Page 19 of The Highlander’s Virgin Nun (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #2)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“M ornin’, Me Laird. Tired this morn’ after yer big weddin’ night? I hope ye started workin’ on producin’ an heir?”
Caelan rolled his eyes as he sat down at his desk. “Dinnae be crass, Jayden.”
“Just checkin’ on the future of the clan, Me Laird.”
“What is it ye’ve got to tell me?”
Jayden sat and switched to his more serious tone, leaving the boy’s chatter aside. “I have some news on the names ye gave me.”
“The nun’s names?”
“Aye, Me Laird.”
“Wonderful. Begin.” Caelan pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, ready to take notes.
“Firstly, the Abbey. It has a bad history. Quite a few women have escaped over the years, havin’ been left under the care of the nuns by their families, who paid for their care. It seems the nuns use these women as servants, collectin’ the payments and spendin’ almost nothing on their care, feedin’ them only scraps and treatin’ them terribly while there.”
“How have they gotten away with it?”
“They’re nuns. The women are rarely believed, and the nuns are protected by the church. Nay one is out there slayin’ nuns.”
“Well, maybe they should be.”
“The nuns Lady Sinclair mentioned have been there most of their lives. They will be easy to find if ye want me to pay them a visit and teach them a lesson.”
Caelan nodded. “And the braither?”
“He was harder to track down. When Lady Sinclair’s faither died, their clan somewhat dissolved. The castle became derelict and the nearby village emptied out. Laird MacKinnon was traceable in various locations as they moved camps until they settled again. He moved a lot. I have an address I’m fairly sure of now, but I dinnae think he received Lady Sinclair’s letters from the Abbey.”
“As he wasnae at the castle Rosaline sent them to?”
“Well, for a start, he may have sent someone to collect mail. The issue is that I dinnae think her letters has ever left the Abbey.”
“What makes ye think that?”
“I tracked down the mail boy for the Abbey. He never took a single letter to Castle MacKinnon over the past ten years. He received payment from Laird MacKinnon—that’s how I got the current address—but he has never delivered any letter to him.”
“He has never received me letters?” Rosaline’s voice asked from the doorway, her head suddenly peeking into the room.
She had been eavesdropping.
“Me Lady.” Jayden bowed his head to her.
“He has never received a single letter?”
“Come, sit.” Caelan beckoned her over.
He would rather have gathered the information and shared it with her himself more gently, but that was impossible now. She deserved to have her questions answered.
“I dinnae believe so, Lady Sinclair. I think the nuns intercepted yer letters and destroyed them before they were sent out with the mail boy. I imagine they didnae want yer braither’s payments to stop when he realized ye were bein’ mistreated, so they kept ye silent and isolated.”
Rosaline’s hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped. “I… I…” she stuttered.
“Thank ye, Jayden,” Caelan interjected, rising from his seat. “I’ll take it from here.”
Jayden bowed his head before exiting, leaving the couple alone.
Caelan walked over to Rosaline and guided her to the chairs across his desk. He sat her down and then sat opposite her, holding her hands.
“I didnae ken ye were goin’ to look into me braither like that,” Rosaline uttered, unable to look into his eyes. “Ye should have asked me first.”
Caelan nodded, understanding that she had been taken aback by the news. She had been resting comfortably in hope.
“I ken I should have asked,” he conceded. “But at least ye ken now that he is alive and that he didnae ken what ye were goin’ through. Otherwise, he might have come for ye earlier.”
Rosaline nodded. He could see that she had so much to process.
“I dinnae ken if ye heard, but Jayden looked into the Abbey too. They have done this before, which means they will do it again. I am goin’ to make sure they are punished for their crimes. They are evil, and they shall face the consequences of their actions.”
“Thank ye,” Rosaline whispered.
“It is me duty to protect ye, Rosaline. And I will make sure that they will never come after ye again.”
She nodded, took a deep breath, and finally looked him in the eye. Caelan could see a world of thoughts running wild behind her eyes. She was scrambling for the right words before she spoke.
“I see how protective ye are, and I thank ye for lookin’ into it and wantin’ to do somethin’ about it.” She paused, but Caelan could tell that she was not done speaking. “I only hope that ye are as protective of our bairn as ye are of me.”
Caelan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What did ye say?”
He was sure he had misheard her.
“Well, it is obviously very early. I cannae be sure. But I spoke to Michaela this mornin’.”
