Chapter Nine
Trepidation filled Cairstine as Dundee Priory came into view on the outskirts of the town. The scent of saltwater from the Firth of Tay filled her nose, and the sound of men working on the docks floated to her. She glanced about, seeing the peak of Craigowl Hill in the distance, the highest of the Sidlaws. They’d passed a shrine for St Curetán as they approached from the west along the Lochee burn, and it reminded her of her choice to become a nun. She’d almost been able to forget during the week of travel with the Gordons. No one brought up Cairstine’s destination, and she could push her decision to the back of her mind.
Cairstine had visited the coast near Aberdeen as a child, but she hadn’t been to a port village like Dundee. The bustle reminded her of Stirling, but it smelled minimally better. The pungent fish odor was an improvement upon the sewage stench that clouded the Stirling streets. She watched as a group of monks walked along the streets, recognizing them as Trinitarians, or Red Friars, because of their white scapular with the horizontal blue shaft and the vertical red shaft that made the cross. It surprised her to see members of the lesser Franciscan order. She expected to see Greyfriars in their traditional dark habit.
“The Red Friars offer the local people medicinals and healing,” Andrew spoke up. Cairstine looked toward the older man as he continued to explain. “Sir James Scrymgeour founded their branch in the year of our Lord twelve hundred and eighty-three. They live and worship alongside their Greyfriars brothers at the Priory.”
Cairstine nodded as she turned her attention back to the monks, who walked with their arms crossed, hands buried in their sleeves. She supposed she would soon walk much the same way since nuns wore similar loose-fitting robes. The large crosses bumped against the men’s chests as they weaved their way through the crowd, and the realization that a similar lanyard would hang from her neck made her want to tear at the invisible noose threatening to choke her.
“Second thoughts?” Eoin whispered as he maneuvered his horse beside hers.
“Not at all,” Cairstine lied. She kept her eyes forward, signaling she wasn’t interested in discussing her feelings with Eoin, but he refused to take the hint.
“It’s understandable if you are,” he offered.
“What do you want me to say, Eoin?” Cairstine cast him a sidelong glance. “That I’m terrified of the unknown life ahead of me? That I wish there was another choice besides marriage and the Church? That I wish I could run away? What’s the point in admitting any of that? It changes naught.”
“It changes everything, Cairrie. You don’t have to go through with this. There must be another way.”
“There isn’t. Don’t you think I’ve tried to come up with something, anything, else? Leave it alone, Eoin. Your duty to escort me is over,” Cairstine finished as she pointed toward the priory a scant distance in front of them. He could see the knocker on the gate.
“We shall stop here for the night. I will secure chambers at the tavern,” Andrew announced. He turned his gaze toward Cairstine, and it softened. The sympathy that shone from the laird’s eyes surprised her. “If you’d like a chance to refresh yourself and have a proper meal first, I’m certain Eoin will escort you to the gate afterwards.”
“My thanks, Laird Gordon.” Andrew’s offer was a welcome opportunity for Cairstine to gather her thoughts. Between the priory being so nearby and Eoin acting as her guard, she felt unsettled. She looked forward to slipping into a chamber with the door closed to collect herself. It would likely be the last bedchamber she would enter that wasn’t a convent cell. Cairstine followed the others into the Leg of Mutton and took the seat Eoin offered. He eased his chair close enough that their elbows grazed one another as they ate. She sensed, more than saw, Eoin’s constant surveillance of the crowd. It was neither large nor rowdy, but various men gawked at Cairstine and Allyson. She noticed Ewan was just as alert, and he kept an arm wrapped around Allyson’s waist, his territory clearly marked. Cairstine suspected Eoin longed to do the same, if for no other reason than to ensure her safety. She found herself shifting to bring their bodies closer, and Eoin’s sharp inhale assured her that he wasn’t immune to her presence despite his focus on everyone else.
“You don’t have to accompany me, Eoin. Bram can do that,” Cairstine murmured as she lifted her mug of ale to her mouth.
“It would be an honor,” Eoin reassured before taking a large bite of pottage. Once he swallowed, he washed it down with a gulp from his mug. He appeared at ease, but he didn’t fool Cairstine. “You’ll be safer having a nobleman with you than just guardsmen when you arrive. I’ll remain silent, if I can, but without your dowry in hand, there is little to keep the abbess from treating you like a whore who’s run away. I can’t protect you once you’re in the cloister, but I can be sure they don’t misunderstand who has entered.”
