The Crusader's Heart

by Kate Forrest

  Anna and Flora would welcome Isobel, but he was less certain of Joan’s response.

  Alex looked back to his father’s deathbed. There was more white than brown in his beard, and the chief’s warrior build had been lost to the illness.

  “Sisters, will you give me a moment with him?”

  “Of course,” said Anna. She and Flora exited the chamber. Joan remained.

  “Before the day is through, I would speak to you, Brother,” Joan said.

  “We will speak soon, Joan. I promise.”

  She strode from the room, leaving him alone with their father. Alex sat at a chair that had been placed by the bedside.

  “Father, I am returned,” he began. Though he knew his soul was gone from this world, Alex had to say his piece. “I know what you had hoped of me, but I have brought home no wealthy bride nor spoils of war. But I will make this clan strong again. I will rebuild the keep and fortifications, and I will defend our land from the Macleans.”

  He did not know how, but Alex would make good on his promises.

  “We did not part on good terms, and for that I am sorry. I wanted you to be a better man; your failures angered me, but you always had my love.”

  No matter what the past held, Alex needed to look to the future. He would not carry the burden of anger with him.

  “Be at peace, Father, for I am at peace with you.”

  With that, Alex stood and with one final look at his father—his chief—he left the room.

  ****

  Around midday, Alex stood in his father’s solar, now his solar, and spoke with the council members.

  “We are hopeful of a better farming season,” Old John said. John had been in charge of the farming since Alex was a lad. “Last year, we faced a blight. Lost over half the crops. ’Tis why the stores are so low, Chief.”

  It felt strange to be called “chief,” but that was his title now. He needed to get used to it.

  “Have the fields been sown for the summer?” Alex asked.

  “Aye, we did it a few weeks back.” Old John looked to his son, Ian. “Planted dozens of fields, plus there are the crofts.” Ian nodded in agreement.

  “Have many croft tenants do we have?”

  “I am nae certain, Chief,” Old John said.

  “There is no record?” Alex asked in surprise.

  “Nae,” Old John and Ian said in unison.

  “I want a record of all the tenants. I also want a list of crops planted and the expected yield,” he told Old John and Ian. “Use the scribe to help prepare it.” If the men hadn’t thought to keep records, perhaps they could not read and write. Even so, the lack of organization was problematic. Had they never kept records? Perhaps this is why his clan had struggled so. Things were not being done as they should be.

  Next, he turned to Fergus. He was in charge of the fishing and hunting. One by one, each man gave the account of what they supervised. By the end, Alex was fully aware of just how dire the circumstances were.

  In addition to the poor record keeping of the crops, the fishermen had but two boats to fish from, because there were no craftsmen left in the clan and the soldiers didn’t know how to build fishing boats or larger birlinns. The hunters were ill trained and ill equipped.

  He had respected the men his father put in charge, but now he no longer did. Such incompetence would kill them all.

  Alex would address one problem at a time. First, he would send a messenger to his uncle in Ireland. He needed skilled warriors, and he needed supplies. Then, Alex planned to meet with the fishermen. Once the food stores were restocked, he would address the bounty of other problems that lay before him.

  Before the men dispersed, he wanted to glean what they knew of the Maclean chief’s plans.

  “The Maclean said he propositioned my father. Do you all know of this?”

  The men nodded.

  “The chief has made it clear to me he will take our lands by force, if the MacKinnons dinnae freely submit to him.”

  “We are nae prepared for battle, Chief.” The comment came from Donald, the head of the guard. “I know ye have yet to take stock of the men, but ye will find they are in nae shape to go up against the Macleans.”

  “I trust you are right, Donald. But no MacKinnon will submit to a Maclean. Not while I live,” he said. “We will speak on it more later. Now, bring me a messenger and prepare a boat.”

  “Yes, Chief,” Donald said, and the men dispersed.

  When the door closed, Alex dropped into his father’s chair and sighed heavily. He raked his fingers through his hair, bowing his head over the desk. He gave himself a few moments to compose himself. With his frustration temporarily set aside, he took out a fresh piece of parchment and set to work writing a letter to his uncle. He prayed men would come. He prayed it would be enough.

  Chapter 23

  Isobel sat before the prioress, taking in the serene calmness the woman displayed. The stories of her were true. The Lord of the Isles’s daughter, Bethoc, was all purity and light. The woman’s peaceful nature seemed to fill the room, surrounding Isobel with a stillness and sureness she had not felt in some time. The prioress held a letter from David, the one attesting to the authenticity of the relic.

  When she’d arrived at the nunnery the morning before, the prioress had been in the midst of a day of prayer. Since Isobel could not meet with her, the nuns offered her shelter for the night, promising she would have an audience with the prioress the next morning. Isobel agreed and, though she was anxious to hand over the Rood, the exhaustion of the journey finally caught up to her. Intending to take a brief nap, she slept the whole day and night away, awaking just after dawn.

  The nuns brought her a meal and took her on a tour of the nunnery. The buildings were modest but well built. All the buildings were connected to the square cloister at the center, including the humble chapel where Isobel spent the morning waiting to meet with the prioress.

