The Rogue (22 page)

Angus undid the clasp at Birdi’s breast and slipped the cape from her shoulders. Above the gown’s wide scoop neck, he saw the top of the weeping scarlet slash. With his gut feeling like it was full of glass shards, he eased her arms out of the brocade. Ian held Birdi upright and Angus lifted the gown over her slack body. He pushed the sheer cotton shift off her shoulder, exposing the whole oozing gash, and shuddered. It was a good six inches in length. He could see bone.

Ian cleared his throat. “‘Tis not so bad.”

Angus glared at his friend.

Together they cleaned the wound and bound Birdi about the chest and right shoulder. Her shift and gown back in place, Angus cradled her to his chest. As he rocked side to side with her, he said, “We’re only a few miles from Clachan. I know of a kirk there where we can seek shelter for the night.”

“Good. Come morn, ‘tis only a day’s ride to Inveraray. We can seek refuge with the Duke of Argyll until she recoups.” After a minute Ian added, “Ye need to think about riding straight for Blackstone.”

Angus brushed the loose strands from Birdi’s face. Looking at her, wishing with all his heart that she would open her eyes, he said, “We canna. First, it’s an arduous trek and she’s in no condition to make it, and second, Blackstone has a zealot for a priest. He’ll drive her wode in an effort to convert her.” Why his liege hadn’t tossed the fanatic glutton out of Drasmoor years ago was beyond Angus’s understanding. “And if he ever saw her lay on hands...

Ian flexed his injured shoulder. “Listen to me. We can take a boat across Loch Awe at Portsonchan, which will cut off a good two-day’s ride, then head due west. As for Fat John, who says he needs to know what she is.”

“Ye think he’ll
not
grow suspicious when she doesn’t attend vespers? When she refuses to confess before him? The man isna an idiot.” Fat John had given Lady Beth headaches too numerous to count when she’d first arrived and the woman was Christian and worldly, unlike his Birdi.

“We’ll make excuses for her until we can come up with something else.”

Angus grunted. Birdi didn’t know the Holy Ghost from a kelpie—would nay doubt trip herself up within a week—and God only knew what would happen then. Ack. “How is yer shoulder?”

“Ye’ll not believe it.” He shrugged off his jerkin and opened his shirt lacings for Angus to see.

Ian’s wound—identical to the one Birdi now bore—was miraculously on the mend. Though beyond belief, Angus no longer wondered how Birdi had come by her many scars.

Rising, he growled, “Let’s get out of here.”

 ~#~

Their footsteps echoed throughout Clachan kirk’s frigid nave as Angus and Ian walked toward the altar. Ian, dirk in hand, murmured, “‘Tis empty.”

Angus shifted Birdi in his arms. “Thank God.” Birdi had been crying out in her sleep, much as she had after she’d tended Kelsea and the babe she’d found in the mews. There’d be no explaining it to a stranger. “Make a pallet for her there.” He nodded toward the raised dais.

Ian snatched the cloth from the marble altar, hauled down a tapestry hanging to the right of a shallow alcove, and pulled the cushions from three tall, heavily carved chairs stationed to the left of the altar. After he’d laid them out, Angus lowered Birdi and covered her with Ian’s great cloth of plaid. He then sat next to her and took one of her cool hands in his. He turned it over and rubbed a thumb over the calluses dotting her palm.

“Ye’ve not had an easy time of it, have ye, lass?”

And matters were likely to get worse. Ian was right. They needed to make for Blackstone. Castle Blackstone was an isle fortress. Ensconced within its walls, Birdi couldn’t come to harm again. More importantly, she’d never be alone again. The priest he would deal with in some way.

And what of his wager with Duncan, and the lass who waited at Beal? He hissed through clenched teeth. Mayhap, if he looked pathetic enough—if he raised his wager to a full year’s salary—Duncan would concede to giving him another fortnight to bring home a proper chatelaine bride. If Duncan would, he—Angus the Blood—might still be able to gain Donaliegh and his chiefship. And if he failed...hell, he’d already grown accustomed to starving.

He ran a finger along Birdi’s lush lower lip. But to make it all work, he had to prepare her.

“Ian, find me some holy water.”

Birdalane Shame was about to be baptized into the One True Faith.

B
irdi sat, shoulders sore, in a tall chair by a warm fire in a small, darkly paneled room. She pulled the soft blanket about her and warily eyed Angus as he spread their supper of bread and fish before them.

