The Mark of Salvation

by Carol Umberger

  “Look out!” Fergus screamed over the sound of wood giving way.

  The beam directly over where the bed had stood came crashing toward them. Ceallach saw the flames, felt the heat, smelled the smoke, but suddenly he wasn’t at Radbourne anymore. He was in the torturer’s room in prison, and the flame coming toward him was a pitch-laden torch.

  When the torch—in his vision—hit his chest, Ceallach came back to the present. A piece of the beam had broken off and struck Ceallach, knocking him to the floor and making his head momentarily swim. “Orelia! Answer me!”

  The heat from the burning wood heated the chain and cross around his neck and Ceallach could feel the metal grow hot through his clothing. Desperate to keep the cloth from igniting, he shoved at the wood, pushing it upward while at the same time Fergus kicked it away with his foot. Fergus grabbed Ceallach and began to drag him toward the door.

  Ceallach resisted, pushed against the floor but his blistered hands were so painful he had to give in. He tried to stand—how could Fergus be so strong?

  They reached the door and Ceallach used the doorframe to pull himself to his feet. He stepped back into the room but Fergus held on. “No! There isn’t time, Ceallach.”

  “I must! I must!” he cried out. Then the heavy slate roof gave way and with a roar came crashing down. Debris pelted them and Fergus pushed him to the stairs. They reached the landing where the woman’s body had been as smoke billowed after them.

  Ceallach turned to look but Fergus propelled him forward. They barely outraced the column of smoke to the bottom of the stairway. Coughing and staggering, the two of them came face to face with Morrigan, the silent question written on her face.

  Fergus shook his head.

  Ceallach sank to his knees. God had once again deserted him.

  Orelia was dead.

  THE WALK DOWN THE HILL had been easier to manage as the trees grew less close here and the moon’s light sifted through the branches. Another small rise of ground came next, and when Orelia reached the top of it, she could see the abbey. Orelia breathed a sigh of relief as they approached the road and the bridge spanning the narrow river that laid between them and shelter.

  Orelia judged that they could cross the bridge and by staying close to the river, make their way to the safety of the abbey’s stable. She’d had second thoughts about contacting the abbot. Better that no one know where they’d gone. Alice might send someone looking for her.

  Alice. George. The children. What would become of them all? Were they in danger, with the fire? Had the fire been laid for her? Phantom flames danced in her mind. The farther they got from Radbourne Hall this night, the better.

  “Come on. ’Tis too late to disturb the abbot tonight. We can sleep with the horses.” Gathering Iain to her once more, Orelia ran across the bridge with Mary close behind. Not much farther. She ran from tree to tree until all that remained was an open span of ground between them and the stable door.

  A gloved hand suddenly clapped over her mouth and another came around her waist. Both she and Iain were well and truly captured in a man’s strong arms. Orelia managed to twist about and stare at her attacker.

  The king of Scotland grinned at her, and she nearly fainted in relief.

  CEALLACH SAT WITH HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS in the main hall of Radbourne. Morrigan instructed one of the servants to cover his blistered hands with a soothing balm. His hands didn’t hurt, but he thought for sure the agony in his heart would kill him.

  George of Wellsey directed the servants in putting out the fire. Soot-covered and singed, he sat down beside Ceallach. “Thank you for trying to rescue Lady Orelia, my lord.”

  Ceallach merely nodded. He’d failed once again to save someone he loved. Hadn’t he prayed for God to spare her? “Who was the woman on the landing?”

  “Lady Alice. My cousin and the Countess of Radbourne.”

  Orelia’s sister-in-law. “Are there children?”

  “Two. The new earl—a babe of one year—and his sister. I will no doubt be named their guardian.”

  Morrigan came over to Ceallach. “Fergus is waiting—we’d best be going, Ceallach. The fire might draw more English to the keep.”

  But Ceallach had more questions. “You said you warned Orelia to leave. Why? What danger was she in?”

  George looked uncomfortable. “My cousin Alice wasn’t well. I have reason to believe she poisoned her husband.”

  Shocked by such a statement, Ceallach replied, “Why would she do that?”

