by Ruth Langan
“Nay, Dillon. You know better than that. I do not involve myself in civil strife. I go as priest and confessor.” He found himself wondering about the tension in his young friend. Was it the strain of having his brothers imprisoned in England? Or perhaps the sparring with his gentle captive here in his home? Whatever the reason, the laird’s tension was a living, palpable thing. “I will carry nothing on my person that the lady could use as a weapon.”
Dillon rubbed an old ache at his shoulder. “Visit her, then.” He turned away, then paused and turned back. His voice in the darkness was tinged with sarcasm, as he recalled her attack with the decanter. “But keep a close watch over your sandals and prayer book, or the woman will find a way to relieve you of them, as well. They may be neither food nor weapon, but she will find a way to use them to her advantage.”
The priest smiled. If he did not know better, he would suspect that Dillon Campbell was beginning to regret his hasty actions in taking the woman captive.
At the knock on the door, Leonora looked up in surprise. It was too early for her tray.
Rupert opened the door, then stepped aside to allow the old priest to enter.
“Father Anselm.” The pleasure in Leonora’s voice was genuine. She put aside her embroidery and crossed the room to take his hands. “How is it that you are allowed to visit?”
“I sought permission from Dillon. I come as a servant of God.”
“Ah.” She nodded and led him toward a settle pulled in front of a cozy fire. “I am most grateful to see you. I wish I could offer you some refreshment, but, alas, I have nothing.”
The priest studied her with gentle eyes. “I need no refreshment, my lady. It is I who should be offering you sustenance. But all I can offer is spiritual refreshment.”
She folded her hands primly in her lap. “It is enough that you came. I was feeling so isolated.”
“Are you troubled in your mind, lass?”
She shrugged. “I try not to be. But sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, I find myself wondering if I will ever see my father again.”
He placed a hand over hers. “You must not lose hope, my dear. Your father and Dillon Campbell desire the same thing, the release of those most dear to them. With such a common bond, it shall come to pass.”
“My father is a man of honor,” she said with feeling.
“As is Dillon Campbell.”
“How can you say that?” Suddenly agitated, she got to her feet and began to pace in front of the fireplace.
“Because I have known Dillon since he was a lad. I will never forget the day we met. Would you care to hear the story?”
She paused and lifted her head. She had no interest in the savage, she told herself. But it would help to pass the time. “Aye. If you wish.”
He told her of the sounds of battle that had drawn him to the Highland meadow, and of the bodies of the men, women and children that littered the field until the ground ran red with their blood. And of the lad, who had bravely shielded his brothers and sister with his own body, with no thought to his own safety.
She became so caught up in the tale that, by the time he had finished, she was forced to turn away to hide her tears. She thought of her own childhood of wealth and privilege. She had taken for granted her safety and comfort.
“Who took them in?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the fire.
“Dillon, Sutton and Shaw came to live at the monastery. Flame was sent to a nearby abbey, where she lived until her brothers sent for her.”
Knowing how the girl adored her brothers, Leonora said softly, “It must have been terrible for the child to have been separated from them for so many years.”
“Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “That long separation has made Flame guard her brothers jealously. She sees every woman as a rival, my lady. Especially the woman who might turn the head of her eldest brother. To her, Dillon is her strong, noble protector.”
Leonora turned slowly and saw that the priest was watching her closely. She felt the sting of heat on her cheeks, but blamed it on the fire and returned to her place beside him on the chaise.
“What sort of child was Dillon, Father?”
“A serious lad. He seemed to stand apart from the others. Though he indulged in many of the pranks and mischief that most children indulge in, he seemed impatient to reach manhood and avenge the death of his parents. The anger that burned inside him was frightening to see.”
“Anger at the English?” she asked.
“At first. But that faded with time. It became a deeper anger. Aimed at all injustices. That is why he was the perfect choice to meet with your father to discuss peace between our countries. He is known throughout Scotland as not only a just man, but a fair one.”
