Angel of Skye (7 page)

“Because she knows that the hood is only worn temporarily and she trusts me.” Alec threw a quick glance at the lass. “Not to mention the simple fact that she...well, clearly enjoys my company.”

“Is that so?” Fiona laughed. It was the first time he had heard her laugh, and Alec liked the sound of it. “Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, m’lord, but your falcon and I are not so much alike.”

“You don’t enjoy my company? My charming wit? My courtesy? My manly good looks?”

“Nay, m’lord,” she answered, pausing for effect and suppressing a laugh before continuing. Lord Macpherson was well aware of his own charms, Fiona thought. “Actually, what I meant is that, unlike your falcon, my hood is permanent.”

“Nothing is permanent,” he said, but suddenly he grew serious, his thoughts recalling the events in his own recent past. On things he had once truly believed to be permanent.

“The vows of the convent are not just permanent, m’lord. They are eternal.”

Shaken from his own thoughts by her statement, Alec whirled to look at her. He was not even sure he’d heard her correctly. A nun! Instantly he retraced in his mind the events and the conversation of the morning. Turning his attention to the path ahead, he could not help dwelling for a moment on his own attraction to this nun, and it made him feel strangely uncomfortable. And what exactly had he said to her? A nun!

Fiona peered up at the man walking beside her and smiled. This warlord, sent to control the wilds of Scotland’s Outer Hebrides, suddenly looked like a schoolboy. First shock, then a flush of embarrassment registered on his face, then his features tightened into a scowl of displeasure. When he directed this glare back to her, Fiona looked away. What a wonderfully unexpected response, she thought. She should have tried this sooner.

When Alec did speak, though, his voice was anything but angry.

“So you live at the Priory?” he asked in as cordial a tone as he could muster.

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Then why do you dress this way?”

“To tend the sick.”

“Have you been at the Priory long?”

“Aye, m’lord. As long as I can remember.”

“And you are not sick in any way?”

“No, m’lord,” Fiona responded sweetly, turning her bright eyes on him. She gave him a brilliant smile. “But thank you for asking.”

Alec’s heart pounded in response. Her eyes and her smile could bewitch a man

“Tell me,” Alec asked after a moment, “do they still teach religion at the Priory?”

“Naturally.”

“And they teach the value of virtue?”

“Aye, indeed they do, m’lord.”

“Are meekness, truthfulness, and obedience still considered virtues?”

“Absolutely, m’lord.”

“Then are you not...are not all the nuns of your Priory expected to practice them?”

Smiling to herself, Fiona thought back over the morning’s events. Of her forwardness, of the tales she’d told, of her bland refusal to obey his simplest commands.

“Nay, m’lord. That is a different order.”

Coming over a rise, the two saw the walls of the Priory rise up in the distance. A huddle of huts formed a neat village at its gates, and the smoke of the morning fires hung comfortably in the air above. A brown and white dog ran out from a pen beside the closest cottage, and his friendly barks blended with the rhythmic hammering of the smith already hard at work in the forge. The smell of roasting mutton reached Alec, and the stirring in his belly reminded him that he hadn’t anything to eat today.

The folk of the village directed surprised looks at the two as they walked along the lane that led to the gates of the Priory, and Alec did not wonder at their interest or their surprise. He had been encountering the same looks in other villages for the past four months.

The gates that led through the high wall surrounding the buildings and the church comprising the Priory were open, and when the two entered, an ancient blue-robed porter carrying a long and stout staff hobbled over, nodding his yellowed mane at the warlord and directing a warm and toothless smile at Fiona. She touched his hand affectionately as they passed.

“As I told ye, lassie, no rain,” he chuckled. “Nary a drop.”

“Aye, James.” She smiled. “A fine morning.”

Alec looked around at the orderly plan of the Priory grounds, at the church directly ahead, and at the stables and guest quarters to the left, with a small orchard rising behind. To the right, the chapter house, with its business offices and school, and what he assumed to be the nuns’ quarters beyond. Alec could see the smoke rising from what must be a kitchen building behind the living quarters, and he guessed there was probably a well-tended garden behind that. Between the nun’s quarters and the church, paths of white crushed shells crisscrossed a small quadrangle of greensward, cultivated herbs, and flowers. Neat, efficient, and pleasant, Alec thought approvingly.

