The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (22 page)

“I am stuffed,” she announced, to their delight. Iseabail needed fresh air and said as much to Uncle Peter, who quickly rose to escort her out.

When they passed the garden, Iseabail’s gut clenched. The overwhelming need to escape the place had hit her hard last night, even causing her to leave Seumas alone with his uncle. He had not noticed, but she had felt near to a panic when they had stopped there. It was so like her garden at home. She tried not to react now, but when the monk’s hand went to the latch, she shook her head adamantly. He nodded as if in understanding and continued past.

Uncle Peter led them to the courtyard, by way of the front door, which was connected to the garden. She settled herself on the bench, and he went to the nearly-bare fruit trees that edged the area in refreshing shade, and picked her an apple.

“For later,” he said as he put it in her lap.

“Thank you.” She felt out of sorts, her nerves getting the better of her, so that, after only a moment of trying to sit quietly, she got up to stroll the area. Little blue and white flowers graced the border surrounding the little courtyard. “Do you see to these plants as well?”

“Ah, Seumas has been talking about me.” He smiled at her. “I am not as agile as I once was so I have less physical chores required of me. I do enjoy spending my time transcribing the Good Book and still have a knack for illumination, but no, I do not spend much time out here anymore.”

Despite her full stomach, Iseabail rubbed her apple against her skirt and took a bite.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a gardener. Not a farmer, mind ye—my brother, Seumas’s father, was a farmer. I just wanted to work in the gardens. I loved to see things grow and to nurture them along.” He smiled at her as she munched her apple. “I met my Josephine in a garden. She was a lot like ye, very beautiful, very elegant.” His eyes had a faraway look. “She had hair so long down her back that it swayed when she walked, and when she would touch my hand, it felt like a butterfly settling there. Oh, she was the love of my life. We were going to be so happy, so many dreams.”

She waited for him to go on, because she was not sure what to say. He did not continue, and when she finally touched his arm, he jumped a little, as if he had forgotten she was there.

“Oh, my dear,” he took her hand, “I am so sorry. I was off dreaming of my Josephine. I have lived my life so long without her that I hear her calling me to her sometimes. I just want to go to her and, in my mind, I do. I miss her so much.”

Iseabail was overcome by the depth of this man’s love for his lady. “Were you ever married, Uncle Peter?” She kept her voice quiet, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts.

“We were married in front of God but not our families. Our desires,” he lowered his eyes as he spoke, “could not be quenched, and I thank God every day that I did not allow convention to stop us from being together.” He closed his eyes, and Iseabail knew he could see her in his mind. “Her skin was like cream, so soft and warm. She loved me so boldly, and I knew a happiness no man could understand…” He turned toward her. “Except Seumas, of course.”

Iseabail turned away from his searching gaze.

“Am I wrong? Do ye not love Seumas so?”

Biting her lip to stop it from quivering, she was not sure how to answer. The truth was all she could come up with.

“Aye.” The tears dropped down her cheek, and she hoped he did not notice.

“It was apparent to me from the moment I saw ye. Ye were meant to be together.”

She nodded slightly.

“A love like that cannot be held back by rules or wishful thinking. It must be faced head on and embraced so that it can be all-consuming, all-fulfilling. To push ye to where ye can be stronger together than ye ever could apart.” He paused, but she still refused to look at him. “But ye know this, do ye not, Iseabail?”

She nodded again, and he squeezed her hand gently before walking away.

Seumas hauled the overflowing basket of fish up onto the dock before hoisting himself out of the boat. He might have been bone tired, soaked with sea water, and stinking like a fish, but he felt exhilarated. The feast would start in the late afternoon, and he had been blessed with a wonderful catch. Brother Matthew smiled at him as they each picked up a handle of the basket and headed to the kitchen.

“You look happy, Seumas. Do you fancy you
rself a fisherman, then?”

“Perhaps I do, Brother, perhaps I do. This could very well be my calling.” The truth of his own words hit a chord deep inside. He felt fulfilled.

“Ah, the sea water did not reach all the way through to your toes this time.”

Seumas laughed, remembering how irritated he had been to have sand between his toes during a fishing trek with Brother Matthew. “Is there naught ye do not remember? I was a boy.”

“A whiney boy,” Brother Matthew added with a twinkle in his eye, goading Seumas on.

“The frustrating part was that the man showing me how to do it did not quite know himself.” They set the basket of fish down outside the kitchen door.

Brother Matthew’s jaw dropped, and Seumas laughed at the look. “Why you ungrateful, little—”

“Nae, nae, Brother, spare me yer lecture.”

Smacking him behind the head, Brother Matthew finally gave in to his smile and wrapped his arm around Seumas’s neck. “It is good to have you back, son. It is really good.”

“It is good to be back.” He could not know how good.

“How long will you be with us?”

Seumas scratched his chin. “I am thinking I may stay on.”

