Alec: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 4)

by Lily Baldwin

  “So beautiful,” Joanie gasped.

  Alec smiled as he swept the veil over her long black waves and fitted the crown on her head. He cupped her face. “Indeed, ye are.”

  Walking arm and arm, they joined Father Giles in front of the altar.

  “We stand before ye, Lord, to unite these two hearts and in doing so, make them one, one love to last all eternity.”

  The priest’s words filled Joanie’s ears like the sweet refrain of a song, timeless and truthful. Currents of warmth flowed from Alec, filling her soul to the brim with unconditional love and acceptance. They spoke their vows to each other, quietly and clearly. And when Father Giles declared them husband and wife, Joanie threw her arms around Alec’s neck just as he lifted her feet off the ground and sealed the promise of their vows with a kiss.

  With his arm around her waist, they walked back through the chapel, multi-colored lights from the stained-glass windows dancing across her lovely face. Then a feeling struck Alec, and his eyes were pulled toward a door.

  “Where does that lead?”

  “’Tis the dormitory for our lay brothers,” Father Giles replied.

  Leaving Joanie, Alec crossed the room, not waiting for permission from the priest to proceed. His hand touched the latch on the door. Suddenly, a vision of English knights riding toward the abbey flashed in his mind’s eyes. White tunics covered their armor, bearing the blood red cross of the Templar brotherhood. Pushing the door wide, he stormed down the hallway passing doorways on the left. He opened several, each a sparsely furnished cell. He opened another door, again taking in the thin pallet on the floor and the small rough-hewn table with a single stool. Every room was the same. He moved down to the next door and clasped the latch and was struck by sudden fear, raw and urgent, but it was not his fear.

  He swung the door wide and stood in awe at what he saw. The room matched the others, a simple pallet, table, and stool. But upon the smooth stone wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, was a painting, breathtaking in its vibrancy, of an angel in flowing blue robes with eyes that burned like fire, and in his hand, he gripped a long, slim, golden trumpet. Radiating from his flaxen head were streaks of light that caressed myriad stars and clouds in a heavenly sky.

  He heard Joanie gasp as she entered. Tearing his eyes away from the angel’s face, he reached for her, pulling her close. His heart still pounding under the weight of need burning his soul straight from the angel’s fiery gaze.

  Father Giles entered the small cell. “I see ye’ve found Brother Ambrose’s room.”

  “Where is he?” Alec asked, not bothering to conceal the urgency in his voice. “I must speak with him.”

  A sad look crossed the priest’s features. “If only I knew. He is one of seven of our brothers who disappeared several years ago now.”

  Again, the flash of approaching soldiers came unbidden to his mind, only this time with blades drawn. “Did he perish when the abbey was attacked?”

  “The abbey has fallen victim to English raids in recent years, but that is not how we lost Brother Ambrose. He and the others may very well be alive for all we know. One night, they retired to their rooms, and in the morning they were gone.”

  “There is something ye’re not telling me.”

  Father Giles simply nodded. “There is a mystery surrounding Brother Ambrose, but I can assure ye ‘tis not known to me. I took over the priestly duties in the chapel just two years ago. My predecessor only bade me keep the room empty and never to alter the painting.”

  “Who is he?” Joanie asked, coming forward and gently running her fingers over the angel’s bright blue robes.

  “We believe he is Saint Gabriel.”

  Joanie whirled around, her eyes darting between Alec and the priest. “Saint Gabriel? I’ve heard of that?”

  Father Giles chuckled. “Of course ye have, my child. He was the angel who visited the Blessed Virgin to tell her of the coming of our Savior, Jesus.”

  “No,” Joanie said. “What I meant to say is that St. Gabriel is the name of the village in Scotland from which my grandmother hailed.”

  Alec could not believe it. “But that is only a few days ride from here. Why did ye not say so before?”

  A grave expression shaped her face. “My grandmother is dead. There is no reason for me to go there.”

  Alec cupped her cheek. “But Joanie, don’t ye ken ye could have other family there?”

  Joanie gave pause. “My grandmother never spoke of family. I only know of St. Gabriel because of a song she taught me. It was a mournful song about angels crying.”

