by Quinn, Paula
“Aye,” Galeren agreed. It was a bonny name. What were they supposed to call her? How could he warn or prepare her for her journey with them? He felt as if he knew her because of all the time John had spent talking about her. He felt protective of her and a bit glad to finally be meeting her.
They reached the border hamlet of Southdean the next day. Galeren met his kin, the Hetheringtons and shared news with them about his mother, Braya, whom he’d last seen this past summer.
His grandparents had not been able to make the journey from the central Marches where they lived. They’d had a letter written and sent with Galien Hetherington, Galeren’s uncle, telling him they missed him, but his grandfather, Rowley, hadn’t been feeling well and his grandmother thought it best not to travel.
Uncle Galien had some dried food and fresh bread for him and his men and some long-sleeved tunics that his grandmother had sewn herself for Galeren for the cold nights.
“I will return to Invergarry when my duty is done, and I will tell her,” Galeren said, sitting back in his chair in the hamlet’s town hall after supper.
“You are a good lad,” his uncle commended, pouring them some more whisky. “Tell me a bit about your brothers.”
“Bors left the king’s service. Most of the army dissolved after he was captured at Neville’s Cross.”
“But not you.”
Galeren shook his head. “Not me.”
“How long will you follow him?”
“As long as he is king.”
His uncle nodded, showing his respect by not arguing the point. “You always have a place on the border if you ever decide to be a reiver.” He lifted his cup to his nephew, and they drank together.
“Did I ever tell you about the time my eldest brother, God rest his soul, Ragenald was first discovered teaching your mother how to fight?”
“Ye never told me, Uncle,” Galeren said with a smile and leaned in to listen.
But the tale was interrupted by the sound of a fist landing against a face. Galeren looked over his shoulder at Will shaking off the effects of the punch. The captain rolled his eyes heavenward, then he closed them when his uncle sprang from his seat and hurried past him.
He thought about the young novice, Silene Sparrow. Was she the fragile sort? How would she react to this kind of fighting?
He rose from his chair, dreading having a hysterical woman with him for two days.
He knew and understood that man’s first instinct was to flee from something so troublesome. He’d felt the urge to flee more times than he could count, on the field and off. He felt it in Dundonald Castle and in his vow to Cecilia Birchet, and he felt it in Bamburgh and his vow to keep the novice safe.
But he never fled. He’d conquered the urge and faced whatever it was, head on.
But he had never faced a force like the one in his path.
Chapter Two
Silene wasn’t supposed to be out alone, but this was her last dawn in the priory—in Bamburgh, and in England. She didn’t think she would ever return. She didn’t know why. It came to her one night, this knowledge, this certainty that if she left Bamburgh, she would never return. Was she going to die? Because only death could keep her from the prioress and from her sisters. But, oh, she didn’t want to think on it now. It was too glorious a morning to weep over what she could not control.
She’d read her morning prayers and finished all of her chores. She wanted to walk through the late burst of foliage covering the hills surrounding the small priory, to the cliffs overlooking the coast of Northumberland. She donned her chemise, tunic, and her cloth mantle, and left for her morning walk.
God understood why she’d gone out alone every morning. She’d talked with Him about it enough times.
She didn’t make it more than several feet when she saw Sister Mary Joseph, the prioress of St. Patrice’s Priory waiting for her at the short, metal gate. “Good morning to you, Sister Silene.”
Silene was tempted to look around for a place to run. Ridiculous since she would never run from the prioress. “And good morning to you.” She twisted her mantle in her hands, torn between wanting to go and wanting to obey. “Oh, Mother, I have to look upon the place of my heart one more time. Forgive my disobedience.”
Thankfully, the prioress nodded her head. “Where are your wimple and veil, Sister?”
