The Thistle and the Rose Read online

  “Is this tour open to all visitors to Kildalton Castle, m'lord?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Nay,” Colin responded devilishly. “Just you.”

  “Such a cozy arrangement. What was it that you said about my safety, just now?” Celia asked, smiling before turning her back on his handsome face. “I think I'll be moving the chest back over.”

  Colin stopped her before she could re-enter her room. “I will not come into your bed until you invite me,” he said, gazing steadily into her eyes. “But if you want to come to me, you will not find any chest blocking my door.”

  It would be only natural for him to assume that she would go to him—for him to assume that, after all, Lady Caithness had done this many times before, Celia thought.

  Celia looked up into his face, but as much as she wanted to tell him everything about herself, to reveal all the truths that she held so tightly inside, truths that threatened to strangle her, she knew that there was no answer she could give him. Silence could be her only response.

  She turned and carried the baby back into her room.

  When she entered her bedroom again, Kit began to cry. “Are you getting hungry, my little man?” she said, trying to turn her attention from her own agitation. “I think we'll just change your wrappings and get you ready for when Ellen comes back.”

  Celia crossed to Ellen's room and got the dry change of clothes for him. Carrying Kit back, she laid him on her bed, noticing that the panel was still open and that Colin had not re-entered the room. It would be better not to think about him right now. It would be better not to think at all. She busied herself stripping the wet things off the baby and cleaning him. When the child was free of the wrappings, he babbled with delight and pulled himself up to a standing position, holding Celia's fingers.

  “Why would anyone want to hurt your bairn?”

  Celia started at the sound of Colin's voice, in spite of the gentleness of his tone. Looking up, she saw he was standing with his back to the fireplace, and the panel to the passageway had been closed.

  “Danvers has a bounty on every baby boy in the Lowlands.”

  “A bounty?” Colin said with a mixture of surprise and disgust. “What reason would he have for doing that?”

  “I cannot say,” Celia responded, looking intensely at the child and avoiding Colin's searching look. “I only heard it from two of Danvers's men when we were escaping from Caithness Hall.”

  “Well, we are not in the Lowlands, and those were not Danvers's men,” Colin said sharply, sensing that Celia was not telling everything she knew. He had come to know the directness with which Celia communicated, and the way she was now avoiding his eyes, the visible tenseness in her body, told him that she was not being completely forthright.

  “Well, you tell me who they are, then,” Celia snapped, her temper flaring momentarily.

  Like two bulls butting heads, the two stubbornly refused to reveal anything they knew. Protectiveness restrained Celia; her sense of duty forbade her to speak. Colin's stubbornness was a direct response to hers.

  “I cannot say,” Colin said, echoing Celia's own evasive words.

  “Well, I'll find out on my own...and soon enough.”

  “From whom? Your friend at the abbey by Argyll's castle?”

  “What do you know about Father William?” she said, startled by his question.

  “Who is this Father William? And what is he doing there?” Colin was going to find out what the connection was between Celia and the abbey.

  When Colin had gone to look at the bodies of the dead attackers, his village priest had accompanied him. The priest had immediately recognized the third body they examined—he had been one of the soldiers in the brigade that protected the abbey. And the only link between the abbey and the attack on Celia's bairn was this priest.

  “He's my confessor and my friend. He is an educator and a priest.” Celia’s voice expressed her rising anxiety. “Why? Have you heard something? Has something happened to him?”

  “How would I know? But why should something have happened to him? He's a miserable court priest. Why should somebody be after him?” Colin said in a biting tone.

  “I do not know, but your nastiness is uncalled for,” Celia exclaimed with feeling. “Aside from Edmund, Father William was the only real friend I had for the six long years I spent in that empty court. He taught me mathematics, philosophy, history, Latin, and even Greek—things that are forbidden for women. He's as much my family as Edmund is.”

  Glaring across the room at her, Colin understood that Celia was not going to tell him anything she didn't want him to know. She seemed genuinely concerned about this priest. And now she was blatantly ignoring him, having turned her attention completely to her child.

  Colin stalked to the window and looked through it into the blackness outside. The sleeting rain was beating against the panes of glass in wind-driven gusts. As he listened to the icy rain and thought over all that had been occurring, he came to realize that he very well might have been wrong in his original assumptions about her. After all, she must have experienced real horrors confronting Danvers's soldiers, knowing that her child was merely a prize of war. The hardships of her escape were nothing, he knew, to the pain she had endured this morning hearing that Kit had been attacked.

  Aye, she was holding things back. But in her own mind at least, she had good reason for it. It definitely seemed as though Edmund and this priest were all Celia had; there didn't seem to be anyone else. But what about the husband's family? Why weren't they helping her...and their own Caithness heir? Perhaps that was it, Colin thought, grasping at straws. Perhaps they had something to do with the attack today.

  Whatever was behind it, everything Celia held dear was at stake. But to help her, he had to convince her that she could trust him. And interrogating her this way, he thought, was definitely not the way to do it.

  Celia was now sitting on the bed, letting the bairn chew on the knuckles of her hand. She was deep in thought, but looked up with troubled eyes when Colin approached her.

