you fashion a spit whilst I set up a tent?”
“Do we need a tent?” asked Ailish.
James looked to the sky. They’d been blessed with fine weather this day, but clouds were rolling in. If there was one thing about Scotland that was a surety, good weather never lasted. “Mark me, we’ll see rain afore dawn.”
Sister Coira picked up a sturdy branch. “I’ll fashion the spit, m’lady.”
Ailish shot the woman a heated glance. “I’ll fetch the firewood, Sister.”
James sniggered to himself. He kent the novice was a lady. And he highly suspected the other woman was her servant. Coira certainly was built for labor. But he wasn’t about to concern himself overmuch. Once he left them at the priory’s gates, he’d most likely never set eyes on the wee sable-haired lass again, no matter her station.
As he went about his task, stringing a rope taut between two trees, he watched Ailish out of the corner of his eye. She collected sticks and good-sized pieces of wood without a word of complaint. And by the stars, she was bonny. Even beneath the drab woolen habit, her form was lithe, just as he’d remembered from last eve.
If only her hair weren’t covered with that hideously drab veil. It wasn’t hewn of finely spun wool either. The weave was coarse and had to be scratchy even though she wore a white linen under veil.
Why was the lass staying behind the walls of a nunnery and where was she from? Was her father still alive or had he been a victim of Edward’s tyranny as James’ da had?
He grew more curious as he worked, draping his leather oilcloth over the rope, and securing the edges with stakes. Inside, he cleared out stones and spread some rushes on the ground to ensure Her Ladyship’s comfort.
Once he’d finished, it was nearly dark. “I’ll set to lighting the fire.”
“The kindling is ready with a handful of flax tow beneath, and we’re ready to start working Coi—ah—Sister Coira’s spit.”
James frowned. “I’ll crank the spit.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Ailish, producing a flint and rod and efficiently lighting the fire, blowing at the base to encourage the flames. God’s bones, the lass was independent for a noblewoman. Though in truth, he ought to respect her more for it.
By the time James had the chicken ready to roast, the blaze was crackling. He couldn’t have built a better fire himself.
Coira rubbed her belly. “It will be the witching hour afore the meat is cooked.”
Ailish started for the mule. “I’ll fetch a few oatcakes from my satchel.”
“Good heavens,” said the older woman, barreling past the younger. “I’ll fetch them and spread our bed rolls as well. You need your rest.”
The wee novice impersonator harrumphed and crossed her arms, her hip jutting to the side. “Very well. If you insist.”
James patted the grass beside him. “May as well sit. Sister Coira is right about resting. We’ll have a long day on the morrow.”
The lass eased down beside him and tucked her legs beneath the folds of her habit. “We all need a respite.”
“Agreed.” The breeze brought with it the scent of woman, sweet like honey and mulled wine. James leaned toward the lass and breathed in. Och aye, this was no commoner. She smelled too good. He plucked a yellow primrose, twirled it between his fingers and offered it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, accepting the gift.
“A wee bit of beauty in the midst of turmoil.”
She drew it to her nose. “Thank you. I love primroses.”
“They are my favorite.” He plucked another. “My mother said they symbolize underappreciated merit.”
“Mm hmm.” James reckoned she would look ever so bonny with a crown of primroses, but he’d risk sounding like a lovesick bard if he owned to it. “Ah…how long have you been a resident of Lincluden Priory?”
“Six years,” she said, her voice taking on a faraway tone. “When…”
“What happened…ah…to your kin?” he asked, his mind reflecting back. Edward’s raids into the borderlands had been particularly savage in the year of our Lord thirteen hundred.
“I do not wish to speak of it.”
“I ken exactly how you’re feeling, lass. ’Twas a bitter pill to swallow when Edward murdered my da and the English took my lands. I was just a lad at the time, else I’d either be dead or the blood of Clifford’s army would have fertilized my crops.”
Ailish smiled. Albeit sad, her wee grin made her face more radiant as the amber glow from the fire sparkled in those crystal eyes. “I’ve oft