  The priest spoke up then. “St. Gabriel was once remade in grief. More than forty years ago, it was called Dàn Run, but tragically, a horrific scourge moved through the town, a mysterious malady that took most of the village’s children up to heaven. As I was told, one of the craftsmen in the village, who had lost all five of his children, carved an effigy of Saint Gabriel, which he positioned at the gate to the grave yard. Just as Saint Gabriel had told Mary of the coming of the baby Jesus, he prayed Gabriel would tell God of the coming of their children. From that day on, the village of Dàn Run became known as Saint Gabriel.”

  “Thank you, Father Giles,” Alec said abruptly, clasping Joanie’s hand and hastening from the room.

  “Go in peace,” the priest called out behind them.

  “What is it?” Joanie asked as she studied Alec’s hard, determined profile.

  “I do not know,” he said. Stopping, he withdrew the chard from around his neck. “But feel this.”

  Joanie’s eyes widened in surprise as she wrapped her fingers around the stone. It was warmer than she’d ever felt it. “What does it mean?” she gasped.

  He shook his head. “I do not know, but we are going to Saint Gabriel.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  “Will you tell me again about the Harborage?” Joanie asked as she followed on foot behind Alec through the dark woods.

  “’Tis a safe place for Scotland’s rebels, like Mary’s inn in London, but the Harborage is an Eden with a clear pool within a wide open glade, surrounded by tall dense trees. And built within several of those trees are beds high off the ground.”

  Alec led the way through tall Scots pines, their path ever twisting and turning.

  “Are you certain you know where we are going?”

  He glanced back at her, his full lips pursed together slightly and raised his brow.

  “Oh,” she said, smiling. Following behind, she admired her husband’s broad shoulders and confident bearing.

  He stopped and closed his eyes. “We are nearly there, but we are not alone.”

  “What do you mean? Who else could be out here?”

  “Other agents, of course.”

  Thick pines gave way to slender birch trees. She listened to the song of a bubbling stream while she picked her way behind Alec. They followed the briskly flowing waters into a wide glade. Her eyes were first pulled toward a pool on the far side where a large man floated peacefully on the surface. Then her eyes darted to where another man lay, resting beneath a tree. Then she spotted one more building a fire.

  “Do you know these men?” she whispered. Then she sucked in a sharp breath as the man in the pool suddenly stood. He wore naught but his hose. Water sluiced down his massive chest. His honey colored hair clung to his shoulders. And he smiled when he saw them.

  “By all the Saints, is that ye, Alec?” the man exclaimed.

  All of the men turned to look at them. A flash of surprise shaped their features before they stood and started to approach.

  Joanie kept her eyes trained nervously on the largest man, nearly naked, dripping wet, and bearing down on them. He narrowed his eyes on Alec. Joanie glanced up and saw Alec, looking the man hard in the eye, the corners of his lips upturned.

  “Grab yer blades, lads. He may look like Alec, but I believe ‘tis a smile he’s wearing.”

  One of the men scrambled for his sword, and the large man threw his head back l
aughing. “’Twas a jest, Paul.” And then he was upon them, larger than life. A smile spread across his face, lighting up his blue eyes. He didn’t say another word, but tentatively offered Alec his hand.

  Alec accepted. “How are ye, Ramsay?”

  Ramsay’s eyes widened, then he threw back his head and whooped to the sky. Wrapping his big arms around Alec, pinning his arms to his sides, he squeezed him in a hard embrace. When he set Alec back down again, another man came forward. He had wavy blond hair, which reached his shoulders and green eyes. He, too, looked at Alec in disbelief and offered his hand, which Alec squeezed.

  “Hello, David,” Alec said.

  David smiled but did not return Alec’s greeting. Instead he turned to Ramsay and asked, “Do ye think this is the work of the devil?”

  Ramsay slowly shook his head, setting his gaze on Joanie. “Nay, ‘tis an angel who brought Alec back to life.” He bowed low, then smiled at her. “I believe ‘tis safe to assume ‘tis ye who has managed to put a smile on Alec’s face.”

