Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (3 page)

"It would be a long journey," said the abbess gently. "Fraught with danger."

"But I..." Rose lifted her hands in open supplication. "I promised my mother I would live out my days in this house. I promised myself to the work of the Lord."

"This too is the Lord's work," reminded the abbess. 'Tending those who suffer."

"There are other healers," Rose said, suddenly frightened by their expressions, their intentions. They wished to send her away. Because of her poor conduct? "More knowledgeable healers than I," she blurted rapidly. "Surely..."

The chaplain shook his head slowly. "There are none as gifted as you, my child." He drew a deep, weary breath. "Even Lady Mary, rest her soul, was not so gifted as thee. And you are strong—that strength will be needed for the journey."

Rose was silent for a moment, remembering the heat of her mother's hand as she gripped hers with desperate strength, begging for her promise. "If it’s my past sins..." began Rose abruptly, "I will make amends. I will do better." She took a step nearer. She had promised her mother and her Lord that she would live out her days in this abbey. "I can be like the others. Truly—"

The abbess raised a blue-veined hand. "It is not because of any shortcomings on your part, child.

Although..." She smiled gently, her pale, patient eyes steady. "I doubt at times that the Lord wishes you to be... like the others. Still, it is not for me to command you to go. The decision is yours."

"Then I must stay." Rose stepped quickly nearer, taking the Lady Abbess' hand in her own. "I made a vow."

"I believe the Lord would understand, should you see the need to go," said the Lady Abbess.

But the vow had also been to her mother.
"Promise me you'll seek the peace and safety of the convent,"
she'd begged.
"Promise me you’l1 never speak of the things you see in your head."
Her voice had been only a whisper.
"Do not dwell on them. Do not think of them. People would not understand, would not accept. Go to the abbey, Rose,"
she'd pleaded.
"Do the Lord's work. You'll be safe there."

Sometimes in the quiet of prayer time or during the darkness of night Rose would consider that. Safe from what? Were the images that sometimes appeared in her head evil things?

"I must stay, Lady Abbess," she said, guilt wearing heavily on both sides, worry making her voice soft. "I must keep—"

"And let me auld laird die?"

Rose gasped, dropping Lady Sophie's hand to find the source of the voice that came from behind the iron grill.

"This is one of the Scotsmen. Come to plead his cause," explained the abbess, but Rose failed to hear her words, for her entire attention was riveted on the large, dark shape of the barbarian behind the wrought-iron rail.

God's whiskers! It was the dark image from her dreams! Breath stopped in her throat while her heart seemed to have gone stone-cold in the tight confines of her chest. "Who are you?" she whispered, knowing her words were rude and failing to care.

Quiet held the place.

"I am called Leith. Of the clan Forbes."

His burr was as thick as morning fog—and as chilling. Rose felt a shiver take her, frightening her with its intensity. "I can't go with you." She whispered the words, as if saying them too loudly might awaken some evil demon.

"Canna?" The Scotsman gripped the grill tightly, the flat of his broad nails gleaming pale in the light of the lone candle. "Or willna?"

"Please." She drew back quickly, not knowing why, but feeling the frightful power of his person, the terrifying knowledge that he had appeared to her in her sleep. He was a large man, perhaps the largest she'd ever encountered. Or was she allowing the shadows and her own too-vivid imagination to frighten her?

Lifting her chin up slightly, Rose clasped her hands before her chest, drawing upon inner reserves she was supposed to possess. "Do not ask me to break my vow to my God," she pleaded weakly. But within, she questioned her true motives for refusal. Fear?

"Ye vows dunna urge ye to help a man in need?"

The Scotsman's tone was somewhat jeering, she thought, and lifted her chin higher. "My vows urge me to follow my conscience and not the brutish insistence of a man with no understanding of my faith."

He was quiet, but his eyes held her in cold perusal. "And me, I thought we shared the faith of Christ. But na.
Me
God calls for bravery of spirit."

He'd called her a coward, she thought in silent shock. The man dared enter the hallowed walls of the abbey and imply she was less than godly! He had the manners of a boar in rut! In fact, she'd met boars in rut who were more becoming, she decided, refusing to acknowledge the fact that her own manners and thoughts were far from a model of purity.

