Highlander's Sinful Desire: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Maddie MacKenna

  “Tis our duty,” the chambermaid said. “Besides that, we need ye healthy so ye can keep tendin’ to sick people and children needin’ help.” Then she asked, “Me lady, are ye feelin’ all right? Ye have nae eaten today. Shall I call the physician for ye?”

  Rowena shook her head no. “I’m fine. I have everything I need now.” She gestured to the food and the fire. “No need to worry about anything. I’ll be back to normal on the morrow after I get some rest. Thank you for looking out for me. I appreciate your concern.”

  The servants bowed and bid her good night. Rowena thought, they are right. I should eat. She sat in front of the fire and nibbled on the bread and potage. It was actually very tasty, whatever was in it. As she ate, she thought about how she would interact with Taran now. I cannot simply pretend nothing had happened between us. But it can never happen again. She decided she would make it clear to him that last night was a moment of weakness, and from this point forward she was recommitting her body and soul to God.

  She finished her meal and began to undress for bed. Just then, she heard a rustling sound at the door. She froze, listening for any sound. She heard the faint sound of footsteps fading away. She noticed someone had slipped something under her door, and whatever it was laid on the stone floor. She picked it up. It was a cluster of three wild rose blooms. Taran. Her heart melted as she held the roses to her lips. She sighed, then tossed them into the fire.

  Rowena was up early. She slept well, probably because she had almost no sleep the night she spent with Taran. Today, she was refreshed and felt ready to face the day. Thank you God, for hearing my prayers and giving me the strength I need to resist temptation.

  She washed up and dressed herself. Today, she was Sister Rowena again. She put on a plain linen tunic from the wardrobe closet. Taran’s servants had placed several articles of ladies’ clothing in the wardrobe closet the day after she arrived at Frenich. Then she selected a simple, overlaid by a drab, olive green gown with a bodice that laced up over her chest. She braided her hair and covered it with a small headpiece.

  Her goal was not to bring any undue attention to her face or her body. She wanted to put her nun’s garb back on, but it was so worn out that it had shredded in the laundry. It found use now only as rags.

  She said a morning prayer, then went down to the castle kitchen to return her dishware from last night. She greeted all of the kitchen servants with a heartfelt, “Good morning!” and thanked them for their hard work. She saw a slightly built cook struggling with a heavy kettle and huge stirring spoons, so Rowena came to her side. “Let me help you with that!” Rowena said as she took the spoons from her. The cook said, “Thank ye, me lady! I’m takin’ this to the hall for dinner.”

  Rowena followed the cook into the hall, carrying the heavy stirring spoons in her arms. They engaged in friendly chit chat as the cook hanged the kettle on the large hook over the hall fireplace, where it could simmer over the fire all day. Rowena hung the spoons on their special hooks next to it. The cook thanked Rowena for her help and made a joke about how it took the two of them to do the job. Rowena said, “Think nothing of it! You are my sister unto God!”

  In fact, Rowena felt better this day than she had in many, many days. She felt positively elated. God has heard my cries for His help and has answered my prayers. This will be a new day. What joy He has brought to me! Thank you, my Lord God. She headed to the drawing room and prepared it for the day’s group of mothers and children. She felt so wonderful that she nearly skipped her way there. It took her only a short time to straighten the room and arrange the simple furniture to accommodate snacks of fruit, a story hour, followed by a nap.

  She found herself humming the Te Deum, an ancient hymn that she learned as a child. She walked back to the great hall and stopped dead in her tracks. There was Lady Dierdre, sitting at the table, nibbling some breakfast. Lady Dierdre scowled at her. She said, “I see yer feelin’ better, Sister.”

  Rowena stammered. “Y-y-yes, I am, thank you. Good morning to you, Lady Dierdre.” Rowena kept walking, trying to exit the hall quickly.

  But Lady Dierdre called out to her. “I thought I should inform ye I just left Taran’s chamber.” Lady Dierdre paused, as if there was more coming.

  Rowena’s heart pounded. She knows! She knows about our tryst! How could she know? Taran! He must have told her! My God, no!

  Lady Dierdre asked, “Have ye seen Taran lately?”

  Rowena turned around slowly to face her. “No, I haven’t felt well myself. I should look in on him.”

  Lady Dierdre sneered. “He seems to be doing better. He asked for ye this morning.”

  Rowena smiled and said, “Well, that is wonderful news!

  “What is wonderful news – the fact that he’s feelin’ better or that he asked for ye?” Lady Dierdre asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Rowena blushed. “I’m sorry, I do not understand your point, Lady Dierdre.”

  Lady Dierdre said, “Oh, please dae nae be coy, Sister Rowena. I have seen how ye look at Taran, with yer bright face and stars in yer eyes. But be aware, many bonnie lasses look at him that same way. And he has had his pick of them, too.” Rowena thought she detected a hint of sadness in her last comment.

  Rowena once again did not know what to say. She tried to deflect Lady Deirdre’s comments and said, “Taran is a handsome man. No doubt he catches the eye of many young ladies.” He certainly caught mine.

