The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle)

by Ashley York

  A blush traveled up her neck, but she did not deny it. He was a little upset that his uncle thought he should be so blatant with her, but he sensed things about people that others missed. He was much like Calum in that way. Perhaps that was their connection. With the loss of Calum, Iseabail had found Uncle Peter to give her that same wisdom.

  “Come, let us eat before all the food is gone.” Uncle Peter looked the way Seumas remembered him—full of joy and energy.

  Iseabail laughed as she allowed Uncle Peter to lead her to a table weighed down with meats, breads, cheeses and fruit.

  Seumas took a step back and watched. A black thought passed through his mind, but he could not believe it. Had she not objected to being told she was ready for marriage because she still thought of Somerset? Is that what she would do with her life now? Watching the way she smiled at his uncle, Seumas could not believe it to be true. Somerset looked like a pompous good for nothing, much like her uncle.

  Her uncle. That one was evil. Clearly both Iseabail and Calum had not trusted the man, but it seemed as if Iseabail had a more pronounced dislike. It could be she had simply seen how cruel he was.

  Seumas went over to join Uncle Peter and Iseabail, determined to celebrate his homecoming.

  *****

  “Uncle Peter, your comment about me getting married makes me wonder if you have spoken to Seumas about me.” Iseabail looked behind her to see that Seumas could not hear what she was asking.

  “He did speak to me, I admit it.” He put a slice of dark bread on his plate and piled cheese and ham on it. “He loves ye immensely but is convinced ye do not return those feelings.” His look surprised her with its intensity. “Why would he believe that?”

  “I have only this day had a revelation about my mistreatment by my uncle.”

  Seumas was behind her before she realized it. “What mistreatment?”

  Uncle Peter reached out to her and held her when she would have bolted for the door. “Something ye can talk about later. Eat. We have made all yer favorites.”

  Seumas nodded and headed to the food. Uncle Peter’s gaze bored into her as if to remind her of the truth. It was not her fault.

  Perhaps sensing she needed time, Uncle Peter saw her seated before retreating into the kitchen. All around her people were talking and laughing, sharing stories of the past with old friends from the village, but Iseabail swirled in a vortex of emotion within her own mind.

  Seumas was a noble man, which created her dilemma. If she told him about the abuses she had suffered, he would not withdraw his proposal. He would go through with it even if he could not come to terms with it. It would haunt him, and them, the rest of their lives.

  She watched him as he spoke with Brother James. Seumas looked truly happy, very animated, recounting the earlier fishing trip. She knew when Brother James mentioned her because they both turned to look at her. Seumas’s smile was warm, crinkling his eyes. He waved his leg of mutton at her in greeting, and she could not help but laugh.

  It was Brother Timothy who finally brought her out of her obsessing. “Shall we dance?”

  “There is no music.”

  As if on cue, a recorder began to play in the distance.

  “This way, Iseabail.”

  He led her into the small hall off the back of the Great Hall. It, too, was lit with candles, and she was delighted to see a clarsach and a bodhran along with the recorder.

  “Oh, how wonderful.” She clasped her hand to her mouth in delight. “I had no idea there would be music and dancing.”

  “We have much to celebrate tonight. The prodigal son, so to speak, has returned home to us.” He grabbed her hand and led her in a simple jig.

  Before long, she had danced with Brother Matthew, Brother James and Brother Paul and needed a rest. She held her hand up when Brother Andrew approached her, almost reconsidering at his crestfallen expression, but Seumas took her arm and led her to the bench.

  He handed her a glass of fresh cider. “Ye look as if ye are having fun, Iseabail.”

  “I am. These monks do know how to enjoy themselves.”

  “They do not often have things to celebrate as they do today.”

  “Why, what is special about today?”

  “I have decided to take the orders and join them here.” Seumas waved to a man from the village, who held up a cake and motioned Seumas to join him. “We will talk later.”

  Iseabail’s world crashed down around her. Take his orders? He was going to become a monk?