Silene’s heart fell to her feet. Shamefully, she had no reply and lowered her head. “I…I…”
“My dear, you will have to wear it when in your uncle’s care, especially in the care of his men and your full habit, too. That red hair of yours draws too much attention. We should have cut it closer to your head in front. It looks like a horse’s mane the way it falls over your eyes like that.” She brushed Silene’s hair away. “Your beauty is not your hair.”
“Aye, Mother Superior.” Silene lifted her gaze and just as she had on the first day here, she marveled at the prioress’ blue eyes that glittered and gleamed when she spoke. She was thirty and eight, twenty years older than Silene and still so beautiful, even with her jet-black tresses shaved off beneath her gray veil and wimple.
“I fear I shall never see you again, Mother Superior.” There. She told her. She couldn’t keep it in any longer.
“You have felt it, my dear?” the prioress asked, narrowing her eyes on the young woman and knowing about Silene’s “feelings”.
“Aye. In my very bones,” Silene confessed to her and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. She’d wanted to avoid this, not bring it up at all. But it frightened her to think of never seeing the prioress or her sisters again. She had to speak to someone about it.
“You have a gift, child,” the prioress said, and seeing her tears, she patted Silene’s shoulder. “’Tis not always a good thing, I’m sure. And you must remember that ’tis emotion, not evidence. Never be ruled by what you are feeling. Enjoy your emotions. Let them teach you, but never let them rule over you.”
“Aye, Mother,” Silene told her. She would try to remember. “I…I am also afraid of traveling alone with my uncle’s men. What do I do if one of them…?” She couldn’t finish. Was she allowed to kill someone if they were trying to rape her?
“Your uncle and I have corresponded often about this over the last several months. He knows the wrath of God will come against him on Judgment Day if one of His children were harmed. The men he is sending are five of his most loyal, most fierce. They have even taken vows of chastity.”
“That eases my concern,” Silene told her. “But sadly, I harbor anger toward my uncle for using me for his gain. I feel as if I am to be presented to the church council for very wrong reasons. I will be asked questions about my love and devotion to our Lord.”
“Then tell them of it,” Mother advised.
Silene nodded and promised she would. “Thank you for your wise counsel, Mother,” she said and began to head back to the priory.
“Sister?”
Silene looked over her shoulder at the prioress.
“Go on, then. Go see to the place of your heart. But do not be too long.”
Silene ran back to the prioress and threw her arms around the woman.
The prioress had comforted her when she’d arrived. She had been taken from her mother, her entire family, but the prioress had made certain to care for her and love her as her own.
She pulled open the gate and ran toward the fields. The hood of her mantle fell back as she leaped over thin streams and tree stumps, exposing her hair, glimmering in the sun in shades of russet and orange. Some gold strands shone when the sun hit it at a certain angle. It was cut short in the back and on the sides.
When she came to the field, sprinkled with long daffodils, she slowed, surprised to see a small bird stuck in the bramble. Its screeching stopped her as she grew closer. Its little wings flapped urgently.
“I know. I know.” She spoke soothingly to it and moved the branches away. “All will be well, little bird.” She parted the branches and looked up as the bird flew away.
She continued, humming and looking up at the sky often. Taking a deep, replenishing breath, she could smell the ocean. She could hear the roar of the surf in the distance.
She hurried toward the cliffs and relished the cool, briny wind in her face. She didn’t want to leave the sea, but she was thankful to have lived so close to it for the last four years. She tried to visit every day, but she wasn’t always able. She loved the power of the sea. Of course, she didn’t know how to swim. None of the sisters did, but they often waded in the shallows and played in the water in the summer. She would miss her sisters.
What would Sister Edith do when she broke out in hives? She did so whenever she was anxious, which was all the time. And what about Sister Marjorie Anne? Who would help her learn the Rosary? Poor dear had trouble remembering anything. Who would pray with Sister Agnes when she awoke in the middle of the night with one of her night terrors?
