Saving Grace (4 page)

MacKechnie snorted. He wasn’t quite through baiting the steward. “If Lady Johanna hadn’t intervened, I’d still be camped outside the walls, wouldn’t I now?”

Kelmet nodded. “Aye, you would,” he admitted. “Unless you gave up your vigil and returned home.”

“I won’t be going anywhere until I’ve spoken to Baron Raulf and set him straight about the havoc his vassal is causing on Maclaurin land. Plain murder of innocents is going on, Kelmet, but I’m praying your baron doesn’t have any idea what an evil, power-hungry man Marshall has turned out to be. I’ve heard it said Baron Raulf’s an honorable man. I hope that praise be true, for he must right this atrocity with all possible haste. Why, even now some of the Maclaurin soldiers are turning to the bastard MacBain for assistance. Once they’ve given him their pledge of loyalty and named him laird, all hell’s going to break free. MacBain will go to war against Marshall and every other Englishman preying on Maclaurin land. The Highland warrior is no stranger to fury or vengeance, and I’d wager my soul even Baron Raulf’s hide will be in jeopardy once MacBain sees for himself the rape of the Maclaurin land by the infidels your baron placed in charge.”

Kelmet, although not personally involved in the plight of the Scots, was still caught up in the story. There was also the fact that the priest was inadvertently aiding him in putting off his dreaded task. A few more minutes surely wouldn’t hurt, Kelmet thought to himself.

“Are you suggesting this MacBain warrior would come to England?”

“I’m not suggesting,” the priest countered. “I’m stating fact. Your baron won’t have the slightest inkling he’s here either until he feels MacBain’s blade at his throat. It will be too late then, of course.”

The steward shook his head. “Baron Raulf’s soldiers would kill him before he even reached the drawbridge.”

“They’d never get the chance,” MacKechnie announced, his voice firm with conviction.

“You make this warrior sound invincible.”

“I’m thinking he could be. ’Tis the truth I’ve never met another like him. I won’t chill you with the tales I’ve heard about the MacBain. Suffice it to say you don’t want his wrath pouring down on this keep.”

“None of it matters now, Father,” Kelmet whispered, his tone weary.

“Oh, it matters all right,” the priest snapped. “I’m going to wait to see your baron for as long as need be. The matter is too grave for impatience to take hold.”

Father MacKechnie paused to gather his control. He knew the Maclaurin issue was of no concern to the steward, yet once he started to explain, the anger he’d been carefully guarding inside spilled out and he wasn’t able to keep the fury out of his voice. He forced himself to speak in a much calmer voice when he changed the topic.

“You’re still a sinner, Kelmet, with the soul of an old dog, but you’re an honest man trying to do your duty. God will remember that when you stand before Him on Judgment Day. If you’re not wanting me to hear your confession now, then what service do you require?”

“I need your assistance with Lady Johanna, Father. Word has just arrived from King John.”

“Yes?” MacKechnie prodded when the steward didn’t immediately continue his explanation.

“Baron Raulf is dead.”

“Good Lord above, you cannot mean it.”

“It’s true, Father.”

MacKechnie gave a harsh gasp, then hastily made the sign of the cross. He bowed his head, pressed his hands together, and whispered a prayer for the baron’s soul.

The wind sent the hem of the priest’s black cassock slapping against his legs, but MacKechnie was too intent on his prayers to pay any attention. Kelmet turned his gaze to the sky. The clouds were black, swollen, and being nudged overhead by an insistent, howling wind. The sound of the storm’s advance was eerie, ominous . . . fitting.

The priest finished his prayer, made another sign of the cross, and then turned his attention to the steward again. “Why didn’t you tell me right away? Why did you let me go on and on? You should have interrupted me. Praise God, what will happen to the Maclaurins now?”

Kelmet shook his head. “I don’t have any answers for you. Father, regarding the baron’s holding in the Highlands.”

“You should have told me right off,” the priest said again, still staggered by the black news.

“A few more minutes makes no difference,” Kelmet replied. “And perhaps I was putting off this task by keeping you in conversation. It is my duty to inform Lady Johanna, you see, and I would greatly appreciate your help. She’s so young, so innocent of treachery. Her heart is going to be broken.”

