Which, considering he was still a monk and had a relic to steal back, was a bit of a problem.
Twenty-Six
Morrigan and Dragonet rode hard for several hours to reach St. Margaret’s Convent. They needed a place to regroup before trying to regain the medicine and the shroud. How they were going to manage such a feat, Morrigan had no idea. She should be thinking strategies; instead she pondered Dragonet’s actions.
He had given away the relic for her. He must love her more. He loved her? Her heart soared far into the bright blue sky.
But he was still a monk. Her heart plummeted down to the dirty snow, chopped and tossed about by the laboring horses. There would be no happy ending for her and none for Andrew either if she did not find a way to get the medicine. She needed to focus on getting the medicine.
They came over a rise where St. Margaret’s Convent was situated in the valley below. Morrigan stopped short, staring at the scene below.
“What is all this?” asked Dragonet, reining in next to her.
“I dinna ken.”
Below them were myriad tents and banners littering the valley around the convent. Hundreds of people milled about, horses and livestock corralled into several makeshift pens, and small, smoldering fires rose thin ribbons of smoke into the cloudless sky. The colors were bright and vibrant against the background of the white snow.
“How long were we in that cave?” asked Morrigan.
With an exchanged glance they spurred their horses onward and raced down the hill toward St. Margaret’s. Hopefully Mother Enid could enlighten them as to her sudden increase in visitors.
After some difficulty finding a place to house their mounts and getting the attention of a flustered nun managing multiple guests’ demands, Morrigan and Dragonet were shown to a private sitting area where a small group of people huddled around a fire.
“Morrigan, Sir Dragonet, come join us by the fire, you must be cold,” said Mother Enid, calling them over. Mother Enid sat beside another woman, with red curls peeking from beneath her wimple and dressed in a fur-trimmed, wool gown. Standing next to her was a large, broad-shouldered man with a wicked scar carved from his left eye to his chin. Beside him was the tall, impeccably dressed figure of Chaumont.
Morrigan approached the party with some reservations. These were well-dressed, high-class people. These were the kind she would rob, not sit with by the fire on a cold winter’s day. The large man turned toward her, giving her a hard look. No, she amended herself. That man she would let ride by unmolested.
“Lady MacLaren,” said Mother Enid, speaking to the seated lady beside her. “Allow me to present Lady Morrigan McNab and Sir Dragonet.”
“Pleased to meet ye both,” said Lady MacLaren with a pretty smile.
Morrigan stopped dead, her heart dropping beneath the floorboards. MacLaren? This was Lady MacLaren? The MacLarens hated, despised, and loathed the McNabs.
“You are acquainted with Sir Chaumont, I believe,” continued Mother Enid, looking at Morrigan.
“Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting the mademoiselle many times,” Chaumont gave her a winning smile. “Dragonet, good to see you again, mon ami.”
“Have you then also met Laird MacLaren?” asked Mother Enid.
Morrigan took a breath and glanced at the door. Was he going to attack her now or wait for fewer witnesses?
“We have not met.” MacLaren’s voice was authoritative. Final.
Morrigan took a step back. She had no business being there.
“We were surprised to find you have so many visitors, Mother Enid,” said Dragonet, oblivious to the danger. “Can you tell us the reason?”
“Yes, of course, though I believe MacLaren or Chaumont could do a better job than I. Apparently, the war goes ill and the clans have been called to meet here to plan their final stand against the English.”
“The town of Berwick fell?” asked Dragonet.
“Berwick was abandoned after we left. The English took it without a fight,” said Chaumont.
“It would have been an ugly fight,” commented Dragonet.
“Trouble is, there was no one to prevent the English from invading north,” said MacLaren in a deep voice. “King Edward has claimed the throne of Scotland and means to take possession of this country.”
“We have been invaded by England?” asked Morrigan, alarmed.
“More conquered than invaded, I’d say,” said Chaumont.
