Chapter 4
Where the sun should have been high after a bright dawn only gray appeared with a chilly mist seeping her bones off and on.
Perfect! Nella looked up. Perfect accompaniment for their dire journey.
If only she could have gone with the abbot and those from the abbey, now traveling with the two knights in a wagon spared from the barn.
Perth would mean Sir Sean. No, this was not possible unless seeking a heaping bowl of awkward was yearned for.
Inwardly she began fidgeting. Where would she go now the abbey was gone? Perhaps another would take pity on her as they had. Or maybe once Abbot or Abbess were settled at a fresh abbey, she could seek them out.
She squirmed on the bay stallion’s withers. Way. There had to be a way to break the stern silence which had reigned for hours!
Rubbing her fingers over the long thick mane, which was wiry as a broom, she remarked, “A lovely charger.” The beast who was on a long reign to rest, while walking after a heavy gallop, looked back at her calf as if saying, Thank you. “What name have you favored him with?”
The only parts she had been unable to keep from touching Callum, her thighs, seemed to be hitting a board when he turned tense as one. A wee sparrow gave a chirpy tweet breaking the fresh strained silence.
“It would be so much simpler if you spoke, Sir Callum, or have we used all the syllables in your grasp?”
A grind sounded behind her. His teeth. “The stallion’s name is Luss.”
Her thighs turned into granite. “Luss?” she asked with care. “The place where we met on the western side of Loch Lomond.” Did he carry some hidden fondness for her still?
“The Gaelic term also means ‘herb’.”
“Aye,” Nella replied, “as the charger most assuredly appears to be part oregano leaf.”
A muffled chuck sounded beside them. She looked over, finding Sir Brayden appearing to suppress a grin. That one was so sweet with tiny crinkles about his eyes calling to many smiles in his past.
Callum had noted it as well, questioning, “You wish to speak Sir Brayden?”
“For certain.” The jovial knight edged his steed closer.
“The lady bears wit, a talent you sorely lack, my friend, so perhaps a wee bit of jest will lift the corners of your mouth into a smile at least once in my presence.” Brayden chucked the last words.
“Other than eating one would never know you harbor teeth.”
Hold it just a darn moment! Callum never smiled? He always used to smile when they were together.
Her consideration met the breeze billowing their faces. “Callum, a smile was always present in the past.”
He met her gaze. “’Twas a long time past.”
“Life has been so very hard?” Why was she asking questions that showed concern? This was the lad who broke her heart. “Are Aonghus and Alec well?” She held her breath.
“Aye, my wee brothers are.”
She exhaled.
“Both married to lovely ladies,” Brayden expounded, sweeping his arm wide. “Many bairns, joyful, and the brothers are most occupied with Clan MacCade.”
Nella raised her brows. Don’t ask it, just don’t… “Callum, you never married?” Ugh, and there it was, lips before restraint once again!
“Nae.”
How very odd. Looks were certainly not an issue for Scotsman on a stick or his station for supporting a family…
“May we pause for a brief moment?” Brayden broke into her thoughts. “There is a large boulder ahead and, well…” His cheeks pinked. “Too much ale.”
As they halted and the traveling companion moved his hulking self behind the rock, she began chewing her lip. At the gesture, Callum glanced down at her as his arm tightened. “What are you considering, Nella?” Hell, he knew her well.
She swallowed hard. Perhaps it was time.
Years ago, before this wretched Scotsman had made a mockery of her love for him, she had been prepared to share her secret but never got the chance after the market day when she had left his side then returned, overhearing his deceit.
Aye, tell him. They needed to work together, for the abbot and abbess.
What about the warnings from her sire when he’d shouted at her?
Anyone who knew about her ability would think her wicked.
Callum obviously already did, so why worry?
“There is a matter you should know before we reach the tavern.” She paused; there was no going back once he heard the truth. The Templars trusted him. Honesty drenched her next words. “Callum, I carry a keen instinct in sense regarding sound.”
He looked at her a long moment. “How keen?”
“Oh, um, very.”
“The abbey, when I inquired if you would know the leader’s face, you stated in a ‘manner of speaking’.” His mind was still sharp as the thistle blooming near Luss’s hoof.
“Aye, ’twas not the raider’s face which I beheld at the abbey but his voice’s sound signature.”
“Distance?”
“Grand in measure. I hear the same as anyone else but on the fringes, it is sharper. However, if I tilt my head just so in a ‘full chronicle’ my instinct in sense harnesses to a very immense level in reach.”