  Eventually, a nun presented herself and bid Isobel to follow her to the quarters of the prioress. She was seated across from Bethoc, and after exchanging a few pleasantries, Isobel presented her with the Rood.

  After reading the letter from David, the prioress lifted the Rood case, which Isobel had placed on the table between them.

  “I will keep it safe, Lady Isobel. David was wise in many things, and he was wise in sending you to us,” Bethoc said.

  “Thank you, my lady. I am happy I have completed David’s last work.”

  The prioress took the case and carefully wrapped it in a fine wool cloth. “We have a place to house such treasures. The relic will have a home here, along the sea, and it will not be lost.”

  “I fear more men will come for it,” Isobel said. She explained the attempts made on it during her journey to Iona.

  “Danger follows all treasures of this world, especially one as important as this. But with the MacKinnons and with the help of my father, I am certain it will be kept safe.”

  Isobel nodded. She was confident in the prioress and at peace with giving the relic over to her. Now Bethoc would be its steward, as David was before her.

  “And what of you, Lady Isobel? Will you make your home here as well?”

  “I confess I am not entirely certain, my lady.”

  The prioress nodded and reached for a piece of folded parchment that lay on the table in front of her. “I think you should read this before you decide.”

  “What is it?” Isobel asked, taking the parchment from her.

  “A letter from King David. It arrived from Carlisle a few days ago. An accompanying letter told me to anticipate your arrival.”

  “Truly? He sent me a letter?” Isobel could not have hoped to hear from him again.

  “Lady Isobel, I want you to know Iona can be your home, whether you choose to take the vows or not. You are welcome here.”

  Isobel had not anticipated this. She assumed to stay on Iona meant taking her place in the church.

  “Your offer is most generous, my lady
.”

  Isobel could no longer contain her interest. The prioress appeared to hold great admiration for the late king, but the Maclean woman had said Somerled claimed Iona and Mull.

  “I am curious about something,” Isobel began.

  “Yes?”

  “ ’Tis just that rule of the Isles confuses me. I always understood that King David laid claim to these lands, yet I hear your father claims them for himself. Still, you respect King David’s last wishes.”

  The prioress nodded in understanding of Isobel’s confusion. “The king was a good man,” Bethoc said. “As to the rest, I have no easy answer to explain control of these lands, though I can tell you my father would have a definitive one.”

  Rule of the Inner Hebrides was more complicated than Isobel imagined if even Somerled’s daughter would not say who controlled them, though it was clear the Lord of Isles claimed them.

  “I can tell you my father values the MacKinnons’ stewardship of these lands, and he will protect the Rood,” Bethoc said. “You need only worry over your own future now.”

  My future, Isobel thought.

  The prioress smiled. “I understand Alexander MacKinnon escorted you here.”

  “Aye, my lady,” she said, unable to meet Bethoc’s eyes.

  “I imagine it would be easy to get close to someone under such circumstances.”

  Isobel felt her cheeks grow warm. She knew exactly what the prioress was implying. What could she say? Oh, yes. I fell madly in love with him, but I do not know if he loves me.

  The prioress stood and walked the short space around the table to reach Isobel. She took one of her hands and folded it between her own. “Love is not simple, is it?”

  “No, my lady. It is not,” Isobel admitted.

  “I will pray for you, Isobel. I will pray that your path to happiness will be shown to you.”

  Isobel thanked the prioress again and excused herself. She wandered out into the nunnery’s kitchen garden, admiring the wildflowers that bloomed in the late June sunshine. She found a spot on the low garden wall to sit and unfolded the letter from David. It read:

  My dear Isobel,

  When we parted, I fear I may have left you feeling as though you would disappoint me if you did not choose the church. This is not true. I never found the right mate for you at court, so I wanted you to have a home, should you never find the love you sought. But, in truth, I knew the church was not for you. There is a light in you that should be shared with the world.

  I do not know what you have come to think of the crusader, Alexander MacKinnon, but in my brief meeting with him, I could tell he was a man of honor. I know he would respect you and value you, though love is a more complicated thing to predict.

  If you do not come to hold him in that regard, then you can still make Iona your home, even without the vows. The prioress will welcome you as an indefinite guest, as I hope she has already made clear to you. Your land and coin will be yours to do with as you see fit. Whatever path you choose, Isobel, know that you have my full blessing.

  Be brave. Be kind. Be a light.

  Love,

  Your father

  Isobel hugged the letter to her heart. David was giving her the freedom she sought. No, not David. My father. The decision of what to do was entirely her own, free from any limitations. Her father had made certain of that.

  Feeling lighter than she had ever felt, Isobel took a turn around the garden. As she walked past a bed of lavender, she caught sight of men walking toward the abbey, just up the path from the nunnery. They carried a bier between them.

  “The chief has died,” a voice said from behind her.

  Isobel turned to see a nun covered in flour appear, presumably from the kitchens. The nun dusted some of the flour off her gown and came to stand by Isobel.

  “The MacKinnon chief?” Isobel asked.

  The nun nodded. “The day before last.”

  Alex never got to say goodbye to his father.

  She looked on as the men continued their progress from the boat. “They are taking him to Columba’s Church?”