  “Because Richard had every intention of recognizing Orelia’s son as the rightful heir. Obviously Alice set the fire to kill Orelia and her son. I imagine her maid was in the room with them and is dead as well.”

  Morrigan looked as dumbfounded as Ceallach felt. “ ’Tis a good thing the woman is dead by her own doing. Otherwise I’d have had to kill her myself.” Morrigan swiped her hand across her eyes in a valiant attempt to hide her tears. “Poor Orelia. If only we had arrived in time to save her and her child. She deserved so much better from life.”

  No one spoke.

  Ceallach just wanted this nightmare to be over.

  Finally Morrigan laid a hand on Ceallach’s shoulder. “We must go, Ceallach. We can’t stay to help . . . recover the remains.”

  George agreed. “No. Nor should you. You would do well to put a good distance between you and this place—there are army patrols in the area.”

  Ceallach heard George’s warning and raised his head. “You warn me of this? You could hand me over for the ransom.”

  “Go with God, Ceallach. For Lady Orelia’s sake, I never saw you before in my life.”

  But Ceallach only stared at his hands. “If Orelia is dead, I may as well stay and let you have the reward.”

  “You’re talking like a madman. Get to your feet and let’s go.” Morrigan tugged at him, and Ceallach hadn’t the strength to fight it. He allowed her to lead him to his horse.

  They rode to their rendezvous with Bruce at Bolton Abbey. The king and his men were hidden in the woods just before the bridge that covered a fast-moving stream. Morrigan and Fergus had to lead the way—Ceallach’s mind had frozen. Ceallach dismounted, tied his horse and followed Fergus to Bruce, dreading the report he must give.

  Blinded by grief, barely aware of his surroundings, Ceallach didn’t see whoever or whatever hit him. He staggered under the weight of the person who leaped into his arms, arms that closed automatically around the woman who clung to him, kissed him.

  Kissed him? He raised his hands to push her away, but she held his face in her hands and kisses rained on his eyes, his lips, his neck.

  “Orelia?” He’d lost his mind. The stress of losing Orelia and the scorching of the fire had finally destroyed him. But if this woman wasn’t real, he would gladly live the rest of his life right here in this fantasy world.

  He clasped her close. “Orelia.” He breathed in her scent, touched her hair with his damaged hands, heard her whisper his name. “You are real. Oh God, you are real.” Tears streamed down his face as he held her tight and kissed her. “Is it truly you? Or are you an apparition?”

  “I am real, Ceallach. Real and alive and so glad to be seeing you again.”

  “I thought you were dead!”

  “Dead?”

  “Dead in the fire. I tried to—”

  “Fire? No, no, Ceallach. I’m here. Here with you.”

  “God be praised—Father in heaven—he’s answered my prayers. He’s answered my prayers!”

  She stilled in his arms. “You’ve been praying?”

  “Aye, though I didn’t think anyone was listening.”

  “But you changed your mind?”

  “You are here—my prayer was answered.” He dried his wet cheeks on the sleeve of his sark. There was no avoiding what must be done next. “Orelia . . . Alice is dead.”

  ORELIA SAGGED AGAINST CEALLACH, relief, guilt, and finally sadness assailing her at Ceallach’s pronouncement. “Dead? How did she die?”
<
br />   “Fell down the stairs after she lit the fire.”

  The smoke Orelia had seen coming from the tower. “She set the tower room on fire?”

  “Aye. Everyone thought you were in there—you, your maid, and your child.”

  Orelia thanked God for George’s warning and for the premonition that had sent Orelia out of the tower tonight. If she had hesitated . . . Orelia began to shake at the realization of how close she and Iain and Mary had come to a horrible death.

  Ceallach drew her close. “There now, it’s all right. She is gone. You can return to Radbourne.”

  She pulled away and eyed him, trying to gauge whether he wanted her to go back or not. “I could. George thinks I’m dead as well?”

  “Aye, though he may doubt it when they don’t find any bones in that room.”

  Should she go back and claim what was theirs? She’d already made this decision once today. Had anything changed? Radbourne held nothing for her anymore.

