12
Gentle Hands, Warm Heart
Rab gently soaked Neal's injured hands in a solution of soothing warm water and marigold juice, then he put some of his salve on them, and wrapped them in clean bandages. "There, how's that feel?"
"Better. Rab, do ye think Papa will be angry that ye dismissed Master Stuart?" Neal asked worriedly.
"I'm gonna discuss that wi' him later on today, after I go over the accounts wi' Master Burns. I dinna think ye have anything to fash yerself about, Neal. When Jamie and I had a tutor when we were boys, our tutor, Master MacLean, wasna verra strict, an' he favored using additional assignments rather than a tawse, an' he was a good teacher, he enjoyed teachin' us, an' made it interesting, so we wanted tae be learnin' what he taught. He also dinna keep us in the classroom only, but took us outside an' we sometimes had lessons there, for biology an' botany. Papa kens this, an' he also willna be happy wi' the way Stuart was handlin' teachin' ye. Now, I want ye to lie down an' rest, since ye dinna get much sleep last night."
"Aye, Rab. And thanks. I woulda knocked him down, the wee blaggard, but I ken ye dinna hit yer elders," Neal said. "But who am I gonna get to tutor me now?" He knew that teachers who knew Latin and Greek were not many in the Highlands.
"Well . . . happen I might speak wi' Belle, for she kens Latin an' Greek an' together between us, we might tutor ye," Rab said. "I can do the science an' mathematics an' she can do the English an' composition an' geography. We both ken history, so there ye are."
Neal beamed. "That sounds much better than havin' to hire someone. Papa will like that we save money." He knew as well as Rab that Malcolm was thrifty as were most Scots.
"Aye, he will. Now off wi' ye, lad. Go to sleep!" Rab waved the boy away, and began to clean up his infirmary before going to do the accounts.
Page~*~*~*~Break
The retreat:
Malcolm woke up in a foul mood that morning. He had flown into a beastly rage last night, breaking a chair into kindling, and swearing a blue streak like a devil, because his cravings for drink had become too strong and unable to control his temper, had caused an alarmed Archie to tie him to the bed lest he injure himself and the priest in his rage. He had also hidden Malcolm's bow, arrows, and dirk for the night.
After Father Bryce had released him from his ignominious position that morning to use the outhouse, he was now sitting at the table, nursing a headache that reminded him of ones he used to have after a bout of drinking.
"I'm sorry I had to tie ye, lad, but I had no choice," Archie said sadly.
Malcolm rubbed his temples, and grunted surly. He didn't want to be reminded of how he had behaved-like an animal-but the pieces of the broken chair in the corner were a pointed reminder. "This dinna seem to be workin', Father, like Rabbie thought," he replied glumly, eyeing the mug of perry with distaste. His body cried out for ale, whining like a toddler wanting a sweet.
"It willna if ye give up and let the devil tempt ye, laddie."
The priest knew well how difficult it was to resist temptation. He encountered it every time he saw Moira McNamara but the ale was a far more worse temptation than love.
"Ye must think of Rabbie and Neal, laddie and even your Jamie and Ceri. Would Ceri want you to keep being a drunkard t'yer bairns? The next time ye strike out, laddie . . ."
"Ye dinna ken how the thirst torments me," Malcolm whimpered. "Tis like a demon within me, poking an' prodding," His hands trembled and he clenched them upon the table.
He winced, recalling how he had nearly given his good friend a black eye last night. Though he couldn't recall if he had really been angry at Archie or because the drink made him insane with need.
"And it makes ye be a person ye dinna want to be. D'ye remember auld Dougal McLaren?
One of the troublesome of his clan, Dougal was now residing in an asylum after he'd killed his son in a drunken rage.
Malcolm shuddered. "No, I'm no' like that. I'd never hurt my bairns that way." But he recalled how easily the chair had splintered into kindling when he'd thrown it against the wall, and he could easily imagine lashing out at wee Neal instead.
"But ye could," Archie argued. "Now auld Dougie thought he could beat the devil alone and win...and he was trying until that auld fool Lachlan MacTavish gave him the ale thinking one time wasna gonna hurt 'im."
"But once he let the devil in he kept drinkin and drinkin until he dinna hear anything but the demon and when puir Jemmie tried to take the bottle away..."
He recalled Rab accusing him of striking Neal when he was drunk, more from irritation than discipline and he cringed inwardly. He didn't want to be like that anymore.
"He pushed his puir laddie out the window of the keep,"
Malcolm crossed himself. "May God rest his soul."
"It serves as a lesson to all who allow the ale to be their lord and savior. There is no Heaven awaiting them in the hereafter, only hellfire and brimstone."
The laird gulped softly. "Nay, Father. I want to be able to see Ceri in Heaven. She promised me she would wait for me at the gates, ye ken?"
"Then we need to make certain ye do, lad."
Malcolm took a sip of the fruit juice and grimaced. "Pah! I feel like I'm in leading strings again!" he grumped. "Rabbie promised me something called kaffee, now where the devil be the laddie wi' it?"
"Give him time, laddie. He's probably busy at the keep this morning with his bride and Neal."
Malcolm sighed. "Patience hae never been my strong suit, Archie. Ye ken that." He sniffed the air. "Do ye have any breakfast for me, or am I on naught but bread and water?"
"Lad, I wouldna starve ye!"
Breakfast that morning consisted of bacon, eggs, crispy potatoes and poached eggs with toast. He set the plate down in front of his charge with a grin. "Is that starvin ye lad though wi' how ye cook, we would!" he teased.