  Lady Dierdre looked Rowena straight in the eye and said, “He asked me to stay with him last night.” Her words hit Rowena like a slap in the face. Our moment apparently was not so special to Taran after all, Rowena thought immediately. Lady Deidre continued. “So I did. Usually, he is hungry for me.”

  With a confused look on her face, Rowena interrupted her before she could say much more. “Lady Dierdre, I do not understand why you are telling me this.”

  Lady Dierdre said, “Hah! Are ye nae a nun? I’m tellin’ ye my confession.”

  Rowena did not know if she was serious or playing a trick on her. She decided she would not take her bait. Rowena responded with all seriousness. “You are mistaken. I am a novitiate, not yet a full nun. And confessions are only heard by the priests. I am not empowered to speak for God and absolve you of your sins. However, I believe that God forgives you if you are truly sorry and wish to repent.”

  “Ye foolish girl!” Lady Dierdre spat. “Let me say that he was nae his usual amorous self.” Her demeanor changed. Suddenly, her face fell and she put her hands to her mouth.

  Rowena was quiet. “You must not worry about that. Most likely he is not yet feeling well.”

  Lady Dierdre looked at her grimly. “I’m tellin’ ye, Sister. I ken him well. His thoughts are on someone else.”

  The two women locked eyes on each other for a moment. Rowena went to Lady Dierdre and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Rowena said, “Give him some time, my lady. All will be well.”

  Rowena left to go out in the garden and see what herbs might be out there. In the garden, she could find peace. Besides, she needed to replenish her own supply. This time of year, she should be able to harvest the last of the mint and rosemary. Both could be dried and kept through the winter.

  As she bent over to clip the choicest pieces, she heard a man’s lovely voice singing Foy Porter, a love song well-known across the land. The voice was coming from the rose hedge, near where she and Taran had shared their passionate kisses. She hummed along with the words,

  Keep faith, Preserve honour

  And seek peace, Obey

  Fear and serve

  And honour ye, I will until I die

  Peerless lady

  She realized that she knew that voice and stood up, looking around for him. Taran came around the hedge and stood before her, one hand over his heart, his other reaching toward her. He kept singing,

  For I love ye so, without a lie

  That one could sooner dry the wide seas

  And hold back its waves than
I could slacken

  Me love for ye without deceit;

  For me thoughts, me memories, me pleasures, and me desires

  Are forever on ye whom I cannae leave, or begin to forget

  Keep faith...

  Keep faith...

  There is nay joy or pleasure nor other good thing one may feel or imagine

  Which does nae seem to me to weaken

  When yer kindness wishes to sweeten me bitterness

  For which I will praise and adore and respect ye

  Suffer all things, accept all things, endure all things

  More than I desire to be rewarded

  When Taran finished singing, Rowena stood still. Deep in her soul, something whispered, “Go to him.” She dropped everything and ran straight into Taran’sopen arms.

  28

  On the eastern shore of the tiny island of Iona, Mother Philomena, the abbess of the nunnery of St. Columba’s, sat at her desk. The letter from Rowena lay on the desk in front of her. But the abbess was not focused on the letter; she was concentrating on the item she held in her fingers. An item she had not seen for many years. It was a gold ring. Engraved on it was the familiar insignia of the clan Robertson. The ring itself was a message from Mother Philomena’s past. It was warning her of imminent danger. But Mother Philomena had no idea exactly what was afoot.

  As Mother Philomena mulled things over, the messenger sent by Taran stood on the other side of her desk, waiting respectfully and patiently for Mother Philomena to give him her response. His instructions from Taran were to return to Frenich with the ring as soon as he could. Out of a window behind the abbess, the messenger watched the ferry that had brought him across the sound from Mull Island. It was waiting for him at the waters edge, not far from where the old stone priory of St. Columba stood.

  Mother Philomena recognized that she had a few different ways to respond. She could return the ring and say nothing, which would seem overly harsh, unmannerly and confusing to the young nun. She could respond by either granting or denying Sister Rowena’s request. She ruminated. If I grant her request, would I be inviting danger to St. Columba’s? I am responsible for the safety and well-being of all of the sisters here. I want to help Sister Rowena, but I must keep the welfare of the abbey in mind.

  On the other hand, if I deny the request, would I be placing the life of a young nun, one of our sisters in faith, in danger? Mother Philomena wanted to do the Christian thing, but she simply did not have enough information to make an informed decision. She closed her eyes and asked God to show her the right path.

  After a moment, she opened her eyes. A sea breeze blew in and rustled the letter. Immediately a seagull appeared and perched for a moment on the windowsill, then hopped onto her desk, and looked directly into Mother Philomena’s face. Before she could shoosh the bird away, it flew back out the window. It flew straight as an arrow to the east without so much as a flap of its wings.

  Mother Philomena looked at the messenger, an expression of wonderment on his face. She said, “Blessed be our God.” Then she asked the messenger, “How long would it take ye to ride to Jarrow, near Newcastle?”

  “Jarrow?” The messenger’s expression showed Mother Philomena he was confused about why she would ask him that. He indulged her and mulled it over. “I’d estimate about three, maybe four days. Why do ye ask?”

