Ruth Langan Highlanders Bundle

by Ruth Langan

  “Why?”

  “She might think that we—”

  “—are in love, my lady?” He was laughing as he looked into her eyes.

  At his words they both went very still. Then, as if on cue, they both pushed away and began to walk, taking great care not to touch each other.

  Why had he said that? Kieran wondered with a frown creasing his brow. The words had startled him. He knew not from whence they came. Love. It was absurd. He had no time for such foolishness. He would leave that to the poets and dreamers. He had more pressing issues to deal with.

  Love, Megan thought, feeling greatly troubled. Love was for people who could make plans for the future. She did not even know her past. She could not afford to love this man. She would not give her heart to any man until she knew who she was.

  “Kieran.” Tavis Downey strode toward them, shattering their somber mood. It was impossible to think gloomy thoughts in his presence.

  Placing a beefy hand on Kieran’s shoulder he said, “Several of the village lads have challenged us to wrestle. Conor and I need you on our side.”

  “Why do you always seek me out when there is to be a fight?”

  Tavis laughed. “I would rather see you take a beating than take it myself.”

  In truth, Kieran was relieved to have something physical on which to vent his frustration. “Aye. Let us give them a thrashing.”

  Tavis hesitated. “What of the lass?”

  “I would like to watch,” Megan said.

  For a moment Tavis looked stunned. “It is unseemly, my lady.”

  Kieran gave a roar of laughter. “When will you believe me, old friend? This lady is not like any other. Though I doubt she will join in, she could probably give any man there a good thrashing.”

  “Come along then, lass,” Tavis called to Megan. His face was nearly as red as his hair. “We need someone to cheer us on. But mind you keep your distance. I’ll not have a woman fighting my battles.”

  Walking between Tavis and Kieran, Megan felt her spirits begin to lift. She would dwell no more today upon love. ’Twas too vexing a thought for such a delightful day as this.

  Colin trailed behind the group of black-robed figures. Leading the way was Bishop Seamus O’Mara, who lifted his hand in blessing as the sea of people parted to make way for the men of the church. The women bowed as they passed and crossed themselves, while the men lifted their children aloft for a blessing.

  The bishop was in high spirits, for he enjoyed nothing more than walking among the people for a few hours, feeling one with them. Of course, it helped to know that on the morrow he would return to his quiet life of prayer among the company of learned men.

  He sighed. These few days at Castle O’Mara had served as a reminder of just how long he had been away from this life. He had been far removed from the smell of cow dung, the crying of children and the talk of war. Though he had grown up with them, he now discovered he much preferred the acrid scent of incense, the chanting of prayer and the calm reasoning that prevailed when men of the cloth met in the Queen’s chambers to discuss ways to prevent war.

  The English Queen. A nagging little thought persisted. While he met with the Queen’s ambassadors to speak of peace, his countrymen were still being imprisoned for imagined crimes so that their land could be confiscated. He knew that his words often fell on deaf ears. Still, as a man of God, he had to keep trying to prevent battles that would cost even more lives.

  He glanced at little Bridget, chasing after a crofter’s son in a game of tag. He owed it to the lass to try to bring peace to this troubled land. If that meant dealing with the Protestant Queen, so be it.

  As he paused at a booth to admire the plump hens being offered, he glanced around. Colin was no longer with them. It was apparent that he had slipped away again. The bishop frowned. The lad had been avoiding him ever since he had arrived from the monastery. First the lad had refused to confess, saying he needed time to prepare. Then he had not kept an appointment to discuss his future in the church. The bishop moved away from the booth, his gaze scanning the crowd for some sign of Colin. In his youth Colin had never seemed as headstrong as his brother, Kieran. Now he was showing signs of dissent. What he needed was more discipline. It might be best, he decided, to send the lad to Rome for a few years. He would not tell Lady Katherine. The dear woman was far too protective, especially with Sean dead and Fiona missing. He would wait until Colin was safely in the monastery to break the news to her.