Malcolm looked happily at the food. "Then 'tis well YE can cook, isn't it? The Lord will provide, aye?" He picked up his fork and began to eat hungrily, the craving for whiskey replaced by one for food.
"I dinna always ken how t'cook," he confessed.
"Who taught ye, then?" Malcolm asked while crunching on some bacon.
"The cook in the Bishop's household though he was a mean auld codger and took the switch to me when I burned the porridge."
Malcolm scowled. "I'd hae knocked his teeth out for that."
He shivered, remembering the painful lashing he'd gotten from the cook until the Bishop intervened. It was the main reason why Moira's beating of the lass Lilly bothered him.
"Well the Bishop sent him packing and replaced him with Robbie."
His friend looked at him. "Ye ken I was raised by my Uncle Angus after my papa an' mama passed from the sweat. An' Angus had the devil's own temper an' a heavy hand when he was angry." He looked down at his breakfast, ashamed. "An' I was just like that auld bastard last night."
He had been fifteen when they had passed, and since he was still three years shy of his majority, he could not inherit. So Angus was the defacto laird till his nephew came of age.
Archie nodded, remembering the many conversations they had about his uncle and how terrified his nephew had been of him during his rages. "And ye know now my da was the same."
He sighed. "The sins of the fathers shouldna be passed on to the sons."
"No . . .yet I fear the drink hae made me into my uncle. I dinna realize how much till Rabbie told me I had taken my belt to wee Neal for naught but some silly remark." Malcolm said guiltily. "I never woulda done that if Ceri were alive."
"Nay. But she's watchin' over ye, lad...and ye canna disappoint her by backsliding."
"I willna." Malcolm vowed, and then attacked the rest of his breakfast. It prickled his conscience that he had been unfair to his sons, and he could see that Rab had been right when he had lectured him now that his mind was not fuddled with drink. He recalled how his own father's expectations had made him crazy trying to meet them and his uncle's temper had terrified him. He had vowed to be better than them both with his own children.
"We'll hae Mass this morning after breakfast and...clean this up..."
"Aye, before Rabbie comes," Malcolm agreed, just imagining the shock on his son's face if he saw what his papa had done.
"I may try this kaffee he speaks of myself."
Rab finished up his accounts, then decided to go and visit his papa, as a packet had come in with a messenger from Azhir with the promised ground kaffee and instructions on how to make it, which included an odd metal pot. He checked on Neal, the boy was asleep, and Ailsa and Belle were both tending to Auriel, Belle was changing her poultice and Ailsa was feeding her carrots. As he led out another horse, which was Neal's black gelding, Dancer, Moira came up to him.
"Rabbie, do ye mind if I come wi' ye to the cottage. I...need to see Father Bryce."
Rab raised an eyebrow, for normally the priest and Moira were like oil and water, but he supposed she might be concerned for the state of her soul, and said, "No, come up then, lass," and he pulled her on the horse in back of him.
"Thank ye lad."
"'Tis no' trouble. Dancer, get on wi' ye," he clucked to the gelding, who began to trot swiftly towards the cottage.
The flock of sheep scattered as the black horse came among them, then went back to grazing as they passed.
"Yer mama and I...we used to run wild in these meadows," Moira joked.
"So did me and Jamie." Rab laughed. "And once my fool brother nearly knocked his brains out trying to ride an auld ram. I thought Mama was gonna skin him an' hang him out to dry."
"Aye and ye both scared her when ye went skatin in the church when ye were supposed t'be polishin the pews and the floors!"
"Dinna remind me!"
Moira chuckled. "Aye and ye had to work a bit harder for the father, aye laddie?"
Rab nodded ruefully. "But it was deserved . . .and worse I had to hear Jamie bellyaching about how it was all my fault! Ha! 'Twas his idea . . .I just went along with it like a noddlehead, like usual." Rab shook his head. That had been back when he had hero-worshipped his older brother. "And he kept whining about how he'd have rather gotten thrashed than clean and I wanted to beat him myself!"
"Bryce may be an auld fool but he never beat a lad."
"I kent that, even back then. And what we ended up doing was a worse punishment, which is why my mama and papa allowed it."
Moira nodded. "Aye...always too noble for his own good," she mumbled.
Rab raised an eyebrow. "Noble? He's no noble, Moira. Not like the bishop. He told me many times how he was a foundling the bishop took in as his ward. A lost lamb, he called himself."
"Well mayhap he had a chance to be something else...and he dinna take it!" she snapped.
The closer they got to the retreat, the more anxious the housekeeper was. Her previous encounter with Archie the day before had startled her...and reawakened longings that had been long since buried.
Rab halted Dancer to gaze at her in astonishment. "What do ye mean? Was he forced into the clergy?"
Bryce had always seemed such a devout man, and happy with his chosen path.
"Nay. Believed he was meant to serve God all his life. But..och laddie, I dinna want to talk about this!" she cried. "T'will reopen an auld sore wi' me."
"All right, I'm sorry," Rab apologized, seeing the housekeeper's agitation.
"Now then lad, let's see how your da is faring."
"Hopefully he is doing well. And he likes the kaffee I'm bringing him."
Archie was outside disposing of the broken chair when he could see Rabbie approach on Dancer and to his surprise Moira was with him. "Rabbie! Tis good to see you, lad!"
"Hello, Father!" Rab greeted. "What happened?"
"Well ahhh...errr..."
Rab frowned. "Moira here wishes to ask ye a question. So I'll leave ye to answer her while I go and talk to my papa." He dismounted, tying Dancer's reins to the hitching post and taking his satchel inside the cottage.
