Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (15 page)

“Ye could go to her, seek an audience yourself.”

Kirstin tapped her chin thinking. “That is a good idea.”

“Then if she accepts it, ye can find out, or if she turns ye away, ye know she’s stalling for some reason.”

“Have ye heard anything about the Warriors of God? Maybe they are the ones who brought the coin.”

“Not much is spoken about them, just that they are fierce, and scare many of the nuns here. To be honest, they scare me a bit, too.”

Kirstin frowned. John was intense, and it was obvious he felt more than keen friendship for her. Owen, too, was an odd one. She had often found him staring at her throughout their trip. It made her feel uneasy, but not enough that she said anything to John about it.

“Me, too.” Kirstin brightened, changing the subject for a moment. “Do ye remember what I told ye about my cousin?”

“The one that went missing?”

“Aye! I’ve found him. He’s here, at the abbey.”

“That is peculiar.” Donna frowned.

“’Tis the verra best news. He serves Laird Buchanan.”

Donna’s frown retreated. “Well, that is certainly better than I thought.”

Now Kristin frowned. “What did ye think?”

Donna waved away whatever it was she might have been thinking. “Nothing. Silly, really.”

“Tell me.”

“I just thought maybe he was here, as a lure. A kind of insurance, that when it came time for ye to hand over the coin, they’d make a trade if ye resisted.”

“But I’ve no coin.”

“Aye, so it makes no sense. Just my imagination running wild. All this travel, adventure and spying has made me into one silly girl.”

But her words… they held some sort of meaning. Perhaps Finn’s presence was a trap. Or maybe it wasn’t. Finn had warned that one could never know who was enemy or foe. Och, but she was so confused.

“Now ye have me overthinking it,” she accused with a laugh.

Donna bounced out of her chair grabbing two apples from Gregor’s gift basket. “Eat one. ’Twill not do ye any harm.”

They munched on their apples in companionable silence for a few moments. Each heavily thinking.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Seems they believe the abbot is here to ensure that Mother Frances gets what she needs from Mother Aileen.”

Kirstin let out a frustrated groan. “How am I supposed to know what they want or need or what we can even give? Aunt Aileen gave me no instructions.”

“I dinna know. ’Haps that’s why she sent ye instead of coming herself, because she didna know what to do either?”

That didn’t sound liked Aunt Aileen at all, but what other reason could there be? Looking at the facts it would appear Kirstin had been thrown into the wind. “How bitterly frustrating.”

“Agreed.”

They finished their apples, Kirstin deep in thought, trying to call forth the conversation she’d had with her aunt before leaving. And then it dawned on her, the missive.

She leapt from her perch and grabbed for the satchel beneath her cot. Inside, was the rolled scroll that her aunt had handed her. She’d said to give it to Mother Frances. The urge to slip her fingernail beneath the wax and break the seal was strong. But then they’d know she’d done so.

“What have ye got?” Donna asked.

“A clue, but not one I can explore.”

“Then ’haps ye have a purpose Mother Aileen knew about after all. She’d not willingly send ye into a trap.”

“I know.” Kirstin blew out a frustrated sigh, shoved the missive back into her satchel and tucked it under the bed. She needed a distraction. There was so much in her life that seemed beyond her control and she didn’t want to dwell on it.

“Shall we feed the apple cores to the rabbits?” Donna asked.

Kirstin pursed her lips. “Rabbits? There are none, I looked.”

“The birds then?” Donna nodded. “And then ye simply must come sew shirts with me. I have about twenty more to do and the nuns in the sewing hall are absolutely dreadful.”

“Aye, I will, but first I must find Greg—Laird Buchanan.” They exited their chamber, and Kirstin had to walk briskly beside Donna, who was practically skipping. Kirstin shook her head. When would the lass act more her age?

“Why?” Donna asked, as though she’d just processed what Kirstin had said. She ceased her skipping and walked more demurely through the cloister toward the entryway of the gardens and orchard beyond.

“I must thank him for taking care of my cousin. Finn looks so healthy and strong. He’s doing work that is valued. I could not be more happy.” Well, she would have been happier if he’d told her years ago that he was alive, but she’d offered her forgiveness and wouldn’t go back on it now.

Zounds, but she was feeling lighter already.

“Finn. Fingall, aye?”

“One and the same.”

“He is handsome.”

Once in the orchard, Donna tossed her apple core high and Kirstin did the same. A swarm of red grouse birds landed to peck at the remains of sweet apple flesh.

Kirstin raised her brows. “But, Donna, ye are to take your vows next summer. Ye shouldn’t be noticing men’s looks.”

“I am to say vows, aye, but who knows which I shall say—vows to the church, or vows to a husband. There is still time to decide.” She lifted her shoulder playfully and wiggled her brows. “Ye had a mighty adventure once. Perhaps I want one, too.”

“But ye recall mine did not end well.”