"Regardless of the fact that you think me spiritless," she said, breathing hard and raising her left eyebrow in stern condescension, "I shall not go with you." She turned stiffly away, feeling his hot gaze on her back and trying to still the tremor in her hands.

"Na even if I return what is yers?" he asked huskily, his voice so soft only Rose could hear.

She froze in her tracks. Her heart had risen suddenly into her throat and now refused to beat. "Mine?" she breathed, managing to turn toward him.

"Aye." He nodded.

She watched him in breathless panic, seeing one corner of his mouth lift in a devilish smile.

"Found near the wee lochan yonder," he murmured.

Chapter 3

Her cross! Rose clenched her hand over the empty place where it usually lay against her breast Air rushed into her lungs in one breathy inhalation. God's toenails! The barbarian had found it!

Behind her the abbess and chaplain were silent. Did they know?

"If ye could find it in yer heart to come..." The Scotsman slipped one hand neatly into the pocket of his dark doublet, his voice quiet. "There'd be na need for discussing—last night."

Her gasp was audible now. Her hand rose to where her throat was covered by the coarse wimple, as if to shield herself from his eyes. Had he seen her nakedness then, or just found the cross?

With a concerted effort Rose drew the shattered remains of her dignity about her, but her hands shook near her throat and she wondered if he could see. If the abbess learned of her shameful behavior of the night before, she would surely banish Rose from the abbey—or worse. She swallowed once, thinking fast and hard. But there seemed to be very few choices, for through the fabric of the barbarian's pocket she was sure she could see the telltale outline of her perfidious cross. "Your..." She cleared her throat, trying to sound concerned and sympathetic, but the single word squeaked rustily, so that she had to clear her throat yet again.

"Your lord is very ... ill then?" she breathed.

"Verra ill." His smile was gone now, replaced by an expression she could not discern in the dimness.

"And he has a ... Christian soul?" she asked weakly.

He hesitated only a moment. "Aye. He does."

'Then..." Her fingers curled emptily near her chest as she lifted her chin a bit. "It is my duty to
go.” She'd said the words stiffly, with not the least bit
of feeling, and Leith raised his brows silently.

"Ye've a heart of gold, lass," he murmured, but his
tone held no more sincerity than hers had.

"You will find a companion to travel with her," commanded the abbess softly. "Someone from the village perhaps."

The Scotsman nodded, his gaze shifting to Lady Sophie.

"And you will vow to protect her," added the abbess.

"Aye, lady," he promised solemnly. "With me life."

Rose noticed with some irritation that the tone he used for the abbess was vastly different than the tone he used with her. There was no sarcasm now, no quirking of the lips that would make one wish to slap him. Only sober, quiet respect as he spoke to that lady.

"And return her here—if she wishes—after you have no more need for her skills."

"Aye," Leith promised, then shifted his deep-set eyes, so that they clashed abruptly with Rose's. "I will return her when I need her no longer."

Rose would have paced but there was no room in her cell. Instead she sucked her lip and wrung her hands.

The man was Satan personified. She was sure of it. Who else would be sneaking about in the woods in the midst of the night? she wondered, dismissing the fact that she herself had been there. Who else would ransom the cross of a poor postulate of the Lord to gain his own ends?

And what were his ends exactly? For all she knew there might not even be a dying laird.

Prayer time came and she prayed—with a vengeance. They would leave in two days. Enough time, he'd said, for her to gather her belongings and say her good-byes.

Leith had not slept the previous night, kept awake by visions of a fairy princess. A fairy princess with auburn hair and fawn-like eyes. A fairy who was not a fairy at all but the answer to his prayers. A woman of flesh and blood who could as easily as not be the daughter of the old laird of the MacAulays. She was enchanting, just as the Lady Elizabeth had been. And with the amethyst-jeweled brooch and wee plaid the abbess had given him, there would be no way for the old laird to be sure she was not his daughter. Aye, Ian MacAulay would accept her as kin, for he would want to believe it was true, and sick as he was, this would be his last chance to find her.

"She's a fine, bonny mare, brother," said Colin, leaning casually back against a post near a small herd of horses as he interrupted Leith's thoughts.

Leith issued an irritable grunt, wanting to lose himself in his musings again, but Colin was not to be ignored.