Malcolm gulped nervously when his son entered the cottage while he was still in the process of cleaning up the wreckage from the night before.
"Papa, what in God's name happened?" Rab asked his father, frowning. "It looks like an army rampaged through here."
"I ahh...had a bad night, Rabbie," Malcolm confessed and raked a hand through his hair. "The cravings...got the best o'me, ye ken?"
"Papa, what did ye do?" his son cried, aghast. "Tell me ye dinna hurt Father Bryce!"
"Nay, lad, nay! He tied me before I did but...I lashed out at other things. Dammit, lad...this has no' been easy for me...the cravings gnaw at my innards."
Rab noted how pale his father looked, almost haggard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "Ye havena been sleeping well, have ye?" he asked knowingly. "What other symptoms have ye been having?"
"Fits of rage mostly, the shakes...canna keep my hand straight...and a chill in my bones..."
Even now his hands trembled. He picked up the broom and started sweeping some of the splinters from the kindling out the cottage door.
"I try to keep busy...to quiet them...and it holds them back for a spell Rabbie but no' long enough."
Rab sighed. "I spoke to my mentor in Edinburgh. He has told me that it will probably get worse before it gets better. The first week or two is hardest, as yer body rebels against the fact that ye are no longer givin' it what it thinks it wants an' needs. It's kind o' like a spoiled brat-whinin' and screamin' at ye for a toy. I ken 'tis no' easy, but ye must no' give in, Papa." He reached into his satchel. "Here's something that may help. This is a brew called kaffee that they drink over in the Holy Land. It may take the edge off these cravings." He took out the packet and showed Malcolm the pot also. "Ye brew them in here. My mentor left me instructions. Would ye like to try some?"
"Aye! Been waiting all morning! And what kept ye, Rabbie? There wasna trouble at the keep, was there?"
Rab began reading the instructions Azhir had written, then after he had set the pot to boil upon the fire, said quietly, "No' o much trouble as well . . .a pack o' wolves came and attacked one o' our flocks and I had to organize a hunt for them. The gray beasts nearly finished off me an' Auriel." He told what had happened on the hunt, as well as how Belle had helped Auriel when they came home.
"She hae a fair hand wi' the beasts, ye ken. Like me wi' people."
"Aye and your mam was the same, laddie." Malcolm smiled wistfully.
Rab nodded. "True, now that I think on it. But then this morning I had to dismiss that Lowland bastard Stuart because I caught him whipping Neal!" Rab exclaimed angrily.
"He took a switch to my laddie?! The blackguard...he's lucky I wasna there, lad, or his hide would be tacked to my wall!"
Rab thrilled to have the old Malcolm back. This was the father he remembered from his childhood. ""Twas a strap, Papa, and he beat his hands bloody for no' doing his bloody assignments when I hae already given Neal a note to excuse him because he had been out all day hunting wolves an' then at night volunteered to sleep in the stable to watch Auriel. The rotten blackguard dinna even read my note, but he accused Neal o' lyin' an' he beat him! So I kicked his arse outta the castle an' he's lucky I dinna take the damned strap to HIM!"
"Good for ye, lad! If I ever see his sorry arse around he'd best run the other way!"
Rab exhaled softly. "I told Neal as much. He was worrit ye would be angry wi' him for makin' me dismiss Stuart." The doctor shook his head. "Papa, the bastard had no right to beat my brother wi' out yer permission an' ye never woulda granted him the authority, I ken it well. Yet the idjit insisted 'twas his right to discipline Neal an' I said that no one at the castle is ever disciplined that way. Even though I ken there hae been times when ye were drunk that ye gave puir Neal a few licks wi' yer belt-still it wasna like what Stuart did."
"I shouldna have done it lad...was behavin' too much like my da."
"Tis why ye hae to stop drinking, Papa. So ye dinna become like yer da an' uncle. I remember what ye were like before . . .but Neal doesna, no'really."
Malcolm nodded sadly. "And I dinna want him growin' up thinkin his da is a drunken arse!"
"No ye dinna," Rab agreed. "Ye were always fair about punishments before ye turned to the bottle after Mama passed. Even that time ye walloped Jamie for that stunt with the horse."
"I've got to beat this demon in me, Rabbie."
"An' ye shall, Papa. Ye must have faith. In God an' yer family. I hae something else that may help ye. It's a kind of meditation. When ye feel one o' the cravings come on, try and breathe this way," he demonstrated a technique that the monks used to keep themselves focused during fast periods. "And also, it might do ye good to get out-mayhap we can go fishing wi' ye, me and Neal. Maybe even invite Ailsa along with Belle."
"The lass can fish too?" Malcolm teased.
"Ye ken Ailsa does from when she was growin' up wi' us. And Belle says she did wi' her brother Gavin." His eyes sparkled. "She is a wonder and a marvel, is my Belle."
"Is there anything she doesna do?"
"She doesna hunt, dearie. An' she tells me that she isna so good at doing womanly tasks like cooking and I spin an' weave better than she does. She isna perfect, Papa, but that dinna bother me since I am not either."
"Moira is quite put out," the laird chuckled.
He went and poured a cup of kaffee for Malcolm and got out the small bowl of sugar and one of cream from the coldroom. "Here, Papa, try this."
He scowled. "Aye, I ken. She and I had words over her treatment o' wee Lily an' her floutin' Belle's authority as Lady Carlyle."
"Och I think the good Father will tame her..." Malcolm said with a wink as he poured some cream into his cup and stirred in the sugar. He took a sip and sighed in satisfaction. "Ahh laddie, this puts the tea to shame!"
