Chapter Twenty Five
The small hamlet of Dunshire had but one stable with only half a dozen horses, none of which matched Rosie in terms of strength or health. Still, Alec considered each beast and chose a black stallion who, although past his prime, he felt had plenty of heart left.
After making the stable master very happy over the trade, Alec brought the horse to the smithy to be reshod, leaving Joanie to wander the small market.
At first, he wanted to deny her the independence, to keep her protected and safe at his side.
But he also knew that her own safety and wellbeing relied first on her believing in herself.
After visiting the market himself, he caught up with her sometime later. He found her sitting on the far side of the village green, nibbling a small meat pie and staring up at the abbey, situated on higher ground beyond the outskirts of the village proper.
“Would ye like to go inside?” he asked as he walked up to her.
She nodded brightly. “I’ve never been inside an abbey.”
He held out his hand to her, and together they walked the stone inlaid path up to the tall, arched doors of Glenrose, which led into the chapel.
The air was cold and thick with incense.
Stained-glass windows composed of somber faces, which contrasted with radiant innumerable colors, lined one side.
Rays of sunlight reached through the glass, casting beams of colors across the floor.
Joanie slowly walked through the shafts of light, smiling as the colors danced across her tunic.
Alec fell back and watched her, intoxicated by the sight of her pleasure.
Then he stiffened, feeling someone approach.
Turning, he looked expectantly at the door near the Sacristy.
A moment later, a tall, slim priest entered.
His youthful face was open and kind, and his shorn red hair glinted with different colors as he walked along the wall with the stained-glass windows.
“Greetings, my children,” he said, dipping his head to both Alec and Joanie. “The next Mass is not for another hour.”
Alec immediately let his guard down. He softened his eyes and posturing.
The clergy, whose lives truly were devoted to God, had always put him at ease.
From the start, Alec and Abbot Matthew’s relationship had been effortless.
The abbot’s emotions seldom ran wild, and he never tried to understand Alec.
He was with Alec as he was with everyone — mindful, heartfelt, and without judgment.
The priest standing in front of him bore his rank with the same ease and looked at them without judgment or expectation.
Alec dipped his head in return. “We did not come for Mass.” Then he smiled at Joanie. “We have something else in mind.”
Joanie raised a quizzical brow at him. He smiled and cupped her cheek. Looking into her eyes, he said to the priest. “We would like to be married.”
The priest cleared his throat. “This is rather unconventional. What of her father? Have ye his permission?”
Alec turned then. “Our parents are dead. There is no one’s permission to seek.”
The priest’s eyes shifted from Alec to Joanie. Smiling, he said, “I am Father Giles.”
“My name is Alec MacVie. It is a pleasure to meet ye. I am a special friend to the Abbot of Haddington Abbey.”
A flicker of recognition lit Father Giles’s eyes, and Alec felt a sudden rush of warmth within the priest and knew he was aware of the cause.
Joanie stepped forward then. “I am Joanie Picard,” she said confidently.
A warm smile spread across Father Giles’s face. “Blessings, Joanie.” Then he posed a question to them both. “Why do ye seek to marry?”
“She saved my life,” Alec said simply.
Joanie slid her hand in his. “And he saved mine.”
Father Giles smiled. “I have never known earthly love, but from my observations when two people truly fall in love, it is always because they are saving each other from the world. We all need saving in this life and the next. I found my salvation within these walls, and now ye find yers in each other’s arms.”
Then he swept his arm toward the front of the chapel. “Let us go to the altar.”
“Wait,” Alec said to Joanie, and from within his satchel he produced a long, gauzy veil and a crown of wildflowers, which he had just bought at the market.
“So beautiful,” Joanie gasped.
Alec smiled as he swept the veil over her long black waves and fitted the crown on her head. He cupped her face. “Indeed, ye are.”
Walking arm and arm, they joined Father Giles in front of the altar.
“We stand before ye, Lord, to unite these two hearts and in doing so, make them one, one love to last all eternity.”
The priest’s words filled Joanie’s ears like the sweet refrain of a song, timeless and truthful.
Currents of warmth flowed from Alec, filling her soul to the brim with unconditional love and acceptance.
They spoke their vows to each other, quietly and clearly.
And when Father Giles declared them husband and wife, Joanie threw her arms around Alec’s neck just as he lifted her feet off the ground and sealed the promise of their vows with a kiss.