Brother Matthew tipped his head back, looking askew at him. “Are you saying you want to be a monk?”

Seumas slapped his damp hands across his chest before facing his friend. “Aye. I’m thinking it may be the way I should go.”

Brother Matthew’s mouth hung open, his eyes bulging, then he burst into a guffaw. After he had caught his breath, he gave Seumas’s arm a tug. “Oh, my boy, you are humorous indeed.”

Seumas watched him walk away. He supposed that was an expected reaction. They did not know of his rejection. If they did, they would surely accept him with open arms. That was the way they loved him. He could not believe how he had kept himself away with these ideas that he was no longer acceptable. These men were actually proud of him.

Iseabail sat on the stone bench in the courtyard, and his heart ached. She had shown no signs of considering his offer or even trying to speak to him. If she could not believe he loved her, mayhap he was wrong. Mayhap she could not love him. He walked toward her, thinking again how beautiful she was with the sun kissing her skin. He had the strong urge to take her up into his arms and kiss her himself.

He clasped his hands behind him when he approached her. “How fare ye? Have ye had aught to eat?”

“I am well, and I ate like a horse.”

“Well, ye do not look like one, so yer secret is safe with me.” The levity seemed to loosen the tension, and her smile looked less forced. Seumas joined her on the bench. “Have ye any interests ye would like to pursue while ye are here? The Brothers have everything available. This is really a world unto itself.”

“I was thinking it might be nice to sit here and do some needlework.”

“Excellent idea.” He was relieved to be able to accommodate such a small request. “I will mention it to Brother Timothy.”

Iseabail sniffed and grimaced, bringing her hand to her nose and turning away. He tried not to laugh at her subtle insult, but he did remove himself from the bench.

“Well, I am for a bath. See ye at the feast.”

Iseabail tilted her head, and he went inside the closest door.

*****

Iseabail could not tell where that door led, but perhaps she could find Brother Timothy herself. She went through the opening, stopping to allow her eyes to become accustomed to the darker space. It was also cool and smelled of earth. She took a few steps in before it hit her. She was in the garden.

The room was so much like her mother’s solarium that she almost expected to find her there, bending among the basil and thyme…and then her thoughts were of her uncle, three years after he had moved into the castle.

Iseabail had been on her knees beside the flowering sage, weeding. She glanced toward the door when he came in and could not help the dismay that rose within her. She had taken to avoiding being in the same room with him, though she was not sure why. His smile gave her pause, but she continued with her task.

He closed the door to the solarium and strode toward her, purpose in every step though his smile never faded. Her brothers had been sent to the village. She was alone with him. She pushed the sage back, reaching underneath to cut back its copious offspring.

Her uncle sat on the bench right beside her. “Iseabail, my dear.” His voice was very quiet. “You are just as good with these plants as your mother was.”

She searched her mind for any memory of her uncle being at the castle when her mother was alive a
nd could not find one. “Thank you, uncle. You are very kind.” Iseabail hoped that was all and yet he continued to sit there. A crow flew overhead, and the sunlight from the open ceiling cast strange shadows on the garden floor. She found it hard to breathe.

“
You look so much like her, you know.” He rocked slightly on the bench, looking skyward as if again seeing her lovely mother. “She was a beautiful woman.”

Iseabail knew she took after her mother, but the way her uncle said it…it made her feel ashamed. “Thank
you, uncle.”

“
You
are a beautiful woman.” He reached for her, and she obediently slid closer, kneeling in front of him and letting him take her hand. With his free hand, he cupped her cheek lightly. “So like her. Your eyes...” He stroked her brow. “Your nose...” He smiled, tapping her nose. “Your lips.” He moved his fingers lightly across her mouth.

Warning bells chimed in her head, and Iseabail tried to stand.

Her uncle pushed her down with an iron grip. “Not yet, Iseabail.” His voice was still quiet. “Spend time with me.”

Settling back down, she looked to see if there was any hope someone would venture in. He had barred the door. Her gaze flew back to his face, and a gasp caught in her throat.

He smiled—a syrupy sweet smile.

“Yes, my lovely Matilda. I will have
you now.” Iseabail struggled to get up, but her uncle was stronger. He grabbed her hand, guiding it to his lap. She drew back, but he just smiled as he manipulated her hand in a crushing grip. “Yes, Matilda, yes. That is the way.”

Iseabail tasted bile at the back of her throat when he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She bit down. His slap stung her face, immobilizing her. His gaze quickly went from rage to lust as he exposed himself to her. She shook her head, pushing against his hand that held her head. He slapped her again…hard. She stopped fighting.

His groans of pleasure still echoed in her ears.

Desperate to escape the garden, she backed toward the door. Though she turned back the way she had come, she could not find it. The whole area was cast in shadow. Her panic grew.

“All is well, Iseabail. Uncle Henry is not here,” she said to herself and jumped when she felt a hand on her arm.

