They all looked to Terese.
She smiled. “Then it is a permanent home we will find.”
The women smiled and laughed with joy and soon were chatting about finding the perfect place and what would be needed and how it would take hard work.
The sharp rap at the door startled them all silent.
Terese felt for the dirk she kept in a sheath strapped to her leg before she stood. Satisfied that her weapon was handy if necessary, she signaled the women to remain quiet as she went to the door and asked, “Who’s there?”
“Lachlan.”
“Is something wrong?” Terese asked. “Is one of your men ill?”
“No, everyone is fine,” he answered. “I am concerned about you.”
She opened the door, “Why?”
“I heard raised voices,” he answered, stretching his neck to peer past her into the room.
“We were praying.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t his smile that caught her attention. It was the dark shadows that cautiously moved around outside. He obviously had brought a few warriors with him.
“Isn’t it a little late for prayers?” he asked.
“Are you accusing me of lying?” Too late, Terese let the biting tongue of Alyce Bunnock slip.
Lachlan took a step back and graciously bowed his head as if apologetic. “Not for a moment, Sister Terese. The sounds are what made me wonder if something was amiss, and I only wished to make certain of your safety.”
She had warned the others to use their ruse to protect themselves and here her thoughtless action was placing them in jeopardy.
“Forgive my thoughtlessness,” she said. “It is just that you interrupted a rousing vigil of prayer.”
“I’ve never heard of a rousing vigil of prayer,” he admitted.
“It works well for us. Now if you will excuse me, we must resume the vigil,” she said, easing the door closed on him.
“Sister Terese.”
She almost had the door closed and had to open it a bit to address him. She didn’t like the glint in his dark eyes or his smile that suddenly looked ready to charm. “Yes?”
“Would more voices raised in prayer add to the strength of your vigil?”
He was a sly one; she would have to be more careful around him. “It isn’t the quantity; it’s the belief that gives the prayer strength.”
“Are you accusing me of not being a believer?” he asked.
He did not accuse with a testy tongue, as she had done to him, but rather winsomely.
“Nay, sir, I would never do that,” she said gently and directly met his dark eyes with her blue ones. “When the moment is right, I shall request your assistance in prayer.”
“And I will be at your service,” he bowed gallantly and turned disappearing into the night before Terese could close the door on him.
The bright sun burnt off the mist that had accompanied the dawn, while an unusual warm breeze settled over the land. The pleasant weather had everyone smiling, happy to be busy with outdoors chores on this fine spring day.
Lachlan was pleased with his men’s progress with the two shelters. A few more days and one would be habitable, the other would soon follow.
He had no time to lend a hand. He was more concerned with finding out what he could about the mercenaries. It was time he spoke to Sister Terese and see if she could tell him anything about them.
She had been planting in the field that ran the whole length of the convent, beyond the few structures and bordering the woods on two sides. It was a large field, providing more harvest than the sisters needed, but he imagined that they used the extra to feed the needy. There was also a garden on the side of the common shelter that appeared no one touched but Rowena, having found that out when Boyd entered the area thinking to snatch what looked to be berries. She chased him with a shovel.
The women worked well together, not a one of them complaining no matter what the task. They planted, tended the cows, sheep and horses, chopped wood, spun yarn, and cooked the most delicious meals he and his men had ever eaten. They visited the farms in the area on foot or horse and tended the ill that appeared at their doorstep.
They certainly were self-sufficient and comfortable with their surroundings and not at all fearful. How was it that the farms he and his men had stopped at along the way warned them of mercenaries, yet these nuns seemed unconcerned with their safety?
Mercenaries were known to spare no one—unless, could it be perhaps the nuns somehow had managed to strike a bargain with the band? The sisters were a resourceful lot and were not afraid to tackle any chore. And then, of course, there was their faith.
Lachlan approached Sister Terese with a wave. She stopped her planting and greeted him in similar fashion. She wore a welcoming smile and a large brimmed straw hat that shaded her face from the sun. She had rolled up the sleeves of her tired yellow blouse and had tucked her brown skirt between her legs, hooking the frayed end in her waistband to make it appear she wore pants. Her feet were bare and partially covered with the rich earth, and her slim ankles gave way to muscled calves. He forced his glance up to her face and silently warned his straying thoughts to behave.
“Such a lovely day, isn’t it?” she remarked.
Lovely. That’s what she was—lovely. He almost shook his head in an attempt to clear his musings, but corrected his action before it was too late and agreed with a firm nod.
“It surely is.”
“Then why do you frown?” she asked.
Because I find myself attracted to you beyond measure?
The thought never made it past his lips. Instead, he got straight to his reason for disturbing her work. “I was wondering if you have had any encounters with the mercenaries I heard were in the area.”
“We have been lucky, or rather blessed, since we have not been bothered by them.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Perhaps they respect the church,” she said.
“Unlikely. They respect nothing but the coins their missions earn them.”
