Forbidden Heart

by Quinn, Paula

  “Verra well then,” he said. His smile waned until it faded altogether by the time his gaze returned to Silene. He was insulted. She could feel it coming off him in waves.

  She didn’t want the captain to dislike her because of Mother’s rash judgment. She softened her gaze on him for just an instant lest the prioress should see and feel betrayed.

  “We will be leavin’ then.”

  Silene looked at the prioress with pleading in her eyes. A few more hours to be here—to be home.

  “Very well, Captain. Just a few more hours,” the prioress relented. For Silene’s sake.

  Silene knew it was for her sake when she smiled, and the prioress smiled with her.

  “You and your men,” Mother said, turning back to him, her smile turning to distaste and distrust. “You and your men will stay in the northern quarter of the house. You will all eat in the great hall before the sisters have their supper. You will retreat until they are finished eating. You will leave after that.”

  One of his men muttered something about her list of orders.

  The captain tilted his head an inch and glanced around him at his four men, who shifted uncomfortably in their spots.

  The captain was still insulted by the prioress’ words and her behavior, but he agreed to stay.

  He said he was weary but the way he stared at her when she smiled at the prioress almost had Silene convinced that he was staying because he understood that she didn’t want to leave her home yet.

  The men were shown to the north quarter by two lay women. Silene attended prayer but she was distracted often with thoughts of Captain Galeren. She had never seen a man like him before. She’d only seen a few, of course. Messengers, guardsmen, priests. His fine frame had bewitched her. She said penance until it was time to eat.

  She’d finally had some hours of peace until she saw him again.

  The sisters were waiting for their time to eat. She heard some disturbing whispers traveling throughout the wide corridor. The whispers were about the prioress serving the men yesterday’s food. The fresh meal would be served next.

  Silene’s belly knotted. She didn’t want to think of the prioress’ stingy behavior.

  She ate very little and thought of how the captain had looked while he ate here, laughing with his friends. She was glad Mother had let them stay.

  She used her time in the great hall to bid her sisters farewell. Agnes wept and clung to her. Silene was friends with all the novices and nuns, so her farewells took more time. She took the longest with the prioress, hugging her farewell and saying nothing about what Silene had heard about her.

  She carried her bag to the small stable, where the men readied their horses. The captain was not there.

  With the sisters following behind her, keeping a safe distance away, Silene marched onward into the midst of the four men. She looked around for someone with whom to give her bag. One of the men retrieved a horse that belonged to the nuns and handed it off to her. She secured her saddle as best she could and was almost done when the captain arrived with the prioress. He looked over her saddle from where he was standing and then made Silene freeze when he came steadily toward her. “Have ye ever tied yer saddle?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, Captain.”

  He moved her aside and began untying all the knots on her saddle. “’Tis verra important that ye know what ye are doin’ on a horse or they will throw ye.”

  She watched him untie it, then retie it again, showing her how to do it.

  “Now ye try.”

  She took the leather straps from him and secured her saddle after the first try. He didn’t let her mount but checked the saddle first to make sure it was safe.

  She didn’t ride horses. She’d never needed to. She’d always been content to be where she was. Only five of the sisters rode and, of course, the prioress knew how.

  In her long scapular and habit, she could barely separate her legs enough to fit her foot into the high stirrup. She had to lift her skirts up to her knees. Some of the sisters watching gasped and covered their mouths with their hands.

  Silene was torn between laughing and weeping. How was she supposed to ride a horse? She didn’t need to wonder long when the captain’s big hands closed around her waist from behind and lifted her off the ground, high in the air. She remembered to close her mouth, but barely, when she landed sideways in the saddle—gently, as if he were returning something fragile to its place.

  “Thank you, Captain.” She turned to him, but he was already leaving, returning to his horse. Should she tell him that she had no idea how to ride? And, oh, she was high up! She made the sign of the cross and picked up the reins. What now? She watched the man closest to her pick up his. Before he did anything else, he turned and looked at her. He dipped his dark cinnamon brows over eyes that were the color of the sea. He moved slowly, demonstrating what she should do with her reins next.

  She imitated him, flapping her reins.

  Her horse took off running, almost leaving her behind. She foolishly held on, bouncing on the hard saddle until her brains felt joggled. With both legs on one side there was nothing to hold on to. She slipped and bounced off the beast and into the dirt on her buns.

  She heard someone behind her chuckle. A man’s voice. When she thought of it while her insides settled, she imagined it was quite humorous. She wanted to throw her head back and laugh. But in the presence of men, such behavior was unsightly.

  Still, she could barely contain a smile when the captain reached for her. He must have seen the amusement in her eyes and thought her odd, for he quirked his brow at her and almost smiled as well.

  He took her hand and pulled her to her feet without any effort. His fingers were broad. His skin was rough and callused from wielding the enormous sword hanging from his belt. He looked as if he might speak but his gaze fixed on her forehead.

  She lifted her hand to see what he was staring at and found a few tendrils of her hair had come loose in the fall from her horse. She tucked them back underneath her wimple.

  “Come with me.” Although it was a command, his voice remained low and quiet.