  “They are walking the body up Sráid nam Marbh to Reilig Odhráin,” the nun said.

  “Forgive me. I am not familiar with those words.”

  “ ‘Sráid nam Marbh’ means ‘Street of the Dead,’ and ‘Reilig Odhráin’ is ‘Oran’s burial ground,’ ” the nun explained. “Many great kings and chiefs are buried there: Kenneth, son of Alpin, Macbeth, and Donald Ban are interred there.”

  “It is a great honor to be buried there then,” Isobel said.

  “Oh, aye, my lady.” The nun looked over her shoulder. “I should return to the kitchen.”

  After the young nun disappeared into the building behind her, Isobel walked to the road and observed the MacKinnons once more. Surely Alex was among them. He would see to his father’s burial. She slowly approached, keeping a respectful distance. She watched from behind the stone wall surrounding the cemetery as the men dispersed. Eventually, only one remained: Alex. After a few moments, she found herself standing by his side.

  “He rests among the greatest men in the Isles now,” Alex said.

  Isobel reached for him. Without looking, he captured her hand in his.

  “The situation for my people is worse than I imagined,” Alex said, after several moments of silence. “I can see now why Maclean thinks our land is ripe for the picking.”

  “Does he?” This must have been what the Maclean chief summoned him for at Duart Keep.

  “He wants our lands and our allegiance.”

  “Are you afraid he will attack?”

  “Aye. Perhaps by the full moon. When we last spoke, I said I would consider his offer. I did so to buy time.”

  “What preparations have you made?” Isobel asked.

  “I sent a messenger to my uncle, William, yesterday. With his counsel and men, I will make a plan.”

  Isobel nodded. She could not fathom what he faced. He was the new chief, and with it he had inherited a complex set of problems. The clan’s ability to survive depended on him.

  And I can help him. Her father’s words came back to her. My lands and coin are mine to do with as I please.

  “Ah, lass. I didnae even ask you if the Rood is safe. Did Bethoc accept it?”

  “Yes, she is happy to protect it.”

  “I’m concerned about the bishop and the duke,” Alex said. “I sent more men here this morning and stationed extra guards at the crossing. I hope the Lord of the Isles will also help keep the relic safe.”

  “The prioress expressed as much to me when we spoke. She expects his help,” Isobel said.

  “I will visit with her soon, but not today.”

  “She is enchanting, as you said she would be.”

  Alex nodded and looked down at his father’s grave. “Can you give me a moment?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She went and stood at the gate to the burial ground, as Alex paid his final respects to his father.

  Isobel looked around her. Beyond the tombstones stood Columba’s church. The gray and red stone structure was simple with little ornamentation. However, in the churchyard, towering at least twenty feet into the sky, stood three stone crosses. From her distance, she could not see all the details of their designs, but she recognized the Celtic scrollwork carved into the center cross. There were examples of such craftsmanship in Edinburgh. Isobel’s tutors had told her the pieces came from Ireland and the Western Isles.

  “Aren’t they remarkable?” Alex asked, joining her.

  Isobel hadn’t heard him approach. “They are extraordinary,” she said.

  “Come. There is much to see. I’ll show you the island.” Alex took her hand, and they left the cemetery.

  They walked down a lane that led to the dunes. They strolled along the sandy beach, and Isobel took in the beauty of the noonday sun glistening off the blue water. She’d lived near the North Sea most of her life, yet she had never been mesmerized by it in the way she was with the inner s
eas of the Western Isles.

  She couldn’t imagine living in such a place with anyone other than Alex. Whatever path lay before her, she knew she wanted to share it with him.

  “Alex, I’ve made my decision.” She stopped their progress up the beach and reached for his other hand. She stood before him, looking up into his gray-blue eyes.

  “Will you be my wife?” he asked. Lines of worry traced his brow.

  “Aye, Alexander MacKinnon. I will be your wife.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes.” Isobel smiled, and Alex swept her up in his arms. She laughed at his exuberance and wrapped her arms around him. He twirled her around in a circle as a gentle sea breeze blew past them.

  Suddenly, Alex stopped spinning and set her on the ground. “Lass, you cannae marry me.”

  “What are you talking about?” She didn’t understand.

  “I’ve no money, the Macleans will be bearing down on us any day, we’ve no army, no food, and the damn keep is falling apart.” He spoke like a man possessed. “What was I thinking making an offer to you? I have nothing to offer, Isobel. Nothing!”

  He looked defeated, and Isobel could not stand it.

  “All I want is you, Alex.” Isobel reached up to touch his face; he leaned his cheek into her palm, then took it in his hands and laid a kiss on it.

  “Isobel, ye deserve a proper home. I don’t even know if my home will be standing next week.” His voice was calm but full of regret.

  “Then we’ll rebuild it.”

  “I’ve no coin for that right now,” Alex said. “But maybe once I handle the Macleans and replenish the food stores, I’ll find a way to make some coin. It could take years, but would you wait for me?”

  “No,” Isobel said. “I will not.”

  “You won’t wait for me?” He looked stunned.

  “No. There is no need to,” Isobel said. “My dowry will be enough to rebuild the keep and restock the stores.”