“Would a fair man confine me to this prison?” she challenged.
In answer, he glanced around the comfortably appointed chambers, at the cozy fire, the fur-draped chairs. Getting slowly to his feet, Father Anselm said gently, “I would ask if you believe Dillon’s brothers are confined to such as this, my lady. Or are they, perhaps, languishing in a cold, cruel dungeon?”
Leonora hung her head in shame.
Father Anselm touched a hand to her shoulder. “Would you like my blessing before I go, my lady?”
“Aye.” She knelt and he lifted his hands in a benediction.
With a brief word to Rupert, he was gone.
Leonora began to look forward to the priest’s visits. The hours passed quickly in his company. Moreover, because of his fondness for a sip of spirits in the late afternoon, he began to smuggle in small amounts of wine, hidden in the folds of his robes. The two of them would sit together, enjoying a bit of wine and the warmth of the fire.
Father Anselm was a fine storyteller. Through his words she began to see a portrait of Dillon’s early years. The picture that emerged was of a strong, deeply moral lad who bore the full weight of responsibility for his brothers and sister. A natural leader who, by his very nature, drew others to trust and follow him.
“How did he become laird?” she asked one afternoon.
The monk lifted a goblet of wine to his lips and drank deeply before answering her. “’Tis not enough for a Highlander to be a natural leader among men. The real test of his manhood lies on the field of battle. And there, my lady, Dillon Campbell has no equal. He is both fearsome and fearless. A most compelling force indeed.” Father Anselm’s voice lowered. “I have seen him after a battle. There is a look in his eye…” He shook his head. “He is a man driven. Woe to anyone who faces Dillon’s wrath. ’Tis both terrible and wonderful to behold.”
Leonora thought about the way Dillon had leaped to the defense of his brothers. Even the swords of a hundred soldiers had not stopped him. There had been a look about him. She sipped her wine. Magnificent. That was the word that always came to mind when she recalled the scene in her father’s castle. Dillon Campbell had been the most magnificent warrior she had ever seen.
In frustration, Leonora asked her solemn guard, “What do you do when you are not watching me?”
Rupert blinked. For a moment, he seemed uncertain what to do. After a long, uncomfortable pause, he seemed to have decided that the beautiful Englishwoman deserved a reply.
“Ofttimes I ride with Flame. The lass is my responsibility.”
“Your responsibility?”
“Aye. Decreed so by her brothers. The lass is headstrong, and takes many foolish chances. It is my duty to see that she does not come to harm.”
“Does Flame know you are watching out for her?”
The boy blushed. “Nay. Dillon swore me to secrecy. The lass would be furious if she knew that her brother had ordered me to be her protector.” He seemed suddenly aware of what he had revealed. “You will not tell her?”
Leonora shook her head and smiled gently. “It will be our secret.”
Rupert looked greatly relieved.
“Besides,” Leonora added, “I doubt the lass will ever have occasion to speak with me. It
is obvious that she shares her brother’s hatred for the English.”
The lad flushed and she realized she’d hit a nerve. Everyone in Dillon Campbell’s fortress, in all his land, it seemed, shared such a hatred.
“What do you do when you are not looking out for Flame?”
For the first time, a slow smile touched Rupert’s lips. “I tend to my doves.”
“Doves?”
He nodded. “I constructed a pen up on the rooftop of the inner wall of the fortress. The doves are my friends. They know the sound of my voice, and whenever I climb up to feed them, they perch on my hands and head and shoulders.”
“How wonderful.” Leonora smiled at him. “I wish I could see them.”
His face became animated; his eyes danced with an inner light. “Would you like to?”
“Aye.”
“I shall ask Dillon if you can be allowed to leave his chambers and accompany me to the tower.”
She folded her hands behind her back and stared at the floor. “Dillon would never permit it.”
“Aye. I fear that is true.”