  “M’lady, are you not well? You are deathly pale.” Brother Timothy was at her side and Brother James quickly joined him.

  “Perhaps she needs air. It is very hot in here.”

  She allowed them to take her arms and lead her into the courtyard.

  The air was crisp with a light fog hovering above the ground.

  Uncle Peter came out after them with a shawl to wrap around her shoulders. “Go back inside. I will see that she is taken care of.”

  Brother Timothy and James nodded acceptance of the plan and returned to the dancing.

  “I take it ye have heard.” Uncle Peter’s voice was very quiet.

  Iseabail felt as if she had spent her whole life in tears and here she was, sobbing again. She could not answer him. She just turned toward him, and he held her as she cried.

  They walked toward the outside staircase, and he led her up to her room. “I think ye will feel better after ye rest, Iseabail. I will make yer apologies for ye.”

  She heard him close the door as she lay down on the bed.

  The realization that she was completely and totally alone should have affected her more, she reasoned with herself. It was a fact she could no longer put off. Seumas did not wish to marry her, and he did not even know about her uncle’s abuses. She had to admit that Seumas did seem very happy here with the other Brothers. They loved him so much. She could not blame him for wanting to stay where he was loved. Everyone wanted that. She wished she had such a place. Her tears had dried up, and no more would come.

  Chapter 29

  Seumas’s heart pounded a little too quickly. He should have been glad to have told Iseabail his plans to stay at the monastery. Instead, he felt as if he had lost his last friend. Discussing it with his uncle should have been even easier.

  “What are ye talking about? Ye do not belong here,” Uncle Peter said.

  “Of course I do. This is exactly where I belong.” Seumas glanced toward the door but no one came in.

  Uncle Peter raised his eyebrows. “Ye have to take vows of poverty and abstinence.”

  “I can do that. It has been more than three years since I have had sexual relations. Believe me, uncle. This is where I belong.”

  His uncle had rolled his eyes and shook his head as if Seumas had just told him he could fly. Seumas did have second thoughts at his uncle’s reaction; especially after he found that all the Brothers shared his view—he did not belong there.

  “I am welcome to visit, but I cannot be one of ye? Is that what ye are telling me?”

  “You already are one of us.” Brother Matthew placed his hand on his arm. “You are like a son to us. We could not love you more. We just do not believe you should be a monk, Seumas.” He shook his head as well. “You are a virile man with dreams of family and a wife to help you.”

  “But I have bigger dreams of God. Does that not count for something?”

  Brother Matthew had a beseeching look. “You will not set aside God if you marry and have a family. You will be fulfilling God’s purpose for your life.”

  None of them seemed to understand how Seumas was feeling. He had returned from the pilgrimage broken, but here he felt as if he was finally mending. They had showered him with acceptance and forgiveness that the world never would.

  “You cannot hide in here,” Brother James blurted. “You need to deal with all your earthly demons beyond these walls before you can even consider coming here.”

  Seumas snorted in exasperation.

 
His uncle held his gaze, perhaps gauging what would be best to say. “Delicious cake, eh Seumas?” Uncle Peter indicated his empty plate, and Seumas looked heavenward at that lack of wisdom. The older man helped himself to another piece. “Quite a celebration, no?”

  Seumas shook his head, searching the crowd for some comfort. “Where is Iseabail?” He had not seen her for a while, and he missed her. “Do ye know where she is?”

  Uncle Peter took a bite of cake and shrugged.

  “Methinks I will go ask Brother Timothy. He does seem to anticipate her every need.”

  Seumas walked away to look for Brother Timothy. He needed to distance himself from his uncle and his earlier words.

  He found Brother Michael’s strongly built shoulders blocking his path. “What are ye thinking, man?” Seumas always knew when he was vexed because his Irish accent became more pronounced.

  “What is wrong?”

  “Ye are not going to become a monk.” Brother Michael stepped in closer, his eyes narrowing. “Why would ye tell her that ye are?”

  “I am.” Seumas spread his legs slightly and put his hands on his hips.