His eyes had no sooner taken in the buildings and grounds than a young boy came racing and whooping across from the stables. The warrior watched the lad come full tilt, never slowing a whit and throwing himself into the embrace of the young nun. She stumbled a step back to keep from falling down but quickly regained her footing, hugging the child tightly to her.

“Sorry, Malcolm. I know you’ve been wait—”

“The prioress is angry. She is so mad at you,” the boy blurted out. “She went right to the chapter house after Mass this morning. She would not even talk to the chaplain. She—”

“Hush,” Fiona soothed, crouching before the boy as she glanced nervously in the direction of the chapter house. “I’ll take care of it.”

“She kept waving her hands as she walked, talking all the time about `patience’ and `asses.’ David called me to the stables.”

The lad nodded toward the heavyset, middle-aged man whom Alec could see running toward them, shouting directions over his shoulder at the hostlers in the stable yard. A fearful look crept across the boy’s face as he snuggled in against Fiona, wrapping his arms around her neck.

“Will she make you slop out the pigsties for a month?” Malcolm whispered anxiously. “She’ll not use the birch rod on you, will she?”

“Nay, Malcolm,” she answered with a sigh. “Though either of those punishments may be preferable to what she has in mind for me.”

Fiona looked at the little boy. He was now warily eyeing the stranger standing nearby with the falcon and charger.

“Lord Alec!” David boomed, running up breathlessly. “You honor us, m’lord. If we had known you were coming...Are you alone, m’lord?”

“Good day, David,” Alec returned pleasantly. “I was out hunting, and just thought I might take you up on your offer to show me the Priory.”

Alec and Fiona exchanged a quick look.

“I would be delighted, m’lord, but…” the older man turned to Fiona. “You, lass, had better run. You have a hornet’s nest waiting for you.” He nodded in the direction of the chapter house and arched his bushy gray eyebrows.

Fiona took a deep breath as she stood up and started for the building.

“Fiona,” Malcolm said, following her.

She turned and took the little boy’s face between her hands. “You stay with David.” She straightened up and glanced at Alec.

“Good day, m’lord,” she whispered, turning on her heel and striding across the yard.

Alec watched her go, her chin high and her back straight. But it occurred to him that she looked like a soldier going with full awareness into an ill-fated battle.

“Is the prioress so heavy-handed with the nuns?” Alec asked sympathetically.

“Not at all, m’lord,” David responded, surprised. “In fact, the prioress is quite gentle when it comes to her own flock.”

“Then why is this good nun...this Fiona...an exception?”

David looked at the laird quizzically.

“Because, m’lord, this good nun is no nun.”

Of all fairhood she bore the flower...

—Robert Henryson, ”
The Bludy Serk
”

“Patience is the virtue of asses.”

Fiona squirmed where she stood in the center of the room. The prioress had not even paused for a breath since the young woman entered. Mara Penrith MacLeod, prioress of the Convent of Newabbey, was not about to let her charge off lightly.

The prioress had been the undisputed superior on these lands for nearly thirty years. From the time she had proved herself able at the age of twenty-two, no one had ever thought to challenge her authority. She had always been fair but strict in her administration. Over the years, she had earned the respect of those around her, but had demanded obedience as her due. Through times of turbulence and times of peace, she had drawn a straight line, and all had followed where she led. Life in the Priory had been orderly, serene. Until Fiona arrived.

She was at least a head shorter than Fiona, but she had the force of personality that made others feel she towered over them, especially when she was displeased. And right now the older woman was more than displeased. She was angry. Quite angry.

“I know, m’lady prioress, but...”

“So you admit you think me an ass?”

The prioress glared at Fiona from where she stood by the little window of her business room in the chapter house. Her fierce look was inconsistent with the gentle garments she wore. The dark blue robes and the white veil, symbols of her kindly vocation, did nothing to lessen the impact of the tongue-lashing she was giving.

“No, m’lady, but—”

“As well you should think me an ass, for all the deference you pay me.”