“Thought ye of all people would be pleased by that.” MacLaren gave her a hard stare, his arms folded over his broad chest. He was a monster of a man.
“Lady Morrigan has fought against the English with distinction. She helped to take the Governor of Nisbet hostage and was wounded in the process.” Dragonet stepped forward, as if to put himself between her and MacLaren. Foolish man.
“Yes, I can attest to that as well,” said Chaumont. “Though I still am hurt you chose another to stitch your wound.”
“Shows she has good sense,” commented Lady MacLaren. “See the scar on my dear husband’s face? ’Twas Chaumont’s handiwork. The mere thought o’ him wi’ a needle makes me tremble wi’ fear.” She smiled, and everyone relaxed in the warmth of her eyes. Chaumont laughed outright, and even MacLaren smiled in return.
“I sent word to Lady MacLaren about your need for medicine for Andrew,” said Mother Enid.
“Aye, I was distressed to learn that Barrick had stolen all Mother Enid’s store o’ medicine, especially when it is so desperately needed to treat the wounded,” said Lady MacLaren. “Fortunately she taught me how to make it as well, and I brought what I had wi’ me. I am afraid we arrived after ye left the convent a few days ago. Mother Enid told me o’ yer great need so I sent a bottle on to McNab Hall. I hope yer brother will be well soon.”
Morrigan stared at the woman, unable to speak. “Ye… ye sent Andrew the medicine?”
“Aye.”
Dragonet brushed his hand against hers and smiled. He was happy for her, she knew. Morrigan glanced at Laird MacLaren. He stood as if ready for battle, his feet in a wide stance, his arms folded over his chest.
“Why?” asked Morrigan in honest confusion. “Why would ye o’ all people help a McNab?”
“Mother Enid spoke o’ yer need.”
“But… but…” Morrigan could not form words. Her brother Archie had abducted Lady MacLaren years ago and tried to force her to marry him. How could she forgive their clan for that insult? “I thought ye hated us for what Archie…”
The fine lady shook her head. “Nay. ’Tis forgot. I carry no grudge against ye.”
“Ye have forgiven us?” Morrigan’s voice cracked. It was inconceivable. No one could forgive them.
“Aye. I forgave yer brother long ago. And against ye I have never felt any ill will.”
Morrigan went down on a knee before Lady MacLaren. “Thank ye, my lady. This means more to me than I can say.” Emotion formed a lump in her throat. She had almost killed herself trying to find Andrew a cure, and Lady MacLaren had given it freely.
The lady took her hand. “Please, will ye no’ call me Aila?”
MacLaren cleared his throat, and Morrigan realized she had touched the Lady Aila, which must not be allowed. She jumped to her feet and stepped back.
“Ye have no’ forgiven us.” Morrigan spoke to the intimidating Laird MacLaren.
“My wife has virtues I do no’ pretend to possess.”
“I am glad of it,” said Morrigan.
Laird MacLaren glanced down at his wife, who smiled up at him. “So am I,” he said softly. The room grew quiet, and MacLaren cleared his throat. “Sir Dragonet, Chaumont has told me much about how ye helped him and Gavin. I am obliged to ye.”
Dragonet bowed. “I am happy to be of service.”
“We are meeting after supper this eve to discuss military plans to send King Edward back to England. Ye are welcome to join us if ye will,” said MacLaren.
“Thank you, but I have other business to which I must atten
d.”
His words struck Morrigan deep. This was the end. She had the medicine; he still needed the relic. He would go on without her. There was no reason for her to continue to stay with him. He would somehow retrieve the relic and return to France. His path was to a French monastery. Hers was back to McNab Hall. Alone.
“Thank ye, Mother Enid. Thank ye, Lady MacLaren. I canna tell ye how greatly I am in yer debt.” With that pretty speech, Morrigan turned and strode from the room. She must get out to the fresh, cold air. Dragonet followed her into the frozen courtyard. She knew it without looking.
“I will help ye retrieve what was taken from us,” said Morrigan, her back still to him.