She’d been told when she awoke just an hour ago that they were now in Inveraray, in the home of a man named Argyll. Unable to tolerate the suspense any longer, she asked, “Are ye angry with me?”

“Nay. Mayhap disappointed that ye’d not trusted me enough to confide in me, but not angry. Ye did, after all, save Ian’s life.”

Aye, there was that. “Thank ye for taking care of me. Again.” He’d been most solicitous, despite her keeping him awake for two nights running as she raved and thrashed.

He pulled an angle iron out of the fire and stuck it in the tankard he held. A moment later he handed her warmed ale and honey. “Ye’re welcome, but ye ken I canna tolerate any more secrets. Ye need to be honest with me. And I want yer promise that ye’ll stop doing whatever it is ye do to bring yerself to harm.”

“‘Tis not as if I seek the sick and dying, Angus.” When the
need
came, it came, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“I’ll not pretend to ken any of this, but I do ken that ye do...whatever ye do...with a pure heart. Unfortunately, too many will not look upon yer...” He waved his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Healing?” she offered.

“Aye, healing, with the favor I view it.”

“Ah.” No great surprise there, she supposed. The Macarthurs feared her, so why wouldn’t others? “And now what?”

He knelt before her so his eyes were close and level with hers and took her hands in his. She sighed. He had such lovely hands, broad and warm with such bonnie long fingers. Calloused, they held hers gently and made her feel safe.

“I’m taking ye home.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Ye’re taking us back to the glen?” She threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, thank ye, thank ye!” She kissed him then, hoping her lips could express the pure joy she felt within. Oh, she truly loved Angus the Canteran, and he obviously loved her. He wasn’t angry after kenning what she truly was, had even called her pure of heart. Aye, she loved her Angus. They could live together...

To her surprise, he gently pried her arms away.

“Birdi, we’ll not be going to yer glen, but to my home, Castle Blackstone.”

“Oh.” Disappointment landed with a thud in her chest. Like a hot coal it burned a hole within her breast. “But why?”

He cleared his throat. “With my people ye’ll be safe and ye’ll never be alone again.”

“I see.” Her throat burned, realizing she’d misunderstood. He didn’t feel as she did, didn’t experience the same joy at their touching, listening to the other speak. He didn’t want her, but only felt obligated to keep her safe.

Feeling much akin to how she’d felt handing over Wee Angus to Kelsea, she clasped her hands in her lap. “Ye dinna ken how it is, Angus. Yer clan will take one look at me and turn away just as the Macarthurs do.”

He placed his hands on either side of her face. “Birdi, they’ll not turn away, because I’ll teach ye what ye need to ken to be one of us.”

“But my eyes...”

He frowned. “What about them?”

“They’ll ken me—what I am—by my eyes.”

“Birdi, though unique, yer eyes are beautiful. So bonnie, in fact, my heart nearly stopped the first time I saw them.”

She shook her head, not believing a word, for if his heart had nearly stopped, he’d feel as she did. He’d be taking her home, and they’d share her croft and swim and...

“Birdi, ask Ian. Ye trust him. He’ll tell ye the same.”

She studied his eyes, so wondrously blue and kind. Poor man, he did believe what he said, but she kenned better. She’d seen her truth in a looking glass.

Forcing a smile, she asked, “So, what do I need to learn?”

He suddenly grinned. “That’s the brave lass.” He kissed the tip of her nose then rose. Pacing, he said, “First ye need to ken manners. We are, after all, in the house of a duke. We can deal with prayers and the like later.”

As he droned on, pacing and gesturing before her, Birdi patted her pocket. Aye, ‘twas still there, her missive to Tinker. She’d post it on the morrow. Tonight and until Tinker could come for her, she need only humor the handsome Canteran who apparently still loved his hale Mary.

 ~#~

Beneath the flight of circling and squawking gulls, Angus led Birdi, dressed in a borrowed gown—hers was still having the blood washed out of it—through the streets of Inveraray. As he described the fishing boats and catches, explained the local lore, he watched men watch her.

He hadn’t wanted to take her out, but she’d insisted, claiming she needed to buy a necessity. Never having lived with a woman, but knowing they had odd rituals and a monthly flow they called “the flowers” he thought better of arguing with her. Besides, if she traveled about and none shouted,
Witch
! she might finally believe she wasn’t so visibly different from her peers. Unfortunately, she was lovely and people did stare, but then, she didn’t notice, being so blind.

