Leila nodded understanding.She had been born in one of those villages and she saw from Calum’s quick glance that he had guessed as much.
“Alasdair served several years, until three of the villages were raided and razed.He said he felt he had worked for naught at all, for he saw war returning to the region, a tide of fury as relentless as ever.Amalric of Jerusalem had led five campaigns to Egypt, but by 1169, that land was claimed by Saladin.Alasdair knew the Saracen leader would not halt until he held Jerusalem itself.It was the end of Alasdair’s sworn commitment to the Templars, and so he returned home, alone.He came here first.”
“Saladin conquered Jerusalem last October.”
“And so they will call for another crusade,” Calum said wearily.“I have heard rumors of it already.I am glad my son is home and would have him remain so.”
“What of your friend?Did he return to his home and marry?”
Calum shook his head.“Not Alasdair.War changed him in another way.He lost his hope.He lives in solitude on the islands and I think he makes his peace with the past.”
“Like a holy man,” Leila said.
“But one who refuses to pledge to any one religion,” Calum said, which was intriguing.“Service with the Templars showed him more of your kind even than I saw, and taught him a tolerance that is enviable.”He pushed to his feet and went to a trunk on the far side of the hall.He opened it and removed a small rolled rug, then returned to his chair.“Alasdair brought this home with him, a gift from a man who was pleased with a solution Alasdair found to an old dispute,” he said, setting it upon his knees.“He gave it to Eileen for Killairic’s chapel.While she was polite in his presence, she refused to have a Saracen rug in the chapel.She said it was an insult to God to pollute a holy place with something made by an infidel.”Calum shook his head then unfurled the rug, putting it on the stone floor between their chairs.
Leila caught her breath at its beauty.It was small and the colors were rich.The design was intricate and she even caught a whiff of the east snared in the fiber.She stretched out a hand in admiration and caressed the wool.“It is beautiful,” she said, her voice husky.
“It is,” Calum agreed.“I don’t believe there can be wickedness in an item of such beauty, made with such care, and intended to allow someone to honor the divine.”He bent and rolled up the rug, then offered it to Leila.
“I cannot accept such a gift.”
“Whyever not?I would wager that you will welcome it beneath your knees when you say your prayers.That is its intent, and now, it has found the person to use it best.”Calum urged it toward her.“Take it, Leila.Please.Take it as a wedding gift from me to you and use it in good health.”
Leila accepted the gift, her chest tight.She fingered its fringe.“I thank you.”
“It is so gently used that it might yet be new.”Calum nodded with satisfaction.“I like that it was here, waiting for you, as if you needed a sign that this could be your home.”He smiled at her.“Inshallah.”
As God wills it.
Leila blinked back unexpected tears.She had not expected to hear Arabic again, not so long as she was in Scotland.
“Inshallah,” Leila repeated softly, finding it easy to believe that she was meant to be at Killairic.She stroked the softness of the rug and inhaled deeply of the scent of the souk it still carried.
“Alasdair always comes to celebrate the Yule with us,” Calum said, sipping his wine.“You can ask him more about the rug and his days in Outremer then.”
The Yule.Eight months away.Leila could only hope she was still at Killairic.
Nay.She wouldensureshe would be at Killairic for the Yule.She would conceive Fergus’ son by then and continue to progress in making this place her home.Surely events of this day had shown her that it could be done.
It was a miserable ride.
The weather was foul and the land was slick from the rain.
Fergus felt as if every force conspired against him and was vexed that it should be thus when he was so intent upon returning home to Leila.He wanted to show his newfound appreciation, but the elements kept him from Killairic.
His thoughts were consumed with Leila and what he had noticed this day about Isobel.It seemed he had surrendered his heart in error, and he had to acknowledge that he was relieved to not have Isobel as his wife.Those quick glances had been chilling and Fergus realized he shared Leila’s view that he would sleep better when he trusted all those in the solar.
He had been wrong.
To be sure, Fergus had expected little of marriage before riding to the east.Pleasure abed.Sons.Some measure of companionship.He had assumed that the admiration and interest he felt for Isobel was the love that the troubadours sang about.He had believed their future happiness together was assured.He had thought the matter simple.
But it was not nearly so simple as that.On his journey, Fergus had seen his friends and comrades touched by a much greater passion and devotion.He knew their futures were changed by it.Though Gaston had made a marriage of convenience with Ysmaine, by the time they reached Paris, it had been clear to all but those two that their hearts were bound together forevermore.
The spark between Bartholomew and Anna had been tangible, if not hot enough to scorch a man.Fergus had not needed second sight to anticipate that they would make a match, for they challenged each other’s expectations and filled each other’s dreams.
Duncan, it was evident to Fergus, would do any deed to ensure that his beloved Radegunde smiled.The maid’s conquest of the warrior’s reluctant heart had made the man-at-arms seem twenty years younger.
Even Wulfe, a man whom Fergus had originally believed to possess no heart at all, had been smitten with Christina and ultimately had won both her hand in marriage and been named as his father’s heir.