  Brother Michael shook his head vehemently. “Ye cannot even hear God telling ye to marry that woman.” He pointed up the stairs. “How do ye expect to follow His will hidden behind these walls?”

  The words stung, but Seumas needed to set him straight. “She does not want to marry me.”

  Seumas sounded disappointed even to his own ears, and Michael’s softening features confirmed it. Seumas could not hide how he felt.

  Brother Michael placed his big hand on Seumas’s shoulder, shaking it gently. “Do ye see what ye are really wanting then, son?”

  Uncle Peter chose that moment to come over to Seumas. “Can ye hear what we are telling ye?”

  Brothers Matthew and James completed the circle surrounding Seumas. It was a bit intimidating. They all looked at him with a mixture of disappoint, sadness, and even anger. Doubts surfaced in his mind. He glanced at each man’s face before settling on Uncle Peter.

  “So what are ye saying? She does not want to marry me.” Seumas prickled with resentment at having to make the statement again. How he wished it were not true.

  “This here celebration—” Brother Matthew was interrupted by Brother James.

  “—is a marriage celebration!”

  “Not a taking yer orders celebration,” Brother Michael finished.

  “Now that I think of it.” Uncle Peter tapped his finger to his nose. “I believe I brought her to her room. She was too upset to stay here when she learned that the man she was in love with was willing to give her up to be with a bunch of old men instead.”

  “I would have to say that man was probably insane!” Brother Matthew added boldly.

  “Did she say that? Did she say I was the man she loved?” Seumas felt like a child begging for sweets, but he did not care.

  Brother Michael rolled his eyes, and Uncle Peter fought back a smile. “My dear boy, she has been saying it since the moment she got here. How can ye not hear it for yerself?”

  Seumas looked around at the faces and realized he had almost made yet another misjudgment, and thanked God that these men were there to protect him from himself.

  Thinking of Iseabail alone in her room, perhaps longing for his company, had him grinning from ear to ear. He nodded and ran off to the staircase that led to her room.

  Seumas tapped lightly on her door and held his breath until he heard her reply. She was starting to sit up when he came into the room. Her dress was disheveled, her hair stuck out on one side of her face. He could not tell if her eyes were puffy from sleep or from weeping.

  “How fare ye?” he said quietly as he came closer.

  She jumped a little as if in surprise. “I am sorry. I thought you were Brother Timothy.”

  She started to stand, but Seumas urged her back to sitting. He pulled the only stool in the room closer to the bed. Close enough to touch her, but he rested his hands in his lap.

  “Is there aught I can get for ye? Would ye like a drink?” he offered, leaning over to pour her some cider.

  She took it and thanked him then closed her eyes and drank very slowly. Her throat constricted as the fluid went down, and his gaze dropped lower.

  “I do not think I have had a chance to tell ye how beautiful ye look.”

  Pushing her hair out of her face, she smiled weakly. “You do not need to say so. It is unnecessary.” She returned the cup and leaned against the wall. “I am so very tired. Do you mind if I lie back down?”

  He nodded. “Whatever ye like.” Looking around the room, he saw that Brother Timothy had indeed found her some embroidery, but it lay beside her washstand, untouched. The room was probably very barren compared to what she knew at home. “Do ye like it here?”

  She paused, perhaps considering the question. “It is as good as any place, I suppose.”

  Seumas turned back to watch her. She rubbed her forehead and sighed. She looked very sad, and it hurt his heart to see her so defeated. Was it his fault? Probably, but if the woman he loved had no use for him, what other option did he have? He needed to tell her as much.

  “When I asked ye to marry me, I saw how ye looked at me, and realized I was not what ye wanted.” Her hand, now rubbing her eyes, suddenly stilled. “I did not think I had any purpose for my life if ye would not consent to be my wife.”

  She seemed to stiffen, but her hand did not move. She gave no sign of feeling any differently. He looked away. The material shifted around the window as the sea breeze filled the room.

