Chapter 5
While Boyd conferred with his men in the courtyard, Abbess Bethóc gently touched Bella's arm.
"Come, child. Walk with me a moment."
Bella followed her to a quiet alcove off the main hall. Now that the vows were spoken, the reality of what had just happened was crashing down on her.
Abbess Bethóc was quiet for a moment, studying Bella's face with those wise, knowing eyes. "I want to tell ye something I've learned over the years."
Bella nodded, her throat tight.
"The hardest people to love," the abbess said softly, "are often the ones most afraid of being hurt."
"Ye think Boyd is afraid?" Bella's laugh was bitter. "He fears nothing."
"Does he not?" The abbess tilted her head. "I see a man at war with himself. Whatever happened between ye in the past, it haunts ye both."
Bella whispered. "The man I knew before was gentle and kind, he has changed so much. Even the way he speaks is harsh, ye've seen it."
"I want ye to take some wisdom, Bella. A man is not defined by his words but his actions. 'Tis not what he says but what he does that ye need to heed."
The abbess took both of Bella's hands in her own weathered ones. "Listen well. Ye must be strong, not with the hardness of iron that breaks under too much weight, but with the strength of the willow that bends in the storm and rises again."
"But how do I do that?"
"Ye must learn to choose yer battles wisely, Bella.
Save yer fire for the things that matter most. Let him have his bluster and his commands when they cost ye nothing.
But when it comes to yer heart, yer dignity, yer very soul, that is when ye plant yer feet and refuse to yield.
But I suspect," the abbess added with a knowing look, "the man ye just married is in for a surprise when it comes to ye. "
Bella embraced her tightly. "Thank ye. For everything. For giving me a home when I had none."
"Ye will always have a home here should ye ever need sanctuary."
***
FINALLY, BELLA CLIMBED the narrow stairs to her cell one last time.
The small chamber had been her sanctuary for ten years.
A simple cot, a wooden chest, a tiny window overlooking the herb garden.
She'd cried herself to sleep here countless nights.
Learned to find peace here. Grown from a broken lass into a woman who could survive anything.
She ran her fingers along the windowsill where she'd carved a tiny heart years ago, in a moment of weakness. A heart she'd meant to scratch out a hundred times but never had.
Inside her wooden chest, she gathered her few belongings including her mother's ring, carefully wrapped in cloth, a worn hooded cloak and a hand spun woollen shawl her dearest friend Una Murray had gifted her.
Una had been the only person from her little village who had visited Bella regularly over the years and filled her in on clan gossip.
She had remained a loyal friend when everyone else had abandoned her and Bella treasured their friendship still.
She felt a pang of regret that she had not the time to notify Una of her new circumstances, but she would once she was settled.
Finally, Bella reached into a false panel she'd installed in the wooden floor and pulled out two perfectly balanced combat knives.
Bella lifted them carefully, testing their weight in her hands. The blades gleamed in the afternoon light, sharp enough to split a hair. She'd forged them herself in the abbey's hidden smithy, under the watchful eye of Sister Beatrice.
St. Agnes Abbey kept many secrets. The beer brewing and whiskey distillery were well-known locally, providing income for the abbey's charitable works. But the combat training was known to very few.
Not all of the sisters participated, of course. Only those who showed aptitude and interest. But for those who did, the training was rigorous and comprehensive. Self-defense, knife work, even sword and quarter staff training for the truly dedicated.
Bella had discovered her gift early. While she was adequate at reading, decent at herbalism, and competent at manuscript copying, with blades in her hands she was exceptional. Sister Beatrice said she'd never seen anyone take to knife fighting so naturally.
"Your hands remember what your mind has forgotten," the older nun had told her. "In another life, ye would have been a warrior."
Bella had laughed at that. A warrior. Her, a lady born and bred for embroidery and courtly manners.
But in the practice yard, with a blade in each hand and her body moving through the forms Sister Beatrice taught her, Bella had felt truly alive for the first time since Boyd destroyed her.
She wrapped the knives carefully in cloth and tucked them into the bottom of her traveling case, beneath her spare shifts. Having them close made her feel less powerless.
Less afraid.
A knock sounded at her door. "The laird says 'tis time to depart."
Bella took one last look around her cell. "Goodbye," she whispered to the small chamber that had been her home for a decade. "Thank ye for keeping me safe."
Then she picked up her meagre belongings and walked out, closing the door gently behind her.
***
THE COURTYARD OF ST. Agnes Abbey was bustling with activity as Boyd's men prepared the horses for departure. Boyd gruffly thanked the abbess and the priest. He gifted them both with a pouch of coins for their troubles.
Bella descended the steps slowly, drinking in the sight of the only home she'd known for ten years.
Boyd strode toward her, his expression hard. "Where are yer things? My men will load them."
"I have everything here." She gestured to the worn traveling case and small knapsack she carried.
"Where are the rest of yer belongings?"
Bella met his gaze, her chin lifting with that pride he remembered. "This is it. All I have."
For a moment, Boyd couldn't speak. He looked from her to the meagre bags and back again, then his brows drew together.