With his arm around her waist, they walked back through the chapel, multi-colored lights from the stained-glass windows dancing across her lovely face. Then a feeling struck Alec, and his eyes were pulled toward a door.
“Where does that lead?”
“’Tis the dormitory for our lay brothers,” Father Giles replied.
Leaving Joanie, Alec crossed the room, not waiting for permission from the priest to proceed.
His hand touched the latch on the door. Suddenly, a vision of English knights riding toward the abbey flashed in his mind’s eyes.
White tunics covered their armor, bearing the blood red cross of the Templar brotherhood.
Pushing the door wide, he stormed down the hallway passing doorways on the left.
He opened several, each a sparsely furnished cell.
He opened another door, again taking in the thin pallet on the floor and the small rough-hewn table with a single stool.
Every room was the same. He moved down to the next door and clasped the latch and was struck by sudden fear, raw and urgent, but it was not his fear.
He swung the door wide and stood in awe at what he saw.
The room matched the others, a simple pallet, table, and stool.
But upon the smooth stone wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, was a painting, breathtaking in its vibrancy, of an angel in flowing blue robes with eyes that burned like fire, and in his hand, he gripped a long, slim, golden trumpet.
Radiating from his flaxen head were streaks of light that caressed myriad stars and clouds in a heavenly sky.
He heard Joanie gasp as she entered. Tearing his eyes away from the angel’s face, he reached for her, pulling her close. His heart still pounding under the weight of need burning his soul straight from the angel’s fiery gaze.
Father Giles entered the small cell. “I see ye’ve found Brother Ambrose’s room.”
“Where is he?” Alec asked, not bothering to conceal the urgency in his voice. “I must speak with him.”
A sad look crossed the priest’s features. “If only I knew. He is one of seven of our brothers who disappeared several years ago now.”
Again, the flash of approaching soldiers came unbidden to his mind, only this time with blades drawn. “Did he perish when the abbey was attacked?”
“The abbey has fallen victim to English raids in recent years, but that is not how we lost Brother Ambrose. He and the others may very well be alive for all we know. One night, they retired to their rooms, and in the morning, they were gone.”
“There is something ye’re not telling me.”
Father Giles simply nodded. “There is a mystery surrounding Brother Ambrose, but I can assure ye ‘tis not known to me. I took over the priestly duties in the chapel just two years ago. My predecessor only bade me keep the room empty and never to alter the painting.”
“Who is he?” Joanie asked, coming forward and gently running her fingers over the angel’s bright blue robes.
“We believe he is Saint Gabriel.”
Joanie whirled around, her eyes darting between Alec and the priest. “Saint Gabriel? I’ve heard of that?”
Father Giles chuckled. “Of course ye have, my child. He was the angel who visited the Blessed Virgin to tell her of the coming of our Savior, Jesus.”
“No,” Joanie said. “What I meant to say is that St. Gabriel is the name of the village in Scotland from which my grandmother hailed.”
Alec could not believe it. “But that is only a few days ride from here. Why did ye not say so before?”
A grave expression shaped her face. “My grandmother is dead. There is no reason for me to go there.”
Alec cupped her cheek. “But Joanie, don’t ye ken ye could have other family there?”
Joanie gave pause. “My grandmother never spoke of family. I only know of St. Gabriel because of a song she taught me. It was a mournful song about angels crying.”
The priest spoke up then. “St. Gabriel was once remade in grief. More than forty years ago, it was called Dàn Run, but tragically, a horrific scourge moved through the town, a mysterious malady that took most of the village’s children up to heaven.
As I was told, one of the craftsmen in the village, who had lost all five of his children, carved an effigy of Saint Gabriel, which he positioned at the gate to the graveyard.
Just as Saint Gabriel had told Mary of the coming of the baby Jesus, he prayed Gabriel would tell God of the coming of their children.
From that day on, the village of Dàn Run became known as Saint Gabriel. ”
“Thank you, Father Giles,” Alec said abruptly, clasping Joanie’s hand and hastening from the room.
“Go in peace,” the priest called out behind them.
“What is it?” Joanie asked as she studied Alec’s hard, determined profile.
“I do not know,” he said. Stopping, he withdrew the shard from around his neck. “But feel this.”
Joanie’s eyes widened in surprise as she wrapped her fingers around the stone. It was warmer than she’d ever felt it. “What does it mean?” she gasped.
He shook his head. “I do not know, but we are going to Saint Gabriel.”