  She looked at Ceallach and for the first time noticed he was wearing John’s necklace. Orelia reached up and touched it. “I thought I lost it.”

  He made as if to take it off. “Lady Alice had it in her hand when we found her.”

  She stayed his hand. “You keep it.”

  Ceallach said, “Are you sure?”

  Orelia nodded. “Alice had it?” How strange. What had Alice wanted with it? Then Orelia remembered that when she’d thought the necklace was lost, she saw it as an omen that God was about to change her life. That change stood here in front of her. Ceallach, who had professed his love in the letter she wasn’t to open unless she needed him.

  Well, she needed him, needed to leave Radbourne behind and seek her future elsewhere. Iain’s too. The past was dead, gone up in the flames of the tower room. But . . .

  “What would I face at Radbourne?”

  “George of Wellsey seems like a honest man.”

  “True. But his loyalty would always be divided between his blood kin—Alice’s children—and my son.”

  “But your son’s inheritance—”

  She reached up and fingered the cross hanging on Ceallach’s chest. “This is Iain’s inheritance. His father’s faith is something Iain will be able to rely on all his life. Far more dependable than worldly goods.”

  “Then you will come with us?”

  “With you, yes.”

  He took a deep breath and let it go. “I can’t make you any promises, Orelia. I am still bound by my Templar vows.”

  What would she do if he would not or could not marry her? Was she further jeopardizing her son by following this man into an uncertain future? She glanced at John’s necklace—at the cross—and thought of its promise. She would trust in God, for the believing heart was filled with surrender and trust.

  “I’m not asking for promises, Ceallach. May I stay at Dunstruan with you until you find your answers?”

  He enfolded her in an embrace.

  Yes, she could come to love this man. From the ashes of her grief for John, God had given her a second chance for love. She was at ease with her decision to stay with Ceallach. She peered up at him, at his beloved face. “Is that a yes?”

  His smile was tender. “Aye, lassie, that’s a yes.”

  “Mount up!” Bruce ordered, pointing toward the road as a troop of horsemen cantered over the bridge toward Bolton.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The patrol George of Wellsey had warned me about. Where is your child?”

  Morrigan said, “Already mounted in front of Fergus. Ceallach, mount up and I’ll help Orelia to mount behind you.”

  “But what about my maid?”

  One of the men pulled Mary up behind him.

  Morrigan gave Orelia a quick hug before helping her to mount. There was no time for a happy reunion. Once settled behind Ceallach, Orelia checked on Fergus to see how he would ride and hold fast to Iain. With relief she observed Fergus wrap his plaid around the child and tie the material snugly, binding Iain in a kind of sling.

  She clung to Ceallach as he wheeled his horse and followed Bruce. Stealthily they made their way through the woods before exiting the cover of the trees. Within minutes they were on the road and racing north. Hopefully, Edward’s soldiers would spend sufficient time searching the abbey to give them a good head start.

  SEVENTEEN

  Brothers may not be alone in the company of any woman of any age, nor shall they embrace or kiss even their ownmother or sister."Brothers will refrain from boasting of past prowess or brave deeds."

  —from the Rule of the Templar Knights

  So Smany times in my life I failed God with my efforts. I failed to fight in a Crusade, to use my ability as a warrior for his glory. I thought my pride and the strength of my will would save me. But pride and human strength are no match for evil. I blamed God, blamed him for abandoning me when I needed him. Because of my failure, I abandoned my faith, turned my back on God.

  So why would God bless a sinner such as me? And yet he has done that very thing that all reason says he should not.

  When I joined Bruce on this raid into England, I hoped to hear news of Orelia, perhaps even to see her once more. Never did I dare to hope Orelia would return to Dunstruan. That indeed would be the answer to a prayer.

  So I am left with this God who blesses even the worst of sinners with his love and his promise of hope for the future.Dare I hope he will show me how to make Orelia my wife despite my Templar vows?

