by Adams, Alisa
"No, thank you, Elisha," he replied, "I have my whiskey. I will wait for Mother."
He sat down and they began to chat amiably for a while. She had known him since he was a toddler and had seen him grow into a strapping young man. For a while, he had looked as though he would turn out like his father, but in the previous two years, she had seen a change in him, a softening. Perhaps it was the influence of his sister, who had become a bigger part of his life, but he was becoming a gentler and more loving man. She sensed, though, that it had more to do with his sister's maid, Andie. His gaze followed her everywhere when she was not aware of it, and Elisha suspected that there was a secret love there which had never been expressed.
Just then, the door to his mother's tiny private chapel opened and Donalda McCallum came out. She smiled with delight and came over to embrace him, then sat down in her favorite cozy chair beside the fire. Donalda was tall and statuesque with brown hair that was showing only a few threads of gray. Her hazel eyes looked like deep wells of sadness, but then she had reason to be sad. She would have been beautiful had it not been for the deep purple stain of the birthmark that ran from the upper corner of her left lip over her cheek to the lower lid of her left eye. It was part of her and she had lived with it all her life, but Craig had found it disfiguring and hideous.
So, did everyone else she had ever met, so she kept to her own rooms, praying, spinning wool, weaving it into cloth on her little loom then sewing it into garments for the poor. She also made tapestries for the walls in the main rooms in the castles, but she never saw them, since she rarely left her quarters. Once a or twice a week she went outside to go riding, and then she wore a dark veil that completely covered her face.
She was not a prisoner; she was free to come and go as she pleased, but Craig had made it abundantly clear that he was ashamed of her. When he went to a ceilidh or a dinner party he explained that his wife was extremely religious and would not socialize with any man except her husband.
His scornful attitude had rubbed off on the servants, who looked away when she approached. Perhaps if she had been a more assertive personality she could have overcome these difficulties and stood up to those who treated with such disdain. However, she had been treated all her life with pity rather than love, and her disposition reflected that fact.
The reason that Craig had married her was, of course, financial. He had squandered away most of the inheritance which his father had bequeathed to him and was looking for a rich wife and someone to bear sons for him. However, the two seemed mutually incompatible.
Donald Farquharson was looking for a husband for his disfigured and unmarriageable daughter. When he met Craig, they scratched each other’s backs by marrying the ugly daughter, along with a huge settlement, to the poor Laird. Craig had paid attention to his wife long enough to get her with child, then he left her alone, and had been ignoring her ever since. He was not short of female company, though. He dallied with rich widows and other men's wives. They had become used to the delights of the marriage bed and would perhaps help him to clear a few gambling debts in return for his favors. Usually, it was an arrangement that suited both parties very well.
It suited Donalda too. On the rare occasions when they passed each other in the corridor they were barely civil to each other, but their half-married state accommodated both their needs. Indeed, it was the only way they could bear to live together under the same roof.
Donalda lived a tranquil existence; she was extremely religious and spent at least three hours every day on her knees. She had built a private chapel in her suite where the priest, Father Aiden, came to say a short Mass for her every Sunday. He also heard her confession - not that she had a chance to commit many sins. In this way, her religious duties were fulfilled and she was content.
Her chief delights were her visits from her children, who came to see her often. She knew she should not have favorites, but her big strapping son always made her heart beat faster with pride every time she looked at him. He brought news, fresh air, and a breath of excitement into her life. She loved her daughter too, of course, but girls were different.
Now she leaned forward and poured herself a glass of spiced wine from the carafe on the table, then looked up at him, her eyes bright with expectation.
"Elisha tells me you have news for me," she said, making the statement sound more like a question.
Cameron sighed. This was the moment he had been dreading. "Mother, this is quite a long story," he began, "and may be distressing for you. I have kept some things from you because I knew they would upset you and there was nothing you could have done about them anyway."
Donalda looked alarmed. "You are scaring me, son," she said, her voice trembling.
"I know, and I am truly sorry," Cameron took his mother's hands in his. "Please listen."
He began to speak, telling her about Iona's betrothal, her state of mind, and the escape that she and Andie had planned and executed between them.
"They told me nothing," he concluded, "I think because they didn't trust me not to tell Father, accidentally or on purpose. We searched the castle tonight but did not find anything, and there is a reason for that. I caught them both climbing into the grocer's cart in the middle of the afternoon, and I helped them to get into it. I think they are heading for the sanctuary of St Gertrude's. I told them to go there, but I think they had made their minds up anyway.
I intend to do something about this. I have put quite a bit of milk of the poppy into Father's bedtime whiskey, so I think he should be quite hard to wake in the morning. I will lead the hunt for Iona and Andrina, taking my time, going slowly and carefully, and I will conclude, of course, that they must be at the convent, where Father and his men cannot reach them. I will be believed because I am the Laird's son, of course. That will buy us another day to find a way to smuggle them out and send them to the mainland."
15
Thoughts and Feelings
Donalda began to weep. "But why did no-one tell me about the betrothal?" she asked. Elisha put her arms around her mistress and hugged her.