MacKechnie nodded. “I’ve known your mistress for only two short days, but I’ve already seen she has a gentle nature and a pure heart. I’m not certain I can be of much help though. Your mistress seems to be very frightened of me.”

“She fears most priests, Father. She has sound reason.”

“And what would that reason be?”

“Her confessor is Bishop Hallwick.”

Father MacKechnie frowned. “You needn’t say another word,” he muttered with disgust. “Hallwick’s wicked reputation is well known, even in the Highlands. No wonder the lass is fearful. It’s a wonder she came to my aid and insisted you let me in, Kelmet. That took courage, I’m realizing now. The poor lass,” he added with a sigh. “She doesn’t deserve the pain of losing her beloved husband at such a tender age. How long has she been married to the baron?”

“She’s been his wife for over three years. Lady Johanna was little more than a child when she was wed. Father, please come with me to the chapel.”

“Certainly.”

The two men walked side by side. Kelmet’s voice was halting when he next spoke. “I know I won’t have the proper words. I’m not certain . . . how to say . . .”

“Be direct,” the priest advised. “She’ll appreciate that. Don’t make her guess by giving her hints. Perhaps it would do us well to fetch a woman to help comfort your mistress. Lady Johanna will surely need another woman’s compassion as well as our own.”

“I don’t know who I would ask,” Kelmet admitted. “Just the day before Baron Raulf left, he replaced the entire household staff yet again. My lady barely knows the servants’ names. There have been so many of them. My mistress keeps to herself these days,” he added. “She’s very kind, Father, but distant from her staff, and she has learned to hold her own council. ’Tis the truth she has no confidantes we could bring along with us now.”

“How long has Baron Raulf been away?”

“Near to six months now.”

“Yet in all that while, Lady Johanna hasn’t come to depend upon anyone?”

“Nay, Father. She confides in no one, not even her steward,” Kelmet said, referring to himself. “The baron told us he would only be away for a week or two, and we’ve been living with the expectation of his arrival home each and every day.”

“How did he die?”

“He lost his footing and fell from a cliff.” The steward shook his head. “I’m certain there’s more to the explanation than I’ve been told, for Baron Raulf wasn’t an awkward man. Perhaps the king will tell Lady Johanna more.”

“A freak accident then,” the priest decided. “God’s will be done,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“It might have been the devil’s work,” Kelmet muttered.

MacKechnie didn’t remark on that possibility. “Lady Johanna will surely marry again,” he announced with a nod. “She’ll inherit a sizable amount, won’t she?”

“She’ll gain a third of her husband’s holdings. I’ve heard they’re vast,” Kelmet explained.

“Might one of those holdings be the Maclaurin land your King John stole away from Scotland’s king and gave to Baron Raulf?”

“Perhaps,” Kelmet allowed.

MacKechnie filed that information away for future use. “With your lady’s golden-colored hair and handsome blue eyes, I would imagine every unattached baron in England will want to marry her. She’s very beautiful, and though it’s probably sinful of me to admit. I’ll tell you I was quite affected by the sight of her. Her appearance could easily bewitch a man, even without the estate she’ll have to offer. ”

They reached the narrow steps leading up to the chapel doors when the priest finished his remarks.

“She is beautiful,” the steward agreed. “I’ve seen grown men openly gawk at her. Barons will certainly want her,” he added, “but not in marriage.”

“What nonsense is this?”

“She’s barren,” Kelmet said.

The priest’s eyes widened. “Dear God,” he whispered. He lowered his head, made the sign of the cross, and said a prayer for the dear lady’s burden.

Lady Johanna was also in prayer. She stood behind the altar and said a prayer for guidance. She was determined to do the right thing. She held a parchment scroll in her hands, and when she finished her plea to God, she wrapped the scroll in linen cloths she had already spread on top of the marble surface.

She once again considered destroying the damning evidence against her king. Then she shook her head. Someday, someone might find the scroll, and if only one man learned the truth about the evil king who once ruled England, then perhaps a thread of justice might be served.