“Michaela…” Caelan trailed off.
“She saw me and seemed to find somethin’ out from just lookin’ at me. She did say to me a few days ago that I would be at the peak of me cycle in three days. And today…”
“What did she say?”
Rosaline looked confused, shy, and unsure.
“She simply said that she had been correct and that I was with child. It was all she said. I dinnae ken how she could ken. She could be wrong.”
“Nay.” Caelan shook his head, and he saw her start to panic, as if he was denying her. “Michaela has never been wrong. She had detected every single pregnancy in this clan. Ye are right to believe her.”
He had to take a moment to consider what to say next. He had only just become a husband, taking on the responsibility of protecting his wife, and suddenly, he had to protect his unborn child too. It had all happened so fast. This was the purpose of their marriage—to produce an heir. He was grateful, but the pressure of keeping them both safe suddenly piled on top of him.
“This is what ye wanted,” Rosaline spoke, seeing the distress on his face and mistaking it for regret.
“It is, of course. I needed an heir, and how wonderful that we could get one so quickly. I am grateful and delighted. I just need to keep ye both safe.”
“We will be safe,” Rosaline reassured, holding his hands now as much as he held hers. “We will both protect our child. Nay harm will ever come to it.”
* * *
After Caelan had quelled his wife’s fears, reassuring her that she and their child would be cared for and wanted, he left her with Alexandra, who came to ask for her help with some embroidery. He took himself out to the training grounds behind the castle.
“Good mornin’, Laird Sinclair,” the young men there chorused as he entered the small arena.
“Mornin’, lads. Dinnae let me disturb ye,” he said, directing them back to their sparring.
It was customary to drop one’s sword when nobility was near, but it was a practice he had been trying to get rid of for a while. He wanted his presence to improve his men's fighting skills, not delay their development.
As the boys returned to their practice, Caelan entered the armory and surveyed his clan’s collection. A variety of sharpened, heavy swords hung from the walls. Machetes, javelins, and shields were all stacked in groups around the room, amid various equipment for their upkeep. He noticed that a few looked somewhat worse for wear, with worn-down handles and blunt tips, and decided to ask the swordsmith to get to work on some replacements. He selected a heavier sword than he would usually use and returned to the arena.
He observed the boys for a moment, who were likely trying their best under his watch, and selected the strongest fighter of the three.
“Ye, lad,” he called, walking towards them and pointing his sword at his selected opponent. “Spar with me.”
“Aye, Me Laird.”
The other boys took a step back as Caelan faced the lad, widening his stance in preparation.
The boy made the first move, jabbing his sword forward to throw Caelan off balance and then swinging at his legs. A clever move, but one Caelan knew how to dodge without a thought. He threw his weight-bearing leg further than needed in anticipation, and the sword landed inches in front of it.
Caelan quickly retaliated with a jab to the left arm, touching the boy’s skin but not piercing it, just to show him that he could have. The boy’s brow creased in frustration, but he did not let it get to him. He moved backward, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to action.
The boy practiced all his tricks on Caelan, swinging high but jabbing the tip low to make him miscalculate his moves, lunging forward again and again to corner him, and various other tricks Caelan remembered his father pulling on him all those years ago.
None of the boy’s blows landed, but he collected himself, remembering the tactics of fighting a skilled opponent, not a mere killer.
“Ye have good skill, lad,” Caelan concluded, lowering his sword to indicate that the spar was over. “Ye will make a fine soldier someday soon.”
“Thank ye, Me Laird,” the boy said and bowed his head, clearly overjoyed by the compliment. “I am ready to fight for ye now, Me Laird. I am nae scared to learn on the job what I may nae already ken. But I will fight hard and with passion for ye, Me Laird.”
Caelan looked the boy up and down. He was maybe barely fifteen years old.
“Enjoy yer last years with yer family, son. Ye have good potential; there’s nay point in losin’ ye by chuckin’ ye in too soon.” He turned to the others. “Dinnae try to hurt him. Try to be better than him. Then, one day, ye might succeed.”
The boys nodded, absorbing his words, and they all bowed their heads as he walked off, leaving them to their training.
He returned his sword to the armory, polishing it before replacing it on its shelf. After dusting off his kilt, he went in search of the swordsmith to discuss the inventory.
Caelan wanted his clan well prepared for whatever came their way, as now they had so much more to defend.