  Colin pushed his way through the thick hedge and stepped into the shelter offered by a stand of trees. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw her standing beside the little stream. She was wearing the heavy cloak she had worn the first night, with the hood pulled up to hide her face. His heart began a painful tattoo in his chest.

  “I thought you might not come.” Her voice, so low and musical, touched him as it had since they were children.

  He took several steps toward her, then paused. “You knew I would come. But I had to be careful to slip away without being seen.”

  They stood without speaking, staring hungrily at each other.

  “Cara.” He heard the huskiness in his voice and cleared his throat. “Let me look at you.”

  She took a step into the shaft of sunlight.

  “Nay. I mean really look at you.”

  She reached up with both hands to remove the hood. Her hair tumbled down her back in a cascade of dark waves. A thin sliver of sunlight fell across her face, revealing the uncertainty in her eyes. Then she slid the cloak from her shoulders, revealing a gown of pale pink silk that molded her slim figure.

  “Why did you…leave the abbey?”

  “I…” She swallowed, then licked her dry lips and tried again. “I found I was not suited to the life of a nun.”

  “But we talked about it. We agreed…”

  She took a step toward him, then stopped. “We agreed to try. I tried my best, Colin. Truly I did. But I could not stay there.” She hesitated, then asked, “And what about you? Will you go back with the bishop?”

  How could he answer? How could he speak of the turmoil in his heart? Turmoil that he had been denying since he had taken that first step toward the priesthood.

  He looked at her and knew that he had to try.

  “Cara, sit down. What I have to say will take me a long time, for I have yet to sort it all out in my own mind.”

  Taking the cloak from her hands, he spread it on the ground. She knelt, then looked at him expectantly.

  “Something happened to me in Fleet,” he said softly.

  “It must have been horrible.” For a moment she covered her face with her hands as a shiver passed through her.

  “Aye. It was cruel beyond belief. And I thought I would die. In fact, there were times when I would have welcomed death. But I survived. And by surviving, something strange happened to me.” He began to pace as the words tumbled out. He told her of Kieran’s capture in the forest and of the lass who risked her life time and again to rescue them. He told of the storm-tossed crossing and their narrow escape from the clutches of the hangman’s soldiers who trailed them. And while he spoke, his eyes shone with a light that Cara had never before seen.

  “The lass is like no other.” He shook his head with a smile. “She taught me so much. Not just about battle, but about myself. Though my health is not robust, I realize I am no longer frail. I can survive heat and cold, floggings and starvation. That is not the sign of a frail man, is it?” Before she could respond, he went on. “I grew stronger with each recovery. And all this I learned because of the lass. She simply did what was needed at the time and expected me to do the same.” He turned to Cara with a triumphant look. “And I did not fail in what I had to do.”

  Cara’s voice was barely a whisper. “Do you love her, then?”

  “Aye. I suppose I do.” Seeing her stricken look, he fell to his knees beside her. “But not the way you mean. I love her the way I love Fiona, or Mother, or Kieran.”

 
Relief flooded through her at his declaration. Her features relaxed into a warm smile.

  It was as though a flash of lightning had suddenly illuminated the darkness of his mind. With a growing smile he said, “Do you not see, Cara? ’Twas Megan who showed me it is good to love. To love life. To love others unselfishly. And even to love a woman, if I choose.”

  Cara’s eyes widened as the knowledge of what he was saying dawned. “But what of our promise to forsake our love and dedicate our lives to the service of God?”

  “It was a noble vow. But we have both found that it is one we cannot live with.”

  Her eyes widened more. “Have you, Colin? Have you found that you cannot live with your vow?”

  His voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Aye.”

  “Have you told the bishop? Or your mother, or Kieran?”

  “Nay. I had to think it through, and tell you how I felt, before I face them. But now, having told you, I feel calmer about my decision. I have taken no final vows. I am not yet bound to the priesthood. I will not return with my uncle to the monastery. I will serve God in my own way, on my own land.”

