He doubted the mother abbess was aware her students were flirting with a stranger.
When he arrived back at the stables next to Connor, he silently retrieved his horse, interrupting the animal’s snack on the long green grasses. He got a snort for his rudeness, which he ignored as he mounted.
“Leaving so soon?” Connor asked. “I haven’t even had time to listen to anyone in the stables.”
“They’re lying. Said she’s not here. The guards at the gate are much different than anyone we encountered the other day.”
Connor mounted and followed behind him. “Will you tell me what happened, or are you too angry right now?”
Once they were a ways down the path, Roddy said, “Let’s make our way to Muir Castle and hope Braden has heard something. I will pursue this further, but not without reinforcements.”
“Your temper is flaring, aye?”
“Aye. I don’t know where Rose is, but I’ll find her.”
Out of nowhere, an owl swooped down in front of him, nearly spooking his horse into rearing back. He watched as the bird landed on a nearby tree and then turned to face him, its golden eyes pinning him to his spot.
He swore the creature stared straight at him, its piercing eyes causing Roddy’s heart to pound for a few moments before he pulled his gaze away and continued on their journey.
He wouldn’t be distracted by an odd fowl, no matter how rare it was to see owls in the daytime.
He had to find Rose.
Chapter Seven
Rose sat at a desk in a small chamber outside the library, Constance at her side. Rose had been here for several days, and she already knew Constance would be her friend for life. In fact, she debated telling her the truth about her hearing.
She chewed on her lower lip as she studied the letters on the page in the large book in front of her. Her sire had taught her all of the letters, but she didn’t comprehend how they could be put together to make words.
Constance had searched for quite a while before she found a picture book to illustrate some basic words. She’d started with simple ones. Lass, lad, bed, cat, dog. These were words Rose remembered from her long-ago lessons with her father.
Her new friend reviewed the list again. “This one is mother, you see it starts with the letter M.”
Rose traced the M with her fingertip, then did the same with the other letters in the word. She’d practiced on her own after her sire’s death, usually late at night when she knew her mother would not catch her.
“Now you try. Can you read these words?”
Demonstrating an admirable degree of wisdom, Constance moved on to other words that might be useful to Rose: good and bad, father and abbess, God, hungry, hurt, love, and help me.
How she admired her friend.
Constance had already done so much to help her communicate. Guilt weighed down on her shoulders, but the guilt wasn’t what made her tell the truth—it was the desire to reveal herself fully to her friend. Using some of the signs they’d agree upon, she did her best to communicate to Constance that she could hear but not speak.
“Truly?” Constance clapped her hands, cheered, and then wrapped her in a hug so tight it hurt.
Rose grinned but held her finger to her lip to shush Constance. Then she mouthed the word “secret,” and turned to the picture for “mother.”
“I’ll keep your secret, Rose. ’Tis your mother who makes you lie? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
She nodded, but as soon as she saw the pained expression on her friend’s face, she almost regretted telling her. Constance was a softhearted person. Rose reached out and squeezed her hand, encouraging her to continue.
Her friend nodded, but before she returned to the lesson, she whispered, “I know I’m supposed to be kind to all, especially in the house of the Lord, but I don’t think I like your mother verra much.”
The lessons continued at a much quicker pace once Constance knew Rose could hear her. She’d already learned so much more than she’d ever hoped.
When their lesson came to an end, Constance said, “I love when your eyes light up so. They are such a beautiful color and they turn lavender when you are pleased with your work.”
That night at dinner, two new lasses came to eat with them: Ada and Euphemie. Ada appeared to be pleasant and willing to make friends, but Euphemie harbored an undercurrent of anger about everything. Her brown hair seemed to darken with her changing mood.
“Your name is Rose?” Euphemie said. “Do you have a lad who likes you, Rose? We saw someone at the gates the other day looking for a lass named Rose. His hair was like spun gold and his skin was golden bronze from the sun. Do you know him, lass?”