She glanced up, favoring him with her most persuasive smile. “We could see the doves now, and be back in his chambers before he returns.”
Oh, how Rupert wished he could visit his precious doves. He sorely missed them. But not even the woman’s smile could induce him to disobey his laird’s orders again. He shook his head. “That would not be right. My laird said you must not leave these rooms.”
“But it would be our secret. Dillon need not know.”
“But I would know. I have been given a task. I will perform it, or die trying.”
The lad was so solemn, she could think of no argument that would persuade him to change his mind. Besides, if the truth be told, she felt a twinge of guilt for having tried to trick the slow-witted Rupert into defying Dillon’s orders again. Perhaps Dillon Campbell was a harsh taskmaster. Perhaps, if this lad disobeyed him, and she managed to escape while under his watchful eye, Dillon would have him put to death. It was what she would expect from these Highland savages.
“I understand, Rupert,” she said, lost in thought. “I would not have you punished by your laird.”
“The laird would never punish me, my lady. ’Twould be punishment enough to know that I displeased him.”
The lad turned away in sadness. He wished there was some way to put the smile back in the beautiful Englishwoman’s eyes.
“The lady has asked to see my doves, my laird.”
Dillon glared at him.
First, she had charmed the priest. Dillon had sniffed the scent of wine in his chambers. The next day, keeping watch on Father Anselm, he had seen the priest accepting a decanter from Mistress MacCallum and hiding it in the folds of his robes before going up for his daily visit with the Englishwoman. It was obvious that even that sweet old man of God was falling under her spell.
And now, though he had ordered Rupert not to speak to the prisoner, it was obvious that the lad had told her about his doves.
“You spoke to the woman?”
Rupert ducked his head, his face flaming. “I…may have said a word or two. The lady has a natural curiosity about all things, my laird. But I warned her that she would not be permitted to see them.”
After a pause Dillon surprised him by saying, “I see no harm in it.” The truth was, he was feeling guilty at the harsh punishment meted out to the lass. But she had to learn the rules of war. It was the way of all prisoners. Why should she be any different?
Leonora’s only food had been tasteless biscuits and thick gruel, which had gone untouched. And, of course, the wine Father Anselm had managed to sneak in.
Each night, as he lay beside her, he had to fight an almost overpowering desire to kiss her again. But he knew that, under cover of darkness, one kiss would lead to another. And that would only take him over the edge. Hating him the way she did, she would never consent, and the thought of taking a woman, even an enemy, by force, went against everything he had ever believed in.
He found himself often prowling the gardens until late into the night. When he returned to his chamber, he managed, through sheer willpower, to endure the endless nights. By day, he avoided her as much as possible.
Though the woman had grown considerably thinner, her spirit had not been broken. If anything, she had become even more defiant, not only by refusing food, but by refusing to speak to him unless commanded to do so. To fill the lonely hours, Rupert reported that she had begun imitating the voices of the women around her. Her favorite was Mistress MacCallum. She could mimic every inflection of the housekeeper’s speech. Perhaps, Dillon mused, if he let her see the doves, this show of good faith on his part would soften her demeanor.
The rawboned youth’s eyes darted with genuine pleasure at the prospect of sharing his precious doves with the prisoner. “Will you tell her, my laird, or shall I?”
“I will tell her, Rupert. You may go to the tower.”
Dillon made his way to his chambers and dismissed the guards. When the door opened, he saw her standing on the balcony, her gaze fixed on the horizon, a look of hunger in her eyes.
“If only you could fly like a little bird.” His words bespoke her innermost thoughts, twisting the knife in her heart.
She turned. “Aye. I would be free. Free of you. Free of this hovel.”
He ignored her taunt. “You wish to see Rupert’s doves?”
She tried to hide her surprise. She had expected that this request would be coldly refused. “Aye. With your permission.”
“I grant it.” At her arched look he added, “I will accompany you.”