  Did he mean for her to ride with him? She couldn’t. She looked around, her eyes darting across the horrified faces of the sisters watching—and the prioress—

  He went back to his horse and waited. She dared not look at the prioress as she went to him. What other choice was there? She couldn’t ride alone. She’d be a bag of broken bones by the time she reached Ayrshire.

  All the men were virile and handsome, even with scars and smirks, and too much hair. But, oh, the captain…he was almost too beautiful to look at for too long.

  She didn’t want to ride with him. She didn’t want to leave her home. But this meeting with the church was the reason her uncle had convinced her parents to send her to St. Patrice’s in the first place. They’d always told her how important it was for a man hoping to gain a high place in the church’s council to have family in the church.

  She was that connection. She didn’t dare break it and cause her uncle to stop his aid to her family.

  When she reached the captain, he was already in his saddle.

  Without a thought, he reached down and plucked her from the ground. She was facing the crowd and felt her face go up in flames as she sailed into the air and landed in his lap with a soft thump. When she thought it couldn’t get any worse, his arms came around her as he reached for the reins.

  Silene looked at the prioress as they rode away and made the sign of the cross.

  Chapter Three

  Galeren did all he could to ignore the scent of her. It was slightly floral, herbal, a hint of a woodsy scent. It was oddly soothing and like nothing he had ever smelled before. He looked at the white veil on her head—like a bride.

  He could deny himself the pleasure of gazing at her. He closed his eyes behind her. When he’d seen her this morning, he thought he had come upon some kind of ethereal, heavenly creature. He’d never seen a lass with hair as
short as hers, or eyes that rivaled the summer sky and verdant fields.

  He and the men had slept in the forest the night before. He’d awoken first and wandered out to the cliffs, drawn by the sound of the waves crashing below. And a soft cry.

  He thought she might be ready to jump to her death when she sobbed as if in pain. He shouldn’t have frightened her. He should not have pulled her against him, but any other way and she would have fallen. Her face was carved and molded by the Master’s hand. Her hair was short in the back. In the front, her mop of bright, russet waves fell over her forehead, over eyes as big and vast as oceans. Eyes that were filled with dreams and paralyzed him with wonder. Freckles sprayed across the bridge of her nose. Her lips were perfect, like soft, plump coral in a colorful sea.

  He knew who she was after she’d run away. John’s niece, and her life was dedicated to God.

  “Captain Galeren?”

  He smiled behind her despite trying not to. “Aye?”

  “I normally have prayers at this hour. May we stop somewhere soon so that I might say them?”

  They had just started out. “Aye,” he answered without hesitation. Hadn’t she been praying all morning? If they stopped every hour, it would take a month to get to John. “Of course, we can stop.” How could he refuse a soon-to-be nun asking to pray?

  They trotted along with Galeren looking for a place to stop. The men were quiet, for which Galeren was thankful.

  “So, what are we to call ye, Sister?”

  Galeren smiled at Mac. But hell, he knew the silence couldn’t last.

  “I have not said my vows yet, so…Silene will do,” she answered softly. So softly, the men didn’t hear her.

  He recalled Morgann’s reaction to her name. Her name made her more familiar. It made her less of a novice and more human. The men didn’t need to see her as anything but holy. “Sister!” Galeren called out. “Ye are to call her Sister.”

  He didn’t look at her when she turned to give him a curious stare. Instead, he thought about his talk with the prioress before they’d left the priory.

  “She has been raised here,” the prioress had told him. “She knows little of the world apart from Bamburgh and St. Patrice’s. Do you understand?”

  “Aye,” he had answered, keeping his impatience out of his tone. “But I dinna know why ye are tellin’ this to me.”

  Her eyes sparked like lightning in stormy blue skies. “I’m telling you so that you will keep your hands off her. She does not understand the wiles of men like you—”

  He’d had enough of her a thousand breaths ago. “Men like me?” he wanted to know, though he had a good suspicion. This wasn’t the first time he’d been disliked, even hated, because of how he looked. It worked in the opposite way for most people. They liked him without ever knowing him. It was often more of an annoyance than helpful.

  “I know your kind, Captain. You get through life on your physical beauty. You beguile and bewitch and always have your way. But I tell you, she will be set apart for God next spring. She is His. Beguile her at your peril.”

  Galeren wanted to smile at her. Father Timothy wouldn’t agree, of course. Not about God, at least.

  “I will remember yer warnin’.” He gave her a slight bow and turned to leave.

  “’Tis not my warning but God’s.”

  He stopped and slowly turned to her. “In that case, He will tell it to me directly. Or do ye think yerself so pious and above reproach that He will only speak to ye?” He’d given her a moment to answer and then turned once more to leave. “She will be safe with me. That is my vow.”

  And he would keep it.

  He would confess to Father Timothy in a letter tonight how he took pleasure in looking directly into Sister Mary Joseph’s eyes when he put her novice in his lap and encircled her in his arms then rode off with her.

  All his letters could be delivered home to the MacPherson stronghold by a paid messenger. His aunt, Julianna, used to be one. He didn’t write as often as he should, and he never received a reply. Father Timothy didn’t know where Galeren would be next.

  He never wrote to Cecilia. He barely thought of her. He didn’t think of her now.