  Joanie blushed and pressed closer to Alec. He smiled down at her, then looked back to the men. “Joanie, this is Ramsay. He is a blacksmith and runs the Iron Shoe Tavern, a secret meeting room in his cellar that’s just for agents, equipped with the finest ale ye’ll ever taste. And this is David, a good agent and a good friend. Lads, meet my wife, Joanie.” He turned back to her and said softly, “Joanie MacVie.”

  She smiled, hearing her new name for the first time.

  “Wife?” Ramsay exclaimed. “When did this happen?”

  Alec smiled. “A few hours ago.”

  Ramsay gave Alec a good-natured slap on the back. “Did ye hear that, lads. They’ve just been wed. We must celebrate.” But then Ramsay looked down at his own bare chest, and he winked at Joanie. “First, I’ll make myself decent.”

  Joanie watched Ramsay retreat across the glade. She could not believe how large he was. He was as tall as Alec, but much brawnier with his blacksmith’s arms.

  “Congratulations,” David said with a bow.

  Then another young man named Paul with chestnut brown hair and youthful eyes came forward, and smiling warmly, he bent and kissed her cheek. She blushed and turned away. By doing so, she noticed another man for the first time standing alone on the other side of the pool. He was handsome with dark hair and eyes, but he looked as hard and unpleasant as Randolph Tweed. Where once she might have shrunk behind Alec, she met his stony glare without flinching.

  Alec dipped his head to the man in greeting before he walked Joanie over to where a large fire crackled and sputtered. “That is Nick,” Alec whispered in her ear. “Forgive his coldness. He isn’t a bad man. He lost his family during the same attack that claimed the lives of my own parents and sister. He grieves with a heart so full of hate that there is room for little else.”

  Four log benches surrounded the fire. Alec and Joanie sat down opposite David and Paul.

  “Welcome to the harborage,” Ramsay said, joining them clad in a black tunic. He handed out mugs of ale before he took his seat on the other side of Joanie. He looked over her head at Alec. “Since ye brought her here, can I assume she knows who we are.”

  “Alba gu bràth,” Joanie burst out, speaking for the first time.

  Ramsay threw his head back with laughter, and Paul raised his cup in the air, “Alba gu bràth.” But an angry growl cut through the gaiety as Nick stormed toward them, drawing his sword.

  “Ye brought an English woman to the Harborage,” he hissed.

  Alec and the others shot to their feet, shielding Joanie from Nick’s wrath.

  Joanie’s heart pounded as she glanced up at Alec’s hard eyes and stony face.

  “I have brought my wife to the harborage,” he said simply, his voice steady. He held Nick’s gaze, locked in battle, then his eyes softened. “Yer shame hurts ye far more than yer grief.”

  Joanie flinched as Nick bared his teeth at Alec. “Ye’re the one who should feel ashamed, bringing the enemy to this sacred place.”

  Alec continued, speaking quietly and clearly. “Ye’re not to blame for yer family’s death.”

  Nick growled and lunged at Alec but was stopped by Ramsay’s mighty arm. “Do not speak to me of my family,” he shouted.

  “Ye’re not to blame for yer family’s death,” Alec said in the same calm tone.

  “I ken I’m not to blame,” Nick snarled. “English soldiers burned my wife and my three children alive in the very home I made for them.”

  “Aye,” Alec said, his voice still low, “but ye blame yerself for being alive when they are not. Ye blame yerself for not protecting them, even though there was no way ye could have.”

  Nick’s nostrils flared. “I could have been home,” he shouted, his voice cracking at the end. He dropped his arms to his sides, his sword slipping from his limp fingers. Tears flooded his eyes. “I could’ve refused the commission on that ship.”

  “Then how would ye have fed them?” Alec continued softly. “A man must labor to feed his family. Ye did nothing wrong, Nick. Ye were a good husband, a good father, and a good provider.” He stepped forward, still holding Nick’s gaze. “Justice and vengeance are not the same. We seek justice with our cause, for yer family, for all Scotland’s families, but ye surrender yer soul to them with yer hate.”