“You can’t take your sword inside!” Cairstine gasped in horror as she pictured a sword-wielding Highlander storming through the priory.
“Look at me, Cairrie. Do I look like I need my sword to prove my strength? I’m not looking to terrify the nuns, but I want them to understand that you aren’t without resources or support. Promise me, if you’re unhappy or mistreated, you’ll get a message to me. I’ll come, no questions asked. I’ll take you wherever else you want to go, but I won’t leave you somewhere to be abused.” Eoin glanced at Allyson, who leaned against Ewan as she whispered in his ear. His sister-by-marriage’s family had treated her abominably before the twins uncovered a long-kept secret, and they helped restore her place within her family.
“The prioress is a woman of God. She sees to the safety and care of all the sisters, including novices and postulates,” Cairstine reasoned.
Eoin’s expression didn’t hide his disdain for her naivety. “Cairrie, the prioress may have the best of intentions, but that doesn’t change the fact that men come and go from the priory every day.”
“They’re not men,” Cairstine laughed. “They’re monks.”
“And unless they’ve been gelded, they are still men. Most abide by their vows of chastity, but not all do. I won’t allow any of them to think they can molest you.” The color drained from Cairstine’s face so rapidly that Eoin’s arm shot around her and pulled her against his side. Her body trembled as she clung to Eoin, her hand gripping the front of his leine. “Shhh,leannan.” Eoin murmured “sweetheart” as he helped her out of her seat. He cast a staying glance at Andrew and Ewan before putting his hand out for the chamber key. He guided Cairstine above stairs, and to the chamber he and his father would share that night.
“I—I never thought aboot the monks coming and going from a convent. I assumed they would remain at the abbey.”
“Cairstine, the nearest abbey is close to an hour’s ride from here. You’re going to a priory that houses both monks and nuns; it’s not a convent. I know you saw the Trinitarians earlier. They have their own dormitory and refectory at Dundee, which they share with Greyfriars. But the monks and nuns worship together, and it’s inevitable that they pass one another on the priory grounds. You’re a beautiful woman, Cairrie, and a habit and veil won’t hide that. Your guards will leave as soon as you’re settled, and that leaves you unprotected in a way that you’re unused to. If it’s clear that you are a Grant and have the protection of the Gordon laird’s family, they’re less likely to take advantage of you.”
“But they’re monks,” was all that Cairstine could think to say.
“Aye, and beneath their robes, they’re men. Just like beneath yours, you’ll still be a woman.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I’ll try to lure them to me? That I’ll have urges I can’t control? That it would be my fault?” Cairstine pushed away from Eoin, opening the door and trying to slam it shut before he could follow her. His larger frame made it impossible once he put a fraction of his weight against the door. He eased the door shut behind him.
“Cairstine, tell me what’s going on. Tell me the truth. Someone hurt you. I already figured that out, but your reaction to me talking aboot the monks is more than disbelief. It’s fear. And your assumption that I’d blame you makes me think you’d blame yourself. What happened?” Eoin tried to remain patient, but his frustration stemmed from his own fear as much as her reticence.
“It was a long time ago, and I refuse to discuss it. Thank you for your warning and advice. I will take it to heart. Now please leave. I’d like to make myself more presentable.” Cairstine crossed her arms but refused to look at Eoin, choosing to look at the wall to her right. Eoin swept his hand over his face and shook his head but opened the door.
“I’ll be just outside. I’ll have our horses saddled while you change.” Eoin disappeared into the passageway, and Cairstine hurried to the satchel Eoin had carried abovestairs. Five minutes later, she was as presentable as she could make herself without a proper bath. Eoin stood with his back to the door, blocking anyone’s way in should anyone dare approach. She caught sight of the scowl that turned his handsome face menacing, but it relaxed when her hand pressed his shoulder, as if she could nudge him out of her way.
“I’m ready,” Cairstine mumbled. She brushed her hands down the front of her plain kirtle. It was one she used to travel in since its lack of finery and adornment helped disguise her noble birth. Now it would serve as her last link to the secular world, but she hoped it gave the impression that she wasn’t as vain as others assumed.