Shifting the weed between his teeth, and glancing toward the nearby barn, Colin raised one fair brow and added, "She is indeed the best of the lot."

Another grunt.

"She'll bear the long journey home well."

Silence.

Colin narrowed his eyes. "But why, I'm asking meself—why the best of auld Harold's mares when the others are worthy-enough steeds?"

Leith straightened, paced to the mare's left hind, and bent again, running one hand along the trim cannon bone. "She'll cross well with Beinn Fionn."

"Aye. That she will." Colin nibbled for a moment, watching the other's careful examination before breaking the silence again. "But yer stallion has a full score of bonny lasses awaiting his return. While ye..." He stopped on a thoughtful note, grinning crookedly while his brother could not see. “Tell me of this wee nun that's to travel with us."

"Ye will meet her soon enough," responded Leith evenly.

"Is she young?"

"Na so young as ye," said Leith, straightening to caress the mare's glossy hindquarter.

"Bonny?"

No answer came as Leith moved forward again to examine the mare's teeth.

"Is she na bonny?" repeated Colin, deliberately keeping a straight face now as his brother scowled.

"She is na likely to blister yer delicate hide should ye glance her way, if that be yer concern, lad," growled Leith.

"Ah." Colin nodded sagely, causing the ragged weed in his teeth to bobble with the motion. "A hedged answer from my liege is like the highest words of praise from another. So she's a bonny lass." He strode quickly forward. "Dark hair? Fair? What of her eyes?"

"Canna ye find sommat to do?" snapped Leith.
"Is there na a thing to occupy yer time?"

"Na, brother," said Colin with a shrug. "Na a thing. The quest is at its finish. Failed—the child long gone from this world."

Leith turned away, ducking under the mare's delicate jaw to her far side.

"And yet ye seem na unduly troubled," continued Colin thoughtfully. "And after all the struggle to arrive here. If I were na such a trusting man and did na ken ye so well, I would think ye were keeping sommat from me. Why, I ask meself, would we take this wee nun to our homeland? To heal the MacAulay?" He snorted loudly. "Methinks na. Better to run a dirk through his black heart and be done with it. So why—"

"Go fetch a companion for the lass," ordered Leith suddenly, straightening abruptly on the far side of the black to glower over her glossy back.

"A companion?" asked Colin dubiously. "Mayhap I could find her a feather mattress too. We could tote it along in a fine carriage so that she will na bruise her backside on the hard ground at night."

"I promised the auld abbess she would have a companion," said Leith. "Ye will find a suitable female."

"Suitable?" Colin questioned glibly. "Suitable for what?"

"Suitable for acting as chaperone!" Leith exploded suddenly, his patience at an end. "With legs strong enough to keep her astride a mount for the long journey home. I am certain ye can judge the strength of woman's legs by now, brother."

"Aye." Colin laughed readily. "That I can, me liege. But it’s the wee nun ye've chosen that interests me most."

"Sweet Jesu!" swore Leith angrily. "She is a woman of God. And best ye na forget it."

"Me?" Colin lifted a quick hand to his chest, his expression registering shock. "I will na forget, brother. I can have me pick of the lasses," he declared, then scowled momentarily. "When Roderic is not about that is," he amended. "But one canna be expected to compete with one's identical self born into a separate body." He shook his head. " Tis difficult to believe the three of us be brothers in truth. For fair Roderic and I are constantly pressed upon by female attention, while ye..." He tipped a hand toward Leith. "Ye keep yerself to yerself like a monk."

"I only thank the good Lord I did leave yer devilish twin at home," vowed Leith. "Now go before I pummel some sense into yer flea-bitten head," he added, and, reaching across the mare, seized a fistful of the lad's doublet.

Laughing, Colin lifted his hands as if to ward off violence. "It is na me fault ye canna attract a lass, brother. Perhaps if ye quit yer scowling they would na be so scairt to look on yer scar-riddled—"

The sound of a door slamming interrupted his words, catching both men's attention. Leith dropped his hand and Colin raised his brows at the dark beauty who approached from the nearby house. "Ah, there," he murmured with appreciation. "A woman. And English, so surely she is desperate for a true man. Quit yer scowling now, brother, and give her a try."