  Nick’s face twisted with rage as he glared at Alec. “Do not cast yer demon-seeing eyes on me.” His fists clenched. Joanie thought he might burst from everything building and brewing within him. He turned away from Alec’s compassion and raised his fists to the heavens where his wife and young children awaited him. A bellow, raw and vulnerable, tore from his lips in a fury to reach them. Then he dropped to his knees, a sob wracking his shoulders.

  Joanie understood pain. His cry cut straight through her heart. She knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him. He turned his face into her neck and wept.

  Alec’s chest flooded with warmth at the sight of his fearless and compassionate wife, comforting a man who only moments before had threatened her life. He watched as she stroked Nick’s back. He could feel Joanie’s healing touch at work calming Nick’s weary and heartbroken soul. Only she could bring him peace with naught but her soothing, powerful hand and wounded, knowing heart.

  After a while, Nick sat back and wiped a hand across his eyes. “I’ve been a fool,” he muttered.

  Joanie cupped his cheek with her hand. “No one should have to suffer the way you have.”

  Alec reached down and offered Nick his hand. “Remember the abbot’s teaching: darkness can never extinguish the light. Yer family is always with ye.”

  “Forgive me,” Nick said.

  Alec shook his head. “There is naught to forgive.”

  Alec held Joanie’s hand and led her back to the log. When Nick took a seat next to Paul, Paul made the sign of the cross, and David blew out a long, slow breath, and said, “Jesus, Alec, in all the years that we’ve stayed here and ye kept to yerself, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have ye join us around the fire. Dispelling demons is not what I imagined.”

  Alec turned and looked at David. “Do ye want to be next?”

  “Have at me.” David said.

  “The lass who works at the tavern in Dunshire is not going to wait for ye forever.”

  David’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he raised his cup to Alec. “I ken.”

  “Me next,” Paul said, smiling.

  “Ye’re a pup. Yer heart has never been broken. It will not always be so. Enjoy yer pleasant dreams while ye may.”

  “What about me?” Ramsay said, crossing his thick blacksmith’s arms over his chest.

  Alec smiled slightly and shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Good man,” Ramsay said. He took a long draught of ale before he asked. “So how did ye two meet?”

  Alec felt Joanie stiffen at his side. Ramsay’s questions stirred a place of deep sadness within her, sadness for her own trials but mostly, her grief for Diana. He wrappe
d his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “I heard her sing and knew hers was the only song I ever wanted to hear again.”

  “I would love to hear ye,” Nick said quietly.

  Ramsay raised his cup. “The harborage has never been graced with music.”

  “This is supposed to be a celebration,” Paul said, smiling at Joanie.

  Alec looked down at Joanie whose cheeks were tinted a lovely pink. “We are in the Highlands,” he said softly. “’Tis time to bring yer music home.” He felt her elation growing inside of her.

  Joanie looked straight ahead and closed her eyes. “This song was taught to me by my grandmother. May God rest her soul.”

  When the first note left her lips, it unleashed a flood of emotions. Today, she had felt the kiss of the sun and Alec’s warm hands on her naked body. She had married him, sharing sacred vows before an altar, wearing a crown of wildflowers. She had comforted the broken heart of a Scottish rebel, and she had longed for her own beloved Diana. And all of these moments--some glorious, others sad but all achingly beautiful — she surrendered to her song. The notes welled from her heart and crooned off her tongue, coiling around the men, then up through the trees. She imagined her voice being carried on the Highland wind, welcomed by the trees, the stars above, the earth beneath her feet like an old friend. The story she told was of that land, a story of a young Scottish lass who loved a sailor and awaited his return for seven long years, fearing he was lost forever.

  Joanie poured her own heartache into the lass’s longing. And when the lass spied his ship on the horizon, Joanie imbued the words with her own joy and wonderment in finding Alec. The final note grazed the treetops, high and soft as a caress, then faded to breath.

  She opened her eyes. Nick, Ramsay, David, and Paul stared at her with unmistakable looks of wonder and admiration. Blushing, she turned into Alec and hid her face for a moment before she smiled.

  Ramsay raked his hand through his long blond hair. “Wow.”

  David blew out a long breath, then pressed his hands on his knees and stood. “All right, then. I’ll be back before dawn,” he said and grabbed his satchel and sword and disappeared into the woods.