Chapter 26
Summer
Carenza cast a last handful of grain to the three hens scratching in front of the byre she’d begun to think of as home.
Nearby, Hew sat on a stump, weaving wattle by the morning light, making more panels to protect them from the elements.
In a way, it was home. This was the sagging byre with rotten timbers and a mossy roof where she and Hew had come long ago during the thunderstorm. The unexpected shelter at the edge of a forgotten jewel of a glen in the middle of the lush Dunlop woods. They’d made it their love nest that day.
Now it was a temporary refuge.
Remote enough to ensure their safety.
Close enough to her father’s castle if anything should go wrong.
It also served once more as a cozy trysting place when, as Hew liked to jest, they wished to “relive their carefree youth.”
In the several weeks since they’d hidden here, they’d swept out the byre and repaired the gaps with rough woven wattle, covering it all with camouflaging branches.
They’d furnished their makeshift cottage with stumps and reed mats.
Made a soft pallet of moss. Built shelves for the hens to roost in at night and hung fragrant herbs to dry in the corners.
Every day, Carenza collected the hens’ eggs, picked greens and berries from the forest, and fished for trout in the nearby stream.
When they needed other supplies, Hew crept out at night to the homes of nearby crofters, leaving behind ample coin for the clothing, food, and tools he gleaned.
He’d brought home embroidery thread, and Carenza had embroidered the leine she’d promised him with flames around the wrists.
She’d never imagined she could be so happy, living in rags in a ruined byre. But after the father married them, she would have followed Hew anywhere. And the fact he’d led her back to a familiar place where she’d be close to her clan—and the animals she loved—meant the world to her.
They still had to conceal their whereabouts, of course. After Hew left Darragh, he’d immediately written—to the Rivenloch clan, to Gellir, to her father—assuring everyone Carenza was safe and telling them she’d been happily reunited with her lover.
But no one knew the identity of that lover. Hew’s whereabouts were unknown, and by all accounts, he’d still broken the law. Any of the parties, including the parents and the king, might reasonably demand satisfaction and exact retribution for Hew’s devilry.
So they hid together in the least likely place. Right under her father’s nose.
Despite their proximity to Dunlop, clan news was hard to come by since they couldn’t interact with anyone. Everyone knew Carenza, so she didn’t dare stray from the byre. And a warrior of Hew’s size would be memorable, even in disguise, so he had to keep to the shadows.
It was hard not to grow impatient for the end of their exile. But they had to wait until Sister Eve arrived. She was the only person who knew where they were. The only person who could let them know when it was safe for them to emerge.
“Do ye expect we’ll hear from the sister soon?” Carenza asked, dusting the grain from her hands and rubbing a palm absently over her swelling belly.
“I hope so,” Hew said as he twisted the branches together. “’Tis been weeks.”
“Maybe she lost her way.” The byre was quite secluded.
“I doubt it. Sister Eve could find her way out of a labyrinth.”
“Ye don’t think somethin’ bad has—”
Their conversation was cut short by a distant rustling from the woods, growing closer.
They responded with practiced haste.
Hew knocked over the stump, sheathed his knife, and shoved the wattle panel into a gap in the byre.
Carenza spread the grain about with her foot, startling the hens, and unhooked the pair of fresh trout she’d strung up at the entrance of the byre.
The brush-rattling grew louder.
With a swift glance to be sure they’d retrieved everything, they ducked in to the byre. Carenza slid the wattle panel across the doorway. Hew pulled down the concealing branches.
Then they waited.
Carenza held her breath as the tramping abruptly stopped.
Someone hissed loudly from across the glen. “Psst! Hew!”
Hew peered through the gap in the wattle.
“’Tis her,” he whispered, sliding back the door panel.
Carenza hardly recognized the nun as she came racing breathlessly across the glen.
She wasn’t wearing her habit. Instead, she wore a rather sumptuous gown of crimson velvet, as fine as any Carenza had ever owned.
Her chestnut hair was long and loose and lush, hardly a short-cropped holy tonsure.
And nothing of the calm, cool, collected nun was visible in her manner as she charged toward the byre.
“I…don’t have…much time…” she panted as she slid to a halt, scattering hens in her wake.
Not much time? She hadn’t seen Sister Eve since the night they’d left the convent. And Carenza had so many questions. Not only about what had happened to Sister Eve’s habit, but…everything.
What had become of Gellir? And her father? And the maidservant Merraid?
Had the Rivenloch clan returned home?
What was the disposition of the king?
Was it safe to leave the byre now?
Sister Eve was the only one who could tell them.