"I'd taste some, but we dinna have too much for me to be havin' a cup," Rab said. "I'll ask my colleague if he can send me more, and he said to drink two cups a day, three if ye believe ye need to."
"Aye and I might."
Rab went and got himself a glass of cider, saying, "Other than what ye've told me, how are ye feeling? Would ye like me to gi' ye a tea to help ye sleep? Do ye hae any trouble wi' yer stomach? Nausea? Yer bowels regular? Unusual thirst?" he queried, asking things that Azhir had told him were sometimes issues with other patients he'd had with trying to rid themselves of dependencies.
"A tea would help, aye. I am at my worst at night and hae a bit of nausea."
Rab nodded and reached into his satchel, pulling out a tin canister with some special herbal blend to help sleep and soothe nerves-and also a tincture of ginger and chamomile to be taken in water. "Here. This tea should be taken half-an-hour before ye sleep, two teaspoons in a cup o' hot water, steep five minutes. Ye can drink it plain or wi' a small amount o' honey, but no sugar. And this is tincture o' ginger, three drops in a half a glass o' water should settle yer stomach. Oh, and dinna drink the kaffee too close to bedtime, else it'll keep ye awake."
Then he pulled out some cinnamon pastries. "Ah, I almost forgot. Missus Mike made ye these." He put them down on the table.
The laird snatched one up and bit into it. "Och how I missed these. The good father canna bake worth spit. Dinna tell him I said so!"
Rab chuckled. "Few can match Missus Mike wi' her baking," he acknowledged, and then ate one himself. "Now dinna eat too much, Papa, or else ye shall grow like a house!" he teased. "In fact, ye should eat lots o' greens an' fish an' chicken, to gi' ye energy an' oatmeal and oat bread and apples will keep yer bowels from blocking up. As will drinking water an' other liquids."
"And how will I be no' growin like a house eatin all that?"
"Well, ye should be walkin' around, mayhap a walk every evenin' or morning or riding to keep ye fit." Rab told him, which was what he told all of his patients. "Or some kind of exercise ye like. I hae heard that sometimes when people try an' quit drinkin' they crave food instead-the wrong food, lots o' sweets n' bread an' fruit. So ye must watch, Papa. And eat only a few times a day and exercise. Like ye used to do when ye were younger."
"We had a bit of a game going on chopping firewood," Malcolm giggled. "I won of course...the puir Father tried to keep up...then Moira showed up and he got all flustered!"
Rab smirked. "Just what is goin' on wi' him an' Moira? She also seemed rather upset this morning when I asked her about him."
"Well lad I may be tempted by the drink but wi' the Father twas a lass."
Rab's jaw fell open. "Ye canna be serious! The auld Father! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"
"Aye...Moira fancied him as a lass ye ken but the Father woulda abandon his calling an she's been bitter since."
"Och, no wonder she dinna come to Mass when he is there!"
"Aye but the feeling is still there...and I'm thinking the Father may still find a way t' see her wi'out being her husband."
"If God wills, he may," Rab said thoughtfully. Though it was hard for him to imagine the older man, who he had always associated with being like a father to him, as young once and sought after by none other than his housekeeper!
"Well, I ken that's part of what they're going to talk about along with her penance for puir Lily."
"Aye, they need to. And I need to make sure Lily is healing. I'll examine her later today. Would ye like to go for a walk wi' me now, Papa? I need to stretch my legs, been doin' accounts all morning."
"Aye, I would laddie."
It would give him a chance to spent time with his son, time he needed and once he was well again, he would try to be the kind of father both of his lads deserved.
Rab looked pleased. "We can talk about this fishing trip while we walk," he suggested, and then rose, putting his satchel over hs shoulder. He almost never went anywhere without it.
As they left the cottage, Rab observed that Father Bryce and Moira were quite engaged in a conversation.
Moira's knees were shaking when she approached Father Bryce. When Ceri had been alive, she attended Mass faithfully though seeing Archie at the pulpit reopened the old wound in her heart she'd attempted to close when she and Kenneth were handfasted. She'd never spoken of her lost love to him, only Ceri and Bishop Gillespie knew her secret and her dear friend had taken it to her grave. She'd loved Kenneth but not with the same passion she felt for the priest she met when she was a young lass of twenty only she hadn't known then that was what he was.
Her heart ached again as she recalled that day seeing him on the meadow sitting against the trunk of a tree, a book in his hands. Her mistress Ceri was having dinner with her betrothed and his family at the keep and young Moira had gotten bored in the servants' quarters, often taking long walks.
"Who are ye and why are ye trespassing on these lands?" she demanded. "Get ye gone, varmint or I'll be sending the dogs after ye!"
He chuckled without looking up from his book. "Aren't ye a spirited lass?"
"Ye'll be seein' how spirited if ye don't mind me!"
He looked up then and she found herself blushing. He was a handsome lad five years her senior with ginger hair and eyes as blue as the ocean she'd never crossed but heard tell from her mistress who had travelled a bit.
"Lass I can assure ye, I'm no' trespassing. I was invited."
"Oh? And who would be invitin ye to the keep and why are ye not in the house?"
"T'was the laird himself and I am travelling with Bishop Gillespie," he replied.
"Oh? As what?"
"Well...this is to be my parish and what better way to introduce myself than at a handfasting?"
"Ye mean ...?"
"Aye..."
"But aren't priests...auld? Bishop Gillespie is auld..."
He laughed again. "Dinna say that t'him lass. He might take offense."
"He takes offense to me now."
"Why, lass?"
"Well...ahhh...I dinna attend Mass every morn..." she said sheepishly.
