Lady of Light (10 page)

Monday morning, Claire settled back into her usual routine. After rousting Ian out of bed and feeding him his breakfast, she soon sent him heading out to school. The little cottage was then quickly put to rights and, after an all-too-short time spent practicing her clarsach, Claire headed out to her daily duties at St. Columba’s.

It felt strange not to have Evan at her side, she mused as she made her way down the dirt road leading to Culdee. As surprising a thought as it was, Claire realized she actually missed him. The day just didn’t seem quite the same, nor did it possess the heady sense of excitement and interest without Evan.

That particular revelation gave her pause. She couldn’t recall ever in her life missing some boy, or feeling such a heart-deep need for his presence. Long ago, Claire had ceased allowing herself to either depend upon or need someone. If you let a body get too close, she well knew, they were bound, at the very least, to end up disappointing you.

Besides, except for Ian, she hadn’t let another person matter that much to her since her aunt died. Well, no one, she quickly amended as St. Columba’s tall steeple came into view, except Father MacLaren. But he was a priest. Everyone loved and trusted him.

Still, the inescapable truth remained. She did miss Evan, and he
did
matter. She almost wondered if she weren’t beginning to fall in love with him.

With a savage shake of her head, Claire flung the terrifying consideration aside. Fall in love with Evan MacKay? Why, she’d be daft even to contemplate such a thing! She was just imagining—well, dreaming would be closer to the truth—that he might care for her. He was a kind, warm, generous man who treated everyone well. Still, it was past time she return to reality—a reality that must not, and couldn’t ever, include a certain handsome cowboy.

As Claire climbed the last of the steps leading to the church entrance, Father MacLaren was just finishing his morning constitutional around St. Columba’s shady grounds. He ambled over.

“Och, but ’tis good to see ye, lass. I must admit the sacristy is in sore need o’ a cleaning after Jamie MacNeal set fire to one o’ the altar linens after this morn’s Mass. I dinna know how many times I’ve warned the lad to have a care with the candles.” He smiled ruefully. “There’s still soot and ash all over the sacristy, though I did try to tidy it up as best I could.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Well, I hate to see such beautiful linens ruined, but Jamie’s no worse than Ian. Do you recall that baptism when he first knocked your holy oils into the baptismal font, then in his eagerness to retrieve them, ended up tipping over the entire font?”

“Aye, I remember that day all too well,” the priest said, nodding. “He drenched my feet so thoroughly, I feared my shoes would never dry out agin’. “ Father MacLaren paused then. “Would ye join me for a spot o’ tea ’afore ye see to the sacristy, lass? There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk with ye about.”

Claire arched a brow. “Indeed? And what might that be, Father?”

“Och, naught to worry yerself over,” he said as he took her by the arm and led her into the church. “’Twas but a wee question or two I had for ye …” His voice faded, and his forehead wrinkled in what appeared to be deep thought. “Hmmm, I wonder if Mrs. Fraser has any o’ those tasty scones left from yesterday’s tea?”

She smiled. The old priest seemed to be doing that more and more often of late—jumping from one subject to another without logic or warning. She supposed it was a prerogative of age and increased responsibility. Probably, Claire thought wryly, it had a lot to do with the care and training of a new crop of altar boys each year. Ian was only one lad, and he was enough of a handful. She could only imagine what a troop of eight or nine lads would be like.

Ten minutes later, both were comfortably ensconced in Father MacLaren’s office, sipping steaming cups of tea laced with milk and nibbling on yesterday’s scones spread with a generous smattering of orange marmalade. Just as Claire was beginning to wonder if the old priest had forgotten the reason he had invited her in for tea, he suddenly launched into the topic.

“I saw Evan with ye at Mass yestreen,” he said, eyeing her over a fresh cup of tea he had just poured and lifted to his lips. Father MacLaren took a careful sip, lowered the cup back to its saucer, and stared at her expectantly.

Totally bemused, Claire nodded. “Aye. I invited him to come with us. Like all MacKays, he was born and bred a Catholic. I can’t say, though, he strictly practices the faith, but he seemed no worse for the experience.”

The priest set down his cup and added a spoonful of sugar. “I’d imagine not. He was so taken with ye, I doubt he hardly remembers aught o’ what transpired. And ye,”—he finally met her gaze—“ye didna seem overly occupied with aught going on around ye, either, so big were yer eyes for the likes o’ him.”

Hot blood flooded Claire’s face. Holy Mother Mary, had her fascination with Evan MacKay been that evident? “I knew he’d been away from church for a time and I … I was just attempting to ease his way.”

“Och, and was that the way o’ things, was it?” The priest gave a disbelieving snort. “Rather, I’d say ye’re smitten with each other. And I’d say ye both need to hie yerselves post haste to see me about when to begin announcing yer marriage banns.”

6

As the man is, so is his strength….

Judges 8:21

For the longest time, Claire could do little more than stare back at Father MacLaren. Her brain failed to formulate a response. Her throat went so tight she could barely swallow, much less force sound through it. And her tongue just sat there, unable to articulate a word.

But then, what would’ve been the point? Gazing into the priest’s kindly brown eyes, she knew she could never lie. Yet to admit to feelings for Evan, much less seriously contemplate he might actually have similar feelings for her …

“Come, come, lass,” Father MacLaren finally urged. “I’ve never known ye to be so short on words. Spit out what ye wish to say and be done with it.”

“I … I don’t want to wed Evan MacKay,” Claire finally croaked out the admission. “Why, I hardly know the man! Besides, he hasn’t told me he even cares for me, much less asked for my hand in marriage.”

“Och, and why doesna that surprise me?” The old priest chuckled softly. “I canna as yet say why Evan hesitates, but I certainly know why ye do. And that, sweet lass, is why I wished to talk with ye.”