Stopping before a shop bearing a sign with a thistle, Angus handed her a coin. “This should get whatever ye need. I’ll wait by the door. Should ye have any trouble, any at all, just call.”

Biting her bottom lip, Birdi mumbled, “Thank ye.” She then took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and chin high entered the shop. He smiled. No one would ever ken she wasn’t a lady of high birth.

After a few minutes she came out carrying two sugarplums.

“Did ye get what ye needed?”

She handed him one of the sweets and three bodles. “I did what I needed to do. Can we go back to the keep now?”

What was amiss? Why didn’t she appear happy after her first successful barter? “Are ye sure? There’s a market ye might enjoy.”

“I’m sure.”

“Verra well.” He placed a hand at her waist and turned her up the hill. As they passed an alehouse a bawdy female shouted, “Drop her home and come back to me, handsome!”

Birdi grew roots in the roadway. Frowning, she asked, “Who’s that?”

“Just a paikie.”

“A what?”

He leaned closer so she could hear him over the woman’s continued catcalls, the gulls, and the rumbling wagons. “A trull, ye ken, a prostitute.”

Birdi nodded and pursed her lips. “And what is she to ye?”

“
Nothing
, I assure ye.” He reached for her elbow, but Birdi wrenched free and stomped over to the trull before he realized what she was about.

From only a foot away, her hands on hips, Birdi’s gaze raked the brassy-throated woman. “Ye have a bonnie gown, mistress, but yer mouth does not do it justice.”

The paikie assumed the same stance, a smirk gracing her hard-worn face. “And who might ye be, calling my mouth into question?”

Angus sidled up to Birdi and took her elbow, well aware people had stopped to listen. “Come on, Birdi. We need to go.”

Birdi shook off his hand. To the woman she hissed, “His ladywife, and I’ll thank ye to keep yer thoughts to yerself.”

“Oh, will ye now?”

“Aye, or I’ll cut ye from gullet to tail, slip ye from yer skin and nail it on my door. Then I’ll tan yer sorry hide—”

Aghast, Angus yanked Birdi off her feet and spun. Carrying her in one arm, he strode up the hill. Over his shoulder, he called, “Our pardon, madam.”

When he thought it safe, he set her down and, using a firm hand, hustled her along. Aware people still watched them, he hissed, “God’s teeth, Birdi. Ye dinna engage her ilk.”

“But she’s one of those that spread the...ack, I dinna recall the name. Ye ken, the sickness where a man’s poker gets full of pussy sores and near falls off.”

“Ack, Birdi! Ye canna be speaking of men’s pokers and pus, not in public at any rate. Come.”

He couldn’t believe she even knew the ailment grandgore, let alone talked about it! The sooner he got her home and started shoving some solid catechism down her throat, the better off they’d both be. The woman had absolutely no sense of public decorum.

 ~#~

Angus frowned as Birdi, glassy eyed, held the prayer book he’d given her with the reverence a minion might give the Pope’s staff. She obviously liked his gift, so why did she not open it? “Well? Open it.”

Biting her lower lip, she muttered, “I canna read.”

  “Ah.” He rubbed his jaw for a moment and then smiled. “Ye needn’t read it. Ye have a quick mind and can commit to memory what ye need ken.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. Just repeat after me. Our father who—”

She blinked like an owl. “Ye ken my father?”

He grinned. “Nay, Birdi, ‘tis only a prayer. Just repeat it. Our Father who art in heaven...”

“Our Father who art in heather.”

“Nay
heather
, Birdi, hea—ven.”

“Where’s heaven?”

“In the sky, beyond the stars.”

“There’s something beyond the stars?”

Accepting it would be a long night, Angus assured her, “Aye, Birdi, a magical place full of angels—winged people of great spirit.”

“Ah.”

He smiled. This might not be so difficult after all. “Hallowed be thy name.”

“What name?”

“God’s.”

“Which god’s?”

Where the hell was the silver-tongued Ian when he needed him? “Our God, yours and mine. Everyone’s.”

“I dinna ken him. Now, Mother of All, Goddess, I ken. She’s all powerful—”

“Birdi, just listen and repeat.”

She huffed and slouched in her chair. “As ye wish.”

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is

in heaven...”

Looking petulant, her lower lip pouched out, she repeated the phrase.

“Very good.” They were making progress. “Now...Give us this day our daily bread.”