The weary Squire John was relieved that someone else would have to ride out to Middle Kirk Manor this evening. “Yes, my Lord,” he said, and went off to find Sir Henry.
14
The road into Carneluke was rutted and pitted from all of the wear—from ox-drawn wagons loaded with produce, pedestrians, horses, sheep, and merchants, and every other kind of traffic that towns and villages handle on a regular basis. But the road was easy to walk on compared to the rugged trails she had been traveling since she left St. Martha’s.
As she neared the town proper, evidence of civilization became more apparent. People were moving around, seemingly unconcerned about the world beyond the town. Clearly, the area was far enough north of the disputed border lands and people felt safe enough from raiders to settle here.
Rowena could see that it was near the end of market day in Carneluke. Market day in every town always brought out a variety of people in England, and it must be the same here in the Highlands. Everywhere she looked, people were coming and going, but most of the traffic seemed headed out of town. She saw farmers carrying goods back to their home, merchants leading pack horses laden with supplies, children chasing each other around and through the traffic, and a number of men and women had stopped in the road to chat each other, oblivious to the commotion around them.
Open ditches lined the roadsides, clearly there to allow the town’s sewage and waste drain off into the River Clyde. The ditches emanated the unmistakable stench of town life. They were filled with several inches of foul standing water, unable to drain because of the piles of scattered refuse blocking its flow. Rowena saw rotting animal carcasses, waste – both animal and human, fish heads, broken pottery pieces, a couple of dead, bloated rats, and several indiscernible items that had been there so long it was impossible to know what they once were. The stench hung in the air and filled her nostrils. It reminded her of London, though nowhere near as bad.
As Rowena entered the town proper, the road narrowed to a lane, and the houses got closer and closer to each other. Soon, only a few feet of space separated one from the next.
Rowena walked at a moderate pace, keeping to the side of the narrow road to avoid oncoming traffic. She began to notice that several people had stared at her openly as they passed each other. Some had even stopped talking to each other to stare. Rowena remembered that she was still in the same nun’s attire that she had been wearing for a couple of days. No doubt, she was a very strange sight to the people of Carneluke. She ignored their stares and kept moving.
She did not know how to find the corner of High and Chapel Street. She looked around for someone she could ask. She spotted an elderly woman just across the street, filling a wooden bucket with fresh water from the cistern at the corner of a house. Rowena waited for a merchant wagon loaded with iron implements to pass by, then she hurried across and called to the woman, waving to her to get her attention. “Eal-aa, madam! Eala there!”
The woman looked up at Rowena with inquisitive eyes. Her face had the worn look of a woman who had raised a dozen children and never had a days’ rest. She smiled broadly at Rowena with a mouth holding only a few remaining teeth.
Rowena returned the woman’s smile and said a silent prayer of gratitude for a friendly woman. Rowena said, “Good evening, madam. My name is Sister Rowena, a novitiate nun from St. Martha’s abbey in Jarrow. May I trouble you for some assistance?”
The woman looked at Rowena with a blank expression. She continued to grin, but said nothing.
Oh my, thought Rowena. The poor thing cannot hear me. Or perhaps she is daft. Rowena tried again. “Can you hear me, madam?”
The woman shook her head and began speaking rapidly in words that sounded like gibberish to Rowena. Rowena realized that the woman was speaking in a Scottish Gaelic dialect that Rowena could not understand. She smiled weakly and looked around for someone who might speak the King ’s English and be able to give her directions.
She saw two men striding fast toward her, smiling. One was a fair-skinned strawberry blond with a face covered in freckles and pimples, the other had hair so dark it looked almost black, though his eyes were a bright blue. The dark haired one called to Rowena, in English with a thick Scottish brogue, and in an overly loud voice said, “Och, lass, never mind the old widow Dunlevy, no one understands anythin’ that dobberin’ hag says.”
The red head snickered. His companion called to Mrs. Dunlevy through her door. “Is that nae so, widow Dunlevy!”
Then he said to Rowena, “How may we help ye, lass?”
His brogue reminded Rowena of Taran, but that was the only trait they had in common. This man was not the gentleman that Taran was. Still, she needed them to tell her how to get to the inn, and they seemed willing to help. Rowena said, “Why how kind of you, I would be so grateful for some directions!”
As the men approached, Rowena saw the elderly lady drop the water bucket and quickly retreat into her house, slamming the door behind her. Then Rowena heard her slide the deadbolt into place, securing it against intruders. Had the lady been afraid of these men?
They wore the bland clothes of tradesmen, wool tunics that hung down to their knees, belted at the waist with a leather belt. Rowena surmised they were most likely a couple of peasants who had moved into town to learn a trade and get away from grueling farm life. Learning a trade afforded people the opportunity to make a better living than they could as farm laborers and have a life with more freedom from the manor lords like her father.
The two Scotsmen men looked her over from head to toe, ogling her. This time the red-head spoke. “Ye’re nae from around here, are ye, Sister.” It was more a statement than a question. “Never seen ye before. And I would have remembered seein’ a bonnie lass such as yerself!”