“No,” said Dragonet, just as she knew he would.
“I can help ye.”
“I lost it today because I could not see you hurt. If I have to choose, I will choose you every time. If I want to retrieve the relic, I must go alone.”
Morrigan took a ragged breath, as if ice water had flooded the cracks in her heart. He was saying good-bye. He was leaving her. She understood, but anger flooded through her in all its illogical power. She hated him for leaving her. She loved him for protecting her. She despised him for mending her heart, only to break it once more.
Morrigan whirled around to face the man who would abandon her. “Go! I have no need for ye and yer treasure hunts. Leave me be!”
Dragonet’s eyes widened, like a trusting puppy who had been struck. They were not alone in the courtyard overflowing with soldiers, nuns, and camp followers. Several stopped to see what she was yelling about.
“Morrigan…” said Dragonet softly.
“Go about yer business, and I will go about mine. Ye need to leave, and I canna…” Morrigan looked away from the hurt in his eyes. “Just go.” She turned and tramped through the dirty snow, her cold feet warm in comparison to her frozen heart.
A hand caught hers, and Dragonet pulled her into a small passage between two tents. It was a small space where they could talk unseen.
“What now?” demanded Morrigan.
“I cannot leave you angry. I will give to you a proper farewell.”
“And what is a—”
Dragonet silenced her by kissing one of her cheeks, then the other. He then placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her until her knees buckled.
“That is a proper farewell,” he said.
“Ye monks are a friendly sort.” Morrigan’s head spun in a giddy sort of way.
“I am still a Frenchman, no?”
“Aye. ’Tis one of yer best features.”
“Au revoir, mon coeur.”
“And the same to ye, whatever ye said. I’ll be around all day if ye wish to come say good-bye again.”
Dragonet left her with a smile.
***
Dragonet wandered through the sea of tents, trying to devise a plan to retake the shroud, but instead he thought of Morrigan’s lips on his and wondered if he would rather go say good-bye once more.
“Sir Dragonet!”
Dragonet turned toward the man and stepped back in shock. “Your Grace!” It was none other than the Duke of Argitaine. “I thought you had returned to France.”
“Come into the tent; the wind blows fierce in these parts,” said the duke. “We have found him, lads. I knew he would continue to fight with the Scots.”
Dragonet followed the duke into the tent. Inside were three knights from the duke’s personal guard, huddled around a brazier of coals. They acknowledged his entrance with small waves and nods.
“There is the man responsible for us freezing,” said Sir Geoffrey. “I say we bury him in the snow for causing us woe.” The smile he gave Dragonet was warmer than his words.
“But how are you here?” asked Dragonet.
“’Tis true, you are to blame,” replied the duke. “Your words haunted me after we left. I needed to send the majority of the knights back to defend our country, but when the time came to board the ship myself, I found I could not leave with your words imputing my honor. I resolved to return and see this war through to the end.” The duke gestured toward his three knights. “These poor souls volunteered to stay with me. Could not get rid of them, to be honest.”
The three knights by the brazier waved and nodded once again.
“They are the bravest men of my company,” said the duke with clear pride.
“Exchange ‘brave’ for ‘foolish’ and you speak the truth, Your Grace,” said Geoffrey.
“I did not intend for my words to have this effect on you, Your Grace. My words, in hindsight, were foolish and rash. I beg your pardon for speaking them,” said Dragonet.
The Duke of Argitaine smiled. “And yet you are still here.”
“Yes, I… I helped take an injured man back home.”
“Always an honorable man,” said the duke, his smile returning. “You will join me tonight when we meet to discuss strategy. I fear there may be little we can do to prevent Scotland from falling to England, but I will at least be able to say I did not abandon the Scots before the war ended, even if it is not in their favor.”
Dragonet sat on the offered bench by the brazier, his brain as numb as his toes. Perhaps the duke was right. He had been responsible for identifying clans to be given the offer of gold for joining the war party. Perhaps he should stay and see it through to the end with the duke.