“Oh, Kirstin, do ye not see? It has not ended at all.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Brother, I had planned to head back to Castle Buchanan for one night before I make my way to England, else my wife have me tossed in the stocks and flogged upon my return,” Samuel said. “But, since ye’ll be sending the prisoners there for safe-keeping while ye search out The Saint, I will escort them, along with a guard for each.”

Gregor always allowed Samuel one night with his wife before sending him on any mission, simply because in a warrior’s treacherous position, there was always a chance that one night could be the last. But, the timing was impeccable considering.

They stood in Gregor’s own chamber within the abbey walls, returned to him now that the prisoners were rounded up outside for departure, a map laid flat on a table before them.

“Aye.” Gregor grinned, though the smile did not quite reach his eyes. “Put those three in the dungeon. The fourth, that we
freed
, he shall remain here at the abbey.”

A night’s worth of whisky-induced sleep had not helped to clear the fog from his brain. He could think of little else besides Kirstin and all he’d learned. He’d not seen her since yesterday morning and he suspected she was likely doing exactly what he was—throwing herself into her work. After she’d run off with her cousin, Gregor had gathered his men and they’d ridden out to the surrounding villages, questioning to see if anyone had heard of a man named, The Saint. Many had, and they said he traveled in a pack. But no one could say where he was headed. Frustrated did not even begin to describe Gregor’s current mood.

“Do ye have a message ye need relayed to our allies on my way back?”

“Warn them of The Saint. Implore them to search for him, too, so that we might contain the bastard before he abducts another Scot and sends him to Longshanks. And see that any missives at Castle Buchanan or other
gifts
”—
mo chreach
he hoped there weren’t anymore body parts awaiting him—“be forwarded to the abbey. As long as the Bruce shelters here and uses the abbey as his base, I will, too. Have the men return to the border with ye, riding in a larger party will be safer, especially if ye happen to cross The Saint yourself. Once ye’re ready to cross into England, send them back to me.”

Samuel nodded, and picked up a whetstone to sharpen his dagger. “Any messages I send from England, should they be sent here?”

“Aye.”

“And Catriona?”

“Let her know that she is guarded well.” Gregor chuckled. “She might like having us out of her hair so she can get to work on any projects we may have dismissed.”

“Such as the feminization of the Great Hall?” Samuel jested.

“And the building of the bathing room.” Gregor was not against bathing, quite the opposite, but he was more inclined to do so in a natural setting, such as a loch, than a dreary, closed in room filled with tubs. Though, he could understand a woman’s want of such things. “Hmm. In fact, why dinna ye tell her that I have given my approval. If she is to be without the two of us, I suppose a gift such as that should settle her mind or keep her busy when she’s not mothering your new bairn.”

Samuel grinned. “My thanks, my laird.”

“Where will ye head first?”

“My sources tell me that Longshanks has moved from the Tower of London to a castle in Northumbria near the Scottish border. I will meet him there, with ‘urgent news.’”

“And your urgent news?”

Samuel wiggled his brows. “The Bruce helped me with this one. I am to inform the
good and pure
King Edward that another general, fiercer than Wallace and Murray put together has begun gathering forces and rallying the people of Scotland.”

“And who is this gentleman?”

“We know not his name as of yet, only that
the people
are calling him The Hammer.”

Gregor quirked a brow. “As in Longshanks’ moniker, The Hammer of the Scots?”

“Brilliant, aye? He will see this specter as a threat, mocking him.”

“Likely to rile him up.”

“Indeed, and when he’s riled, he is more likely to act rashly.”

“And perhaps likely to initiate The Saint into coming out of hiding.”

“Aye. The Saint will not be able to hide for long.” Samuel set down the whetstone, running his finger along the edge. “In the meantime, I will do some poking around to find out just who the Scottish bastard was that betrayed Wallace.”

“Ye’re a good and loyal vassal to this realm, a realm not of your blood.”

“But there ye are wrong brother, ’tis my blood now that my wife has birthed me a son.”

Gregor couldn’t have been prouder. His chest swelled. “Stay safe. If Longshanks were ever to find out that ye have betrayed him, that ye are playing him for a fool, he will show ye no mercy. The next basket I get, I dinna want it to contain your body parts.”

Samuel put his fist to his chest. “I swear it, Gregor, I will be safe. I
am
safe.”

“The king will want ye to return to Scotland to find out more about The Hammer.”

“Aye, and I’ve every hope, he’ll want me to meet with The Saint, too.”

“Damned lucky that would be.”

“Aye. I will be back verra soon.”

Gregor let out a deep sigh. “Ye had better, else my ghost comes to find yours, because Catriona will kill me if anything happens to ye.”

Samuel’s position in Scotland was one of the most dangerous. He traveled close to the border with guards, but then was on his own. Riding alone was never good for any man, but more so for a spy, especially along the border.

If anything were to happen to Samuel, no one would know about it.