Moira had always been difficult to get to attend Mass even as a child, often borrowing from Queen Bess of England's bag of tricks and feigning illness much to her parents' dismay or she would sneak out of the house and spend the morning in the meadows.
When she did attend Mass, she would often fall asleep in her pew, Bishop Gillespie's long sermons doing little to hold her interest.
"Oh! So ye're the lass he spoke of!"
"And just what did that auld codger tell you about me?"
"Lass! Ye must have more respect for a man of the cloth!" he scolded gently.
"Well mayhap I would if he didn't talk so long and put me to sleep!"
"I'll be holding Mass tomorrow morn lass."
"Ye will?"
"Aye. I canna say I willna talk long but I hope to hold yer interest."
Everyone in the keep was shocked the following morning when Moira was awake before the rest of the household and eager to attend Mass.
Even Bishop Gillespie was flabbergasted to see his most difficult parishioner sitting in her pew, listening to the young man's sermon with interest, never once nodding off as she had nearly every time he spoke at the pulpit.
As time went on, the young woman became confused when her thoughts about her chaplain took a different course, one further from reconnecting to the Lord than she'd planned. For in her mind now, she no longer saw him as her chaplain but a man she loved...and wanted to marry.
Little did she know that Archibald Bryce was just as conflicted. Marriage was forbidden by the Holy Mother Church for a priest ordained and though he had devoted himself to serving the will of God, he began to ponder if perhaps the Lord had intended him to follow another path. To be a husband to Moira MacNamara.
One day while she was in confession, Archie was stunned when she'd been silent most of the time.
"Is something troubling ye lass?"
"Aye."
"What is it?"
"My heart."
"Are you in pain? Should I seek a physician?"
"A physician canna cure me of this Father. I love someone, ye ken and I am afraid to tell him because I fear he doesna love me...he loves someone else more."
"Has he given you any signs that he returns yer affections?"
"I dinna know!" she cried. "I see him every day...and he is always the same to me...kind...but we talk and nothing more."
"Have ye given him any signs that ye're fond of him lass?"
"Well...ahh...I could..."
"But ye canna be too bold, lass."
"I'm no' a tart!" she snapped. "All right, if ye want me to gie a sign, I will!" She stood up and left the confessional. He came out a few seconds later.
"Moira lass, where are ye..?"
She turned around and cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.
Archie was frightened and elated at the same time. Had someone seen what she'd done the tongues in the parish would wag mercilessly and label her a scarlet woman or worse. He feared God would strike him dead where he stood for being as Adam in the Garden of Eden surrendering to temptation when he'd taken an oath that his body, heart and soul belonged to the Lord and no other yet he couldn't deny the joy he felt at last knowing that her feelings for him were as strong as his was for her and he returned her kiss with equal ardor.
"Moira, lass..." he whispered when he broke their kiss.
"I love ye, Archibald Bryce and even if God strikes me dead, I dinna care. I canna stop!"
"And I love ye, Moira MacNamara...may God forgive me I do...but I've taken a vow..."
"Ye can break it!" she cried.
His eyes widened. "Break with the Holy Mother Church? Is that what ye are askin o'me?"
"I..."
"What ye are suggesting is blasphemy lass!"
"D'ye consider our love a blasphemy, Archie?" she inquired hurtfully.
"I...Nay! But I canna marry ye!" he moaned. "Lass, when I was a young lad an angel came to me and told me I was called to serve the will of God...and I have...but if I abandon my calling..."
"Ye can marry me and still serve the will of God!" she argued.
"Aye but ex-communicated from the Holy Mother Church as Queen Bess's father? The shame of Christendom?"
"Ye wouldna be a shame, Archie. Dinna think like that!"
"I would, Moira..."
"Nay! There must be a way!"
"There isna..." he said somberly.
"Then ye dinna love me! Ye're lying to me!"
"Moira, lass..."
"Ye are! Ye can serve yer God, Archibald Bryce, if that is what ye want. But dinna come back to me later and expect me to take ye for my husband. I'll not hae ye!" she sobbed and ran out of the church.
Later that evening he sought guidance from Bishop Gillespie. Both were aware that reforms were being made in the Church but unfortunately allowing an ordained priest to marry was not one of them and his heart was shattered when young Ceri came to the church in a state of hysteria to tell them that Moira had ingested poison and had it not been for her physician finding an antidote the young woman would have perished.
Moira awoke to find Archie sitting at her bedside, praying. "I dinna want to hear ye praying over me, Father. Get out!" she demanded in a cold voice.
Everyone was stunned at the woman's treatment of their chaplain but when they questioned her about it, she would simply say that God had abandoned her...and nothing more.
Upon Ceri's passing, she dedicated all of her time to running her dearest friend's household and rarely attended Mass but would still see Archie when he came to minister to the family. She tried to avoid him as much as possible and was often cross with him when he attempted to speak to her. Yet all those years in spite of her bitterness toward him, he'd always treated her with kindness and in her heart she wondered if part of him still loved her as she loved him though his devotion to his faith would always keep them apart.
"Father," she greeted coldly. "Ye want t'see me?"
"Aye. Tis concerned I am wi' your behavior toward the Fraser lass and the the rest of the household. Why did ye beat puir Lily? T'was not like you."
"I hae been the mistress of the keep since my dearest friend passed on, ye ken? The Fraser lass dinna ken nothing of runnin' a household and of all the lasses to wed, the queen shouldna hae given Rabbie a Fraser! Murderers, the lot of them!"
"Lass, there hae been enough bloodshed on both sides. The Queen wishes for peace as does the good Lord and a union of the clans will bring this about."