“True enough,” she agreed then shrugged. “But I have no other explanation to offer.”
“Not a one of the mercenaries has darkened your doorstep? Not even an injured one?” Lachlan thought about how his brother Ronan had left Zia’s village still recovering from his wounds and may have sought further care.
“The sisters and I do not question those who seek our help. If one of the ill had been a mercenary we would not have known it.”
Lachlan had to know if his brother had been at Everagis so he asked, “Any man a few inches taller than me, with auburn hair—”
Terese interrupted with a question. “You look for someone in particular?”
Lachlan hadn’t planned on confiding in her about his brother, but then, if he wanted her help, perhaps being truthful was his best choice.
“My brother Ronan,” he admitted. “Last my brothers and I heard, he was recovering from injuries. Where he went afterward, we don’t know, though we had been forewarned that if we found the daughter of the barbarian who captured my brother, we would find Ronan. We learned she might be connected with a band of mercenaries.”
“You believe those mercenaries in this area?”
“More northeast of here, but you never can tell.”
“Mercenaries are a band of misfits for hire. There are only poor farmers and pagans in this area. Nothing to attract the likes of mercenaries,” she said.
“Perhaps it’s simply a place of rest they seek.”
She nodded. “Ronan looks like you?”
He laughed. “He’s not as handsome as me.”
Terese chuckled. “And is he a charmer like you?”
“You noticed my best quality.”
“I don’t know if I would call it a quality, and we waste time on you when it is your brother you should be describing,” she chastised gently.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “As I said he is a couple of inches taller than me with aubur
n hair—”
She interrupted again. “If you know what wounds he suffered that might prove more helpful.”
“If I recall what Zia told me…”
“Zia is your wife?” Terese asked.
“Good lord, no.” Lachlan laughed and quickly apologized. “Sorry, Sister, but I have no plans of marrying any time soon.”
“Why?” she asked before he could continue.
He spoke the truth. “I’m not ready to commit to a wife.”
“Why?”
She asked why much too often, yet he felt compelled to answer her. “I enjoy the life I presently live.”
“And what life is that?” she asked.
“A life of freedom,” he answered with a generous smile.
“I understand,” she said with a slow, continuous nod.
Oddly enough, he believed she did, though he couldn’t say why.
“And Zia is?”
“She is my brother Artair’s wife and a remarkable healer.”
“Why did your brother leave her care?” Terese asked.
“We don’t know. We can only assume that he has good reason for not returning home.”
“His wounds,” she reminded.
“Oh yes,” he said and thought a moment. “I believe Zia said he suffered damaged ribs, a leg wound, a severe shoulder wound, and his face had been badly beaten.”
“How awful,” Terese empathized. “Someone recovering from such wounds I would have remembered. But I do not recall such a man seeking our help.”
“But a band of mercenaries do frequent the area?”
“Yes, so we have been told,” she said.
“And not once have they crossed any of the sisters’ paths?”
Terese shook her head. “Such news surely would have been shared, but you are free to ask the others, if you wish.”
“Perhaps Piper, with all the time she spends in the woods, would know something?” he suggested.
“As I said you are free to ask.”
“You are generous and patient with us, Sister Terese,” he said, suddenly feeling as if he and his men were imposing on her and the other sisters.
“Not at all,” she argued with a bright smile. “We are here to help and be generous. It is what we do. And you have seen the fruit of our labor, which is why I am sure the church will want us to continue our work here.”
He almost grabbed his gut, feeling such a sharp stab of guilt. Here he was sabotaging their plans, while she offered him help. Another reason for him to burn in hell…lying to a nun.
Sister Terese resumed planting, her foot easing the rich soil over the dropped seeds.
“You do not mind such a lonely existence?” he asked as he continued alongside her.
She laughed softly, never disturbing her rhythmic motion. “It is far from a lonely existence. The sisters and I have each other for company and we are constantly busy, as I’m sure you have noticed. Then there are the farmers we visit and those who come to see us. It is a good life.”
“You don’t find it confining?” he asked.
“How so?”
“You mostly work.”
“And pray,” she reminded him.
He nodded, though had to ask. “Work and prayer are enough for you?”
She stopped, looked at him and spoke bluntly. “You wonder why I chose this life over one with a husband and children.”
“Forgive me, but I am curious why you chose to commit your life to the church rather than a husband.”
Her blue eyes burst with brilliant color and she grinned. “For the very same reason you presently enjoy your life.”
He stared at her confused at first then asked, “Freedom?”
“Precisely, I have more freedom here at Everagis than I would ever have with a husband.” She laughed. “And don’t try to debate the matter. You’re well aware that a certain amount of obedience is expected from a wife, and no doubt you will expect it from your own. And as a husband you will have the last say in all matters.”
“It is the way of things.”
She shook her head. “How easy for a man to say that when life favors him.”