  He smelled the ocean and felt it in the air. They were going to pass the cliffs. It was a good place to stop for prayer. When they grew close, he felt her body stiffen against him.

  “Is this a good place to stop?” he asked over her head.

  “Aye,” she nodded. “Tis a very good place.” She turned and, before he could look away, smiled at him.

  He smiled stiffly then turned to the others. “We will stop here fer prayer.”

  “Fer prayer?” Mac croaked, quite stunned, as if Galeren had suggested they ride into some English town and hand over their weapons.

  “He doesna mean ye, ye savage simpleton,” Will pointed out with a curl of his lips. “He means the nun.”

  “She isna yet a nun,” Galeren reminded them. They all shifted their gazes to him. He ignored them, defenseless against the memory of her here this morning, with her fiery locks whipping across her forehead.

  He dismounted and held his arms up to her. He kept his gaze on his men or the distant water rather than on her while she reluctantly fell into his arms. She was slender, as light as a veil. She felt small in his hands, and yet she was only several inches shorter than he.

  He almost gave in and smiled when he set her down. “We will wait here,” he offered.

  She nodded and hurried to the edge.

  His heart beat madly watching her run. Was she going to run to her death? Had he just made a terrible error in judgment?

  He opened his mouth to call her back—

  “Cap?”

  She didn’t jump but walked to the edge and knelt in the grass.

  He blinked and turned to Mac. “Aye?”

  “What has come over ye?”

  “What d’ye mean?

  “Ye seem agitated.”

  Galeren eyed him and the rest of them. “She distracts me.” He shrugged it off with a grin.

  “Who distracts ye, the novice?” Will asked, squinting his eyes at him. “Her?”

  Galeren nodded and Mac opened his eyes wide. “What? Did the prioress put a curse on ye?”

  “No one cursed—” Galeren tried.

  Mac stopped him. “She is English.”

  “Aye, I know.”

  “And promised to God,” Morgann added.

  “And what aboot Cecilia?” from Will.

  “Aye, what will ye do aboot that?” Mac put to him.

  “I…” What was he going to do about what? “I will do nothin’ because there is nothin’ to do anythin’ aboot.” He laughed finally at how far this had gone and so quickly. Padrig joined him. “This is a ridiculous conversation.”

  “Captain?”

  “Aye, Will?” Galeren’s laughter faded and he sighed inwardly.

  “What aboot her distracts ye? There isna one thing feminine aboot her.”

  Galeren wasn’t sure if Will’s sight was failing him. He took offense on her behalf and thought about glaring at his friend, but that would have piqued their interest even more, so he untied one of the sacks tied to his horse and smiled. “Who wants a peach? I think we are goin’ to be here fer a while.”

  “Ye do know that there are seven sacred offices of worship and reading, d’ye not?” Morgann asked him with a grave stare. “She has four more left today. The first three are before dawn.”

  They all stared at Morgann in surprise. “Morgann,” Galeren said slowly. “What else d’ye know aboot nuns and how did ye learn it?”

  Morgann lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I asked one of them back at the priory and she told me.”

  Galeren stared at him. “We agreed not to go near the sisters while we were there.”

  “Captain, I didna go near her. Sister Marjorie Anne came to me in the cloister. We spoke a little. They have a verra peaceful life.”

  Galeren nodded, understanding what Silene needed t
o be happy. Peace.

  He turned to the edge and saw her kneeling in the grass, hands clasped beneath her chin.

  She was even more delicate than he’d imaged. He looked over his shoulder at his men. How would she do with them for two days? How would she do with her uncle? He’d protect her from their ribaldry and raucous banter as best he could. Once he delivered her to John, she would no longer be his problem. He was mad for thinking of her in any other way but a holy one. Not only would God strike him down, but John would never trust him again. She was bonny. So what? Perhaps, seeing her in the breaking dawn with her hair ablaze and sadness in her gaze made him suffer foolish notions about her.

  But looking at her now with everything covered but her face, her eyes closed in prayer…she was just as beautiful to him.

  Dammit.

  He regrettably realized, staring at her, that part of what made her so bonny was the sense of complete and utter calm and peace around her, coming from within her. Even now, when she was being taken away by dangerous-looking men to Scotland and the church.

  He sat away from her in the grass and opened the pouch of water that had been tied to his waist. He took a drink and watched her. The men thankfully remained quiet—for the most part. He loved the men, but he didn’t want to interrupt or distract her from her prayers. So far, all was quiet, and she continued.

  He wondered what she asked God for. To be away from the savages as quickly as she could, no doubt. He smiled thinking about how much Father Timothy would like her.

  He waited while she continued for a little over an hour, seemingly not distracted in the slightest when the men finally broke into their normal banter.

  When she opened her eyes, she wiped them. Was she weeping? If she was, there was no sobbing or crying out. He wanted to get up and go to her, but his duty was to watch over her, which he was doing, not to be tempted to comfort her.

  She turned to her right and saw him sitting there in the grass, leaning his elbows on his bent knees. His head was angled toward her.

  He watched her skirts cascade down to her feet when she rose. He stood and offered her the pouch of water. She refused it.