"Don't ye be callin' me a lass, Archibald Bryce, when we both know I'm too auld to be one!" she snapped.
"Nonethless, ye abused that puir lassie and ye must do penance," Archie said firmly.
"And what would ye hae me do, Archibald Bryce? Polish yer pews?" she inquired sarcastically.
"Ye can burn that switch for starters!" he shouted. "And ye'll be attending Mass daily to pray to the Lord for forgiveness. No feigning the ague as ye used t'do when ye were a lass and if ye willna attend Mass at the church, ye'll come here or I'll be sending one o' my altar boys to fetch ye! I willna lose ye to the devil, Moira MacNamara, and beating that puir lass invited him into yer heart!"
"No..."
"Aye! Ye've become a cold woman in yer aulder years, Moira, and I dinna like it. I'll beat back the devil 'fore he comes to claim ye even if it kills me!"
"Why?" she demanded.
"Ye know why!"
"I want to hear ye say it!"
"Ye're one of my parishioners and I minister to all, even when ye're as cold as a winter morn t'me."
"That's no' what I want to hear!"
"Then what do ye wanna hear?"
"The truth, damn ye! But if ye willna say it I will. I love ye still, Archibald Bryce, may your God strike me down for it!" she sobbed. "D'ye know why I dinna want to attend Mass? Seeing ye at the pulpit, knowing it was what kept ye at a distance from me, what will always keep ye at a distance from me makes my puir heart bleed again and again!"
"But ye were handfasted to Kenneth..."
"I dinna love him the way I love ye!" she cried. "He never knew it, God rest his puir soul. Only Ceri knew."
"Moira, lass..."
"Has God taken all of the love yer heart has or is there some bit o' it left for me?"
"There always was," he confessed, his eyes meeting hers. "And to see ye knowing I canna be a husband to ye hae been my penance all these years as hae ye being cold t'me."
"Archie," She buried her face into his shoulder and felt his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.
"Moira...ah lass...were I a less devout man I would marry ye now," he murmured and raised her head and kissed her softly. "And had I not taken my holy orders when we met I would hae married ye."
"Tis unfair, Archie, that ye canna serve God and be my husband," she wept. "Were ye of the new kirk ye could."
"Moira ..."
They'd had this discussion before, many years ago, the year following Kenneth's death. Only he knew that Moira no longer followed the Holy Mother Church and had kept her secret. There were a few secret Protestants in the Highlands and though he did not agree with some of the new faith's doctrines, he had adopted a policy of tolerance.
"I took a vow to serve the Holy Mother Church and that I will continue to do," he insisted. "But no amount of prayer nor penance will ever take away the love I hae for ye!"
"I dinna want there to be a distance between us again!" she cried. "I canna bear it, Archie."
"Moira, I canna be your husband. Ye ken that."
"But ye love me!"
"Aye, I love ye. But I have made a pledge to God that I canna break, even after all this time."
"Then we'll go back to what we were before...Archie, nay. I willna hae it. I will take the draught before I am parted from ye again!"
"Dinna say that!" he cried. "Dinna even think it!" He held her tighter. "Moira...oh Moira it nearly killed me t' see ye in such a state all those years ago...and that I was the cause and I prayed, oh how I prayed that the Lord would gie ye a husband ye deserved!"
"Kenneth was a good man...but he wasna ye, Archie. Had we wed, we would hae been friends, raised bairns...and little more. I just never thought those damned Frasers..."
"Lass, ye need to let go of yer hatred of them. It's making ye cold, colder than ye were t'me. Ye hurt that puir lassie badly wi' yer hatred. Ye must accept that a Fraser is now yer mistress. Gie the Lady Belle a chance Moira," he pleaded.
"I'll try, Archie, but ye dinna gie me the answer I need. What can I be to ye if no' yer wife?"
He smiled at her and caressed her cheek. "I will seek the Lord's guidance, Moira and mayhap He will give me a solution. Will ye come to Mass in the morn or must I send one of my altar boys to fetch ye?"
"Nay, I will come. Tis penance I must do for hurting that puir lass."
"Aye. And burn that switch. I dinna want t'see it in yer hand or hear of ye using it again."
"I willna," she vowed. "The laird needs ye now. He had a bad night, dinna he?"
"Aye and I had to tie him. Dinna like it but he was in quite a rage. For a moment I saw my da in him..."
"Archie!"
The priest sighed deeply. "Now d'ye ken why I want ye to burn that switch and mend yer ways, Moira MacNamara? My da took a switch to me as was his liking and that was why I ran away. Had the good bishop not found me..."
She held him tighter. "Why dinna ye tell me? Ye told me many things after Kenneth died but never that."
He'd been a comfort to her in the year following Kenneth's passing but as before and after sharing so many secrets with her that no other man of the cloth would have dared to with those not in their profession, her hopes had been renewed that he would change his mind and marry her. Once again he refused her and her bitterness returned. She'd vowed that day to never let him into her heart again but it was impossible when she saw him so frequently over the years.
"I dinna want to," he admitted. "I canna let Malcolm surrender to the devil, Moira. His lads need him clear headed and strong as he was when puir Ceri was alive. Has no' been easy but I'm not giving up on him...even now."
"I wouldna ask ye to," she murmured. "And I dinna want to make things more difficult for ye but promise me I can see ye from time to time even if I canna be your wife."
"Ye willna be cold t'me, lass?"
"Nay." She chuckled. "But the tongues will wag a bit seeing me changed, aye?"
"Well lass, ye are doing penance," he reminded her with a grin then gave her a chastising look. "And part of it lass is making peace with the Lady Belle."