Rose didn’t answer because she couldn’t. She struggled to contain her excitement upon discovering that Roddy Grant had come to see her. Why hadn’t he been allowed in? She’d been here two days ago. She couldn’t let on that she’d understood Euphemie’s words, so she used her passive face to stare at the new girl.
“Are you going to answer me?” Euphemie pursed her lips and tipped her head as she waited, her gaze narrowing to slits.
Constance said, “Euphemie, she cannot hear or speak. Leave her be, please.”
Euphemie got a strange look on her face, then her eyes lit up and she quirked her brow at them. “Are you daft then? Anyone who cannot talk must be daft. Why would a lad as handsome as that come looking for a daft girl?”
“Euphemie!” The shout rang out across the hall.
“Aye, Sister Murreall?” The lass bolted out of her seat, assuming the look of a penitent—hands clasped together, head bowed.
“You will not tease the new lass. Do you understand me?” Sister Murreall strode over to stand in front of Euphemie while Ada stood behind her, peeking over her shoulder. “The same applies to you, Ada. You will not tease someone who has failings the rest of us do not. Be grateful ’tis not you who cannot hear or speak.”
“Aye, Sister. Please do forgive me.” The words didn’t match Euphemie’s posture. She looked rigid with anger, even more so the longer the nun stood in front of her, and no wonder—the woman of the cloth was chastising her in front of the entire hall.
The nun’s finger came out of her bell sleeve and pointed toward Rose. “You will apologize now.”
Euphemie turned to face Rose with a hateful expression. The voice came out as sweet as honey, but the look in her eyes showed her true feelings. “My apologies to you, Rose.”
Sister Murreall said, “You will come with me, please.” She pivoted and headed out of the hall.
Euphemie leaned close to Rose. “I hope you can look at my lips and know what I’m saying because this message is meant just for you.” She poked her in the chest and said, “This is all. Your. Fault. You will pay for it.”
Ada followed her out of the hall, but she shrugged as she went, as if to apologize for her friend.
Rose stared after the departing lasses, wondering what to make of the situation.
Constance took Rose’s hand in hers, cocooning it as she patted it. “Do not worry. She likes to talk nasty, but she rarely carries out her promises. Let’s keep working on your reading tonight. Just forget about Euphemie.”
How she hoped she could.
***
Roddy and Connor had spent the last couple of days searching the area, hoping for some other clues about the new abbey, the MacDoles, or any boats in the sea loch, but they had not met with any success. They were approaching Braden’s castle near dusk on a narrow path in the forest when a grunting sound reached Roddy’s ears. He spun his head around to look at Connor. “Did you just hear a boar?”
Out of the bushes ahead of them came four wild pigs, snorting and grunting as they charged toward them at a fierce pace. Roddy pulled his bow out, set up his arrow, and let it fly, taking out the largest of the beasts. Connor hit another, but then one of the remaining two began to run in a circle and bumped into Roddy’s horse. The beast promptly reared, unseating Roddy. He landed
on his back in the middle of a small clearing.
One of the boars headed straight toward him.
He froze.
Connor’s shouts pulled him out of his trance. “Roddy, grab your sword or he’ll kill you!”
Sweat broke out across Roddy’s forehead, covered the palm of his hand. He finally reached for the hilt of his sword, but his hand was not moving nearly fast enough. He was certain he was about to die. All he could do was stare as the two beasts headed straight toward him.
“Roddy!”
Connor’s voice echoed across the clearing as he raced toward him, taking one of the boars out with his sword.
The remaining boar was almost upon Roddy when something finally triggered his reactions and he pulled out his sword, swinging it in a wide arc and hitting the remaining pig with such a force that he not only sliced it open, but sent it flying through the air, landing in a bloody heap on the other side of the clearing.
“Son of a bitch, Roddy. I didn’t think you’d ever draw your weapon. What the hell happened? I’ve never seen you like that.” Connor cleaned and sheathed his weapon, then hurried over to his side, gripping his shoulder and shaking him a bit as he continued to stare into the bushes. “Roddy? Are you hale?”
