Angel of Skye Read online

  “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.”

  Chapter 3

  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...”

  “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.”