watched them they soon went back to their feeding.
Great clumps of wool hung from most of the sheep and clung to the branches of heather. “Why did no one shear the wool this spring?” she asked.
The peasant said, “A few of us took enough for our own needs, but didn’t see the need to gather the rest.”
Ceallach nodded. “It’s not too late to remedy the lack. We’ll set some of the local children to work collecting it from the woods. We’ll roo the rest of it once the sheep are penned.”
Using her shawl as a makeshift bag, Orelia gathered wool as they herded the sheep back toward the castle, wondering what it meant to roo a sheep. She would ask Ceallach when she had a chance. Tufts of wool hung from anything the animals rubbed against—trees, bushes, and even stones. The challenge lay in finding it when the darker brown and black fleece blended in with the surroundings. The white wool, though less common, was easier to find. It looked like balls of snow against the green of summer.
Perhaps she should resent being asked to work, but she just couldn’t. The weather and exercise and healing touch of the sun had lifted some of the grief that had followed her here. And like kneading the bread, the task gave her time to think, to remember John and how she had loved him, how she had tried to be a good wife.
At moments like this, she even contemplated not returning to England. After all, that had been their plan, to stay here in Scotland at this very castle. What did she have to return to besides Alice’s nastiness and Richard as earl? Yes, she had friends in England but no on
e who would really care whether or not she returned, if Orelia were honest with herself. And Radbourne Hall would be full of painful reminders of all she’d lost.
But she wasn’t the lady of this estate, nor a welcome guest. She was a prisoner, soon to be sent away whether she wanted to be or not. Sent back to Radbourne Hall.
Bringing her thoughts back to the present she saw that they were very near to the castle. With the help of the well-trained dog, Ceallach and Keifer herded the sheep toward the pens awaiting them inside the bailey. Orelia removed the wool from her shawl and placed it in a basket before helping to move the animals into their temporary quarters.
THE ENGLISHWOMAN STOOD NEARBY and listened as Ceallach explained to Keifer what they were going to do. “Sheep are docile if not too bright. They are also stubborn,” Ceallach warned Keifer. “We are going to have to catch each of them so I can decide which to keep for slaughter. You may mark those with dye.” He handed the boy a bucket and a brush, wondering just how much of the paint would end up on Keifer.
Lady Radbourne said, “What shall I do to help?”
Ceallach had enjoyed showing her the lake—her reaction to the beauty of the place had drawn him to her even as he rejected her mention of God. He didn’t understand her, and in his confusion he spoke with more than his usual gruffness. “You can roo the excess wool.”
She looked puzzled rather than put off. “Roo? Could you explain that, please?”
He scowled, though a part of him wanted to smile, wanted to ease her grief and see her enjoy herself. “I keep forgetting you’re a proper Englishwoman. Pluck it off them, like this.” He seized a nearby sheep with one hand and laced the fingers of the other hand into the fleece. Gently tugging upward, he loosened a clump of wool. “With your small hands, you’d do better just to comb your fingers through before trying to pluck it free. Here, try it.”
She came close to the ewe, which having had quite enough already, began to buck and struggle. But he easily held it in place and Lady Radbourne plucked the wool just as he’d shown her. She placed the wool into the willow basket at her feet.
The Mark of Salvation Page 8