“But, m’lady prioress, I—”

“And I might as well be a mute and brainless beast, for all the attention you pay to what I tell you.” The prioress began pacing the room again as she spoke, her limp more pronounced. Her knee was aching more this morning than it had in weeks. “Fiona, you never hear me at all, do you?”

“I do, m’lady,” Fiona answered, looking with concern at the older woman’s discomfort. “If you would only let me—”

“Explain?” the prioress exploded. “How many times have I listened...patiently...to explanations for your rebellious disobedience. Fiona, why do you insist on defying me?”

“M’lady prioress, please, I have never—”

“Young woman, do not even think of denying that you have continually disobeyed my instructions at every turn...for the last fourteen years! If I had pulled one of my gray hairs out every time you defied my orders, I would still be an ass—but a bald-headed one by now!” Her gray eyes rolled skyward. “Holy Mother, what do I need to do to get through to this wayward child?”

When the prioress paused, Fiona knew this was her chance to speak. She also knew from past experience that if she did not jump in now, she would be standing there for the next hour. Nonetheless, Fiona picked up the three-legged chair by the window and placed it by the fire for the older woman. Because of her ailing joints, the superior allowed herself a wood fire year round. Yes, a luxury. But it was the only luxury she indulged herself, now that her falcons were gone. The prioress sat gingerly, wincing as she flexed her knee before her.

“M’lady, I have changed,” the young woman said, moving back to the center of the room. She was somewhat surprised that the prioress was allowing her to continue. “You know I have. Aye, I admit that every now and again I might have done childish—”

“Every now and then? Childish?” the prioress interrupted, looking at Fiona in exaggerated shock for an instant before focusing her glare once again. “Why don’t we get a bit more specific for a moment?”

Fiona dropped her head in resignation before speaking again. Defeat, that was what the prioress was after. Nothing less.

“Aye, m’lady,” she surrendered humbly.

“I am waiting,” the older woman said, sitting erect in the chair. Her hand rubbed at her swollen knee.

Fiona pulled together her courage to start again. “Aye. I did chil...dangerous things. But, m’lady, I was only a bairn.”

“Malcolm is a bairn. And you...you never were. You were thirteen years old when you set all of my falcons free. And sixteen when you first swam across the loch. And I repeat...first swam across the loch. Should I continue? Hardly a bairn, Fiona.”

The young woman flushed. The prioress never forgot anything. Ever! Unconsciously, Fiona went to the fireplace and picked up the thick cloths that were hanging on the warming rack. Folding them carefully, she knelt before the prioress.

“Please, m’lady. I cannot undo the foolish things I’ve done,” Fiona said, placing the warm cloths over the knee of the older woman. The swelling is getting worse, she thought. “But this is different. When I go into the forest, I do not disobey you for childish or selfish reasons. Walter counts on me. Please understand! You know that for years I have—”

“Been risking your life going there alone. You’ve paid back that man’s good deed tenfold, child. When are you going to understand?” The prioress paused as another emotion besides anger wedged its way into her consciousness. “Fiona, nothing you have ever done has been selfish. Foolhardy, aye. Selfish, never. I fear for you because you put the well-being of all God’s creatures—man and beast—ahead of your own. You don’t think of yourself, nor of your safety.”

Fiona looked up at the woman who had raised her and loved her—and put up with the hell that she had sometimes brought to her door. Fiona knew, without question, that the prioress’s anger always stemmed from the worries that Fiona herself wrought in her. Well, except, perhaps, for the episode with her falcons, Fiona thought, hiding a smile.

The older woman’s now gentle voice brought her back to the present.

“Fiona, child. You know I love you like a daughter. Every time I think or find out about you being out there alone, something shrivels up within me. I worry about you. Do you understand? You know that there was a very good reason for the lepers to hide themselves from Torquil’s brutality.”

“Aye, m’lady. But he’s gone now, and—”

“Aye, Fiona. But those ignorant swine who served him are not!” The older woman’s temper flared once again. “Because of the new laird, Lord Macpherson, the lepers have been given a chance to live out their miserable lives in peace. And besides, they have Father Jack. That old hermit can see to their needs. But a young lass roaming the woods alone...”