“Wait, Samuel.” Gregor stared down at the map. “Which castle in Northumbria do ye suspect Longshanks is holed up in?”

“Likely, Berwick.”

“’Tis only a day’s ride from Melrose.” A scary thought, that the two men rivaling for the Scottish crown could be so close to each other without even realizing it. “I will ride with ye to the border.”

Samuel shook his head. “Nay, ye canna. ’Tis too dangerous. More English lurk around the border than anywhere else in Scotland. Ye’ll be putting yourself at risk.”

“We all have to put ourselves at risk to see this through. I’ve got to take my search for The Saint southward. I canna stop looking in case Longshanks has no plans for the two of ye to meet, or in case The Saint has not made contact with the bloody Sassenach king to begin with.” Besides, Gregor needed to get outside the abbey walls. He needed some space to think about his next move with Kirstin.

He’d been deadly serious when he said he wasn’t giving up on her.

“I’m leaving now for Buchanan lands and will return the day after tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll talk with the Bruce and see if there is anything else that can be done while we are near the border.”

Samuel departed leaving Gregor to stare once more at the map, but he wasn’t truly seeing the landmarks, mountain passes or trails. He was seeing Kirstin, her body wrapped around his, the soft exhale of her breath on his neck, her fingers stroking his skin, the heated velvet of her slick channel.

Hell and damnation
! She was the reason he couldn’t think straight. The reason he had to leave the abbey to get his mind back on the tasks at hand. A country that was soon to be thrown into chaos. Hours, maybe days, if they were lucky, before news of Wallace’s execution was found out.

But, despite his reason for needing a few days reprieve from her, before he left, he had to speak with her one more time. Just as Samuel had to go home to his wife, Gregor had to make certain to see the woman he wished to be his wife one last time, to tell her how he really felt, let her think about it while he was away and then work like hell to get back to her.

“I dinna think the abbey has ever been any cleaner than it is now,” Mother Frances said to Kirstin.

Standing at her full height, she towered over her. A mountain of a woman, with none of the warmness that she felt from her own Mother Superior and aunt back at Nèamh. Finally, Kirstin had been called to Mother Superior, two very long days since her arrival. But, she felt none of the relief she thought she would. And, it had been while she was cleaning the refectory, so she’d not had time to return to her chamber to gather the missive. She was sort of hoping that Mother Frances would tell her what it was all about, rather than reading the scroll and keeping Kirstin further in the dark.

“’Tis a talent I possess.” A talent that took on a whole new level of aggressiveness when she was worked up over something. In this case, not having been able to find Gregor to speak with him regarding Finn, and
them
. He’d been out on a mission, of which no one would give her any details, including when he’d return.

Mother Frances smiled, though it was brittle. “Well, we do all have our talents.”

“Ye wished to see me? It sounded urgent, not necessarily about cleaning?” Kirstin fidgeted as she stood in front of Mother Frances, wondering for a moment if the woman had spies around the abbey that had seen or heard Gregor in her chamber yesterday.

“Ye are correct. I did not call ye here to discuss cleaning methods, though I am certain your skill would be useful here.” Mother Frances cleared her throat. “Ye were sent here as an emissary from your abbey, and now it is time for ye to work.”

Kirstin waited.

“We require funds. As do most of the abbeys and monasteries. We need funds to protect our walls, your fellow sisters and brothers in Christ.”

Kirstin shook her head. “I dinna see how I can help. I am unaware of the status of our funds at Nèamh.”

“Did Prioress Aileen give ye something for me?”

“Aye. A missive.” Kirstin made no move to retrieve it.

Mother Frances raised a brow. “Can I have it?”

Darn! She’d not be telling her what the funds were needed for. Bowing her head as she was trained to do, Kirstin said, “I shall go directly to retrieve it.”

“See that ye do.”

Kirstin rushed from the abbess’s receiving room, heading to her chamber. Too exhausted from travel, and entirely too wrapped up in matters no nun of good standing should ever be swathed in, the missive had completely slipped her mind. Mother Frances, if she didn’t already, most likely thought Kirstin a waste of a good nun’s habit.

Her chamber was dark with the shutters closed, but she knew where her satchel was beneath the bed. She bent to retrieve it, settling it on the mattress and slipping her hand into the pocket where Aunt Aileen’s sealed missive should have been.

But it was empty.

Kirstin felt around the rest of the bag.

Nothing.

Panic made her heart flip-flop in her chest like a fish out of water. She turned the satchel over, shaking it, expecting the missive to drop out onto the bed, but again, there was nothing.

Had it somehow fallen out when she’d shoved it back under the bed?

Kirstin dropped to her knees, squinting into the darkened recess under the bed. A few dust motes, nothing more. No missive. Kirstin sat back on her heels. She’d just seen the missive the day before. Showed it to Donna. It was here. But now it was gone. She couldn’t fathom…

Had someone taken it? Donna?