Two small windows on either side of the low-ceilinged chamber let in light. Candles burned on the unadorned altar there all hours of the day and night whether the priest was present or not. It was something he’d insisted on when he agreed to serve the people here and something that Brodie agreed to—the chapel was open to everyone no matter the time or day. Benches sat around the outer perimeter of the chapel and would be moved into rows during Mass or other services. So, Alan glanced along them until he saw her.
She sat, head bowed, lips moving silently in some prayer as he watched her. Though her hands were empty, her fingers moved as if she clutched prayer beads in them. Alan smiled at the sight of it, remembering his mother’s hands as they moved in the same way. Not wishing to disturb her devotions, Alan slid on to the nearest bench and leaned against the stone wall at his back.
The silence between them was soothing in a way. He’d always found it to be so here in this place of God, though he would not consider himself an overly prayerful man. He sought the peace it brought during difficult times in his life as most did—begging for forgiveness after trespassing or thanking the Almighty for favour or mercy shown. When kith or kin passed. When word of Agneis’s death reached him.
A few minutes passed and Alan wondered if he should indeed say something or simply leave when she broke the silence and spoke.
‘I pray you will forgive me,’ she said. Her soft voice echoed across the chamber to him. ‘I did not mean to...’ The words drifted off as she clearly searched for the correct one. ‘Draw your attention from your opponent.’
‘I think you gave me the excuse I needed for losing,’ he replied, laughing softly. ‘I have never been able to best the man in battle.’ It was the truth he offered her. ‘Though I have tried many, many times with a variety of weapons and even with none.’
‘He was impressive,’ she admitted. It stung his pride for a moment, but it was the truth so he agreed.
‘You should see him fight with Brodie. Now that is a battle worth watching.’ He stood and walked to where she sat. Pausing for a few seconds so that she could object if she so wished, he sat down near her. ‘And when Magnus makes it a battle of three, it is a sight to behold. The whole of the keep and village turn out to watch.’ He slid a little closer then, stopping when his knee almost touched her skirts.
‘Magnus is...?’ she asked, turning towards him then.
‘Margaret’s husband. He sits on Brodie’s council.’ He faced her. ‘You have met Margaret, have you not?’ he asked.
‘Aye, she has been quite kind to me. She’s taught me about many things.’ A frown wrinkled her brow for a moment and her narrowed gaze lit on him. ‘Margaret’s first husband was Clara’s brother.’ Though a statement, the tone of her words turned it into a question.
‘It must be intimidating, meeting them all at once and trying to sort out who belongs with whom?’ He laughed again. ‘At least I met them all over some time.’
‘How long have you lived amongst them?’ Saraid asked him, sitting up and shifting a bit closer to him. They both kept their voices low out of respect for the place.
‘Ten or so years,’ he said. ‘I came here first with my uncle when the truce was being negotiated.’ Something changed in her at the mention of his uncle. ‘’Twas my Uncle Euan who was chieftain at that time. Arabella’s father.’
‘Is that not unusual? A Cameron living among the Mackintoshes?’ Her manner became somehow colder then, a distance opening between them at this topic.
‘Aye, well, with the truce holding as it has, ’tis not so unusual.’ Had she heard about him from Clara or Jamie? About what had brought him here and why he was more welcome here than at Achnacarry?
‘I did not mean to pry,’ she said. ‘My curiosity must be unseemly for a stranger.’
‘Nay,’ he said. ‘Not a stranger but kin of my kin.’
The silence gathered once more around them.
‘Did you have a reason for coming in here?’ she asked. ‘Do you seek Father Diarmid, too?’
Why had he come in here? Because he needed to see her. But he could not admit that, for he had no right to want such a thing as her company or her attentions. Trying to remember which need drove him in here, he remembered—she had gasped so loudly during the fight that he and most around them had heard it.
‘Nay, not the good priest,’ he said. ‘You looked alarmed during the fight. Then you disappeared. I wanted to make certain you were well,’ he admitted that much to her. ‘Now that I see you are, I will leave you to your contemplations.’
If he admitted the truth here in God’s house, he really wanted to lean over, pull her closer to him and taste her mouth. Instead, he began to stand to put some space between them before he did what he’d been thinking about and did it in a holy place such as this.
She placed her hand on his, stopping him. Alan noticed the way the porcelain-white colour and softness of her skin contrasted with his as she touched him. His control diminishing, he needed to leave, now, but her words gave him pause.
‘Can you tell me of this priest? Jamie spoke of him but I worry, for the one who served my...who lived in our village was a harsh man and stern priest.’
‘Fear not, our priest is neither of those things. He will give you good counsel in whatever matter you place in his hands.’
Alan did stand then. Too much time in her presence, alone with her, could give rise to gossip, even if that time was in a chapel. And give rise to things he could not allow.
‘His practice is to go to the hall to break his fast after morning Mass. He should return soon. Or you can find him there?’
‘I will wait here,’ she said. She smiled then and he lost the ability to breathe. He wanted...
But the door opened then, startling them both, and she jumped to stand next to him as the light and wind seemed to bring in the portly priest. She barely reached his chest when she stood this close. Alan stepped back a pace and nodded to Diarmid as they waited for him to close the door behind him.
