The Angel and the Highlander

“I
’m not going. She’s a shrew, and from what I’ve heard an ugly one at that. There’s not a man alive who can deal with her. Why do you think her father stuck her in a convent?” Lachlan shook his head adamantly all the while knowing that no matter how hard he protested, he would have no choice. He would have to go and escort Alyce, daughter of Angus of the clan Bunnock, the laird of the largest and most powerful clan in the whole north of Scotland.

“By now she’ll have learned to behave,” Cavan said bluntly.

Lachlan bit his tongue. It wasn’t because Cavan was his oldest brother, but rather that Cavan was laird of the clan Sinclare and was due respect and obedience. Lachlan would have given it to his brother regardless. Cavan was a man of tremendous courage and conviction and he lead the clan with honor. He couldn’t disrespect him just because he didn’t like the task at hand.

Besides,” Cavan said with a glint of a smile, “there isn’t a woman I haven’t seen you able to charm. I’m confident that you can handle a shrew.”

Lachlan grinned and nodded. “You’re right. There isn’t a woman I can’t handle, nor one who’s impervious to my charm.”

“Then the mission should prove simple and successful. Go retrieve Alyce Bunnock so that she may wed the man of her father’s choosing.”

Lachlan was about to ask the obvious question when Cavan held up his hand.

“It doesn’t matter if she objects. She has a duty to her father and clan. Tie her to the horse if you have to, but get her here.”

“That’s all I wanted to know,” Lachlan said, satisfied his hands weren’t tied if she should give him trouble.

“You leave tomorrow at first light. Take a strong contingent of warriors with you. Angus Bunnock informed me that the area is mostly pagan, the reason why the church sent the nuns to establish the convent five years ago. On top of that a band of mercenaries has been plundering the region. To what extent or how strong their group, I do not know.”

“Ten Highlander warriors should do against a ragtag band of misfits.”

“Don’t ever underestimate your opponents. Some of those misfits have probably fought more battles than you.”

“I will be sure to stay alert,” Lachlan said.

“Be sure you stay alive,” Cavan commanded.

Lachlan finished recalling the meeting he had with his brother Cavan prior to his departure three weeks ago. So far it had been an uneventful journey, but they weren’t far now from the convent. They were deep in pagan territory and there were signs of another group
inhabiting the area, probably the mercenaries he had been warned about.

The horses were skittish over unfamiliar sounds that followed them. The forest was the thickest Lachlan had ever seen, making it more difficult to find or blaze a sufficient trail. Then there was the strange mist that could be counted on to confound since there was no rhythm or reason to its arrival or departure.

The men voiced their concerns in whispers, afraid of insulting the forest spirits. Though new beliefs proliferated, old beliefs died hard and it didn’t hurt to pay homage to the old ones now and again.

Lachlan led his men with confidence and caution. They were in unfamiliar territory and it wouldn’t do to be careless. He had chosen good, experienced men, though Boyd and Andrew had volunteered. He shared much in common with the two. They craved adventure, women, and were close in age to his twenty-six years.

Boyd rode up alongside him. He sat tall in his saddle, though his height fell several inches short of Lachlan’s not quite six feet. He was broad and thick with muscle and had long dark red hair and a boyish face the lassies loved.

“The few farms we’ve passed looked to be prosperous.” Boyd shook his head. “I hadn’t expected to see that with talk of mercenaries in the area.”

“I thought the same myself,” Lachlan said. “They usually take what they want in the way of food and women.”

“Yet in the last two days it appears as if we’ve crossed
a border of sorts where every farm and its people are flourishing and happy.”

“We are not far from the convent; perhaps the nuns have had a beneficial affect on the land and its people.”

“Not if Alyce Bunnock had anything to do with it,” Boyd said.

Lachlan cringed. “Don’t remind me. I’ve heard more horrid tales about the—” He stopped himself from referring to her as a lady, which gave Boyd time to throw in his own descriptions.

“Shrew, witch, ogre, hellion—”

“Come, she can’t be that bad,” Andrew said, joining them, his sharp smile, craggy features, and jet black, straight shoulder-length hair in sharp contrast to Boyd’s boyish appeal, his height nearer to Lachlan’s.