  For long, silent moments they could only stare at each other. Then, slowly, tentatively, he dared to touch her. Reaching a hand to her cheek he whispered, “Oh, Cara. Do you know how long I have dreamed of this?”

  She closed her eyes a moment, loving the feel of his hand upon her cheek. His fingers were strangely work-worn and calloused. His touch made it easier to say all the things she had kept locked in her heart.

  “There was such a long time when I feared I would never see you again, Colin. And I grieved that I would never even have the memory of your touch to carry me through the endless years ahead.”

  “I know. It was the same for me.”

  “We should have at least touched each other before we parted.”

  “Aye. But we needed to avoid temptation in order to be strong enough to do what we thought right.”

  Growing bolder, he combed his fingers through the silken tangles of her hair and felt the need rising. “In prison I dreamed of your hair,” he whispered. “And I was afraid it had all been cut off in the abbey.”

  “They would have cut it if I had professed my vows. But I could not.” Tears welled in Cara’s eyes as she whispered, “Mother Superior warned me that I am too vain. She said that my love of self was a stumbling block in the path of service to God. I think perhaps she is right.” The tears slid from her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  “Nay, Cara.” With his thumbs he wiped the tears from her eyes. “You are neither proud nor vain. You are the most unselfish, humble lass I have ever known.” Without thinking, he kissed the corners of her eyes and tasted the salt of her tears. “And the most beautiful.”

  His words unleashed a torrent of tears. “Do you know why I could not stay at the abbey?” she asked in a whisper. Without waiting for his response she stared into his eyes and said, “I could not bear the thought of never holding a babe to my breast. Your babe,” she added fiercely.

  “Oh, Cara.” Colin felt a rush of longing so fierce it burned like a flame inside him. “I love you.” He kissed her temple, her cheek, then whispered against her mouth, “God knows I tried to deny it. But I can no longer deny the heart that beats inside me. It is you, love. Only you.”

  With a moan he covered her lips with his. As the kiss deepened, she brought her arms around his neck and drew him to her. They fed from each other’s lips, feeling the hunger grow and grow until the need overpowered them. And with murmured words of love they tangled together in the cloak and lost themselves in the love they had so long denied.

  The tolling of the church bells for evening vespers marked the beginning of the feast. All day the people had frolicked, freed from their usual duties. There were contests of skill for the men where the young women could observe them and cheer for those who caught their eye. The married women exchanged recipes and remedies and repeated all the latest gossip. The children played until they collapsed in the grass to sleep. Old men leaned their backs against trees and related tales of their former glory.

  Now, in the late afternoon sunlight, they came together to feast and celebrate the return of those who had been lost to them. As they took their places at long tables set on a grassy meadow, they feasted on deer and whole roasted pigs, partridge, goose and duck, and every manner of bread and pastry.

  Megan sat beside Kieran. Though her plate was heaped with food, she ate very little as she sat stiffly, afraid to allow any part of her body to brush against his.

  Beside her Kieran tasted the food and moved it around his plate. But he had no appetite.

  Across from them, Colin sat next to Cara. They, too, ate very little. But their shoulders brushed often, and their hands were linked under the table out of the view of others.

  Lady Katherine was seated between Sir Cecil and his son, James. Since the arrival of the bishop, both father and son had seemed extremely relaxed, as though they shared a very pleasant secret.

  And as the ale and wine flowed freely, many of the villagers became orators.

  “To my lords Kieran and Colin O’Mara,” the village elder said in quivering tones. Several young men from the village had to assist him in standing, but he gamely continued. “They were not beaten down by the cruel taskmasters who held them against their will.” He lifted a tankard and rasped, “Welcome home, my lords.”

  Amid shouts and cheers, the villagers lifted their tankards and drank.