"I'll try but it willna be easy."
He kissed her and patted her hand. "I have faith in ye, lass. Until the morn, Moira."
They were both smiling while they waited for Rabbie and Malcolm to return from their walk and for the first time in years, Moira MacNamara was filled with hope that the Lord would at last be merciful and grant her heart's wish.
Rab bid goodbye to his father and Archie after they returned from their walk, saying, "I shall talk to Neal, Belle, and Ailsa, Papa and come back in three days to see how ye are faring. Moira, hae ye finished yer business wi' Father Bryce, or shall I pick ye up later?"
"No, no...we're finished," she softly, her eyes meeting Archie's.
"Fishing would be good, lad...I may do that myself," Archie said, his eyes never leaving Moira's.
"Och! Ye canna fish worth spit!" Moira retorted.
"Ye know I can, lass," he teased.
"Ye fish for people's souls, aye, Father?" Rab put in. "For dinna Christ say I shall make ye fishers o' men? See, I havena forgotten all my catechism ye taught me!"
"And tis a good thing, laddie or I'd be making ye polish my pews, wash the statuary and beat the dust out of the rugs as I did when ye and Jamie were my altar boys."
"I always hae a better memory than Jamie!" Rab grinned.
"Aye but ye werena afraid to get in a little mischief too."
"Aye, I was an imp sometimes, like Neal." Rab admitted.
"And gave me, your mam, and your da gray hairs!" Moira muttered.
"Och, but Moira, Jamie gave ye half o' them," Rab taunted. "I think the worst things I ever did had to do with giving away our Christmas dessert tae the Gypsies camped nearby an' then bringing chicken pox home by mistake cause I thought the rash one boy had was from stinging nettles when I was nine!"
"And half the keep was ill with them!"
"Including ye, I believe," Rab recalled.
"Aye and I was nearly driven mad with the itching!"
"Ye? I was sicker than a dog!" Malcolm declared. "Laddie, ye were lucky I didna skelp ye over that, but ye looked so guilty and pitiful that I couldna do it, especially because 'twas Christmas an' we were all too sick to enjoy it."
"Papa, I canna count how many times I apologized for that," his now-grown son chuckled. "And we were lucky the Frasers didna raid us and take over the castle!"
"And then I contracted it because I had to gie ye all Mass at the castle!" Archie laughed.
"Aye, an' ye had verra spotty attendance that morning!" Rab smirked impishly.
Since chicken pox was a relatively new disease to the Highlands, they had not known how contagious it was and thus several members of the congregation had attended Mass looking fine but really harboring the disease and passing it on to others.
"Well thankfully we dinna see that spotty plague again!"
"Well, even if we hae another outbreak in the village, none o' us shall catch it since we did already," Rab reminded them. Then he took Moira up on his horse and they cantered back to the keep.
"Well lad, let's try some of that kaffee," Archie said to Malcolm after they were out of sight.
" Tis wonderful, auld friend. Wait till ye taste it," Malcolm declared, and went to pour Archie some. "Ye fix it like ye do tea."
"Hmmm...tastes a bit different than my tea...but verra good lad, verra good."
"Rabbie thinks that this, along wi' prayers an' meditation, exercise an' a diet with lots o' greens, chicken, fish, apples an' oatmeal will help me beat the demon o' whiskey."
"I believe it can too, lad. How are ye feeling now? Better?"
Malcolm nodded. "Aye. I just hope that my wee laddie is as glad to see me as Rabbie was."
"He will be when ye go fishing a changed man. 'Tis your goal to reach, lad and with the Lord's good grace, ye'll succeed."
"I shall," Malcolm said with renewed determination, feeling more confidant than he had since his wife had died. "An look what Missus Mike brought-cinnamon pastries!"
"Wonderful since mine taste like...well...I canna even describe it!"
"I dinna want to describe it!" Malcolm snorted. "Best ye stick to sermons, Archie, an' no' baking!"
"Ye dinna complain about my other efforts!" Archie reminded him.
"Because those were edible!" Malcolm said with a wicked smirk. "But yer scones, lad, could be used to fortify the castle wall!"
"Och, dinna exaggerate, laddie. They werena that overdone!"
Page~*~*~*~Break
Belle had just finished putting another warm compress upon Auriel's leg when Rab and Moira rode into the yard. Rab handed Dancer to a groom while he went to see how his mare was doing. He found his lady leaning against the side of the stall wrapping the leg, her crutches beside the door, while Ailsa brushed the mare's neck and cooed to her in Gaelic, calling her "pretty lady" and "golden one" among other endearments.
"And how are you all faring today, dearies?" Rab greeted quietly, not wishing to startle the mare.
But Auriel spotted him and pricked up her ears, whinnying at him happily.
"Hey there, lass," he reached to stroke his mare's dish-shaped nose and scratched her ears.
Auriel got a glazed adoring look in her eyes and Ailsa giggled. "For sure, Rabbie, but ye've made another conquest. Yer bonnie mare loves ye!"
"Auriel is verra loyal and she loves wi' her whole heart," Rab said, smiling. "So I see ye've become Belle's assistant."
"Aye, and I dinna mind it. Ye ken I've always liked the beasties," Ailsa said.
"How is the mare doing, milady?" asked Moira.
Belle straightened and let the mare's hoof down gently. "Her leg is mending slowly but surely. I managed to get the swelling down and am trying to decrease the pain in the leg now with different poultices." She put a hand to her back, which was stiff from bending over.
Moira saw and said solicitiously, "Ye seem tired, milady. Would ye like me to run a hot bath for ye so ye may bathe before coming to supper?"