Rowena blushed. “No, I am Sister Rowena, from the abbey of St. Martha, in Jarrow.”
The dark haired man said, “Ye dinnae mean it! A nun? Ye’re much too lovely to be wastin’ yer days in a nunnery!”
Rowena sighed at this remark. She wanted to slap him, but she decided the safest way to handle it was ignore it.
“Would you mind telling me how I can find the corner of High Street and Chapel Street?” She asked with a smile.
With one eyebrow raised, the red-head said, “That’s a mighty nice part of town. What’s one like ye lookin’ for there?”
“I’m informed the innkeeper, Sean, operates an inn there. Do you know of it?”
The red-head leered at her and grinned. He said, “Maybe, lassie. But I’ll need some payment.”
Rowena said, “Please, sir, I have no money to pay you.”
The dark haired man hooked his thumbs in his belt and stepped closer to her. He pushed his face close to hers and said with a sinister tone, “That is nae the kind of payment we had in mind, lass.”
The red-head took a step closer, too. They both stood looming above her, grinning obscenely at her.
Across the street, a man had been lurking in a narrow alley in the shadows between two town homes, intently watching the entire scene unfold. No one had noticed him. He had witnessed the entire encounter and heard everything they said. The men had been known troublemakers since childhood, and now they were becoming ill-mannered adults.
He stepped out of the shadows and made a beeline for the street. It was time to intervene.
At that moment, Rowena comprehended what the two miscreants were suggesting. She needed to end this encounter. She shook her head no, then took a giant step backwards and started to turn around. As she did so, she crashed into a well-dressed man and a woman. Rowena stumbled and fell to her knees, while the two scoundrels spun around and scurried off in the other direction.
“Mon dieu, pardon moi mademoiselle!” The man said, extending a hand to help her. “Are you hurt?”
She took his hand and struggled to her feet. “I apologize, sir! I was not watching where I was going!” Rowena said, adjusting her shoulder bag and feeling in her skirt pocket for the ring Sister Prudence
had given her. It was still there.
She took a deep breath and smiled at the gentleman who had helped her. He had the somber bearing of a military man. On the breast of his well-fitting leather tunic was embroidered a bright blue shield decorated with three golden fleurs-de-lis. A golden crown studded with precious jewels rested atop of the shield. No doubt he was a fighter of some rank but she had never seen this insignia before. The woman with him was fair skinned and dressed in colorful attire.
Meanwhile, across the street, Rowena did not notice the man who had been watching it all unfold. He retreated back into the shadows and disappeared. No one had noticed him. He continued his surveillance from his concealed vantage point.
In a heavy French accent, the gentleman said, “You are English, oui?”
Rowena nodded. The Frenchman pointed to his attractive and heavily made up lady friend and said, “Ah, mademoiselle is Anglais, too. Is from York.”
Rowena noticed the woman wore a striped bonnet. That was an article of clothing commonly worn by strumpets in many places. Rowena pretended not to notice it. She was a child of God, too, just like everyone else. The lady smiled and held out her hand to Rowena. “Eala, Sister,” she said. “Where are you from?”
Rowena returned her friendly smile and responded warmly. “Good afternoon to you, my lady! I was born at Staffordshire, but I am most recently from Jarrow, at the nunnery of St. Martha’s.” Rowena purposely avoided telling the couple that she was the daughter of Alfred Cran, Earl of Kensley. Who knew what the Frenchman would do if he knew of her father’s support for the English king! Rowena continued. “Perhaps you can help me, if you would be so kind.” Rowena said.
The Frenchman gave her a courtly bow. “But of course, your grace. How can I help you?”
She eyed him, wondering if he was being sincere or putting on some kind of a performance for her. She looked at his lady friend, who seemed to be entertained. Rowena decided he was a true gentleman, enjoying the feeling of being called upon for help. Rowena said, “I am looking for an inn at the corner of High Street and Market Street. The innkeeper’s name is Sean. Do you know it, perchance?”
The Frenchman grinned happily. “Sacre bleu, God has smiled on you, Sister! Oui, I know precisely where is Sean’s inn. I am lodging near that very location. If you’d like, we can escort you there right now. Is not far at all.”
Rowena took the man’s hand in hers. “Bless you, sir! Merci! I would be so grateful to you!”
They walked along the narrow lane for a few more blocks. The lane forked to the right and became a little bit wider, the homes spaced a little farther apart. Clearly, they had entered a wealthier area of town.
Rowena asked the Frenchman what had brought him to Scotland. He looked at her, perplexed by her question. “I am here with my brothers in battle by order of King Charles of France.”
Now Rowena was confused. “What do you mean, sir?” she asked.
He answered her question with a question. “Have you not heard of the conflict, mademoiselle?”
“Heard of what conflict?” Rowena asked. She had not heard any news for many months. She only knew that England seemed forever to be fighting over something with France, and was still at odds with most of its neighbors, including Wales and Scotland. But that was nothing new-- that had been the state of affairs ever since she could remember. She was also vaguely aware of conflicts between the English king and the Pope, as well as new sources of conflict brewing with France.
