She sighed. She recognized the look that had settled upon his handsome face. It was the one men wore when they thought they were dealing with some strange womanly whim. Or, she thought with a faint smile, someone who was not quite right in the head. To many men, the two things were often very similar. Alana doubted she could make Gregor understand, but she hoped an explanation would help, if only in easing the anger he had clearly felt over the way she had returned to a place where danger might still lurk. After all, it was already proving very difficult to reach his heart without him thinking she was slightly mad.
“’Tis pretty,” she said, “and I like pretty things. ’Tis all swirling colors and it feels cool and pleasant in my hand.” She carefully placed the rock in his free hand. “I like rocks. They are a creation of God and nature, and that one has probably been lying about for more years than we could e’er count.”
That was true, Gregor thought, not that he had ever considered the matter before. Rocks were everywhere, and if he thought of them at all, it was that they could trip one and they hurt if one fell on them. This rock did feel cool, and it fit nicely in the hollow of his palm. He even supposed one could say it was pretty. All that did not really explain why she had felt so compelled to collect it that she had returned to what could have been a nesting ground for adders.
“’Tis also a memory,” she continued. “Years from now, I can pick that rock up in my hand and it will stir all the memories of this adventure.” She accepted the rock when Gregor handed it back to her and then placed it in the small pouch hidden in the folds of her skirt. “I often select a rock from places where something important happens or to mark a special moment.”
“And staring death in the eye wasnae enough to help ye hold fast to the memory of this moment and this place?”
“Ah, weel, the adder was certainly frightening. I couldnae move or e’en think, just stare at it and wait all asweat for it to bite me. But ye and Charlemagne came most gallantly to my rescue. Now, each time I pick up this rock, I shall see it all again most clearly.” She shrugged. “Many people have things to, weel, celebrate certain events.”
True enough, Gregor thought. He was not sure he wanted her to remember that a cat had saved her life whilst he stood by like a dumb bullock, however. Still, he could understand keeping something to stir one’s memory, which too often grew cloudy as time passed. He knew one woman who kept a lock of hair from every lover she had had, but he decided that was not a tale to tell Alana. She might ask how he knew about it, and he did not want her to know that a lock of his hair was a part of that woman’s ever-growing collection.
“That one rock is all ye need to recall this whole journey?” he asked, wondering why he felt an increasingly sharp pinch of guilt and embarrassment whenever he thought of his somewhat licentious past.
Alana blushed. “Weel, I do have one I found down by the river.” He did not need to know about the one from the oubliette, or the cottage, or the inn where she had first seen him naked, or from the camp where they had made love by the fire, she decided. Her pouch was starting to get a little heavy.
Gregor nodded and started walking, but inside he was grinning like a fool. The time by the riverbank when he had finally claimed her was definitely a memory he wanted her to keep sharp. He found he was a little sorry he had not collected one himself.
The sun was just beginning to disappear beneath the horizon when they reached the monastery. The heavy doors that would allow them within the surrounding walls were already shut tight. Alana felt tense with anticipation and fear as Gregor loudly rang the bell hanging beside the doors to call someone to the gates. A few moments passed, which felt like hours to Alana, before a round-faced monk opened one big door just enough to peer out at them.
“What do ye want?” he asked in what Alana thought was a rather unfriendly greeting from a monk.
“I need to see Brother Matthew,” she replied. “I am his cousin Alana Murray of Donncoill.”
“Murray?”
Alana widened her eyes in shock at the note of alarm in the man’s voce. “Aye, Alana Murray of Donncoill. I am hoping that Brother Matthew will have some news concerning my sister, Keira Murray MacKail.”
“Are your brothers with ye?” The man stuck his head out farther, stared at Gregor for a moment, and then looked around. “Ye dinnae have those two savages with ye, do ye? They have already been here twice. Twice, mind ye!”
“Savages?” Alana was starting to get annoyed by the way this man spoke of her family. “Let me speak to Brother Matthew.”
“Nay!” the man snapped. “No more Murray lasses!” he bellowed and slammed the door shut.
