Forbidden Heart (Hearts of the Highlands #6) - Paula Quinn Page 0,1
who was to become a nun and procure John Stewart, High Steward of Scotland, a seat on the church’s council. If King David died with no issue, John, who was the first son of Marjorie Bruce, daughter of Robert the Bruce, would be next in line to be king. With the church’s support, no one would contest him. John was obsessed with becoming king, so he spoke of his niece often. The fact that he didn’t know much about the lass hadn’t stopped him from bringing her up in many conversations.
Galeren knew she had fiery red hair and a temper to match. But Galeren suspected that any lass of ten and four would rant and scream if she was taken from her kin and put into a priory. She was no beauty, with dots across her cheeks and nose and long limbs.
“What is wrong with how we behave?” Mac protested.
Galeren had to laugh–either that or throw up his hands and head home. They weren’t right for this task. They would frighten the poor novice to death.
“Ye were just chasin’ down Will,” Galeren reminded him.
Mac offered him a rare smile. “I wouldna have hurt him too bad. Besides, John’s niece will only be with us fer two days. I think her delicate sensibilities will survive us.”
William jeered at him. “Hell, Mac, can ye not agree to be somewhat more pleasant fer two bloody days?”
“Not with ye around,” Mac replied with a smack across Will’s temple, which Will answered by jumping on him.
“They give not a care to our duty, Captain.” Morgann said with disgust shadowing his cerulean eyes.
Galeren sighed and with nothing but a look of annoyance, signaled Padrig to end it.
“Captain?”
“Aye, Morgann?” Galeren answered and returned to securing his saddle.
“What is a novice? Is she a nun? Because if she is a nun, we are all doomed. Ye realize that, d’ye not? These bastards will incite curses upon our heads!”
Galeren tilted his head and gave him a curious look. He knew the lad was ten and eight—or nine, but who thought such things? “Nuns are not witches, Morgann. There will be no curses, aye?” He smiled at his somber friend and patted him on the shoulder as Mac, Will, and the quiet giant readied their horses to leave.
They would cross the border in England at night. Thankfully, Galeren’s mother had been a border reiver. He had kin along the border. He had already written to them to let them know when and where they would be and to make arrangements for their safe passage along the east Marches. Everything had been set up and put into motion.
Galeren didn’t want to go to Bamburgh or anywhere in England. He hated the English. They ever sought to rule the Scots and the Scots would ever fight to stop them. But he would not disobey John or King David in what he was told to do. He would go to Bamburgh with the men and hope the novice made it to Ayrshire without any damage to her eternal soul.
What other choice did he have? These were his most elite men, his friends. He would not have made an important journey with any other bunch of ruffians. They’d fought in various battles together and Galeren trusted no men like these, save for his kin.
They mounted their steeds and rode southeast. They would sleep outdoors as inns tended to be dangerous for men who thought to challenge them.
Galeren rode in no particular place among the men. If he took the lead, it was usually because there was danger ahead. While they rode, he thought about home and listened to the men around him talking and laughing. He didn’t think of Invergarry but of Ayrshire—his home for the last nine years. Dundonald Castle, where John and his wife, Matilda, raised their three bairns. He smiled thinking of the children, whom he loved. John had only wed Matilda to please the church.
John did much to please the church. Sending for his niece was one of them. He wanted her around to prove to the church that he was a religious man.
“Are ye still goin’ to wed Cecilia Birchet when we return home and the vow is over?”
“I dinna know,” Galeren answered Morgann, looking as solemn now as his friend. “’Tis what John has asked of me. But I dinna love her.”
“Many marry fer peace or some kind of alliance,” Morgann pointed out. “If ’tis what the steward wants…”