His gaze softened as he looked at Magnus and then at Isabelle, and Magnus got the distinct impression that the old man knew more about what was happening between them than he let on. He shouldn’t be surprised. Oswin was a sharp mind clad in a humble habit.
“Um. My thanks, Abbot Oswin.”
“You have both our thanks,” Isabelle echoed, her gaze lingering on Magnus a little longer than necessary. Magnus felt a prickle of warmth in his chest as he imagined that same voice whispering his name in the depth of night, her soft breath against the nape of his neck. He shook his head to cast off such thoughts.
“Where’s this kindly farmer, then?” Magnus asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from what he desired but could not have.
“Waiting in the courtyard.”
Magnus nodded a goodbye to Aiden but Isabelle threw her arms around the lad and held him close. The lad turned scarlet, but also looked mightily pleased as his skinny arms went around her to hug her back. He even reached down to pat the excited Snaffles.
“Take care of yourself,” Isabelle said, when she released him.
Magnus tousled the lad’s hair, and then the two of them followed Oswin through an arched entrance and into a wide courtyard beyond.
There they found a burly, ruddy-faced man leaning against a weather-beaten cart filled with empty crates. A mule stood docilely in the traces, head hanging as he drowsed.
“Sean MacTavish, at yer service,” the man bellowed with a grin, pushing himself off the cart to offer them an enormous hand. His eyes twinkled warmly under bushy brows, crinkling at the corners. “Abbot Oswin tells me ye need a ride to Torloch.”
“Aye,” Magnus said, shaking the offered hand with a firm grip. “We appreciate yer help.”
“Not at all,” MacTavish replied, his wide smile never leaving his face. “Always glad to lend a helping hand. Hop aboard!”
Isabelle drew in a deep breath and turned to Abbot Oswin. “Thank you,” she breathed. “For everything.”
Abbot Oswin actually blushed. “Ye are most welcome, my dear. And dinna forget to come visit if ye are ever out this way again.” On impulse, Isabelle threw her arms around the spindly old man, just as she had with Aiden. Abbot Oswin gave a low chuckle and squeezed her tight. “Now off with ye. Ye’ve a fair way to go tonight.”
Isabelle nodded and released Oswin before climbing gingerly up onto the cart’s seat.
Magnus came to stand in front of Abbot Oswin. The old man gave him a sad smile. “Goodbye again, eh, my lad?”
Magnus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was surprised at how much he’d missed his old tutor and this place that had been his home for such a short space of time.
Oswin took his hand in both of his and squeezed. “Remember what I said. The Lord forgave ye a long time ago. Now ye need to find a way to do the same.”
“I’ll remember,” Magnus promised. “Goodbye, Abbot.”
With that, he climbed up onto the cart—which creaked alarmingly under his weight—and settled onto the seat next to Isabelle. MacTavish sat on her other side. This was going to be an uncomfortable journey. The seat was too small really to accommodate three people, but with the back of the cart full of empty crates, they had no choice but to sit squashed up against each other. Isabelle’s warm thigh pressed against his, sending an ache through him that spread right to his groin.
“Ready?” MacTavish asked. He took up the reins, glancing at Abbot Oswin with a friendly nod before urging the mule into a slow plod. The cart creaked and swayed beneath them as they began to move, throwing Isabelle’s warm weight against him.
He swallowed, feeling heat spreading through him. Oh hell. How was he supposed to endure this?