Everyone else in the cavernous room, which housed seven beds and that many novices, complained that Agnes woke them from their sleep. Silene’s bed was closest to Agnes’. But even if she wasn’t close, she would not have let Agnes cry alone. It wasn’t Agnes’ fault her father was killed before her eyes, or that in trying to keep her six children alive, Agnes’ mother turned to prostitution. Five years and five children later, Agnes was helping to pay to eat.
The prioress had seen Agnes trying to peddle herself and took her from her mother. She gave Agnes a new life. Agnes was twelve at the time. Her mother was offered a place at the priory but refused. Still, the prioress left the invitation open indefinitely.
Silene sighed and refused to cry. Perhaps she would return. Perhaps what she felt in her bones was incorrect. Hadn’t Mother just warned her against being ruled by her emotions? Perhaps she would go to Scotland, stand before the church, and then come home and speak her vows next spring.
A small sob escaped her because she knew it wasn’t true. She didn’t know how she knew. She just did. The sob felt as if she’d been holding it in all this time. It drifted away on the breeze. She swiped a tear from her—
“Pardon me, Lady.”
Silene turned to the man whose deep Highland voice startled her. The sight of him suddenly standing there made her run.
In her fright, she turned her feet the wrong way and lost her footing at the edge of the cliff.
Nay! Nay! Was this truly how she was to die? Falling to her death from her favored place?
A strong vise took hold of her wrist and yanked her back hard against his armored chest, straight into his arms.
“I have ye.”
She felt the rumble of his voice against her chest and her knees quaked. She looked up into large, deep green eyes eclipsed by dark golden waves that had escaped the queue behind his head. His sculpted jaw was also dusted in deep gold. But his lips…oh, his lips were full and lush and carved in decadence.
“Let me go,” she managed in a commanding tone and looked away from his mouth. She wished she had worn her habit and veil. His captivating gaze had settled on her hair.
He obeyed her order, but first he turned her in the proper direction so that she would not run off the cliff.
She stepped back and foolishly took another look at him before her feet carried her away.
Was he an angel? She gasped. He could be since he was all golden already.
But he wore men’s clothes, dark hose, boots, a cream-colored léine beneath his great belted plaid of blue and black. He motioned his hand to someone else within the trees. Not an angel. A Highlander. More of them stepped out.
She ran.
She ran back to the priory and slammed the gate shut. She needed to alert the prioress that there were strange men—she stopped in her tracks. Men didn’t usually travel through here. There was little reason to, unless…her belly flipped, and her mouth went dry…that man was one of her uncle’s soldiers. Oh, she hoped not! For he was temptation come to life. He’d saved her from falling to her death. His arms were so strong, so hard. His heart had beat as thunderously as her own. He was tall and broad of shoulder and it was mesmerizing to see a Highlander in the flesh. He was startlingly handsome. She hoped he wasn’t her uncle’s man. But if he wasn’t, then what were he and his friends doing hiding in the trees?
She quickened her pace and hurried through the vegetable garden and the kitchen. She finally found the prioress in the cloister.
“Mother! I nearly fe…” Oh, no! She couldn’t tell her that she’d almost fallen off the cliff. That would frighten and upset her. “I met a man on the cliff. A Highlander!
The prioress narrowed her eyes on Silene. “Did you nearly fall from the cliffs, Silene?”
Silene dipped her thick, russet brows over her eyes and stared at the prioress a bit dumbfounded. How had she drawn such a conclusion? And since the prioress was correct, was her ability from God? If so, Silene dared not lie.
“Aye, I did almost fall but that was because the man frightened me nearly out of my skin!” Her enormous blue-green eyes grew larger still. “Do you think he could be one of Uncle John’s men?”
“Hmm, you said he was a Highlander?”
“Aye, and he was not alone. He made a motion to others in the trees.”
The prioress nodded her head. “John made mention of his Highland Elite.”
Oh, Silene felt like weeping. She didn’t want to travel with him. Was he chaste? Was what the prioress told her correct? She was surprised that a man who looked the way he did would ever have taken such a vow.
