Angel of Skye (8 page)

“But m’lady, that is a nun’s work. Helping the sick and needy, I mean.”

“Fiona, how many times do I need to tell you, you are not a nun!” The older woman took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her raging temper. When she spoke again, her voice was clipped. “I do not know where I have gone wrong in your education, but Fiona, I am saying it again: You are not a nun, young woman.”

“M’lady prioress, I know I’m not. But that does not alter my wish of becoming one...someday.”

“Fiona,” the prioress responded, considering her words and pausing for a moment to marvel at her own patience. “Fiona, that cannot happen. It will not happen. Not in this lifetime. Now, I want you to forget about it.”

“But why?” The young woman looked helplessly at the prioress, her hands spread imploringly.

The nun looked feelingly at the beautiful and disappointed child leaning in front of her. She had never told her that becoming a nun was an option for her. Never. But neither had she told Fiona that life still had so much in store for her. That her destiny lay in other places, in other hands. There was so much that she wanted to reveal but could not...yet. The prioress wanted to have all the answers before she would reveal the truth. She knew the time would come, though, and soon. After all, the messenger to Lord Huntly had returned, having successfully delivered her letter. Now all she had to do was to keep Fiona safe and close. But that was the biggest challenge of all. It always had been.

The prioress reached over and took Fiona’s hand in her own. When she spoke, her words were gentle. “I have told you many times that you should not call yourself a nun or feel as though you should act like one. You have lived and worked and learned in this Priory. We have shared a wondrous part of your life. What the future brings, we can never be sure of. But a religious life is not your calling, that I am sure of. So we will not speak of it again, Fiona, and that’s my last word on the subject. Do you understand?”

“Aye, m’lady. But you must understand that I cannot turn my back on those who need me.”

The older woman’s temper flared again in the wink of an eye.

“Fiona,” she erupted, “you are intelligent enough to know that roaming the woods...alone...is absolutely—”

“But m’lady, I know this place, and nothing has ever happened to me that I could not—” Fiona broke in, cringing as she spoke the words, at the thought of what the prioress’s response would be if she knew about this morning’s incident.

“A young lass is still prey for the dirty, heathenish pigs who call themselves men around here these days. Why, when I was a young girl, men respected a woman.”

Fiona had heard this speech before, as well.

“M’lady prioress,” Fiona soothed. “You have been like a mother to me. And I do respect you.”

“And obey me, too, I suppose you’ll be saying next,” the older woman grouched. “Fiona, why can you not understand that you are my responsibility? The things that you do and say, the way you look, they all are a reflection of me.” Then, really eyeing Fiona for the first time, the prioress stopped short and looked at the young woman crouching before her.

Suddenly Fiona was uncomfortably conscious of her disheveled appearance. She had hung her cloak on the peg before entering the prioress’s office. Now, following the gaze of the older woman, Fiona’s eyes were drawn to the shoulder of her dress, torn from one of her falls. She could see the fire again building in the prioress’s eyes.

“What happened to you, Fiona?” she shot at her, forgetting her previous train of thought.

“I fell, m’lady.”

“On your shoulder?” the prioress began fiercely. “How did you fall, Fiona? Where did you fall? You tell me what happened.”

The knock on the door interrupted the prioress’ string of questions. Something happened this morning, she thought hotly, and I am going to find out what. And who could this be? Everyone knows I am not to be disturbed when I am...counseling... Fiona. She shot an angry glance at the young woman retreating to the door.

Fiona whispered a quick prayer of thanks to her guardian angel for her deliverance. She pulled the heavy door open. But seeing the giant figure that filled the entryway, Fiona realized that she might have sent her prayer off too soon.

Alec watched her expression change from relief to disbelief. She had clearly not expected him to be standing there.

And he had not expected for her to be so stunning.

Suddenly the full impact of the young woman’s beauty struck deeply into the warlord’s consciousness. Alec’s body tensed with a response he had not anticipated.