  “Coming here again, I felt renewed, as if this had been my purpose all along.” He turned back to see if perhaps she had fallen asleep. “Iseabail?”

  When she removed her hand, her gaze pinned him to his seat. She sat up very slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. The look of anger surprised him, but he could not look away for fear of being swooped upon unawares. His heart gave a little leap of hope.

  “Seumas,” she began, speaking very slowly, as if to a child. She paused so long, he feared she would not continue.

  “Aye?”

  “When you told me you loved me and wanted to marry me, I was overjoyed. Being your wife is all I wanted.” Seumas’s heart missed a beat. “Nothing could have made me happier than to say yes to you right then and there.”

  Elation filled him until he noticed she had spoken in the past tense.

  “And now?” He did not want to hear her answer.

  “I realized that because I had been violated, I could not marry you with a clear conscience unless I told you what had transpired.”

  Malcolm.

  Seumas searched her tear-stained face, and his blood boiled anew. She thought he could not accept her because someone had taken advantage of her?

  “Did Malcolm violate ye, m’lady? Did ye not tell me the whole truth for fear of my reaction? My God, Iseabail, I love ye. I feel responsible that ye were left to trust him.”

  She was shaking her head. “No, Seumas, it was not Malcolm. I told you what he had tried to do, but that is all there was. I did not hold back, and I did not blame you. It was my transgression, trusting him instead of you.”

  Seumas’s brow furrowed. “We thought Malcolm was to be trusted. I saw how much he affected ye when we were in the hall together, which is why I had to leave rather than see him fall all over himself, with ye just taking it all in as if ye were a flower and he a bee.”

  Iseabail had the grace to blush. “You are right. I thought his attention meant I was worthy of it, even though I was tainted.” She turned away. “Seumas, when my father died, my uncle came to live at the castle.”

  “I know that. Ye have said as much.”

  “Shh, listen. Do not interrupt or I may not have the courage to tell you what I need to.” A sob caught in her throat. “When my uncle came to live at the castle, he started to control everything—when we saw visitors, when we went into the village, when we were allowed some solitude, even.


  “I thought he was just crazed with the lust for power, but one day he sent my brothers out of the castle. I was alone in the solarium, and he joined me there. I thought he wanted to talk, but he locked the door, and I—I could not escape. He violated me.” Seumas struggled to choke down his building rage so that she could finish. “He forced me to do things to him against my will. And that was not the only time. He was obsessed with my mother. He said he was in love with her.”

  Tears fell down her cheeks, and he did not know how to make it better for her. Her uncle, whom she should have been able to trust, who should have protected her, had used her, mercilessly.

  “Oh, my sweet Iseabail.” He took her small hands in his own. “I am so sorry ye had to go through that.”

  Her face scrunched up into tears when she finally looked back at him. He opened his arms to her, and she collapsed into them.

  “Do you see that I can never be with you?” She spoke against his chest between sobs. “It is better for you if you become a monk.”

  She felt so right in his arms. He just wanted to protect her. The monks were very wise indeed. He slid her closer so that her legs rested across his thighs.

  “Oh no, Iseabail. I will not become a monk,” he said, his voice husky with his desire.

  It took a minute for her to react, but then she withdrew from his arms, rubbing at her nose. She looked up at him with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. His Iseabail. He brushed her wayward hair behind her ear and smiled.

  “What?” she asked, a frown on her lovely face.

  “My love, I will not become a monk and give up any chance to have ye as my wife.” He let his hand linger on her face, caressing her soft skin. “I love ye much more than that. We will have our chance.” He put his lips to her cheek, kissing her chastely. “If ye had told me about yer uncle, his blood on my hands would have seemed of little consequence. Now, I admit, I am glad he is dead and that I killed him. I thought he had killed ye, and in a way he did. He took away yer innocence because of a sick desire.” He tucked his finger under her chin and turned her face up to his. “He is dead, Iseabail. No one will ever touch ye again without yer permission, do ye understand? Never against yer will. That is my pledge to ye.”