“Si!Il PapaAlexander III!”the monk called back.“You areRex Scotiae?”
“We are,” the king confirmed.
“Then,Signore,the missive is for your ears as well.”
A message from the Pope to the king?Could he intend to broker peace?
Her mind reeled.Then, as soon as she could think straight, a reprehensible idea slipped into Eve’s brain.
Never mind that the holy monk was handsome and compelling and persuasive.
He was about to undermine her ambitions and foil her plans to save the day.
Of course that thought was beneath her.Prideful.Ridiculous.Did it matter who handled the negotiations?As long as the results were beneficial, what difference did it make who initiated them?
If the Pope wished to claim credit for solving the conflict, so be it.After all, she’d said it herself.A happy ending made the details unimportant.
Yet the thought kept biting at her like a determined flea.
For months, she’d longed to do something important.
More important than rescuing pups from abusive owners.
More significant than praying over sick children.
More heroic than helping a knight elope with his true love.
And now, when she finally had an opportunity to prove her worth, who had shown up to ruin her plans?None other than the esteemed representative of the Pope himself.
She sighed.
It was an unspeakably selfish thought.She knew that.Selfish and unworthy of her station as a nun.The abbess had even told her so.But she’d always had a hard time controlling her wayward thoughts.
Like the wayward thoughts she was having now as she let her gaze course down the monk’s impressive form.
His cassock, belted below his waist, clung to his narrow hips and trim buttocks.The powerful gestures he made as he spoke to the lairds belied the sedentary life of a monk.His hands were muscular, closing into fists and then opening with strength and grace.He held one commanding finger aloft to make a point.Then he clasped his hands together like a warrior celebrating his victory.
She could imagine those manly fingers running through her hair…caressing her cheek…brushing her lips…
She started as he turned to follow the lairds, across the bridge from the bailey to the motte.Of course.King Malcolm wasn’t coming tothem.He’d naturally conduct negotiations privately, in the comfort of his keep.A place a mere nun couldn’t follow.No matter how invisible she was.
Shite.
She’d hoped to make the acquaintance of the Pope’s representative.After all, he was an important man in the church.
She frowned.
Then she straightened with determination.She could fix this.
She’d simply wait for him to emerge, she decided, and strike up a conversation with him.Inquire about some biblical interpretation or request moral direction.Before they parted, she’d whisper her name in his ear and ask him to pass it along to the Pope.Perhaps, with holy guidance from on high, Eve could find her Greater Purpose.
It was a worthy notion.
However, her plans to wait patiently among the pavilions were foiled when a contingent of Rivenlochs suddenly arrived.
Sweet Saints!Had they followed her?
Eve dared not let them see her.Any of the Rivenloch clanfolk might recognize her.She was the nun who’d been at Darragh Castle for the clan wedding, after all—right before Sir Gellir’s betrothed had mysteriously disappeared.