“It is a good exchange between husband and wife. For her obedience I will take good care of her, provide for her and see her safe.”
“So it is a bargain you will strike with your future wife,” she said. “Love will not enter into the agreement?”
He rubbed his chin then turned a disarming smile on her. “I think I would rather wed a best friend then pledge an undying love.”
“Why?”
“You do know you ask why much too often,” he chuckled.
“It is the only way to get an answer”—she grinned—“which is what I’m waiting for.”
“A best friend is always there for you, accepts you as you are, confides in you, laughs with you, cries with you, fights with you, but always—always forgives you, whether right or wrong. Love, on the other hand, can be unforgiving.”
Her grin faded and she nodded slowly. “How right you are.”
She continued her planting only this time he didn’t follow alongside her. He stood watching her and couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she spoke from experience.
Chapter 5
The next day the sisters had a couple of the men move tables from two other buildings outside. By early afternoon they had dressed the tables with fresh blue cloths and began adding platter after platter of scrumptiously scented food. To it they added pitchers of cider and mead.
The men stared from where they worked on the shelters, most wiping sweat from their brows. They were all hungry, since their first meal of the day hadn’t been nearly sufficient enough, but they had yet to receive an invitation to join the sisters.
Terese corrected that as soon as she walked out of the common shelter. She approached Lachlan with a smile, noticing he already wore one. There were few times he didn’t, though in those times, she caught a glimpse of the warrior within him.
For some reason, he fascinated her. She didn’t know why, though it could be his affable nature. Most men she had dealt with were loud and demanding, not so Lachlan. He seemed ready to please whether with word or action and in turn others sought to please him. She had seen it with his men and the way he handled them, praising, though in command. Even the so-called nuns weren’t impervious to his charm every now and again, and she had to remind them how intoxicating his charisma could be.
She wasn’t adverse to it herself. Yesterday, she had actually enjoyed his company when they talked, though she remained on guard. The man could simply disarm with his clever tongue.
Gooseflesh prickled her skin when she suddenly thought of what it would be like to kiss him. Was she daft? It was a crazy thought and one that should never have entered her head.
She kept her smile bright and her musings on more important matters when she reached him. “We would be pleased to have you and your men join us for the meal.”
A few men licked their lips, others mumbled beneath their breaths, and all of them looked with expectation to their leader.
“They’ll wash up before joining you,” he said and with his order given, the men rushed to obey. “Thank you for the invitation,” he added as his men scurried around him.
“It’s a beautiful day and we have plenty. Such a day should be shared with friends,” she said.
“You think of me as a friend, Sister Terese?”
“All those who come here, we accept as friends,” she said, though gave the notion thought. Was it even possible they could be friends?
“I’d make a good friend,” he said as if wanting to persuade her.
“That is for me to judge.”
He laughed. “True enough.”
“But it is also for you to judge if you deem me worthy enough to call friend.” Surprisingly, he appeared startled and to save the moment from turning awkward, she said, “The food will grow cold. Come and eat.”
He nodded and they walked to the table in silence.
<
br /> It wasn’t long before a festive atmosphere filled the air and between mouthfuls tales were told, debates were argued, and friendships formed.
Terese knew Lachlan let the men linger instead of rushing them back to work. She was glad for it gave them all a reprieve to simply enjoy each other’s company. And for the first time in five years, she realized that she did miss the company of a man. And she had a feeling the other women were reaching the same realization, all except Megan. There was still apprehension in her eyes, and Terese could only imagine the horrors of what had happened to leave such deep scars.
The men were about to return to work when Megan jumped up from the table and ran. Terese and the other women were right behind her when they saw what had caught her eye. She saw Lachlan signal his men who quickly grabbed their swords and spread out around the convent grounds. Andrew and Boyd joined him as he followed the women.
A man, gaunt and barely able to take another step, was assisted by a woman who looked too old to hold him. Two children, a lad and lassie around five and eight, their faces dirty and much too thin, held hands tightly and followed behind them.
Megan went to help the man, but Andrew gently eased her out of the way. “I’ll do it,” he said and relieved the old woman of her burden.
Megan instead helped the old woman and Terese went to the children, but they backed away from her with wide, frightened eyes. Even Piper, who children were always drawn two, couldn’t coax them near.
“They joined us along the road, though it took time for them to be able to walk near us,” the old woman explained with a tired breath. “They haven’t spoken a word.”
Lachlan hunched down in front of them and with a broad smile introduced himself. “I am Lachlan of the clan Sinclare.”
There was hesitation, but it seemed that determination took over and the little girl attempted to step forward, though the lad fought to hold her back with a firm hand. She would have none of it and took an exaggerated step. Her red hair was heavy with grime, her face streaked with dirt, and her clothes so worn and tattered there was barely anything left, and her little feet were bare and filthy.
“The Sinclares are brave warriors?” she whispered to Lachlan.
The Angel and the Highlander Page 4