“Then you deal with her,” Lachlan and Boyd said in unison.

Andrew laughed, though he grew silent when the shrill cry of a bird pierced the air.

Lachlan and Boyd did the same. Another cry followed as if in answer then a cacophony of cries and the men relaxed, the chorus letting them know it was no signal.

“I’ll be glad to get our task done and be home,” Boyd said, his eyes sharp on his surroundings.

Lachlan understood his men’s concerns. The forest shadows and unpredictable mist added to the unease, and it didn’t help that they were placing themselves in harm’s way to retrieve a sharp-tongued woman. “We’ll be gone from here fast enough.”

Evan, the warrior sent to scout ahead emerged from the shadows of the trees. Sweat poured from his pale brow even though the start of spring retained a bite of winter.

“There’s a cropping of buildings ahead with freshly turned ground. It doesn’t look like any convent I’ve seen. It resembles more a farm, though a large cross at the entrance of one building catches the eye as do the women who tend the place.” He shook his head. “There’s not a man in sight.”

“How about an ugly shrew?” Boyd asked.

Evan cocked a brow. “None that I saw.”

“We are closer to being done with this chore,” Lachlan said, feeling a sense of relief. He’d soon have Alyce Bunnock in his grasp and they would be on their way home within a day or two.

With a command to his troop, all his warriors sat firm in their saddles and with a steady gait they proceeded over the pitted terrain, past the dense foliage, combating the creeping mist to arrive at the convent just before the sun settled in a gray sky.

Lachlan halted his men on the outskirts to what appeared to be the convent, though as Evan had informed him it more resembled a farm. The large crude cross fashioned from stripped tree limbs was the only indicator that the place was one of worship. It stood tall in front of the smallest dwellings, which he assumed designated the chapel.

There were two cottage-like dwellings past that and a short distance beyond was a thatched-roof compound that boasted two chimneys and several win
dows whose thick white wood shutters were closed tight. The door was also white and centered on it was a cross made of twigs.

A small field, its earth turned and ready for planting, didn’t sit far from the compound and a pathway of pine needles directed visitors straight to the white door as if welcoming all who took it.

There wasn’t a single person in sight, but then it was growing darker by the minute and more than likely the women were huddled inside the safety of the compound for the night.

“You are welcome to rest here.”

Lachlan and his men were quick to clamp their hands on the hilts of their swords so startled were they all at the unexpected voice, but upon seeing who spoke they immediately relaxed their grips.

“I am Sister Megan and this is Everagis Abbey.” She laughed lightly. “It may appear a farm to outsiders; however, to the sisters who share it with me, it is the grandest of abbeys.”

Lachlan saw how his men glared besotted at the petite, dark-haired beauty. Her skin was pale and flawless, her voice like soft musical chimes, and her radiant green eyes intoxicating. And then there was her perfectly proportioned body, large breasts, narrow waist and round hips. She certainly looked nothing like a nun.

She demurely lowered her glance. “Does my peasant attire offend you, sir?”

“No. No,” Lachlan assured her, though he did wonder whatever would make her shed her robes. She quickly settled his curiosity.

“Our daily chores favor the peasant’s dress rather than our cumbersome robes.”

“A wise choice,” Lachlan agreed while catching the agreeable nods of his men out of the corner of his eye.

“We can offer you sustenance and a place to camp for the night if you wish,” she said.

“Actually, I was sent here,” Lachlan said.

She cocked her head.

“I am Lachlan of the clan Sinclare and Angus Bunnock has sent me to collect his daughter Alyce.”

“I see,” Megan said. “It is best you come and speak with—”

“The abbess,” Lachlan finished, wanting her to realize his business was with the woman in charge.

“I will take you to the one you need to speak with.”

Megan hurried ahead of him looking more like she floated along the ground at a remarkable gait, and arrived at the compound well ahead of him and his men.

Lachlan waved Evan up alongside him. “This Megan appeared out of nowhere, not the least bit surprised by our arrival and offering us shelter. It’s as if she expected us.”