"That would be lovely, Moira. Thank ye, for I dinna need to be coming to supper smelling like horse!" Belle chuckled. Then she recalled her ankle and said, "Och, Rab, how do we deal wi' the cast?"
"Wrap it in some oil cloth and be careful not to put it in the bath, dearie," he advised.
"I can help ye, Belle," Ailsa said.
"I'll just tell the lads to start bringing up the water an' the tub," Moira said, and bustled away.
"While they're doing that, I can let the last poultice remain on for another ten minutes, then remove it and rewrap it," Belle told her husband. "How is your papa?"
"Well, he had a bad night, but seems much improved this morn. He liked the kaffee and he'd like to go fishing soon wi' me, Neal, ye, and Ailsa. I havena done that in years wi' him, though we did so often enough when I was a lad wi' Jamie."
"Rab, it sounds splendid! And we can ask Missus Mike to pack us a lunch too." Belle said eagerly.
"Good! Ye arrange that an' I'll tell Neal," Rab said.
"When shall it be done?"
"How about the day after tomorrow?" Rab suggested.
Belle nodded and said she would plan a lunch menu with the cook this evening.
Just as she was getting ready to unwrap the poultice, Rumple appeared around the corner of a haybale, jumped on top of it and then walked along the top of Auriel's stall and onto the mare's back. Showing no fear whatsoever, the crumple-eared kitten boldly sat down upon the palomino's back and began licking a paw, purring like crazy.
"Och, Rumple!" Belle gasped.
Rab stared too. "Has he done this before?"
"Nay, no' that I ken," Belle murmured. "How verra amazing!"
"Auriel doesna seem to mind him there," Rab observed.
The golden horse turned, blew at the kitten, and then went back to munching some grain in her feed bin.
Rumple began washing his ears, licking at his paw and rubbing diligently.
Belle suppressed a giggle at the wry sight of the tiny gold and white kitten perched atop the golden mare, like bird atop a statue. Then she removed the poutice and rewrapped the leg with more soft bandages.
"Do ye need help getting upstairs?" Rab asked.
"No, I'm fine, Rab. Why dinna ye check on Neal? I havena seen him since this morning," Belle counseled and gathering her crutches, made her way into the keep.
As she did so, she remarked, "Moira certainly seems to have had a change o' heart towards me."
"Aye, I think it's because o' Father Bryce. She spoke with him awhile today, an' the good Father doesna tolerate mean spiritedness towards anyone," Rab said, sure that had been one of the topics of conversation. He debated whether to tell her what Malcolm had said about the priest and the housekeeper, but decided to wait till they couldn't be overheard.
"Well, whatever he said must hae worked," Belle smiled.
"Father Bryce's lectures often do," Rab told her. "He hae away o' makin' ye regret yer mistakes wi' out yelling and damning ye to hellfire, yet ye feel repentant an' try yer best to no' sin again."
"Has he been wi' yer family long?"
"Aye, he's been here since my papa was a lad. In fact, he an' my papa are good friends, hard as that may seem to believe since my papa's behavior often leaves something to be desired."
"Sometimes ye will listen to a friend before ye will family," Belle said. "At least it was so wi' my brother Gavin."
"'Tis true."
They walked into the keep together, then Rab parted ways with his wife after they had gone upstairs to see if his brother were still asleep.
He found Neal awake and asked if his hands were all right. "Let me put some more salve on them, dearie," he ordered.
Neal made a face, but submitted to the treatment. Then he asked, "Rab, did ye talk wi' Papa?"
"Aye, scamp, I did. And he wasna angry at ye. He wanted to beat up Stuart, like I told ye," Rab related. Then he told Neal about the fishing trip.
Neal looked shocked. "He truly wishes to fish wi' me?"
"Aye, he does. I think he wishes to make amends for treating ye so puirly, Neal. Would ye be willing to gi' him a chance?"
Neal thought about it. He had felt more fear than love for a long time because of Malcolm's drinking, but he also longed to have a father like other lads' fathers, who played with and loved him because he was Malcolm's flesh and blood. Slowly he nodded. "Aye . . .but Rab, it'll sure be different that what I'm used to."
"I ken that. But now mayhap ye'll see that he wasna always a drunken idiot. Once he was a good da to me an' Jamie."
"When Mama was alive. I think I remember, a little."
"That's right. Now how about ye wash up an' come down to the hall for supper?"
"All right," the boy said.
Rab left him alone then, returning to his own room to see how Belle was making out with her bath.
When he entered the room, he found a wooden bathing screen had been set up and several towels hung over it. He approached softly, and saw his wife sitting up in the large tub, her cast wrapped and propped upon the edge of the tub, while Ailsa helped her wash her back.
Rab's mouth went dry at the sight. He could just make out his wife's shapely figure beneath the bubbles and the mere thought of what lay beneath that soapy coating made him long to jump into the bath with her.
She hadn't seen him, hidden partially as he was by the screen, so he was free to unabashedly admire his wife, and silently curse her injured leg, and then scold himself that good things came to those who waited and he certainly was going to be glad he had when Belle was fully healed.
But it was so damned hard! You're killing me, dearie!
Yet he would not trade it for anything.
A/N: Hope you liked this part. Just to let you know-I may not be updating this or any of my stories soon since my oldest sister is terminally ill with cancer and she may only have a week left to live, so I am trying to spend as much time asI can with her. All I can say is I pray daily for God to not make her suffer. I wish I could have finished this story for her, but there's no chance of it now. But like Yours, Mine, and Rumplestiltskin's, which was dedicated to my late mom, this one's for you, Angela. Love you always.