Cameron shook his head. "Mother, if it had been a happy occasion you would have been the first to know, but Iona was running away for a good reason. The Baron is fat, repulsive and much older than my dear sister. He is also cruel. He would have made her miserable. You would have been unhappy knowing about it and if you had tried to stop it—" He shrugged. "You know how much a woman's wants and needs matter in law, and you know what my father is like. And she thought she would be putting you in danger by telling you about the escape."
Donalda got up and began to pace the room. "Do you think I am a child?" She cried angrily. "Iona is my daughter and I am a grown adult. I can make my own decisions! How dare you keep things from me!"
Cameron was stunned by his mother's outburst. He had never seen her in that state before, and it hurt him to know that he had been the cause of it. He stood up and embraced her tightly while her tears flowed onto the fabric of his tunic. "I am truly sorry, Mother," he said, almost weeping himself. "I did what I thought was best and I am sure Iona did too. Please forgive me."
Donalda nodded against him, drying her tears with her hands, and said, "Of course I do, son, but what is to become of your sister? Can you get a message to her?"
Cameron looked at her in wonder. The idea had occurred to his mother, but not to him. "No, Mother," he replied, smiling widely at her. "I cannot, but you can. The nuns are careful with women but not as careful as they are with men." You can go where I cannot.”
He sat for a moment then poured himself another glass of wine, thinking. Sending a letter would be possible, but not ideal. It would be better if Donalda could see her face to face. That would be torture for her, which was probably why she had suggested the message, but perhaps she would do it for her daughter.
"Mother," he said gently, "would you consider, for Iona's sake, going to see her yourself?"
"Of course, I will," she replied, without hesitation. "I do no
t know why you all think I am so fragile. Anyway, nuns are brides of Christ who know about suffering, and my face will not distress them at all. The other ladies in the sanctuary may be a different matter, but I dare say I will be able to cope for a few hours."
Cameron kissed her. "You are a treasure," he whispered, then yawned.
Donalda cupped his cheek in her hand and smiled at him. "Go to bed and sleep well, my son."
"Just one more thing, Mother," he said, dropping his gaze to his hands. "Please ask after Andie for me. I love her very much. All these years I have loved her, but I have never been able to tell her.”
"I will be glad to," Donalda replied, warmly, "for she is a very good girl and I would be proud to have her for a daughter. What will you do when you have rescued them both?"
"I will marry Andrina," Cameron said and smiled. "If she will have me."
Cameron could not remember when he had started loving Andrina. When she first came to be his sister’s companion she was fourteen, barely developed into full womanhood, but her mischievous spirit, regard for Iona, and especially her respect for his mother had slowly won his heart. She was civil and pleasant to him, and she had a wonderful sense of humor. How could he not love her?
When Cameron went to bed he thought about Andie often. He spent many of his waking moments thinking about her, but he only dreamt about her now and again. Usually, she was cuddled up in his arms and he could smell the fragrance of her skin and the scented oils she wore. He would press his palms against the soft mounds of her breasts and trail his fingertips down the curve of her stomach to the sensitive place between her thighs. He loved to hear her cry out his name and feel her clinging to him as she trembled. This time the dream was different. This time she was running away down an endless corridor, and the faster he ran the further away she got until soon she was out of sight altogether.
Cameron woke up suddenly and sat bolt upright in bed in the gray light of dawn. The dream had just left him, but although she had run away, he half expected Andie to be lying in bed beside him and felt a twinge of disappointment when she was not there. He flopped back down on the pillow again. It was pouring with rain and he did not relish the thought of riding in such conditions.
He realized after they had gone that Iona and Andie had laid a false trail for the dogs to delay them for a while. It would have washed away by now, of course, and conditions were such that any riding would be uncomfortable and perhaps even dangerous, but the weather had done them a favor by making them waste a lot of time.
He called off the hunt until the rain stopped. It was mid-morning but his father was still asleep. Cameron looked down at him with disgust, then with a sense of satisfying glee, threw the contents of the water jug over him.
Craig shouted out and spluttered, then sat up and shook his head like a wet dog coming in from the rain.
"Are you going to eat breakfast?" Cameron enquired politely. "Or will you lie there all morning in a drunken stupor?"
Craig looked at his son with murder in his eyes. "I had two glasses of whiskey last night," he replied, his voice slurred and husky. "I was not drunk."
"Of course, you weren't," Cameron replied sarcastically, "obviously the faeries came and bewitched you during the night. Be at ease, Father, for it is too wet to go out. The lanes are muddy and the rocks are slippery, and I fear for the horses' safety. Lie abed a while; the rain will cease and you will still be here, well-rested and ready to go."
Craig looked up at him through a foggy haze. He was wet, miserable and too tired to move. It seemed that the entire world was against him.
After Gregor had gone, Iona had felt torn in two. She was elated because she had met him and sad because he had gone. She hardly knew him yet she wanted more of those kisses. She wanted to be held next to his hard body and shown how it felt to be a woman submitting to the man she loved. But love was a fanciful word to use about two people who were still strangers and had only kissed a few times.