"Surely not," he said in disbelief. "Isabella Sutherland with barely two bags to her name?"
He'd meant it as a jab, but the flash of hurt in Bella's eyes made him pause.
"What about all yer precious things?" Boyd pressed. "Yer fine dresses? Yer jewels?"
Bella's cheeks flushed. "The sisters at St. Agnes do not put stock in such things," she replied, her voice tight. "I sold anything of value I had to pay for board and lodgings. My father and Bryce spared only enough for the first year of my stay here."
"What of yer dowry?"
"They would not release it fully until I married."
"How have ye managed to survive with nothing?"
"I took up work as a lay-sister. How else?" She looked genuinely confused he could not fathom it.
Boyd's eyes narrowed as he studied her. He grabbed her hand before she could pull away, turning it palm-up in his larger one. Calluses.
Something about this did not sit right.
Boyd remembered ten years ago, the night he'd been preparing to meet Bella at the chapel, he'd received word that Bella had been seen trysting in the woods with Philip Gregory, a wealthy thane from the Lowlands.
Boyd at first could not believe it but when he raced to the chapel to confront her, it was empty.
He waited and she never appeared. That's when he knew she had betrayed him.
But Boyd had since done his research only to find Philip had wed a woman from Moray and had several whelps running about his estate now.
Which meant Philip had coupled with Bella then abandoned her.
The realization sparked something hot and unwelcome in Boyd's chest. Anger, on her behalf. Which made no damned sense.
But this woman before him, with her calloused hands and threadbare belongings, bore no resemblance to the mercenary seductress he'd imagined. If she'd passed Boyd over for wealth, where was the evidence? Where were the fine things a rich man's mistress should possess?
The usual calm calculation that governed Boyd's every decision was fracturing.
He dropped her hand abruptly and cursed inwardly.
His plan to force her to live in squalor seemed ridiculous now.
He now believed Bella would most likely welcome it and where was the punishment in that?
No, he had no choice now but to install her in his estate and make her mistress of his Keep. Then he would make her life miserable.
Boyd was silent so long and scowling so hard that Bella felt the need to speak.
"I have enough serviceable garments," Bella said, her voice carrying both embarrassment and pride. "And what I dinnae have, I can sew and make do."
Boyd's gaze dropped to her dress. She had changed to the serviceable grey gown of the lay sisters covered by a plain woolen cloak. Her shoes were worn but sturdy, practical for travel but hardly befitting her station.
Even dressed so plainly, she was beautiful. The thought sharpened his temper.
"What about yer wedding dress?" he growled.
Bella's eyes flashed with that fire he remembered. There was the Bella he'd known, the one who wouldn't back down. "'Twas borrowed from one of the sisters," she snapped. "I wasn't about to deprive her of it permanently. Besides, I dinnae need such finery!"
"I'll not have ye traipsing about in beggar's clothes. When we arrive home, I'll have our tailor fit ye for garments worthy of court."
"There's no need—"
"There is, Bella!" His voice was sharp. "I'll not have people thinking I cannot provide for my own damned wife."
Bella's eyes widened at the intensity in his tone but she remained silent. Choose your battles.
Boyd then snatched her bag and strode toward the horses.
"What about yer mother's jewels?"
"They were sold long ago." Bella followed him, her own temper rising. "I assume my brother arranged delivery of my dowry?"
"Aye, the king is seeing to the details."
He strapped her meagre bags to his destrier, then lifted her onto the dappled grey mare beside his horse. His hands spanned her waist easily, and for just a moment their faces were level.
Bella's lips parted involuntarily.
Boyd's gaze dropped to her mouth, his pupils dilating. His jaw clenched as if fighting some internal battle. Then he set her firmly in the saddle and stepped back.
"I bought this mare specially for ye," he muttered, adjusting the stirrups with more force than necessary. "She has a gentle temperament."
Boyd's expression shuttered at his own words.
The admission slipped out unbidden, and Bella's heart did a traitorous little flip. He'd chosen a gentle horse for her.
"She's beautiful. What's her name?" Bella asked, as she patted her horse.
"Just dinnae fall off!" he snapped.
Bella ignored Boyd's harsh words. "I shall call ye Brèagha," she whispered to her mare with a smile.
Boyd scowled then mounted his destrier with fluid grace, his jaw clenched. Without another word, he rode to the front of the group, putting distance between them.
His men exchanged glances but knew better than to comment. They formed a guard around Bella's mare, placing her safely in the middle of their formation.
As they set off down the road, Bella cast one last look back at St. Agnes Abbey. Abbess Bethóc stood in the courtyard, watching them leave, one hand raised in blessing. Her words of wisdom echoing in the wind... The strength of the willow that bends in the storm then rises again.
Bella turned forward, her eyes finding Boyd's broad back at the head of the group. He sat his destrier like he'd been born to it: powerful, commanding, dangerous.
Everything about him should repel her. Yet when he'd lifted her onto the mare, when his hands had gripped her waist and his eyes had dropped to her lips, she'd felt that same attraction that had drawn them together all those years ago.
She still wanted him, and that terrified her more than anything else.
***