“I thought the same myself,” Evan said. “Yet when I scouted the area I detected not a soul in sight.”

“Someone had to have spotted you.”

“Perhaps someone who keeps watch over the nuns,” Evan suggested.

“Find out,” Lachlan ordered.

Evan nodded and retreated to his position.

Once at the compound Lachlan ordered his men to
dismount and wait while he went inside to speak with the abbess. The door opened before he reached it and two women came out carrying pitchers and tankards. They were dressed similarly to Megan though both were taller, one reed slim and the other fuller in figure though shapely. Where the slim one had a pretty face, the fuller one had a lovely face and both wore generous smiles, which added to their appeal.

“I am Hester,” the slimmer one said, and with a nod toward the other woman she introduced her: “This is Rowena and we have ale for your men, for they surely must be parched.”

“Thank you. We appreciate your generosity,” Lachlan said, giving permission to serve his men and wondering how they could have been prepared so soon to quench the thirst of ten visitors. Again it appeared they had been expected.

Suddenly out of nowhere a whirlwind of dirt and debris swirled from around the end of the compound and when it settled a wiry young woman, her red hair piled wildly on her head appeared. Her pretty face was streaked with dirt, her dark green wool skirt and tan linen blouse dusted with it.

“Haven’t missed supper, have I?” she asked anxiously, turning wide-eyed when her eyes fell on the men.

“No, Piper, but supper will wait until we see to our visitors,” Hester said, handing her a pitcher.

The young woman nodded obediently and followed the other two helping to fill tankards of ale for all the men.

Lachlan wondered where Alyce was, for none of these women appeared a shrew. They were much too accommodating and attractive to be Alyce Bunnock. And thinking of the information he had been given, there should be at least ten nuns besides the abbess. So far he had met four, though not one of them resembled or acted like a woman dedicated to the church.

Megan appeared at the open door. “Please come in. You are most welcome here.”

Lachlan almost took a deep breath in anticipation of the confrontation with the harridan, who he was certain would object to returning home to wed a stranger. However, he let a heavy breath ripple through his body and instead planted a smile on his face ready to charm the abbess, and hopefully tame the shrew enough to get her home for her wedding.

He stepped over the threshold and entered a large room. A stone fireplace covered one wall and two black cauldrons hung over the roaring fire, the contents bubbling and a delicious scent permeating the air. He had to fight not to lick his lips in anticipation of the appetizing taste.

A long table with five chairs at each side and one at each end sat in the middle of the room while a plethora of candles throughout provided the area with more than sufficient light. A soft blue wool curtain hung in a doorway that he assumed led to the nuns’ sleeping quarters.

Not seeing anyone, he was about to ask about the abbess when a woman slowly emerged from the corner
shadows. He had expected to see an older woman garbed in robes of one of authority. He didn’t, though what he did see had his eyes popping wide and his loins tightening uncomfortably, not to mention the guilt that weighed heavily on him for finding a nun so damn appealing.

She was at least eight inches over five feet, her body full and curvaceous. While her face was round it was also sculpted, her soft yet defining features making her a rare beauty. Add to that sky blue eyes and wheat blond hair severely drawn back into a long braid that fell over her large bosoms and came to rest at her waist.

This couldn’t be the abbess, though she did appear a woman in charge. Her blue eyes were sharp, her head high, and her stance solid. He admired her mix of beauty and strength.

He silently chastised himself for his lusty thoughts and with a respectable bow of his head said, “Good evening, Mother Abbess.”

“I am not the abbess.”

That couldn’t be the voice of a nun. It was too deep and sultry. He nearly muttered oaths beneath his breath at his outrageous thought but caught himself only to wonder, or was it hope, that perhaps the beauty wasn’t a nun at all.

“I am Sister Terese.”

Was that a punch of disappointment to the gut he felt? Mind your thoughts, he warned himself silently, and ordered firmly, “I need to speak with the abbess.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Sister Terese said just as decisively.

Lachlan had enough. He wanted to speak with the abbess and now. He wanted to get Alyce into his custody and ready for the return trip home, leave by first light and finish this task he never wanted part of in the first place.