Claire shook her head in denial. “It’s far too soon to talk of marriage. That’s the only reason I hesitate.”

He pushed his teacup aside and leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. “Be truthful with yerself, lass. ’Tisna the only reason. Nay, far from it.”

She looked away, finding sudden fascination with the scene outside the window. An ancient Scots pine grew there. In its branches was a red squirrel industriously dining on a young, green pinecone. His summer coat had come in and was bright chestnut. His feet and lower legs were orange-brown. As he gnawed away at his meal, his long, red-tufted ears moved and twitched.

He was so dear, with big, dark eyes and a luxuriant tail. Claire could’ve gazed at him for hours—and would’ve far preferred to do so. But such a luxury was not to be. Father MacLaren sat but a few feet away, watching, waiting.

With a sigh, she turned back to face the priest. “I don’t wish ever to wed, and well you know it. It’s enough that I have Ian.”

“Ian willna always be with ye. He’ll grow, make a life o’ his own, and leave. Then what will ye have, lass?”

“I’ll have myself. I’ll have the freedom at last to do what I wish with my life.” Her chin lifted defensively. “And that will do me fine.”

“Ye were created to be so much more than that, lass.” He smiled. “Ye shouldna squander the gifts the Lord has given ye, or clasp them tightly to yerself. Gifts never given stagnate and shrivel, but gifts shared with others are constantly replenished and deepened. How else can the good Lord work His miracles, or shine His healing light, if not through us?”

“Truly, I haven’t all that much to offer.” Firmly, Claire shook her head. “What little I do have, I must save for Ian. You know how I’ve ruined his life, taking him with me when I ran away from home all those years ago. I owe him so much. I don’t have time for aught else.”

“Ye’ve far, far more to offer than ye may yet realize, lass.” The priest’s smile gentled. “Ye must finally let go of yer guilt, ye know, over what ye imagine ye’ve done to Ian. ’Twillna do either of ye any good to carry such a burden yer whole life long. Nay, on the contrary. ’Twill close yer heart to yer true calling, and destroy any chance ye may have to find a God-filled, lasting happiness.”

Claire didn’t know how to respond. Father MacLaren surely had a much closer relationship with God than she had. Why, save for her morning and bedtime prayers and her faithful attendance at Sunday mass, she hardly even thought of God. Well, Claire quickly amended, she at least didn’t think of God as much as she
should
anyway. She loved the Lord, though. That she did. And if the old priest seemed to think the good Lord’s hand was somehow involved in her growing affection for Evan …

“What purpose would be served in me wedding him and leaving Ian and my home here?” she wailed, confusion now beginning to stir her emotions into a chaotic jumble. “Ian needs me, Father!”

“Aye, that he does.” He nodded in solemn agreement. “But mayhap God isna asking ye to give him up, but only to open yerself more fully to life—and love.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Think on it, lass. Mayhap Ian would thrive in a new land where he could start afresh. He seems to like Evan, and Evan, him. A strong man in his life wouldna be such a bad idea, would it? Indeed, how many times have ye mayhap wished for the same thing?” His mouth quirked wryly. “Too many to count, if I dinna miss my guess.”

It was true. Claire
had
wished, even prayed, for some help and guidance for Ian. More than anything she had ever wanted, she wanted her brother to grow up and make something of himself. It would make up for so much that he had lost in following her all those years ago—and for the damaging effect it still seemed to have on him.

Evan had talked of his father’s fine cattle ranch in Colorado. He had said he would eventually inherit that ranch. Surely she and Ian would have a much better life there. They’d certainly eat well. She remembered Evan talking about all the beef and other meat they consumed.

Suddenly, at the realization of the direction her thoughts were taking her, shame filled Claire. What kind of woman was she, she railed at herself, to mentally tick off all the practical reasons she should be marrying Evan? What had become of her heart, her human decency? Even for as short a time as she had known Evan, Claire knew he deserved better than that.

But she also recalled him speaking of his broken heart. Though he claimed he was over the girl he had left behind in Colorado, one brief discussion of the subject was hardly enough to convince her. He just didn’t sound like a man ready to get married. And that was reason enough, among so many others, not to precipitously open her heart to him just yet.

“There’s wisdom in all that you say, Father,” Claire finally admitted. “But Evan is still getting over a girl who fell in love with someone else. Indeed, it’s the reason he left America, why he eventually came to Culdee. He’s still looking for answers and an easing of that pain.”

“Hmmm.” The priest cradled his chin in his hand. “I wondered what the true reason for his journey was. Still, I know what I saw. The lad’s quite taken with ye, lass. If he wasna gazing at ye yestreen with the eyes o’ love, then I’ve gone and outlived my days o’ useful service at St. Columba’s.”

“Och, Father, you’ve many years of useful service left in you,” Claire said with an unsteady laugh. Then her smile faded. “I just don’t know if I’m the right woman for Evan. Mayhap I do have gifts within me that God intends for me to share. But are they the gifts that Evan needs? And have I the courage it would take to open my heart to him, to make his home mine, and his people my own?”

“Well spoken, lass. Ye’re beginning to face the real issues at last. And leastwise,” the priest offered with a chuckle, “his family
are
Scotsmen. Ye’d be with folk o’ yer own kind.”

“Aye, but life is different in America. As wonderful as it might be, it isn’t Scotland.”

“True enough. Sometimes, though, ye must sacrifice to gain a greater reward.”

She sighed. “If only I could be certain it was truly God’s will that I should wed Evan. It would make it all so much easier.”

“Pray on it, lass. Ye’ve been a wee bit amiss in that of late, as we both know. Pray and trust. The Lord will answer ye when the time is right.”

Claire managed a wan smile. “Aye, I suppose so. And it isn’t as if Evan has even asked me to wed him. Or mayhap ever will.”