Page 69 of Awoken
Ross laughed. “Good to hear.” He sobered then, glancing at Leanna once more. “Did ye send word to the abbess yesterday?”
Leanna nodded, meeting his eye. “Aye … I sent missives with a boat bound for Skye … both to Kilbride and my uncle.” She paused there, perhaps catching how he suddenly tensed. “Worry not, I didn’t tell them we’re on Barra or reveal our new names here … it’s just that I wanted my kin and the abbess to know that I am alive and well. I’d hate for them to worry.”
Ross digested this, before the tension eased from his shoulders. He knew Leanna would have been prudent; he just didn’t want to put their new life in jeopardy in any way.
Barra was far enough away from Skye to start afresh, yet if MacKinnon heard of their location, he could find a way to reach them, even here. Ross could understand why she’d wanted to let those she cared about know that she still lived, but even so, they had to be wary.
“As long as we remain hidden, I’m content,” he said finally. “Fortunately for us, MacNeil has few dealings with MacKinnon so there should be little risk of anyone recognizing us here.”
“It seems a friendly isle,” Leanna replied, her tone pensive. “The folk have been welcoming so far.”
Ross smiled at this. “Aye … although I’m glad that we left town today … in such a small place, the locals soon start to gossip or ask too many probing questions.”
Leanna nodded. “Aye … the inn-keeper’s wife is a terrible busybody. She wanted to know who our kin are … and why we’ve settled upon Barra when we have no family here.” At Ross’s alarmed look, she smiled. “Don’t worry, I spun her a tale.”
Ross raked a hand through his hair as he crested yet another hill. Beyond lay a rumpled blanket of moorland, framed by blue sky. “I suppose our presence here has caused a stir,” he admitted. “It’s only natural upon an isle as small as Barra.”
They walked on, traveling across bare hills interspersed with shallow valleys and the odd trickling creek. Sheep grazed in the distance, and a briny sea breeze cooled their faces.
Ross found it hard not to smile as he walked; it was a good day to be alive.
He couldn’t believe how different he felt. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him—one he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. It was strange really; his whole life he’d been so ambitious. He’d thought he wanted to rise up through the ranks as warrior, to earn the coveted place at a clan-chief’s side. But shortly after Leanna came into his life, his priorities had started to shift. He’d resisted it at first—for the feelings that arose within him had gone against everything he valued—but now that he’d finally surrendered to it, he felt almost reborn.
Everything was simpler now. Suddenly, all he wanted was to build a future with the woman he loved, have a family, and make his small-holding thrive. No longer would he feel compelled to do the bidding of a man he should never have sworn allegiance to.
On this fine morning, as he walked toward his new home, he tasted true freedom.
The sun was high in the sky when they reached their destination at last. Breathing hard, after climbing the last—and very steep—hill, Leanna halted beside her husband. Before them sat a low-slung stacked-stone cottage with a thatched roof in dire need of repair. A crumbling stone wall and overgrown garden surrounded the dwelling. A chorus of bleating greeted them from a flock of woolly white sheep grazing upon the hillside behind the cottage.
Looking upon the dwelling, a slow smile spread across Leanna’s face.
“I’m sorry it’s so small … I know it’s not what ye are used to.” The worry in Ross’s voice made her tear her attention from the untamed garden. He was watching her, his brow furrowed.
“I’ve already told ye,” she replied with a shake of her head. “My days as a ‘lady’ are long gone. My time at Kilbride toughened me up.”
“But I hadn’t realized the cottage would be so run down.”
Leanna snorted, before she reached out and clasped his hand in hers. “It’s perfect, Ross … and I can’t wait to make it our own.”
“This is for the abbess.” The messenger, a harried looking man in travel-stained leathers, handed Sister Coira a small roll of parchment, sealed with wax. “Can ye make sure she receives it?”
Coira nodded, taking the scroll. “I will take it to her now … thank ye … may peace be with ye.”
“And ye, Sister.” The man, who stood at the abbey gates, ducked his head before moving back over to his horse and swinging up into the saddle.
Coira watched him move off, urging his lathered mount south. Then her gaze shifted to the furled message in her hand. She wondered whom it was from.
Turning from the gates, Coira walked across the yard, under the deep shadow of the kirk, toward the abbess’s hall. It was just after the noon meal, a quiet time when all the nuns rested for a short while before beginning their afternoon chores. The day was sticky and windless, the first hot day of summer, and while her sisters rested upon their sleeping pallets, Coira had decided to go into the woods and collect herbs for her healing poultices and potions. Gathering herbs usually put her in a good mood, but she felt strangely restless today. Upon her return to the abbey, she’d been considering going into the kirk to pray, when the messenger had arrived.
Life at Kilbride felt increasingly lonely of late. The two women she’d been closest to here—Sister Ella and Sister Leanna—had both left the abbey. Coira liked to think of herself as self-sufficient; she’d certainly been at Kilbride long enough to be able to endure solitude, yet she’d found herself often thinking of her friends.
She’d heard that Ella was well. Word had arrived from Scorrybreac just a couple of weeks earlier that Ella was with child—happy news indeed, especially after the tragedies that had marked her early years. But no one had heard a word from Leanna. After the party escorting her to Duncaith had been ambushed, she’d simply disappeared.
And as far as Coira knew, MacKinnon’s search for her had been unsuccessful.
Coira raised a hand and knocked briskly on the door to the abbess’s hall, suppressing a shudder as an image of Duncan MacKinnon’s face surfaced.
He’d visited Kilbride a handful of times over the years, and she’d always managed to keep out of sight. But the last time, she knew he’d seen her—and she thought she’d seen recognition flicker in those iron-grey eyes.