Chapter 12
Blinking at the door that had been vigorously shut in her face, Alana heard the monk drop the bar in place on the other side. He was muttering angrily but, although she could easily discern the tone of his voice, she could not make out the words. A moment later she heard other voices. Some other monks had arrived, and there was obviously a fierce argument going on just inside the doors. She looked at Gregor, who had leaned against the rough stone wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked far too amused for her liking.
“I believe Keira did indeed seek out our cousin Matthew,” she said.
“Och, aye, I would have to agree with ye, lass.” Gregor could not help himself, he started to laugh, and the disgusted and slightly offended look Alana gave him only made him laugh harder. “And it appears your brothers came avisiting as weel,” he added and laughed some more.
“’Tisnae that funny,” she muttered, wondering what her family could have possibly done to so upset the monks of Saint Bearnard’s.
“Pardons, lass, but, aye, ’tis just that funny,” Gregor said as he started to calm down. “Do ye think he means the brothers ye were following?”
She sighed and nodded. “Aye, and I fear Artan and Lucas can be, weel, a wee bit intimidating if they choose to be, although I cannae believe they behave so with monks. And why would they come here twice? They do like Matthew, but they say that monks make them nervous. Something about how they may truly have God’s ear and the vow of celibacy.” This time she had to smile when Gregor laughed, but the opening of the door quickly drew her full attention. “Matthew!” she cried when she saw who was standing there, but the door was not open enough for her to embrace him as she wished to, and he appeared to be fighting to keep it open even that much. “Am I truly unwelcome here?”
“Nay, of course not!” protested Matthew, speaking loudly in the vain hope of hiding the fact that several other voices said aye. “There has been a bit of trouble lately, is all, and the brethren are a wee bit nervous.” He looked at Gregor. “Who do ye have with ye, lass?”
“Gregor MacFingal Cameron,” she replied and heard someone cry out, Och, nay, we cannae have another one of them here, too!
Alana looked at Gregor and cocked one brow. “It appears that ’tis nay only my kinsmen causing trouble.”
“Nay, nay, no trouble, cousin,” protested Matthew as he continued to fight to keep the door open as someone just out of her sight was trying very hard to close it. “Wait there, lass, and ye, sir. I will join ye in but a few moments. Do ye have need of some food and drink?”
“Aye, if ye would be so kind. And I am seeking some word of Keira’s fate.”
“Weel, I have plenty to tell ye about that. Be patient for just a few moments and I will join ye. Wait there.”
The door was forcefully shut again and Alana heard more raised voices. She looked at Gregor again. “This is all verra strange, aye? But I think there is a verra interesting tale to be told and I am most anxious to hear it.”
“I wonder if one of my kinsmen was here,” Gregor murmured as he frowned at the door, “or just some mon named Cameron.”
“It could have been one of your kinsmen. The question is why? And why were my brothers here twice? Keira coming here is the only thing I can understand or guess at the reasons for the visit. I certainly cannae guess what t
rouble she may have stirred up, for Keira ne’er causes trouble.”
Alana was just about to bang on the door when Matthew appeared, struggling with two large baskets full of food. He barely missed getting slapped on the backside by the heavy doors, they were shut so quickly behind him. Gregor relieved Matthew of the burden of one of the baskets, and her cousin started to lead her and Gregor along a winding path.
“Where are we going, cousin?” Alana asked Matthew.
“To the cottage we keep for guests of the monastery,” replied Brother Matthew. “Is that a cat ye are carrying about like a bairn?”
“Aye. I call it Charlemagne.”
As they walked Alana explained about the cat and answered all of her cousin’s many questions about how she had come to be knocking on the gates of the monastery. Although she wanted to shake Matthew until he told her everything he knew about Keira, she struggled to remain calm and let him tell her all the news when he was ready. By the time they reached the little cottage he led them to, however, Alana was gritting her teeth in rising impatience. The fact that Gregor appeared to find it all highly amusing only added to her rapidly rising temper.
“Come in and sit here,” Matthew said as he set his basket on the table. “We can talk as ye eat.”