  She did not answer him. He had told her all she need to know. She picked up a pen and wrote a letter. If anyone intercepted it, they would not know what to make of it. However, Mother Philomena knew there was one person who would understand it. In the letter, she wrote:

  To the Abbess of St. Martha’s Nunnery, Jarrow

  My Dearest Mother:

  I am writing on behalf of Sister Prudence. Please be so kind as to relay the following prayer to her, with my love:

  Great be art, today goeth, love alleluia. 7 deaths hath dryed cross.

  Your loving sister in faith,

  Mother Philomena, Abbess

  Abbey of St. Columba, Isle of Iona

  She folded the letter and sealed it with the emblem of St. Columba. She handed it to the messenger, who held out his hand for the ring. Mother Philomena put the ring in her own pocket. He looked at her, confused.

  She said, “That letter must get to the abbess of St. Martha’s nunnery, in Jarrow, as soon as ye can get there.”

  The messenger expressed his concern. “Jarrow? But me instructions were to return to Laird Taran with the ring and yer response.”

  Mother Philomena said, “I understand. But me own instructions are that ye are to take this letter to Jarrow first. It is urgent. Taran . . . That is . . . Laird Taran . . . will understand and would approve. Ye have me word on that.”

  The messenger frowned, still unsure. “What about the ring?”

  “Nay need to worry about the ring,” Mother Philomena said. “I intend to return it to him meself.”

  Mother Philomena saw that the messenger was still unsettled over this change of plans. She was asking him to disregard Taran’s instructions in favor of her own. She could not take the risk that he would return to Frenich without delivering her letter.

  “Please, give me a moment,” she said. She left the office and in a few moments returned with a small leather bag. In it were two silver groats. “This should make ye feel better about it.”

  The messenger’s face brightened. “Aye, Mother, it does indeed. Thank ye. I’ll be on me way now.”

  Mother Philomena watched out of her office window as the messenger boarded the ferry back to Mull Island. From there, she knew the eastbound route he would take across the southern Highlands, then southeast through forests and fields to Northumbria, and finally to St. Martha’s at Jarrow. As soon as the ferry was underway, Mother Philomena began preparing for her own travel. She would leave for Frenich at Loch Lomond in two days.

  29

  Earl Strongbow was frustrated. He had returned to MacEwen’s place from Carneluke three days earlier. As planned, the rest of his men had returned from their own reconnaissance duties the day before. They had spoken with a few people around Glasgow who said they had heard about a beautiful woman, perhaps a nun, who was staying at the castle Frenich as a guest of Taran, of the clan Robertson. Several local families who had been displaced by the English incursion were staying at Frenich, too.The men learned that it was located due north of Glasgow in the Loch Lommond area.

  Earl Strongbow was pleased to hear their reports. It confirmed the information he had beaten out of Sean Donaldson in Carneluke.

  They would ride north and find the castle Frenich as soon as possible. His men and their horses had rested. In the last couple of days, they had refurbished their weapons, shields, and chain mail. Everyone was ready to go, except Earl Strongbow himself.

  The puncture wound in his thigh had become painful and hot to the touch. Red blotches had formed around the wound. When he woke this morning, he felt feverish. Earl Strongbow knew the risks of travelling with an infected wound. It could become deadly very quickly if not treated. He asked MacEwen to summon a physician.

  Now, they waited. Earl Strongbow noticed his men had set up an archery range in the field beside MacEwen’s barn. He heard their banter and decided to go out and join them. He saw Sir Percy shoot an arrow just to the left of the target bulls’ eye, but still a lethal shot. The men let out a roar of approval. Some coins changed hands.

  As soon as the men saw Earl Strongbow coming, their laughter subsided. “Let me show you how it’s done,” he said. The men were not sure if he was serious or kidding, so they kept quiet.

  He grabbed a bow, loaded it with an arrow, held his breath, and released the string. The arrow shot straight but missed the target by a wide margin. Earl Strongbow cursed. “By the blood of Christ!”

  The men tried not to snicker. They knew Earl Strongbow thought himself a better knight than any of them, and he was now going to try to prove it. The truth was that Earl Strongbow was not a great archer. Everyone knew it but the ea
rl himself.

  The chivalrous Sir Percy, who was the best archer among them, covered for Earl Strongbow by saying, “You haven’t even warmed up yet, my Lord. Go on, try again.”

  Earl Strongbow let another arrow fly. It fell well short of the target. The men watching shook their heads and murmured insults to each other about the earl. Sir Percy said, “It must be your injury, my Lord. Tis’ draining your strength.”

  Earl Strongbow nodded. “It must be so, Sir Percy. Anyway, not every archer can become an earl.”

  Sir Percy ignored this slight and said, “Perhaps you should rest some more, my Lord.”

  Earl Strongbow limped toward a large oak tree. He would sit in the shade and watch the men practice. From the road in front of MacEwen’s place, he heard someone shout his name. “Eala, Lord Strongbow! Cor blimey! Is that you? I say, Lord Strongbow! Eala!”