  ORELIA’S ARMS ACHED from holding fast to Ceallach’s shirt, and her thighs chafed from bumping against the saddle. They’d been riding nearly an hour when Bruce called a halt to let their sentry catch up. Ceallach reined his horse to follow Bruce off the road and into the shelter of the woods. Everyone dismounted, stretching their legs and giving the horses a rest.

  Orelia gave Iain some oatcakes and water that Fergus supplied, afraid all the while that the patrol was close behind. As she fed Iain, she listened to the men’s discussion.

  “Report,” Bruce rapped out when Fergus brought the sentry to their resting place.

  “The English soldiers are following hard behind us.”

  Bruce stroked his chin. “The abbot no doubt told them of our visit, so the English know who their quarry is.”

  “The horses can’t keep up this pace.” Ceallach sounded grim.

  Orelia studied the men in the moonlight. All looked solemn but confident. They’d followed Bruce many times and were probably used to such events. Their confidence bolstered Orelia’s flagging morale.

  Bruce outlined his plan. “You’re right, Ceallach, the horses can’t run all the way to Scotland. Especially the two with a double load. We’ve another full day’s ride to the border.” The king motioned to Fergus and Morrigan. “Sooner or later we must stand and fight. But we shall choose the time and place. We must split our forces. I’ll take half the men and continue on the road.”

  Fergus nodded. “The moon will set soon—our pursuers aren’t likely to notice there are fewer tracks. And if they do notice, they’ll waste time trying to figure out where the rest of us went.”

  “Aye. You and your men wait here under cover of the trees. A few miles farther north the road goes through a narrow pass—do you remember?”

  Fergus answered, “Aye. Steep rock on either side.”

  “Exactly. My men and I will be waiting for the English on the other side. You come from behind, trap them in the pass and we’ll give them a good fight.” He turned to Ceallach and Morrigan. “Take the lady and her son and a half dozen men and head across country. Meet us at the old ruin outside of Brough.”

  Orelia hid a smile as Fergus went to Morrigan and kissed her cheek before mounting his horse. How did Morrigan feel about not being part of the fighting force? She seemed to accept her king’s orders to ride with Ceallach; perhaps it soothed her pride to be part of the guarding force for Orelia and her child. Iain squalled in frustration as he was quickly tied to Morrigan’s chest, but Morrigan calmed
him with a promise of more oatcakes for breakfast.

  Orelia laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “Are you sure he’s not too heavy?”

  “We’ll be fine, Orelia. I promise.”

  Orelia nodded as she and Ceallach mounted up. They headed northwest, the shortest distance to the border. Ceallach kept them at a steady walk, allowing the horses to pick their way alongside the creek they followed.

  Exhausted from the emotional and physical toll of the day’s events, Orelia rested her head against Ceallach’s back. He smelled of smoke and burned wool. He hadn’t spoken of the events at Radbourne and she wondered what had transpired. And if he would tell her.

  Just before dawn, Ceallach called a halt and Morrigan found a campsite not far from the stream. Ceallach threw his leg over the horse’s neck and slid down, then helped Orelia dismount. He took Iain from Morrigan and brought the sleeping boy to Orelia.

  Ceallach motioned to her. “We’ll rest here for a few hours, then go on to meet the others.”

  Glad to get off the horse and seeing that Mary had already made a fast run into the bushes she said, “Could you watch Iain for a few minutes?”

  His eyebrows lifted in understanding. “Aye, of course.”

  How good it felt to walk after the hours on horseback. She finished quickly, returning to sit by Iain. She watched as Ceallach, Morrigan, and the men unsaddled their mounts, led them to the stream for a drink, and then hobbled them so they could forage without running off.

  Only after the horses were cared for did they see to their own needs, disappearing into the brush for privacy. Ceallach came back with his hands full of pine boughs. “These will do for a bed,” he said as he spread the fragrant branches on the ground beside her and Mary.

  “Thank you,” Mary said. “I’m so tired I’d have slept right on the ground. This will be much better.” She took a few of the branches and spread them out a short distance away.

  Ceallach motioned to Iain. “Would you like to lay him down?”

  Only then did Orelia realize the poor man knew nothing about her son. Smiling she said, “His name is Iain.”