“She was here. Right here in this cottage,” Alana whispered, feeling Keira’s presence so strongly she was surprised she could not see her standing there. “She stayed here and she was afraid of something. Or someone.”
“Someone,” said Brother Matthew. “Please, Alana, come and sit down and allow me to tell ye what I can about Keira.”
Ignoring the sudden sharp look Brother Matthew gave him, Gregor put his arm around Alana’s shoulders and held her close for a moment. “We have found her trail, love. Now let us hear her story.” He kissed the top of her head when she nodded and then led her over to the table, where her cousin waited.
“I cannae believe that both ye and Keira have had such adventures,” said Brother Matthew as he poured some wine into the sturdy wooden goblets he had set out on the table. “By God’s grace, ye have both survived.”
“I wasnae really hurt, cousin,” Alana said. “I ken weel that Keira was hurt, and badly, so I think.”
“Aye, her injuries were grave ones.”
“Mayhap ye should begin at the beginning,” Gregor said between bites of bread. “All Alana kens is that her sister’s husband is dead, that Keira was hurt when Ardgleann was taken, and that she has disappeared.”
“Eat, eat,” Brother Matthew gently urged Alana, “and allow me to tell the tale. When I am done ye can question me as ye will. Now, an outlaw named Rauf Mowbray murdered Keira’s husband, the laird of Ardgleann. Rauf and his men took Ardgleann at great cost to its people. Aye, Keira was badly hurt, for Rauf wished to claim the laird’s wife along with his lands. Your sister sustained her injuries when she fought him.”
“Did he—” Alana began to ask, terrified of the answer even though she felt almost certain her sister had escaped that fate.
“Nay!” Brother Matthew hastily patted her hand where Alana had clenched it on the table edge. “She escaped him ere he could commit that sin against her.”
Alana nodded and forced herself to relax. She had been horrified and frightened by the mere mention of such a crime against her sister. Now that she thought about it more carefully, she knew what her cousin said was true. If Keira had been raped, she would have known it. Such brutality could never have been committed against her twin without her having felt something, having been aware of the pain Keira felt in some way. It did, however, explain the fear she knew had clung to Keira while she had stayed in this cottage.
“Keira stayed here to heal,” Brother Matthew continued. “At first she stayed in the guest quarters within the monastery, but I moved her here as soon as she had healed enough to care for herself.”
A quick exchange of a look with Gregor told Alana that he was thinking the same thing she was. One of the monks had some trouble with that vow of celibacy and had made life difficult for Keira. Alana said nothing, however, just began to eat and wait for her cousin to continue.
“Keira had a dream about a mon who needed help,” said Brother Matthew. “It was Liam Cameron.”
Gregor sat up straighter in his seat. “Liam? Was my cousin badly hurt?”
“Och, aye.” Brother Matthew shook his head. “Beaten sorely and either fell or was pushed off a hillside onto some rocks. Broke his leg. A woman had him beaten. She was jealous for she thought he had, er, wooed her sister when he refused to woo her. They are both married ladies, ye see.”
“Nay, it didnae happen. Liam ne’er beds down with wedded lasses.” Gregor smiled faintly when Brother Matthew blushed at the word beds.
“I ken it. He healed weel. Keira saw to that. She has the touch, ye ken. Then that woman came here seeking Liam, and her jealous husband was close behind her, demanding Liam’s blood. Liam and Keira fled here and traveled on to Scarglas.” He looked at Alana. “Ere he was so cruelly murdered, Keira had promised her husband that she would help the people of Ardgleann get free of Rauf Mowbray, and she decided it was past time to fulfill that promise. Liam swore himself to help her in that quest and he felt his kinsmen would be eager to help as weel.” He pulled a letter from inside of his robes and handed it to Alana. “I have but just received a full accounting of all that happened after they left here. I think Keira’s own words say it all much better than I can.”