His eyes took in the figure standing before him. The veil, like a halo, framed the loose strands of red hair and the flawless ivory skin of Fiona’s face. Her deep hazel eyes glowed, showing her change in mood, and Alec watched as she returned his appraising look with her own. As his glance fell on her full red lips, a blush crept from the satin skin of her throat into the milky softness of her cheek.

Alec found himself responding to the young woman with unexpected intensity. He fought to control the clenched muscles of his body as his heart pounded furiously in his chest.

“Who is it, Fiona?” the prioress snapped from her chair by the fire.

Fiona started, surprised by her own bold reaction to the nobleman. She stepped back quickly, taking herself out of the prioress’s line of vision as the laird crossed the threshold.

The diminutive nun who had spoken with such vigor sat at the fire, and Alec directed his attention to her. She was a tiny thing, and the intelligent eyes nestled in a stern face were scrutinizing him carefully. It took only a moment for her glance to fall on the Macpherson broach that held his tartan in place. Alec watched her frown disappear as she recognized the family crest depicted on the iron clasp.

Fiona was the first to speak.

“You have an unexpected guest, m’lady prioress,” she said in a low voice. “I believe this is Lord Macpherson, whom David has spoken so much of.”

“Of course,” the prioress responded, excitedly springing from the chair and reaching her hand out to the man towering before her. “Lord Macpherson, welcome. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Alec bowed at the waist and took the tiny hand of the nun. After kissing the ring of the Order that she wore on her left hand, he allowed himself to be led into the room.

“Thank you, m’lady prioress,” he said with a smile. “The pleasure is mine. I have been remiss in not coming to see you sooner.”

“David has told me how busy you’ve been since your arrival,” she answered, smiling back at him.

“Still, that is no excuse,” Alec responded apologetically. “And please forgive my dropping in without sending word ahead.”

“You never need to worry about that, Lord Alec,” she said. “Think of us here as old family friends.”

“Aye,” Alec said. “My father always speaks of you with the highest regard. He told me before I left Benmore Castle that I should convey his best wishes.”

“He is a fine man, your father.”

“He says that he first met you many years ago...when you were children.”

“That’s true. The Highland gatherings years ago were wonderful times for children. And after that, Alexander always visited when he came to Skye, but I have not seen him for years. Is he doing well?”

“Very well, prioress. He does not travel much anymore, though he and my mother are rather impatient to be grandparents.”

“Alexander Macpherson a grandfather. That presents a very pleasant image in my mind.” Her smile faded a bit as she shifted uncomfortably where she stood. “So, Lord Alec, any plans that way?”

“Nay, prioress,” Alec responded, smiling at her unabashed question. “I believe you would have a better chance, though, asking that of my brothers Ambrose and John.”

Fiona stood seemingly forgotten in the background, and though she had covered her torn shoulder with a shawl lying across the prioress’ worktable, she wondered how she might slip out of the room without attracting any attention. But at the same time, she found herself unaccountably drawn to these bits of information she was gathering about Lord Macpherson.

Alec noticed that, in spite of the prioress’ speed in rising from the chair, the older woman was favoring one leg as she stood. Leading her back to the fire, he sat her in the chair, picking up the dropped towels. They were still warm.

Fiona rushed to his side, trying to take the towels without ever raising her eyes to his, but Alec held on tight. She looked up, scowling into his smiling eyes, and tugged hard as Alec loosened his grip. Fiona nearly fell over backward. He smiled.

“You can see I am getting old, Lord Alec,” the prioress said, pretending not to have seen the exchange, and stretching her leg toward the fire.

Fiona was thankful that prioress had not noticed the foolishness displayed by the handsome laird. She replaced the towels over the nun’s knee, and Alec stood beside the open hearth watching her.

“It cannot be your age, prioress,” he responded kindly, forcing his attention back to the older woman. “It is most assuredly the dampness of this island weather.”

The prioress looked at him gratefully, taken with his courtesy and consideration.

Wordlessly, Fiona brought over a chair—one which she knew was in desperate need of repair—for the laird beside the prioress. Perhaps, she thought wryly, his weight will be too much for this. The image of him sitting among the splintered wreckage would be precious.