What was it that made her feel so sure of him? Was it because he was about to inherit a large estate? No. Whatever her other faults she had never been materialistic. Was it because he had once been called to the religious life? Did that give him a nobility and a purity of heart? No, she knew plenty of men who were both priests and lechers, pure on the outside and wholly corrupt within.
Was it because he was so very desirable, with his black hair, dark eyes and tall, muscular body? She had to admit to herself that he exuded a powerful attraction which made him almost irresistible to her. That was part of it, certainly, but looks faded, and to base, a relationship on physical appearance was like building a house on sand.
It was his kindness that had captured her heart. Someone so tall and strong could have been a bully or an egotist, but he was neither of those, and he treated her with respect. He was not humble; he had a healthy dose of self-respect too. Everything about him seemed to fit into her picture of her ideal man. There was no such being, of course, but he was close enough, she thought.
But this was all wishful thinking. In the real world, he was just an ordinary man and she was never going to see him again, in spite of his promises to come back. Still, at least she was not now going to marry The Slug, as she thought of the Baron. She wondered what that monster was thinking at that moment.
At that moment the Fat Slug was sitting eating a late breakfast of oatcakes, porridge, fried eggs, fried sausages and fried kippers which he had begun to wash down with one of three tankards of ale. His serving staff knew better than to disturb him in this mood. To do so would probably invite some stinging abusive response, mostly of the physical kind, like a push backward that could result in a fall, or a slap around the ear. The Baron was not only grossly ugly, but he was mean-spirited too.
When he had received the news about Iona's escape he was beyond furious. He was incandescent with rage. How dare this little penniless madam refuse him, a rich, handsome man who would have shared his considerable fortune with her? She would have had silk dresses, jewelry, as much money to spend as she wished, and maids to obey her every whim.
Who does she think she is? he fumed. He decided that he would summon the Laird of Beglin as soon as the weather cleared up and demand his money back. He had no doubt that he would receive every penny of it, but there was no amount of gold that could pay for the damage inflicted on his pride and dignity.
The stress of the incident had induced an eating binge, which had, in turn, exacerbated his already painful gout. His consumption of two full bottles of red wine had done nothing to ease the agony, so he had taken a strong dose of milk of the poppy. The taste of this almost made him vomit, and since he was semi-conscious, it took six strong men to carry him up to bed that night. It was now almost noon, and when he thought of what he should have been doing that day - and especially that night - he almost exploded with fury.
He looked out of the window and saw that the weather was not fit for riding in. He had nothing on which to vent his rage so he made an early start on the whiskey, and by early afternoon he was sitting in the only armchair that could accommodate his bulk, in a drunken stupor. Now and again for fun, the housemaids would tip his chair over in revenge for hitting one of them. It usually took four of them if none of the men helped, but the Baron always thought he had done it himself, so no-one was ever punished. It was worth the effort to see the painful bruises on his forehead and elbows.
Fortunately, today was not one of the staff's mischief-making days. They felt that young Iona McCallum had inflicted plenty of punishment on their behalf, and they drank a toast to her as they ate their evening meal in the servants' hall. She was, for that day at least, their hero.
16
Andie, Cameron and Gregor
Meanwhile, Iona's real hero was on the road back to Portree, hoping to be able to stop at the convent again. Columba and Gregor had spent three days with the Bishop of Skye, three days in which Gregor fidgeted with impatience and said not one single prayer, even for Iona. He felt that Columba
was praying enough for both of them anyway. He spent hours on his knees while Gregor thought about Iona's sweet face, and the gentle wonder of those kisses, which he was sure were the first ones she had ever had. The look she had given him afterward, wide-eyed with wonder, had made him feel like a king.
Gregor decided to channel his frustration into something more useful, so he began to chop firewood and cut peat from the bogs that lay just behind the grounds of the monastery. He mucked out the horses' stables and dug the vegetable garden, then collapsed, exhausted, into bed at night, too tired even to dream. He should have been praying on his knees, like Columba, but when it suited him, he subscribed to the Benedictine motto 'ora est labora' or 'prayer is work.' Gregor preferred to pray with his ax, his hands, and his spade.
Columba would also have preferred to leave, but the bishop would not have it. He engaged them both in long philosophical discussions which were not so much debates as monologues. Gregor was bored to tears, and Columba was fizzing with impatience to get back on the road and get out as fast as possible.
Eventually, the bishop had imparted as much of his knowledge as he felt the travelers needed. He wanted Columba to stay another few days to meet the Bishop of Edinburgh, whom he was entertaining for a short while, but this time Columba firmly put his foot down.
"Your Grace, you said you needed my help with the teaching of priests. The longer I remain here the more time I waste and the fewer souls I can help to save. I must go. We must go."
The bishop nodded his head reluctantly. "You are right, my friend, as you usually are," he said and smiled. "Stay one more night, have a hearty breakfast before you go and get an early start in the morning."
Columba bowed. "Thank you, your Grace," he replied. "Thank you, God," he muttered to Gregor as they walked away. "I thought he was going to hold us hostage till Hogmanay!"