Alana read the letter twice before handing it to Gregor so that he could have a look. She knew Keira had been precise but no more and would not care if her letter was shared around. Very few of Keira’s feelings about her new husband Liam Cameron or the evils done to the people of Ardgleann could be read there. Some matters were still unsettled, and Alana could sense her sister’s worries and doubts behind the unemotional words she had written. The threat of Rauf Mowbray was gone and Ardgleann would heal, but Keira was still sadly troubled and uncertain.
Gregor inwardly frowned as he read the letter. Alana’s sister wrote cleanly, in script as well as in word, but there was very little emotion revealed in the letter. It read like some cold report from a bailiff, a simple recitation of facts and not the letter of a young woman who had seen her worst enemy defeated and who had married a man like Liam. He suspected Keira Murray MacKail, now Cameron, was hiding something.
A quick glance at Alana revealed that she was frowning in concern. Liam was undoubtedly the beautiful man she had seen in her dreams. Most women would sell their own grandmothers to be married to a man like Liam, but there was no real sense of that triumph or joy in Keira’s letter, and Gregor suspected feelings were involved. What concerned him the most was what Alana thought of it all. Liam was his kinsman and had benefited greatly from the marriage to Keira, yet if he sensed something wrong, he was certain that Alana could sense a great deal more. The very last thing he wanted was trouble between him and Alana because one of his kinsmen was not making her sister happy.
“Liam Cameron is a good mon, lass,” Brother Matthew said quietly. “He trained right here, thinking to become a monk, but he didnae have the true calling.” He accepted the letter back from Gregor with a faint, absent smile, most of his attention remaining fixed upon Alana. “He will be a good husband to Keira, kind and faithful, and a good laird to the people of Ardgleann. Aye, and Liam has the wit to ken what must be done to keep them all safe and prosperous. Ye shouldnae worry so.” He glanced at the letter before tucking it back inside his robe. “I ken she doesnae say so, and that there may be a few things still worrying her, but Liam will soon end whatever doubts she clings to.”
Alana sighed and hastily finished a bite of apple. “Mayhap. But I am close now and can go to her side if need be.”
“True, and I am certain she will be most pleased to see ye as weel, for word of your disappearance has spread.”
“Oh. That is why Artan and Lucas came here twice, isnae it. Once because of Keira and once because of me. Were they
so verra much trouble, then?”
Brother Matthew chuckled. “The brethren here arenae the bravest group of men, and your brothers were in an ill mood. As Artan said, they had just finished hunting down one sister, and ere they could rest, they had to go out and hunt down another.” He smiled when Alana groaned. “Word had reached them that ye had followed them, but since ye hadnae appeared, they were concerned. They were following their own trail back to the start in hopes of finding ye. That is why they stopped here. ’Tis a wonder ye didnae meet with them somewhere along your route.”
“Let us pray that my brothers dinnae meet with the Gowans.”
“They were looking verra rough, lass. I dinnae think the Gowans would see them as a good choice for ransoming.”
“Actually, cousin, I was worrying about the Gowans,” drawled Alana and shared a laugh with Matthew. “At least now I ken why we were so unwelcome.”
“That was wrong and so I told them. It wasnae Keira and Liam who caused us trouble, but others such as that woman and her enraged husband and Brother Peter, who still claims Keira bewitched him. And nay, he didnae hurt her. Liam threw him into a wall. Just punishment, I say, but men of the church do tend to cling to the idea that such sinful thoughts and deeds are all the fault of the woman. As for your brothers, ’tis the brethren’s own cowardice that makes them reluctant to see those two again.” Brother Matthew shook his head in disgust over the behavior of his fellow monks. “Your brothers didnae hurt anyone or break anything.”
“Ah, so they were on their best behavior.”
He laughed again and nodded. “Weel, except for threatening Brother Peter when they returned here for the second time. A lad who had been sent here by his family decided to follow Keira and stay at Ardgleann. I fear he told your brothers what Brother Peter had tried to do to Keira. They didnae hurt the mon, although I feel they had every right to. The mon’s robes shouldnae protect him from such as that. But as Artan said, there isnae much satisfaction in hurting a mon who soils himself at the mere sight of a clenched fist.”
Highland Lover Page 14