“Will you sit, Lord Alec?” the older woman asked. “We have much to talk about.”

Alec looked over at Fiona, who was standing quietly behind the prioress. Striding across the floor, he effortlessly snatched up the larger chair by the worktable and added it to the group.

“Will the young lady join us?”

Fiona spoke at once. “Nay, m’lord. I...I...have—”

“Nonsense!” the prioress erupted. “Of course you’ll join us.”

Fiona could not conceal her shock at the superior’s words. In the past the prioress had practically hidden her away whenever any well-to-do gentleman had visited the Priory. The prioress had been particularly careful whenever Torquil MacLeod or any of his men had come around.

“Lord Alec,” the older woman said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I’ve failed to introduce you to Fiona...our beloved rebel.”

Fiona blushed scarlet and bowed her head toward the warlord. Her hands were clasped tightly, and she hardly dared to look up at him.

“A rebel, prioress?” Alec asked, raising an eyebrow at the young woman.

“Only at times, Lord Alec,” the prioress answered. “The truth is, Fiona is an angel who was dropped at our doorstep years ago. But then, the Lord has strange ways of... testing his servants.”

“He certainly does, prioress.” With casual grace Alec moved to stand beside her, one hand on the smaller chair. When he pulled it back, holding it for her with a slight bow, Fiona looked down at the chair and again at him.

She paused. Then the prioress’ expectant look flustered the young woman momentarily. Feeling awkward and self-conscious, Fiona seated herself cautiously on the edge of the chair that the warlord held for her.

Alec hid a smile and took his seat beside her.

The prioress and the laird talked, and as they did, Fiona considered how quickly this handsome nobleman was charming his way into the older woman’s good graces. And she found herself listening attentively to the intelligent conversation, his pleasant voice ringing with easy laughter as he and the prioress exchanged both news and barbs of wit.

Their discussion ranged from the politics of court to the state of the year’s crops. With every shift in topic Fiona listened anxiously for any possibility of the conversation turning to the morning’s mishap, all the while afraid to move for fear the chair would collapse beneath her.

Then, once, when the prioress mentioned her concern about the bands of outlaws roaming the island, Alec gave Fiona a mischievous look before explaining his plans regarding their control and turning the conversation. He had the opportunity, she thought, but he didn’t bring it up. It was then Fiona knew her secret would be safe with him.

As the two talked, Alec often directed his comments at Fiona. But the young woman avoided entering into the chat with the same determination that she avoided returning his lingering looks.

When the discussion turned to the running of the Priory, Fiona knew that her silence was coming to an end. It was the prioress who forced her into the conversation.

“Fiona, tell Lord Alec about your system,” the superior ordered.

Their chairs were so close.

“M’lady,” Fiona stammered. “There is really so little to tell.”

“So little,” the prioress scoffed before turning proudly to Alec. “She has only improved the Priory’s financial standing from break-even stature to a profit-making one. And those profits are feeding more mouths every day.”

The prioress rose and went to the table, shuffling through papers as she continued to speak. With the older woman’s attention momentarily diverted, Alec shifted his weight and placed his knee against Fiona’s skirts. Though he was very nonchalant about it, Fiona was sure he was well aware of the pressure of his leg on hers. She felt her cheeks color—he was doing this on purpose. She moved her leg slightly to the side. His knee followed. She tried to push back with her knees, but still he didn’t take his leg away. Casually positioning one foot behind the other, this time she kicked him.

Alec calmly moved his knee away and smiled as he once again captured her eyes. Another flush of color crept into Fiona’s face.

“...And I tell you her ideas are truly inspired,” the old nun concluded. “The farms’ yields improve with every harvest.”

“I could see coming here this morning,” Alec agreed heartily, “that these are the most productive lands in Skye. I never expected to run into such treasure.”

“Lord Alec, you haven’t seen anything yet,” the older woman asserted. “But I would like you to see the farms, the storehouses, the orchards. This young woman is responsible for the most significant changes. Fiona, take the new laird for a tour of the grounds. Show him some of the changes.”