  “Celia,” he said, searching for the right words. “I want you to know that if I'm angry, it's because I'm frustrated trying to understand the reason for the attack today. It's my responsibility to protect my people and my guests, and an assault like the one that took place today simply does not happen here. My family has worked very hard to make this place strong, and by making it strong, we have made it safe. No one attacks Kildalton, even in such a cowardly fashion as those animals did today. No one attacks people who have taken shelter here.”

  “Colin,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “I honestly do not know who those men were today.”

  “I believe you,” he said, sitting beside her and taking her hand. “But I also think you're not telling me some things...perhaps to protect the ones you love. I can respect that. But I want to somehow earn your trust, so that I can help to protect you and them.”

  Celia looked at him with gratitude for his attempt at understanding, and affection for his caring support. Before she could open her mouth to answer him, though, Celia heard Ellen open the door into her own room.

  Colin stood immediately and moved to the fireplace.

  Ellen knocked softly at the half open door and, at Celia’s response, entered the room, casting an embarrassed look at her mistress. She knew that she'd been gone a longer time than she'd anticipated, but Celia's reassuring smile comforted her concerns.

  “Shall I take the bairn, m'lady?” Ellen asked in a hushed voice, very aware of the laird's presence.

  “Aye, Ellen,” Celia responded, handing the freshly changed baby to her. “He's all cleaned up and ready for you. How is Runt?”

  Ellen's fair-skinned face flushed bright scarlet. “He's...he's doing better, m'lady.”

  Celia stood and put her arm warmly around Ellen, walking her toward the door. “You make sure that Runt gets the care he needs.”

  After Ellen disappeared with Kit into her room, Celia made a
point of leaving the door half open. Crossing to the fireplace, she didn't have to look at Colin to know that his eyes were following her. She felt his presence dominating the room, dominating her attention. But she didn't want to pick up that discussion where they had left off. She just could not tell him more than he already knew. It was as simple as that.

  She just wanted to look at him as she knew he sometimes looked at her. She wanted to look at him and memorize every detail of him: the way his hair lay tossed back on his shoulders, the way his searching eyes always sought out hers, the way his face could not help but display his every mood, the way he would stand with his arms folded across his broad chest, leaning deep in thought before the fireplace. But she realized that this vision was already branded in her memory. It was emblazoned there in colors to last a lifetime...for a lifetime of lifetimes.

  Nonetheless, he was there before her now, and she simply had to look at him. Now...while she still had time.

  Celia's gaze washed over him.

  “If you're going to look at me that way,” Colin whispered, smiling. “You'd better go close that door.” He certainly liked the way she went about changing the subject.

  Celia blushed at her indiscretion, but shook her head, smiling at his suggestion.

  “Then I'll go close it,” he said, straightening up as if to follow through on his threat.

  “No, Colin. If you do, I'll just open that door right up again.”

  “That will be very difficult after I nail the damn thing shut.”

  “Colin, don't you dare!” Celia said, moving between Colin and the door.

  “My house,” the young laird said, stepping closer to her.

  “My doors,” he continued, taking another step closer.

  “My nails,” he said in a low voice, moving ever closer.

  “My rules,” Colin whispered, encircling her with his arms and holding her tightly to him.

  “Really,” Celia said, trying to sound as maternal as she could, knowing that she had brought this sweet torture on herself. “Kit acts more maturely than you do, sometimes.”

  “He doesn't have to do outrageous things to get close to you,” Colin said, burying his face in the curls covering her neck. “Clearly, I do.”

  Celia shuddered, feeling his lips on her neck, taking her earlobe between his teeth and lips, suckling gently.

  “Clearly, you are a poor, neglected little thing.” Celia smiled, firmly pushing him away and turning him toward the door. She had to stop this now, before her defenses completely crumbled. “But it's time you went on your way.”

  Colin hung his head dramatically as he released her and headed for the door. As he reached it, however, he turned and gave her a sly look. “You have to promise to come and tuck me in later.”

  “Out!” she said with a smile, pushing him into the corridor and shutting the door with a sigh.

  In Colin's dream Kildalton was under attack. The long cannons perched on the crenellated walls were pounding away at the English ships at sea. Celia, dressed in white, was seated among red roses in a garden located oddly in the South Hall. The English wanted her, but she held a thistle flower protectively in her arms. As the English cannon fire began to reach the castle, Celia held out the thistle flower to Colin. The sounds of the cannons grew louder and louder. Colin reached out for Celia, but the floors had become slippery, thick with mud. His hands reached out, but all he could grasp was the flower. And then Celia was gone, leaving Colin with the thistle. Where she had been, there was only a rose--a white rose.

  The smoke in the hall was growing thicker; the huge guns were now booming in his ears. Over and over the pounding continued...

  Colin awakened to his soldier's persistent knocking. Leaping from his bed with his cloak around him, the warrior pulled open the door. Outside his window, only the first gray shades of morning were apparent.

  “M'lord, we need you down at the harbor Marketcross.”

  “What's wrong?” Colin snapped, moving back into his room, quickly wrapping his kilt around him and belting on his sword.