He finally dropped his weapon to the ground, then picked it up to clean it before resheathing it. Pacing a small circle, he stared at Connor. “I don’t know what happened. I froze. I know not why. I…” What else could he say? The thing he’d long feared had finally happened. He was so afraid of dying that his fear had paralyzed him.
His days as a warrior were done. Who would wish to take him along in battle when he couldn’t be certain he would draw his weapon?
***
To Rose’s delight, Sister Murreall had moved Constance into her chamber, but her friend had become ill with cramps the very next night. She’d gone to the infirmary, and Rose was on her own the following morning.
She could do this. She dressed carefully in the dark gray wool gown supplied by the abbey for their students. As soon as she descended the stairs, Euphemie came over to greet her, then leaned down and quietly whispered, “Still daft, are you? Ugly and stupid. I’ll bet I can get you to do something that will get you in trouble, and you’ll never suspect a thing until you’re in Father Seward’s office and he has the switch in his hand. No one will save you then. Not even your friend Constance.” The gleam in her eye told Rose how much she enjoyed taunting people.
Rose ignored her, pretending that she could neither hear nor understand Euphemie’s words. The mean lass found a seat at the end of the same trestle table, but Rose was happy to ignore her. There was a certain pleasure in knowing that, unbeknownst to Euphemie, she understood every harsh word the lass had said.
She’d be watching Euphemie.
Midway through the meal, Rose decided to add honey to her porridge, so she got up from her seat and went to the side table where the flavorings were kept.
A tittering started behind her, but she ignored it, finishing her task before she returned to the table. Then she was forced to turn toward the tittering. Euphemie was standing by Rose’s empty chair, pointing to the seat, now stained with blood.
“See? She is a fool. She does not even know when she bleeds.” Euphemie’s voice carried to the others and the laughter grew louder. Rose wished to cover her ears, but that would give her lie away, so she didn’t. Instead, she dropped her bowl on the table and raced back to her room, horrified that she’d bled all over.
She would surely die of embarrassment. Did Euphemie know that women bled when they were being punished? She desperately needed to speak with Constance. Well, not speak, but be near her. She needed the confidence her dear friend exuded, the comfort she offered her.
As soon as she was alone in her chamber, she disrobed and found rags to stuff between her legs before donning a new gown. After she tossed the bloody clothing on the floor, she fell onto the bed sobbing.
She sobbed for most of the morning, her thoughts full of the other girls’ laughter and Euphemie’s cruel face. When she finally was able to force the scene from her mind, her mother’s voice replaced it.
“God is punishing you for what you did. I saw you kissing that boy. Lasses do not kiss boys until they are married, and now he will force you to pay. You will bleed every month until God feels you have mended your ways. Women do not cavort with rogues but stay at home until their sire marries them off properly. You must pray every night until the Lord forgives your sinful ways. And if I ever see you kiss another boy, I will lock you up for a month. Do you hear me? A month!”
Rose had tried to be good, but every month she bled, and every month her mother would come in and chastise her for her sinful, dirty ways.
And then she’d caught her kissing Roddy, which had made everything so much worse. To her mother’s mind, the only way out of her predicament was for her to beg forgiveness at the abbey.
And now all the lasses in the abbey knew about her sinful behavior. How could she ever hold her head high again?
She cried and cried until she fell asleep.
It was almost dark when she awakened. She lay there thinking about all that had transpired, wishing that Constance were there with her. Her friend would know what to do.
Instead, the door opened and a man’s face appeared in the crack. It was Father Bernard Seward. “Rose,” he whispered. “You must get up and eat something. I heard about your troubles. I’m sending you to the infirmary. They’ll help you with your female issues.”
She sat up and stared at him, wondering if he meant what he’d said. His kindness was unexpected, though she did not know him well.