Eve glanced nervously over her shoulder. “May I come inside?”
Carenza welcomed her in.
Eve perused the interior and gave an impressed whistle. “Not bad.”
Carenza smiled. It might not be a castle. But it was far nicer than any rotting byre deserved to be.
Hew dragged up tree stumps for the ladies and poured a cup of water for Eve, who was still casting an occasional glance toward the covered doorway.
“Were you followed?” he asked.
She shook her head and took a sip of water. “Not by anyone lookin’ for ye.”
Carenza wondered who would be pursuing a nun. Maybe the abbess?
“Ye seem hale,” Eve noted with a twinkle in her eye, swiftly changing the subject. “Motherhood looks good on ye.”
Carenza blushed. She was still getting accustomed to this new and fascinating Sister Eve.
Eve drained the cup and handed it back to Hew.
“First things first.” Eve came to her feet, arching a brow at Carenza. “I don’t suppose ye have that habit I loaned ye?”
“The nun’s habit?” Carenza said. “I do. ’Tis right where I packed it that night.”
She went to the satchel that slouched beside the hens’ roost and pulled out the folded bundle of gray linen. But when she handed it to Eve, several pieces of parchment slipped out, scattering on the ground.
Her breath caught. She’d forgotten all about Gellir’s verses. She certainly hadn’t meant for Hew to ever see them. She hadn’t even meant to keep them. She’d only meant to remove all the incriminating evidence from Darragh.
Mortified, she blushed as she hurriedly scooped them up.
“What are those?” Hew asked.
Eve immediately sensed her discomfiture. “Och, those are likely mine. I’m always tuckin’ scripture into my habits.” She held out her hand to take the pages from Carenza.
Carenza shot her a glance of gratitude.
“Do ye mind if I change while we talk?” Eve asked.
Hew, whose patience would soon run thin, glowered. “Fine. I just need news from home.” He turned his back so she could undress. “Gellir got my message after the wedding, aye? He knows I took the fall for Carenza’s disappearance? He knows he’s free from blame, right?”
“Och, ’twasn’t so simple as that,” she said, untying the silk rope girdle around her hips. “It seems ye and Gellir had the same plan.”
“What?” Hew barked. “What did he do?”
“He ran off and left a missive sayin’ ’twas he who broke off the betrothal with Carenza.”
Carenza gasped. Why would he do that?
“He claimed he wasn’t ready to take a wife,” Eve continued as she pulled the velvet surcoat over her head. “He said he wished to sow his oats a while longer.”
Hew grunted in disbelief.
She tossed the surcoat across the stump, which unfortunately scattered the pages again.
So Carenza hastily gathered them up once more. All but one. One of them landed at Hew’s feet.
He picked it up and looked at the page.
She froze.
Not noticing, Eve carried on, changing out of her crisp white leine into the drab nun’s garment. “He said when Carenza ran away in tears, he sent Sir Hew to retrieve her.”
“What?” Hew snapped, momentarily distracted from the page.
“He took the blame,” Eve said, “and made ye the hero.”
“But that’s not right,” Hew insisted. “I was to take the blame. To make him the hero.”
“I see.” Carenza spoke the sad truth. “Gellir tried to save our honor.”
“Wait, both o’ ye,” Eve said. “Ye’ve not heard the whole story.”
Hew didn’t know if he wanted to hear any more.
How could things have gone so horribly wrong?
Hew was supposed to have preserved Gellir’s reputation.
But now Gellir had destroyed his own good name, just to save Hew from blame.
Bloody hell. Sometimes his cousin’s sense of chivalry and self-sacrifice was excruciating.
“Meanwhile,” Eve continued, donning her scapular, “the king has returned to Perth.”
Hew straightened. “The king?” That could mean more trouble. While the king was in Toulouse, Hew was relatively safe. But if he’d already landed on Scottish soil…
Eve nodded. “O’ course, some o’ the lairds were not so ready to welcome Malcolm.” That was likely an understatement. The lairds had been at odds with Malcolm since his friendship with the English king. “So there was a siege.”
“A siege at Perth?”
“Aye,” she said. “And your brave cousin?”
Hew shuddered. If he knew Gellir… “Tell me he didn’t join the fighting.”
“He did.” She placed the veil over her head, tucking her hair under the edges of the cloth. “He couldn’t leave the king undefended.”
Hew let out a sigh. “Shite.”
The last thing his cousin should have risked was getting caught in the battle between his king and his countrymen. But of course that’s exactly what Gellir had done.
“I hope he’s all right,” Carenza said plaintively.
Hew heard the concern in her voice.