“To make certain I do not fly away?”
He merely smiled and turned away. With a frown of impatience, she followed him down the hallway and up several flights of stairs until they reached a tower. Rupert stood eagerly awaiting their arrival.
She and the lad had spent so much time together, that, even though they rarely spoke, they had developed an easy camaraderie.
“From this position atop the highest tower, you can see clear to England, my lady.” He pointed and she followed his direction.
“Is it truly England?”
“Aye.”
Behind them Dillon watched the way she clasped her hands together until the knuckles were white. He allowed her a long time to drink in the view of green, fertile lowlands and beyond them, a sweep of English countryside, before saying gruffly, “We will see the pigeons now, Rupert.”
“Aye, my laird.”
The lad opened a heavy door that led to a walkway ringing the tower. Outside was a wooden pen with tiny compartments. Each compartment held a cooing bird.
As they approached, the cooing grew louder. Rupert threw open the tiny doors, freeing the birds. There was a great whir of wings as gray and white and black doves lifted into the air and circled gracefully. From his pocket Rupert removed a handful of seeds. As quickly as the doves had ascended, they descended, landing on the lad’s head and shoulders and hands. For a moment, their wings continued moving, like giant butterflies. Then their movements stilled, and they cooed as they gently pecked at the seeds he offered them.
Leonora was enthralled. “Look how they trust you,” she said softly.
“Aye, my lady.” The lad’s words were spoken almost reverently.
Beside her, Dillon flinched. Trust. If only he could trust the woman. But that was something to be earned through mutual respect. Something a Highland laird and an English noble could never hope to achieve.
“Did it take a long time to earn such trust, Rupert?”
“Aye. But it was worth it.” He lifted a dove to his lips and the bird touched its beak to his lips. “I am mother and father to them. And friend. No matter how far away they might fly, they will always return to me. And no matter how long they are gone, I know they will ne’er forget me.”
“Then it is more than trust. It is truly love.”
Dillon felt a shiver pass through him at her words.
/> The lad turned to her. “Would you like to hold one, my lady?”
“Oh, aye.” She clapped her hands in excitement. “Would they permit me to touch them?”
“If you do as I say. You must make no sudden moves, my lady. Stand very still and let them get to know you.”
He took her hand and transferred one of the doves to her finger. The pale gray bird watched her as she lifted it close to her face. In a gentle voice, she began to murmur words of endearment. As if mesmerized, the dove began to coo.
Dillon stood back, watching her with wary eyes. How gentle she was. How in tune with this big, gentle lad. When had these two dissimilar people formed such a strange bond?
His gaze slid to the dove. With gentle coaxing, it had grown calm and trusting.
Rupert handed her several grains, which she offered to the bird. Though hesitant at first, it finally pecked at the grains. At the first touch of its beak, she drew her hand away with a jerk.
“Nay, my lady. Do not be afraid. It will not hurt,” Rupert assured her.
She flattened her hand and tried again. This time, the bird pecked at the grain and she didn’t flinch. When the grains were gone, she laughed delightedly.
“Oh, Rupert. They are all so lovely. I can see why they bring you such pleasure.”
The lad beamed with joy at her words. “Most here at Kinloch House think me a fool for spending so much time with the doves. After all, they are not useful like the horses, or protective like the hounds.”
“All of God’s creatures serve a purpose, Rupert. Even if it is only to make our world a more beautiful, gentle place in which to dwell. In fact, they may be the most noble purpose of all. To add light and beauty to our dark lives.”
At her words, Dillon turned his head to study her more carefully.
“Aye, my lady. That is what my doves have brought to my life. Light and beauty. But the others do not understand.”
“That is because they have not seen you with them. If they saw what I just saw, they would not only understand, but share your love for these beautiful creatures.”
He lifted his arms and the flock took to the air with a great flapping of wings. For long minutes, they circled. Then, at his simple command, they returned to perch all over him.