Magdalene coughed in earnest now and gasped for breath as Sister Agnes’s anguished cry rang in her ear.
“Sister Hestia, fetch the child a dry cloak!”
In no more than the blink of an eye, Magdalene felt herself wrapped in a heavy woolen garment that both warmed and smothered her. Dazedly, she opened her eyes to find a masculine face very close to her own, his breath fanning her cheek, his deep voice low and stern.
“Easy, lass, dinna gulp the air. Take slow breaths, that’s it. I think you’ve coughed up most of the water you swallowed.”
Hiccoughing, she blinked and stared up into eyes that looked black, he studied her so intensely. The longish hair that framed features anyone would deem handsome appeared wet, and his face was damp, too, which made her realize that she must have spewed the water from her lungs right at him.
Somehow she found the presence of mind to tell herself to remain silent, but she began to squirm in his arms, realizing, too, that he held her closely.
Too closely. He must have carried her to the bench and sat down with her, cradling her like a child.
“Och, Magdalene, you frightened the wits from me!” came Sister Agnes’s voice to one side. “Thank God you’re not shivering so terribly now, thanks tae your husband wrapping you in his breacan. Will you allow us tae take her, Laird, and see her dressed for the journey?”
“No, she stays with me,” came the grim response. “I’ll not have her running off or jumping back into the fountain. I had hoped you would have her things ready.”
“Oh, aye, you’ll find everything packed in her room, Laird. She doesna have much, a few gowns, a few personal items. She’s lived quite simply here with us. If you will allow me tae lead the way.”
No, no, no! Magdalene screamed to herself as the man Sister Agnes had told her was named Gabriel MacLachlan, gathered her close and rose from the bench as if she weighed no more than a sack of goose down.
She began to wriggle in earnest, wishing she could flail her arms, hit him, strike him, but she was encased in his brown and gray plaid breacan like a cocoon. The hard set of his jaw told her that her struggling was doing little other than perhaps to annoy him, although in truth, he didn’t appear irritated at all.
Only resolute. That stark realization chilled her more than any cold water, and with a terrible sinking feeling, she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight him.
Laird Gabriel MacLachlan was going to take her away from the convent! Hadn’t he been told that she was a lunatic? Or so she had pretended to be for so long now that she scarcely remembered what it was like to do otherwise.
Vaguely, she recalled seeing his face before, as if in a different lifetime—for so these past four years felt to her, a time of peace, a time of freedom that was being cruelly wrenched away from her.
“No…please…” Magdalene breathed, her throat raw from nearly drowning herself. “Not go…not go.”
He ignored her broken plea and followed Sister Agnes to the walkway leading to the sleeping quarters, the rest of the nuns remaining behind except for Sister Hestia and Sister Tabitha.
The two women hastened alongside Sister Agnes and kept glancing over their shoulders at the dark-haired giant carrying Magdalene as if they had never seen the like. Everything about him screamed strength and power, from his determined stride to how firmly he held her as if he thought she might still try to wrest herself free.
Aye, one day she would be free of him, Magdalene vowed to herself as tears of frustration burned her eyes. She would make his life so miserable and that of everyone else around him that he would bring her right back to the convent before the month was done!
“Magdalene’s room is the second on the left,” Sister Agnes murmured as they entered the stone structure, the long hallway lit by candles sputtering in wall sconces.
Magdalene heard the familiar creak of her door being opened as Sister Agnes added, “You can see, Laird MacLachlan, that everything is packed and ready on the bed—”
“Leave us.”
Magdalene felt her breath stop at Gabriel’s stark command, while Sister Agnes’s face had blanched white. Sister Hestia and Sister Tabitha looked pale, too, and glanced askance at each other.
“Oh, but, Laird, surely you dinna mean tae consummate—oh, my, forgive me. I know she’s your wedded wife, but we’re a holy order—”
“I will speak tae her alone, is all. As you said, Reverend Mother, she’s my wife. Close the door behind us.”
Magdalene heard Sister Agnes’s sharp exhalation of relief as Gabriel strode past her into the small room, and then the door shut with a thud.
A thud that was nothing to the fierce pounding of Magdalene’s heart as he set her down upon the floor near the foot of the bed. She clutched at the breacan enveloping her and stared at him wide-eyed, scarcely daring to breathe.
Consummate? Dear Lord, she hadn’t given any consideration at all to that stark reality of marriage, until now with him standing in her room.
A room she’d always known as a refuge, but which seemed to have shrunk in size for the man who loomed so strapping and tall only a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed upon her.
Not black nor brown but somewhere in between from the light spilling in through the narrow mullioned window.