“Who is Uncle Henry, child?” It was Seumas’s uncle.

She began to tremble, despite him withdrawing his hand. “Nay…no one— My uncle…nothing.”

Uncle Peter did not reach for her again, but he searched her face even in the dim light. “Did this man harm ye in some way?”

His voice was so low and soothing, the tears began to flow, and she could not control them. She nodded.

“It was in a garden?”

“The solarium,” she sobbed, “my, my mother’s solarium.” Her shoulders shook with deep sobs. “He forced me…” Her hand came up to cover her mouth. “I-I…cannot…”

Uncle Peter went directly to the door she had just came through and opened it, giving Iseabail the escape she needed.

Outside, she leaned back against the stone wall and continued to sob fearfully, feeling as if she could not get enough air. Her eyes closed, and she could see Uncle Henry’s look of pleasure, hear his sick words.

“
You are a good girl, little Iseabail
.”

“No, no. Stop. Please stop.”

Iseabail’s pain was all-consuming. If Uncle Peter touched her, showed her any comfort, she would scream and never stop.

He seemed to sense this and kept his distance.

“He did not stop, did he.” He made it a statement more than a question.

Iseabail shook her head adamantly.

“Ye should have been able to trust him.”

Ye should have been able to trust him.

And that was the crux of this. He was her uncle, her father’s brother. Sobbing harder, she nodded and covered her hands with her face. She was so ashamed. “He got his pleasure from using me. Now I am ruined. Who would want me?”

Her secret was out. He would not comfort her now either. She would be the one blamed. She imagined the look on his face, but when she glanced his way, that was not what she saw. There was no scowl of censure.

Instead, he slowly reached for her and took her into his calming embrace. “God wants ye. God loves ye. He feels yer pain, Iseabail. He cried at yer violation.”

She wanted those words to be true, needed them to be true. Opening herself up, she allowed the words to sink into her heart. She rested her head on his shoulders. “I do not know why he did it… I did not do anything, but he kept finding me.”

“Iseabail, you are not to blame.”

She stiffened at his words. “Who would believe that?”

He repeated himself more firmly. “It is not yer fault. This was done
to
ye. There was nothing ye did to deserve this. And there was nothing ye could have done to stop him.”

“I could have killed him,” she spoke the words she had thought in her heart many times.

“Living with that would have been worse.”

Pulling away, she looked at him and thought about whether it really could have been worse. At least it would have been over.

“Ye will heal when ye allow the wound to be cleansed. Ye will recover from this and ye will be stronger.”

She took a ragged breath and nodded, but her heart was uncertain. Could she ever recover?

“Thank you, Uncle Peter.” She hugged him.

“Come, I will walk to yer room.”

She threaded her arm through his, holding tightly.

He continued to talk as they made their way to her room. “We will have a nice hot bath for ye, and ye can soak and worry about nothing else. Does that sound good?”

She turned to him and smiled. She kissed his cheek before shutting the door behind him.

Looking out at the ocean, she tried to remember what Uncle Peter had said. Could she be stronger? Could the violation make her stronger? She had lived with it for so long, like an arrow through her body that would kill her if she removed it.

There was a knock on the door and when she opened it, a long trail of monks came in with a tub, buckets of water, a jar of sweetly scented oil—“We made it ourselves,” Brother Joseph informed her—and lastly a beautiful blue gown. Holding the gown up to her body, she was delighted to see it fit just fine.

Brother Matthew came in last to stoke up the fire the tub sat in front of. “Seumas is quite enthralled with
you.” He blew on the flame as he added more and more logs until the fire threw off a good amount of heat. “You are a lucky woman. No man could love you more totally than he will, mark my words.”

“Thank y
ou.” She did not know what else to say. The man was merely being kind.

Iseabail decided to make the most of her time alone, quickly stripping off her clothes, pouring the rose-scented oil into the water, and plunging in up to her chin. It was very soothing, and her body started to relax. The heat swirled around her limbs, breaking up the stiffness. The smell permeated her senses until she imagined herself in a beautiful rose garden with lovely blooms surrounding her. She sighed her pleasure, but before long her thoughts turned to darker things.

It was too late for her to be what Seumas believed her to be. She could not undo the past. But perhaps...perhaps she could overcome what had happened to her. Uncle Peter seemed to think so—his words had been said with such conviction. She wanted it to be true.

When her thoughts turned to Brother Matthew, she wondered why he would tell her about Seumas. Had Seumas spoken of her? Was he trying to convince her of what a good man Seumas was? She knew that without a doubt. There was no finer man than Seumas, but it was Seumas that deserved bet—

She heard again Uncle Peter’s voice.

There was nothing ye did to deserve this.

She sat up in the tub and repeated his words to the empty room.

“There was nothing I did to deserve this.” Her own voice sounded strong echoing back in the small space.