“I told that little hypocritical beast we would be just fine here without him, and if he needed to find the pathway to Hell, I would be more than happy to point him in the right direction,” Ciara said as she pushed open the door.
“Ciara! Ye did what?” Faolan couldn’t believe what she just said. Had she noticed they neared the dead of winter? Did she just say she had told a holy man to go to Hell? “How could ye do such a thing? He is a priest, Ciara. He’s supposed to guide us and tend to our souls.”
“The drunken bastard,” Ciara hissed. “He judged everyone, gossiped worse than the kitchen maids, and blackmailed the parishioners with what he reaped from the confessional.” Ciara’s eyes flashed as she whirled on Faolan, standing with her fists clenched at her sides.
Faolan shook his head and nodded toward the doorway to allow Maxwell his escape. Shooting Faolan a sympathetic glance, Maxwell edged out the door.
“Ciara, the man was the clan priest. ’Twas his duty to listen to their confessions and assign them penance to atone for their sins.” Faolan steadied his voice to a calm soothing tone as though explaining the tenants of Catholicism to a child.
“The man used their confessions to force them into whatever perversions he dreamed up. And for some strange reason he found it convenient to forget his God wreaks the judgment. Penance my ass!” Ciara slammed her hand in the middle of Faolan’s desk, sending his neatly piled parchments flying.
With an irritated growl, Faolan threw his hands in the air and retreated to glare out the window. “Fine, Ciara. Then ye’ve cheated yourself out of a wedding ceremony. ’Tis nearly the dead of winter and we’ll no’ be able to get a priest this far north until late into the spring. I thought ’twould be nice for ye to have a fine wedding feast but that is out of the question now.”
“Do not give me that holier-than-thou Highlander attitude, Faolan. It sounds to me like you’re the one who’s champing at the bit for a wedding. As far as I’m concerned, the deed is done.”
Her words needled him, chafed him raw. Faolan turned, clenching his teeth to keep from exploding. He had to remember she carried his child. Where did the damn woman get such a tongue? And Mother of God, those golden eyes lured him even more when they snapped with the fire of her anger.
She glared at him. “Do you have anything else to add or is this discussion over?”
Faolan sucked in a deep breath before he spoke. Now he understood what his father had endured. “I think we’re quite finished here.”
“Fine.” Batting her eyelashes and clasping her hands to her chest, Ciara purred in a sarcastic tone, “Well, dear husband, then I guess the lack of a ceremony will be my punishment for being such a difficult woman.”
Then she stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her.
* * *
And here shethought they’d been getting along so much better. She must’ve been delirious. The man was as hardheaded as they came. How dare he take that tone with her?
Ciara paced along the top of the skirting wall, her breath fogging in the cold night air. No wonder the goddesses had chosen the MacKay bloodline. The generations flowing down from the MacKay genetics would be indestructible by their sheer stubbornness alone.
Leaning against the frost-covered stones, Ciara stared out across the barren hills. According to the stars, the season had just passed the winter solstice, the time when her beloved Alba slept.
Ciara adored this time of year even though the air grew bitter with the cold. Pulling her plaid tighter about her shoulders, she snuggled into the heavy wool protecting her from the bite of the icy wind. She loosened her hair around her face to shield her cheeks from the cold.
During this time of year, the stars seemed particularly close and brighter in the sky. The sparkling blanket of the night covered the keep as Ciara fumed atop the castle wall.
Faolan would never understand why she had detested that perverted priest. If she explained it to him, she risked revealing all her secrets. She had run across so many of the priest’s hypocritical kind in the future while she battled the mortal’s selfishness and greed. She’d become obsessed with ridding the MacKay keep of the man as soon as she had seen him as a harmful soul.
“Come inside, Ciara. ’Tis too cold up here for a woman in your condition. Ye will chill yourself to the marrow of your bones. I fear ye will become ill and I know in my heart it canna be good for our child.” His deep voice echoed from across the rooftop, pulling her from her thoughts.
Ciara hadn’t heard Faolan's approach. Her emotions had deafened her to her surroundings.
“I’m fine,” she snapped with a yank of her cloak tighter about her shoulders as the wind whipped against her.
Then he stood behind her, his arms encircling her body, cocooning her against the breadth of his chest. He blocked the fierce wind and tucked his own plaid around her as he sheltered her into his warm embrace. Spreading his hands across the swell of her stomach, he pressed his face against her cheek. The warmth of his breath caressed her chilled skin as he whispered, “Come inside, Ciara. I am sorry I spoke to ye the way I did. I didna realize the priest was such a vicious little man.” Faolan nuzzled the curve of her neck, coaxing his way closer to her ear.
Unable to resist the power of his voice, Ciara snuggled deeper into his arms. “I guess I might’ve been a little touchy today. I just really need you to understand the man wasn’t good for our people. But I am truly sorry I spoke so harshly to you.”
“Then ye’ll come inside and let me warm the chill from your body. Our bed is cold when ye’re not in it. I canna sleep when ye’re not lying in my arms. Ye’ve ruined me for sleeping alone.” Faolan scooped her up into his arms, held her tight against his chest and carried her from the wall without another word.
* * *
So many peoplemilled around the main hall, Ciara thought she would retch. The aroma of so many unwashed bodies had taken on a personality of its own. She shuddered as a particularly offensive breeze reminded her of that drawback of this century.
Most Scots of this era thought it dangerous and unhealthy to bathe during the dead of winter. She swallowed hard against the bitter taste of bile rising in her throat. She tried breathing through her mouth in short tasteless gasps. Whew! Perhaps her newly seeded womb also attributed to her enhanced sense of smell.
At the onset of the latest severe winter squall, all the inhabitants of the nearby crofts had gathered inside the castle’s walls. Weathering the storm within the keep ensured the safety of each and every MacKay kinsman.