His eyes darted away from hers. No, ugh! Her sire had been right! Anyone would think her wicked or strange or demonic for such a powerful element in her grasp. “Callum, ’tis… ’tis not to be feared,” she gushed frantically while an uncertain look crossed his face.
“My wee brother’s wife carries an innate ability regarding a different instinct in sense.
” Really? His eyes returned onto her while the next words were ridden by sorrow and thrust her curious question away.
“She spoke to her lad regarding this directly upon their first meet. Was I so unworthy of the same consideration?”
This was most unexpected. He was wounded at not being told instead of calling her the Devil’s handmaid as she had feared.
“Nae,” she said, quickly stumbling over her syllables, “I… I was afraid you would believe it strange; times I find it so myself, the things I hear. I am the first in my clan for well over a century with such a feat in their grasp. They thought upon a time the instinct wicked. I hear voices beyond logic, and my sire forbade me to ever speak of it, or my clan would be seen as the Devil’s instrument. ”
Callum’s eyes widened. “Lady Fawnella…” He paused. “Pardon, I am not certain of your wedded surname.”
“MacHearin.” He raised his left brow at her in question. “Callum, I stayed with my sire’s clan name after I became a widow, to one of the cruelest Scotsmen to ever walk the Highlands.”
Callum’s eyes narrowed. “He raised a hand against you?” Her gaze lowered before a grind sound echoed from his teeth.
“I would never wish you harm, Nella, I am sorry he hurt you.” He let go of the rein a moment to place his finger under her chin, raising it till she re-met his eyes.
“Your sire” – he paused, his tone steel – “was mistaken. There is nothing wrong with you.” He… he believed in her.
If he was to know, he should know it all before Sir Brayden reappeared. “There is something else you should hear from me before any other.”
He tightened up. “Aye, Nella?”
“I am certain you are curious why a wealthy widow had hidden herself within the folds of an abbey.” He nodded slightly. “My late husband was of Clan MacMardan. Lord Keithen is the elder brother to a knight in your charge.”
“Sir Sean, he has the same nose.”
“Aye, Sir Sean’s sire was as ancient as he was cruel,” she explained.
“This lent him at being, well, um…” Her voice trailed off as she found sudden interest in his wool mantle draping over the chainmail tunic.
“We never consummated. He lacked the vigor in his, ahem, nether regions at three score and ten. Alas, my late husband thought of Sir Sean. With the knight being the same in years as you and me, he considered Sir Sean to be a natural choice in placing me with a bairn. It never came to pass. Soon as I heard him press Sir Sean upon the matter, in a chamber down from mine, I ran. ’Twas the abbey who granted me refuge when I explained my husband’s lack of…
well, you gather the jest of it. Thus, a time later I heard of his death after falling from his stallion during his morning ride.
Seems it was fitting a creature would take his life by happenstance after so many wrongs he had bequeathed upon other animals.
A favorite pastime of his was the hunt, not for survival but thrill in killin’.
A boar’s nest he sought more than once. If the mother strayed away, he would slay all the piglets in her absence. ”
His finger brushed over her cheek. Why did such a small action cause a flutter in her heart? “Nella, thank you for tellin’ me and taking me into your confidence.”
If she had held a loom there would have been a tiny thread just bound between them. “You are the only one who knows, Callum MacCade.”
“You wish this to remain as such?”
“Very much,” she whispered.
“Consider it done.” Relief filled her bones. “There is nae shame in who you are, Nella.”
His eyes held no discord; he was being earnest. “You were always a joy to speak with, Callum,” she confessed.
“’Tis an element I have missed most about you.
” Why was she gushing like a smitten lassie?
Where the hell was her pride? Resolve? Backbone?
Two confessions and she was back being a nitwit!
His thumb brushed her lips, and her breath halted.
Was she doomed to faint at his feet once more?
“Nella, there is so very much I have missed about you.” His tone was same as a lover. Doomed! She was a goner for sure. Someone call for the fainting couch!
A rustling from the bramble broke the delicate thread as Sir Brayden emerged fastening his scabbard about the mail tunic. “Pardon for the delay. Shall we?”
Callum dropped his hand while she straightened her shoulders. A moment of weakness, nothing more on her part. Aye! Remain upon the accord set!
Callum’s arm snugged about her waist while he kneed Luss into a gallop.
Why did it seem like everything just changed?
She leaned her back against his torso – for the first time.
His grip tightened. No fainting couch needed; she was going to faint right here in his embrace at his touch. No. It was exhaustion. It had to be!