  “Two fishing boats full of mainland folk have come into the harbor. They're asking for protection, and they say there's more coming.”

  “Protection from whom?”

  “They say the English. They've got women, children, and wounded. But that's not all.”

  “What else?” Colin asked sharply.

  “They seem to think the English are coming this way.”

  “The hell they are.” Colin hurled himself past the soldier and down the steps into the gloom of the Great Hall. Shouting orders to the gathered fighters and emerging servants, Colin swept out of the castle and into the swirling predawn mists.

  Throughout the night, the heavy wind-driven rains had pelted Celia's windows, but when she awoke, it seemed that the storm had moved inside the castle walls. Sounds of shouting and turmoil were coming from the Great Hall. Celia threw on her clothes and ran down the hallway to the top of the stairs. She froze.

  The hall was a sea of human motion. Soldiers and servants were bringing in injured men and women. The sound of frightened, crying children filled the air, punctuated by Lord Hugh's commands.

  Spotting Agnes, Celia hurried down the steps, working her way through the crowd toward her. As she passed the wounded, Celia could see and smell the gashes and the burns that covered great portions of many of the victims. She shuddered involuntarily, and a cold sweat broke out on her body. She knew only too well the signs. She knew the devil that had caused this suffering. Had he arrived so soon in the west? Was he already here at her door?

  “Celia, are you all right, child?” Agnes asked, placing a hand gently on Celia's arm. She had seen the young woman pale at the sight of the burned peasants. Agnes knew that Celia had been through this before, and her heart went out to her.

  “Who are these people?” Celia asked, regaining her composure and focusing on the sights before her.

  “Mainlanders from areas to the south of our land. Mostly peasant folk.” Agnes decided not to trouble her with the sketchy details that were beginning to emerge.

  “Who did this, Agnes?”

  “We do not know, darling. Colin, Alec, and your uncle are down at the harbor right now. These folks say that there are more boats coming.”

  As Celia's eyes roamed the room, she could see that many of these people needed immediate attention. Agnes's helpers were circulating in the room, but there were more injured than they could handle by themselves.

  “How can I help?”

  Agnes looked into Celia's face. The clear, steady gaze assured her that the young woman was back in form. Agnes handed her a bundle of clean dressings, and watched as Celia went to work.

  Over the next four hours, Agnes saw Celia take control of the activities around her. Large bowls of hot water were continually being brought in from the kitchen as they moved quickly among the injured, cleaning wounds and stitching deep cuts with long needles and white thread. Those with burns were carefully stripped of their charred clothing. Agnes watched Celia gently apply the salves that she had been given. She almost seemed to absorb the pain, sharing in the suffering of the folk she tended. Those she worked with seemed to gain strength from her very touch. Working in harmony with their helpers, Celia and Agnes brought some comfort to those whose lives had just been torn apart.

  Weary, Celia wiped the blood of the last wounded farmer from her hands, and sat for a moment with the group of children huddled together by the doors to the Entry Room. These young ones will be the long term casualties, Celia thought. No parents, no home, no hope for a future. A nightmare that could last a lifetime.

  Alec Macpherson entered the Great Hall and, as he crossed to Lord Hugh, looked around him at the groups of suffering people who had come to the Campbells for refuge. As those in the Highlands trusted his own father, these common folk on the coast trusted Colin's. Like the Macpherson's Benmore Castle, Kildalton would always be a refuge for those in need. This was one tradition, this tradit
ion of trust, that he and Colin would definitely preserve.

  Celia stood and hurried toward Alec and Lord Hugh, hoping to learn something about the situation. She reached them just as Agnes did, listening to Alec's news.

  “Some of the boats Colin sent out are just returning from the mainland. He asked me to tell you that there's no force following these people. Whatever the English are doing, they're staying to the south. But your soldiers at Oban are on the alert.”

  “Good. Are there any more injured coming in?” Lord Hugh asked.

  “Nay. When I came up, though, there was one small boat with a few who are not injured. And there is a priest with them.”

  A priest! Celia thought, her mind running ahead of the information that Alec was conveying. A priest!

  “Lord Hugh, I'd like to go down there,” Celia said as Alec finished speaking. She had to find out if the priest was William Dunbar.

  “Colin wants some blankets and food sent down to the church for this last group,” Alec responded. “I'm going back to see if there's anything new, so I can take you down if you like.”

  Celia nodded and ran quickly to her room. Checking on Ellen and Kit, she informed Ellen of the events and returned to the Great Hall with her heavy cloak thrown around her shoulders.

  Without another word the two left for the harbor.

  As they hurried along the stone road that wound down to the village, Celia was aware of the fatigue that was clouding her mind. Alec, trying to lighten the silent mood that hung over them like the gray drizzly day, searched for a topic that they could converse upon.

  “It always impresses me that these sailors can keep their bearings on sunless days like this,” Alec said as the harbor came into view beyond the village they had just entered.

  “They have to. It is their living,” Celia responded, peering unsuccessfully through the mists toward the jetties at the base of the stone-paved road.

  “Your uncle tells me that you've done quite a bit of sailing in your lifetime.”