He must retrieve the relic, and yet he had a duty to his honor as well. Dragonet closed his eyes and tried to reason through what was most important.
All he saw was Morrigan.
Twenty-Seven
“We need to stop them before they conquer the entire country. We must gather all our forces and march against them as soon as they cross the border,” said Douglas.
Dragonet stood beside his fellow French knights in the crowded meeting tent. He was still unsure of his path, but accompanied his old friends to learn the plans to repel the English.
“Nay,” said another man, “if we attack them in the open field, they will destroy us. We canna defeat so many trained English soldiers.”
“We must meet them on the field of honor,” said an elderly laird.
“And who would lead the charge? Ye?” asked Morrigan.
What was she doing in the meeting? Dragonet craned his neck to see her across the crowded tent. Should she not return home to Andrew?
Silence followed her question.
“What would ye do? Swear allegiance to England? I forgot, yer clan already did that,” sneered Ramsey.
“If every clan represented in this room who had ever sworn allegiance to England at some point in their clan’s history left the tent, there would be verra few standing,” retorted Morrigan.
“Enough!” commanded Douglas. “We need a plan to deal wi’ these Sassenach devils.”
What followed were several ideas; all appeared to be doomed to failure. The unpleasant truth was they could not defeat the English army.
Dragonet wished he could stand next to Morrigan, but dared not. He was not even sure if she saw him. He actually missed being stuck in the cave, not the accommodations or the freezing temperatures, but the camaraderie he had with her. He swallowed hard. It was over. Their time had passed.
“We need time to prepare our forces,” called out another man.
“We have no time. None. The English are upon us,” said Douglas. He was looking older than the last time Dragonet saw him.
“Starve them!” All eyes turned to Morrigan. “Dinna try to stop them from coming into Scotland. Let them come, but take every scrap o’ food, every cow, pig, and sheep, and give them naught to eat. Let them try to live off the land wi’ that many mouths to feed. Take all the wood, burn the houses if you must, but leave them no way to find fuel either. I like my Englishmen cold and hungry.”
There were loud, unpleasant grumblings as the assembled crowd considered the idea.
“I like it,” pronounced MacLaren, much to the surprise of Dragonet and many in the room. “An army travels on it
s stomach. Without food they canna go far. But we need time to get all the food and people, out o’ harm’s way. King Edward winna take kindly to being inconvenienced.”
“Send a message saying we wish to concede,” said Morrigan. “While one of us negotiates the surrender, the rest scourge the land.”
“Nay!” Many voices raised together in protest. “’Tis no’ honorable!”
“Do you want your honor, or is it your freedom you wish to retain?” asked Dragonet. “Sometimes, you need to consider the needs of the whole, not simply your own personal honor.” He looked at the duke when he spoke. The duke gave him a faint smile in return. Dragonet glanced across the room, and Morrigan gave him the smallest of nods in recognition.
“I will go,” stated Douglas. “I will keep King Edward busy negotiating terms, then break it off and run. Much as it pains me, ye need to destroy everything in his path. Let us give him as poor a reception as we are able.”
The men continued to talk about plans and strategies, and Dragonet continued to watch Morrigan. She took a keen interest in the proceedings and never again looked at him. Even when someone next to him spoke, she still averted her eyes. It took a lot of effort to give him absolutely no notice.
At last the meeting appeared to break up. Morrigan stomped from the tent and he followed. Why, he could not rightly say. She was a bright flame, and he was but a lowly moth.
Morrigan led him to a deserted area between some buildings and turned to face him. “What do ye want?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.
“Do you plan to march with the Scots against the English?”
“Aye, o’ course.”
“But… Andrew.”
“I have ne’er been good at tending the sick. I will speak to my messenger when he returns tomorrow to ensure the medicine was delivered and that Andrew is improving.”
“I suppose it would be fruitless to beg you to stay home and not march out to war.”
True Highland Spirit Page 24