“Can you walk? I’ll go with you. You may spend the night there. I do not want you alone in here.” She told him with her actions what she couldn’t tell him with her words. She stood and followed him out of the room and toward the stairs. The infirmary was on the floor above them at the end of the north passageway. Father Seward led the way, and she was glad to follow. When they arrived, he spoke with the nun in a voice too soft for her to hear. Then he patted her shoulder, smiled at her, and left.
To her delight, the nun led her into a small room with two beds in it, and Constance was in the other bed. The nun pointed to the bed and gave her a pile of fresh rags to use. She blushed because the nun was obviously aware of her shameful secret.
She hadn’t known kissing a boy was sinful. They’d had visitors a few years ago, friends of her sire’s who came to the castle now and again to breathe in the fresh air and be near the water. Her mother hadn’t wanted them to stay, but they’d insisted on spending a single night at the castle. She’d led the young man out to the rocks to show him the wonderful view, and he’d surprised her by grasping her shoulders and spinning her around to face him. He’d planted his cold lips against hers, then proceeded to lick her with his tongue in a most unappealing manner.
She’d pushed him away, but that didn’t matter to her mother. As soon as their guests left, her mother had chastised her, saying she’d seen them cavorting out the window. Her mother had refused to hear her side of it, so she’d gone to bed without supper and cried herself to sleep.
About two months later, she’d begun to bleed. The sight of the bright red blood had terrified her. Her mother had seen the blood on her clothing and explained to her that it was the Lord’s way of punishing lasses for being free with themselves.
How she prayed God would forgive her soon because she was tired of bleeding every month. She sat on the bed with the pile of rags on her lap, not knowing what to do with them, when the sweetest voice she’d ever heard whispered, “You are bleeding, too?”
Chapter Eight
Roddy swung his fist in a wide arc with a roar, then sat up in his bed.
“What the hell?” Connor sat up in the bed against the opposite wall.
Roddy rubbed his eyes, doing his best to banish the vision of the wild boars chasing him to the edge of the water, forcing him to jump in. The water had looked lik
e it did outside of Rose’s keep, wild and deadly, and he’d known he would drown. “Sorry, Connor. ’Twas a nightmare. My apologies. Go back to sleep.”
Connor fell back into bed and rolled onto his side, falling asleep almost instantly.
Roddy could not fall back asleep now. Not with images of boar tusks and swirling water dancing in his mind.
The nightmares were getting worse.
They’d assailed him off and on for most of his life, but they’d lingered for long after the battle in which his uncle Alex had nearly lost his life. It had been such a shock to see bodies littering the ground, blood everywhere, and the images had come to him again and again in his dreams. For a while, they’d faded, but they’d come back after Braden’s fight with the Lamonts. Why hadn’t he gotten used to death? It was part of being a warrior. It was part of life.
Now his nightmares always involved water and drowning. He fought to rise to the top, only to wake up gasping for air.
He couldn’t stop them, no matter how he tried. He’d tried special potions from his mother, without telling her why she needed them, training his thoughts when he went to bed at night, and talking the problem through, but nothing had helped. Instead, his dreams grew and grew, and of late, they seemed to always involve water. Now, to his delight, this one involved boars and drowning. How he wished he’d drowned the beasts.
He had no idea what to do. How could he stop them?
He swung his legs off the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees. There was no way he’d fall asleep now.
Forcing himself to his feet, he made his way toward the great hall, creeping down the stairs as quietly as he could, hoping not to awaken anyone. To his surprise, he ran into Braden coming out of the kitchens with a turkey leg in his hand.
His cousin smirked and offered him the treat. “Here. I’ll grab another.” When they were younger, they’d built a reputation for having insatiable appetites. They’d find a way to eat at one cottage, then go to the next one complaining of starvation. Everyone they ran into muttered on about growing lads and their big appetites, but the words were usually said with an indulgent grin.
Highland Lies (The Band of Cousins Book 4) Page 7