The Frenchman said, “I am a soldier in the French army. We have been dispatched here to join the Scots in a fight against your king. You did not know of this?”
Rowena said, “No, I knew nothing of it! You are a soldier, then?” That was no surprise. She had been living in seclusion at St. Martha’s for seven years with very little reliable information about what was going on outside of the abbey.
The French soldier said, “Oui, mademoiselle. Our presence here is no secret anymore, mon Cheri. My soldiers are all around here in Scotland! Yet your King Richard has outposts spread across France. His uncle, John of Gaunt, prefers to fight in France, but your Parliament will not give him money!” He laughed at the idiocy of all of the royalty and their noble classes.
Rowena thought, Parliament! So that was what Father had been worried about when he agreed to marry me off to Lord Strongbow. On top of the loss of his laborers and rents, Father and the other senior earls were likely being asked to support the cost of sending English fighters into France. Joining in an alliance with Lord Strongbow would solidify their influence over the King and strengthen their opposition to it. Instead, the noblemen would support an invasion of Scotland! Why not fight both foes at once at a much lower price?
It all made sense to her now. As a high earl, her father had a seat in Parliament. These matters must have consumed Parliament over the last couple of years. Her father had long been a friend of King Richard’s father, known as the “Black Prince”, and his father, King Edward III. After the Black Prince died in 1378 followed in death shortly thereafter by King Edward, Rowena’s father had tried to cultivate a friendly relationship with the impetuous, inexperienced, ten year old King Richard.
Her father’s financial interests aligned with those of Lord Strongbow, who had proven his allegiance to the Black Prince on the battlefield. When King Richard ascended to the throne, Lord Strongbow became an avid supporter. Lord Strongbow’s ability to self-promote and curry favor with the boy king was unmatched among the noblemen.
Regardless of the petty differences between the noblemen, they and their like-minded friends resented John of Gaunt’s influence. During the last years of the lives of King Edward and the Black Prince, they were both debilitated by illness. During this period, John of Gaunt took effective control of the government. The noblemen believed John placed his own interests above those of England. It was commonly recognized that John of Gaunt was driven solely by his personal ambition to become king of France. It was obvious to everyone it seemed, except young King Richard.
After another fifteen minutes passed, they arrived at a street corner. It was in a lovely area of town, where the streets were dotted with churches, churchyards, well-kept homes, and a couple of inns. The clamor of market day and the noxious smells were gone. It was quiet here, and the only smells were the enticing aroma of bread baking in the inn’s kitchen.
The French soldier gestured to the inn on the corner and pointed to the sign hanging above the door. It read, “Carneluke Inn, Sean Donaldson, proprietor.” This is the right place, Rowena thought. Thank you, sweet Taran. I would not have found this on my own. She said to the couple, “I cannot thank you enough for your kindness. I will pray that God keep you both safe.”
The soldier gave her a courtly bow. “Was our pleasure, Cherie. We’re very happy to help you,” he said. “Bonsoir!” The couple left Rowena at the inn’s entrance and went their way.
15
Sir Henry arrived at Middle Kirk Manor as darkness fell. He dreaded delivering the news to his boss, Lord Kensley. Sir Henry had been under the employ of Lord Kensley for many years, and he knew how much Lady Rowena meant to him.
Sir Henry handed his horse to a servant, who would tend to it properly and give it some food and water. It had been a demanding couple of days, and everyone needed rest, including the poor horses.
He knocked on the Manor door, and let himself inside. “Lord Kensley! Lord Kensley, are you here?”
A servant rushed into the receiving hall and greeted Sir Henry. “Where is Lord Kensley? I have urgent news for him!”
“Right this way, Sir,” the servant said and led Sir Henry into the same room where Lord Kensley had reached his agreement with Lord Strongbow.
Lord Kensley was sprawled in his large wingchair, nursing his injured ankle and smoking a pipe. He was concentrating on reading what looked like a letter and was deep in thought. Sir Henry noticed the unmistakable royal seal on the paper in Lord Kensley’s hands. So absorbed in studying the letter was Lord
Kensley that he had not noticed Sir Henry standing in the doorway.
Sir Henry rapped on the door frame to get the earl’s attention and said, “My Lord Kensley, I bring important news for you,” Sir Henry said, trying to keep his voice calm.
Lord Kensley looked up in surprise. “What is it, Henry? I thought you were out with Lord Strongbow’s search party.”
“Yes, I was, but I’m back to deliver you news. It’s Lady Rowena. She is missing,” Sir Henry blurted it out.
Lord Kensley looked confused. “What’s that you said, Henry? Lady Rowena is missing? I’m afraid I don’t understand. Explain please.”
Sir Henry took a deep breath and told Lord Kensley that they had delivered his letter to Rowena, and they were going to return to Middle Kirk Manor the next day, but she disappeared sometime during the night. They sent out a search party and spotted her in the company of Highlanders in enemy territory: Scotland. Lord Strongbow therefore believes that he needed more fighters to pursue her.
Highlander's Sinful Desire: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 11