Johanna placed the scroll between the two marble slabs below the altar top. She made certain it was hidden from view and protected from damage. Then she said another quick prayer, genuflected, and walked down the aisle. She opened the door to go outside.

The conversation between Father MacKechnie and Kelmet immediately stopped.

The sight of Lady Johanna still affected the priest, and he acknowledged the truth without feeling a qualm of guilt. MacKechnie didn’t consider himself caught by the sin of lust because he noticed the shimmer in her hair or stared a bit longer than necessary at her lovely face. In his mind, Johanna was simply one of God’s creatures, a magnificent example, to be sure, of the Lord’s ability to create perfection.

She was Saxon through and through with her high cheekbones and fair coloring. She was a little shorter in stature than others, for she was of only medium height, but she appeared taller to the priest because of the queenly way she held herself.

Aye, her appearance pleased the priest, and he was certain she pleased her God as well, as she truly possessed a kind and gentle heart.

MacKechnie was a compassionate man. He ached over the cruel blow the dear lady had already been given. A barren woman served no purpose in this kingdom. Her very reason for existing had been snatched away. The burden she carried, knowing of her own inferiority, was surely the reason he’d never seen her smile.

And now they were about to give her another cruel blow. “Might we have a word with you, m’lady?” Kelmet asked.

The steward’s tone of voice must have alerted her that something was amiss. A guarded look came into her eyes, and her hands became fists at her sides. She nodded and slowly turned to go back inside.

The two men followed. Lady Johanna turned to face them when she’d reached the center of the aisle between the rows of wooden pews. The altar was directly behind her. Four candles provided the only light inside the chapel. The flames flickered inside their round glass globes spaced a hand’s length apart on top of the long marble altar top.

Lady Johanna straightened her shoulders, folded her hands together, and kept her gaze firmly on the steward. She seemed to be bracing herself for foul news. Her voice was whisper soft, devoid of all emotion. “Has my husband returned home?”

“Nay, m’lady,” Kelmet answered. He glanced over at the priest, received his encouraging nod, and then blurted out, “Two messengers have just arrived from London. They bring terrible news. Your husband is dead.”

A full minute of silence followed the announcement. Kelmet began to clasp and unclasp his hands while he waited for the news to take root. His mistress didn’t show any outward reaction, and he began to think she hadn’t understood what he’d just said.

“It’s true, m’lady. Baron Raulf is dead,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper.

And still he saw no response. The priest and the steward shared a worried look, then looked back at Lady Johanna.

Tears suddenly gathered in her eyes. Father MacKechnie almost let out a sigh of relief. She understood the news.

He waited for her denial next, for in all his considerable years of consoling the bereaved, he’d seen most people use denial in order to cheat the truth a little longer.

Her own denial was swift and violent. “No!” she screamed. She shook her head so forcefully her long braid caught over her shoulder. “I will not listen to this lie. I will not.”

“Kelmet has spoken the truth,” Father MacKechnie insisted, his voice low and soothing.

She shook her head at him. “This must be trickery. He cannot be dead. Kelmet, you must hunt down the truth. Who would tell you such a lie?”

The priest took a quick step forward to put his arm around the distressed woman. The anguish in her voice made him want to weep himself.

She wouldn’t allow comfort. She backed up a space, gripped her hands together, and demanded, “Is this a cruel trick?”

“Nay, m’lady,” Kelmet replied. “The news came from King John himself. There was a witness. The baron is dead.”

“God rest his soul,” the priest intoned.

Lady Johanna burst into tears. Both men hurried forward. She warded them off by backing up again. They stopped, uncertain now what to do. They watched as the broken-hearted woman turned away. She stumbled to her knees, crossed her arms over her stomach, and doubled over as though she’d just received a hard blow to her middle.

Her sobs were soul-wrenching. The men let her vent her desolation for long minutes, and when she was finally able to regain a little of her control and her sobs had lessened, the priest placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered words meant to comfort her.

She didn’t brush his hand away. MacKechnie watched as she slowly regained her dignity. She took a deep calming breath, mopped her face with the linen square he handed her, and then allowed him to assist her to her feet.