The heavy metal bell rang outside. Someone was at the gate. It was him. The beautiful man from the cliffs. It had to be him, come to take her away to Scotland.
“Go upstairs to your room and get your things,” the prioress told her calmly. “Put on your habit.”
“Aye, Mother.” Silene obeyed and ran to the room she shared with her sisters. Some were there and were already looking out the window.
Silene went to it and peeked down with them. She saw him on his black steed. It was the same man in his great plaid. He sat straight in the saddle, his presence commanding. He was the leader of the four men around him. Had they all been watching her at the cliffs when she thought she was alone?
The leader spoke to the prioress and Silene wondered if Mother was affected by him at all. He and his men waited when the prioress disappeared inside.
The leader appeared a few moments later. He seemed annoyed and looked around and then up. All the sisters, including Silene pushed back away from the window. Some giggled. The rest turned to her and gave her pitying smiles. Aye, she would be traveling with him—and his men.
She thought about the scar-faced soldier who narrowed his flinty eyes on Mother and gave her an angry looking over.
Another had long, pale blonde hair tied into a tail that reached just above his waist and a long bow strapped to his shoulder.
One who didn’t smile when someone said something that caused the rest of them to do so.
The last was a hairy giant who surveyed every inch of the grassy yard.
“Oh, Silene!” cried Sister Marjorie Anne. “They look positively primal. I will pray for you every single day.”
Two sisters, including Sister Agnes, wept for her. Silene comforted them and then let Sister Agnes help her dress into her white scapular with a veil attached. She wore a white wimple that covered her head, neck, and chin. When she was done, she reached for her bag and squared her shoulders and then left her room alone. The prioress didn’t want the sisters in the presence of such raw virility.
Silene’s plight wasn’t the prioress’ fault. She didn’t like Silene leaving any more than Silene did.
She would be brave and do this thing.
She prayed on the way down the stairs.
The men were inside the priory. She could smell them and hear their voices. Neither were unpleasant but rather invigorating, like woodsmoke and leather.
The only other men allowed in the priory were priests and abbots.
Siste
r Mary Joseph was standing with the handsome leader.
When they heard her descending the stairs, they turned.
The leader’s gaze was potent. He stared at her for a moment or two until she shifted in her place and the prioress came to her rescue.
“Ah, here she is now. Sister Silene, this is Captain Galeren MacPherson and his men.” She introduced them. Silene greeted the men with a polite nod and the slightest of smiles. When she was done, her gaze returned to the captain. He smiled, revealing a deep dimple in his right cheek. He didn’t need it to make him sublime. His eyes soaked her in. She looked away, severing the compelling connection because it made her feel…odd.
“I understand ye have some fears, lass,” he said, growing serious, which was, unfortunately for her, just as dangerously alluring.
She blinked at the prioress, who knew it, too.
I will be strong, she vowed silently.
“Let me assure ye,” he continued, “we will keep ye safe and do ye no harm. Ye have my word. Prioress?” he asked. His voice was like silk against her ears. “My men and I are weary and would beg yer mercy fer a few hours of rest here before we start over again.”
The prioress’ alabaster skin went even whiter. “Here?”
“Aye. Just fer a few hours to rest in a bed. Mayhap eat somethin’ hot fer supper.”
He smiled. Poor Mother.
Some orders did not allow men while others housed men and women together. Theirs had no rules against it.
“Captain,” the prioress said, then took a breath to compose herself and stand against his splendid countenance. “I’m sorry, but I do not want to put the sisters through being around you and your men. ’Tis bad enough that Sister Silene must be put through it. I will pray for her against you.”
Well, Silene thought, she had recovered quickly. The problem was Silene didn’t think it was a fair or kind prayer—and she didn’t agree with it. As a matter of fact, she thought they should be allowed to rest. The sisters should be allowed to be tempted and tried. ’Twas part of real life.