  Tavis Downey, his face as red as apples, stumbled to his feet. “Kieran O’Mara lives a charmed life,” he shouted. “A lesser man would have perished in Fleet. But he has come back stronger and richer, for his land has prospered in his absence. And if that is not enough, he is accompanied by an angel.” As the others sent up a cheer, he toppled backward and lay in the grass. Everyone roared as Conor O’Byrne and several of the village youth carried him off to a nearby cottage.

  Another youth stood up and offered praise, then another, until the villagers were hoarse from shouting.

  Terence O’Byrne stood and the crowd cheered him wildly. His famous voice silenced the mob.

  “Kieran and Colin O’Mara,” he began in rich, resonant tones, “have survived what few men have ever lived to talk about. The cruel torture meted out to our countrymen inside Fleet Prison is well known.”

  At his words, Sir Cecil’s eyes narrowed. But he continued to stare straight ahead as Terence O’Byrne spoke.

  “The O’Maras have always been warriors and leaders of their people. Kieran and Colin will follow the example of their ancestors. And now, God willing, may they together lead their people from the tyranny that threatens to enslave us all.”

  The people rose up and lifted their arms high above their heads, cheering and shouting until their words became a war chant.

  Sir Cecil, seated beside Lady Katherine, hissed, “The fools spoil for war. Do they not know the might of Her Majesty’s army? They are but meddlesome gnats that fly in the face of a giant.”

  Lady Katherine turned to study the faces of her sons. Both Kieran and Colin wore expressions that reminded her of the warrior who had once stolen her heart. She felt a shiver of apprehension. And a fierce sense of pride.

  The bishop, gauging the warlike mood of the people, stood and lifted his hands until he got their attention. The people fell silent. One by one they took their seats.

  In a voice ringing with emotion, he said, “Have you forgotten who gave these men back to you? It was God, in his goodness, who spared their lives. If you are truly grateful, you must turn to Him for guidance in this difficult time. And you must not forget that there is one who is still not returned here to Killamara. For the sake of the lovely Lady Fiona, do not speak of war. Instead, search your hearts for peace.”

  Hearing the grumbling of some of the men, he shot them a warning glare and added, “Let us bow our heads now and pray for the safe return of Lady Fiona and her husband. And if they truly did meet their fates at the
hands of highwaymen, let us pray that they now rest in peace.”

  A look of intense pain crossed Lady Katherine’s face. Dabbing a cloth to her eyes, she bowed her head and folded her hands tightly together.

  All around the meadow, the men pulled their hats from their heads and clutched them in work-worn hands. The women bowed, their lips moving as the bishop intoned a prayer. Even the children had grown quiet, sensing the somber mood of the adults.

  When the bishop took his seat, Sir Cecil leaned across the table and said loudly, “You seem to be the only man here with any sense, Bishop O’Mara. Mayhap you can convince your nephews to beat their swords into plowshares.”

  Kieran shot him an angry look. “Perhaps, if you could convince your Queen to leave our people alone, Sir Cecil, they would be willing to lay down their weapons and concentrate on a life of peace.”

  Sir Cecil gave a chilling smile and turned to Lady Katherine, who sat silently beside him. “I may have the very means of assuring peace for Killamara.”

  “I should very much like to hear it,” the bishop said.

  “Then we shall speak on the morrow. But first there is something I must attend to tonight.” He caught Lady Katherine’s hand in his. “You are cold, my lady.” Taking his cloak from his shoulders, he wrapped it around her and said solicitously, “You need someone to take care of you, my dear. You have been too long neglected.”

  From his position at the head of the table, Kieran watched and listened. And though his hands tightened around the stem of his tankard, he showed no emotion as his mother was led away on the arm of Sir Cecil Kettering.

  “You are overwrought, my dear,” Sir Cecil said as he climbed the stairs beside Lady Katherine.

  “It was the mention of Fiona,” she said softly. “I cannot bear to think that I might never see her again.”

  “You need someone to care for you,” Sir Cecil said, opening the door to her chambers.

  He glanced around, pleased to note that the servants were still at the feast. “Your fire has burned down. I will see to it.”