Highland Lover: Book 3 Scottish Knights Trilogy (32 page)

Realizing that Wardlaw was patiently waiting, certainly more patiently than the bristly Traill would have waited, Jake collected his wits and said grimly, “It has been nearly a year since my last confession.”

“Would you like more wine, lad? I see no reason to seek out a confessional unless you would be more comfortable inside one than here.”

“This is fine, sir.”

“Then tell me about Lady Alyson’s marriage.”

Jake did so, finding it easier than he’d expected to tell Wardlaw what he knew. In fact, when Wardlaw reacted with anger as grim as what Jake had felt—and felt again in the telling—at learning that Clyne had not consummated his marriage, Jake felt a sudden closer kinship with the bishop.

“Clyne was clearly daft, sir,” he said when he’d finished.

“He was more than a fool; he was wicked,” Wardlaw said tersely. “Any man who fails to consummate his union in three months of marriage is
not
married in the eyes of
the Kirk, my son. But tell me, how do you know this to be true? Surely, her ladyship did not tell you! And surely you did not—”

Breaking off, he scowled at Jake long enough to make him feel uneasy. But he met that gimlet gaze steadily until Wardlaw said, “Have you aught else of your own to confess?”

“Nowt except evil thoughts toward Clyne and those pirates, sir, and a few lustful thoughts and two lustful dreams about Lady Alyson,” Jake said, grateful that his conscience was clear on that head. “She did not exactly confide to me his failure to consummate. The taverner’s daughter I mentioned is a widow, and she took Alyson’s likely widowhood as a sign that they had much in common. Lizzie spoke frankly to her, and Alyson did confide things that Lizzie had said. See you, she did not understand them and thought that I might.”

“I see.”

“Lizzie had also caused her to think that her marriage might not have been as it should be. I admit that I did ask her some blunt questions then.”

“Often the best way to get frank answers,” Wardlaw said. “I do the same thing myself. More wine now, lad?”

Nodding, Jake held out his goblet as he said, “That is when I learned that she is still a maiden, sir. When I expressed doubt that she completely understands her situation, I meant that she does not realize all that it may mean to her if God
has
worked a miracle and Clyne does come home.”

“I have never believed that keeping women in ignorance of such matters is good,” the bishop said. “Forbye, my lad, I may see a way out of this now. It would require my sharing with Father Antonio some of what you have
confided to me, and I would need your permission to do that. The rules of confession will also bind him, though. You need not worry about any details going farther.”

“If the Kirk can help her out of this mess, sir, I can have no objection.”

“Aye, well, you might, though. This information will not change his mind about your part in her situation, innocent though it may be. He will continue to see the matter as he did before and will likely demand the same resolution, and at once.

“In any event, you must take word of James’s capture to his grace at Rothesay Castle, as soon as possible after you take her ladyship home,” he added. “But you must not abandon her to her family’s inquisition or displeasure. You must damp down any such reaction before you leave her at MacGillivray House.”

Jake fell silent again, digesting Wardlaw’s words. The anger he had felt as he’d told Alyson’s story remained strong. It edged his voice when he said, “His eminence would not say aught to her about his knowing the truth, would he?”

“He would not. He’ll have much to say to you, though. In fact, he will believe his case is stronger when he learns she is still a maiden. You’d be doing a good thing, Jake. Moreover, ’tis plain that you care about Alyson.”

“My feelings matter not a whit, sir. See you, Alyson knows as well as I do that she is a married woman, widow or not. She will strongly resist such a solution. In any event, she can do nowt without proof of Clyne’s death.”

“That is not so,” Wardlaw said. “Alyson can request an annulment now. But neither I nor his eminence should ask such a thing of her.”

“Then I do not see—”

“You must do it, Jake. In troth, since our good Lord put you in position to rescue her ladyship, your knightly sense of honor and duty must forbid you to abandon her now. We can arrange it all tomorrow, but you must explain the matter to her first thing in the morning and persuade her to request the annulment.”

Stunned, Jake swiftly collected his wits to say, “Even if I could persuade her, sir, annulments take months, even years, to acquire.”

“Let me explain,” Wardlaw said.

Loud snores drew Alyson from another discomfiting dream of Albany, this time facing his grace. Its details faded so swiftly in the din rumbling through the room that she could remember almost none of them. Just as she decided that she had had all the sleep she was going to get that night, the snoring ceased.

Moments later, she was deep in dreamless slumber.

Jake’s mind was still reeling at the bishop’s plan when he left Wardlaw’s privy chamber and headed for the sea tower. He wondered why he had not fought harder against it. Climbing to the top of the stairs, he entered the tower room, a place reserved for meditation and prayer. Unlike most such places, it boasted windows on all sides, overlooking moonlit land-and seascapes.

Opening the easternmost window wide, Jake gazed out at bright moonlight on endless water. For a long, tense moment, he felt his freedom slipping away.

Drawing a deep breath and letting it out, he felt the tension ease. He recalled too that Giff MacLennan’s lady wife never objected to his times away but accepted them as Giff’s way of life. Alyson had accepted Clyne’s absences. So—

Cutting that thought off when a surge of loathing shot through him at the comparison of himself to Niall Clyne, he shut his eyes to the splendid view and looked inward instead. It took but a short look to realize that he’d do better to talk with Alyson before imagining
his
life with or without her.

Decision made, he wanted to get it done. But one could hardly demand audience with a woman who was sound asleep in her bedchamber.

Then, in the back of his mind, the mutterer assumed Giff’s familiar voice to say with a touch of wry amusement, “Reck not!”

The large, warm hand covering Alyson’s mouth stifled her cry of alarm when she stiffened and opened her eyes. But she relaxed when she recognized Jake’s voice murmuring, “Dinna squeak again, lass. ’Tis only me.”

In the background, she heard Mistress Hyde snoring.

Enough moonlight slipped through the shutters to let her see Jake’s face peering into hers. He took his hand from her mouth, letting her whisper, “What are you
doing
in here?”

Moonlight gleamed on his teeth when he grinned. “I’ve come to fetch you, lass. We must talk.”

“Sakes, where could we go without meeting anyone?”

“I know a place. You’ll like it.”

“I’m in my shift.”

“Where’s your cloak?”

“On a hook by the door.”

He moved away without a sound and came back with her cloak. With Mistress Hyde’s snorts and snuffles filling the air, Alyson thought it was a wonder that she’d been able to hear what Jake had said to her.

He held up her cloak, opened toward her, providing a screen between them.

Sitting up and throwing back the coverlet, she swung her legs out and stood, shoving her feet into the slippers that she had put beside the bed. Then she turned her back to let Jake drape the cloak over her shoulders. Pulling it closed in front, she held it so when she turned to face him.

After a glance at the other bed, he guided her toward the door with a hand to her shoulder. Leaning forward, he opened the door, urged her to the landing, and gestured upward. She nodded but waited for him to shut the door.

As he did, he put a finger to his lips.

Two landings stood between them and Jake’s objective.

He did not know who might be sleeping in those rooms, but Father Antonio was likely in one. The thought of the Papal Legate being just a door’s thickness away from them stirred Jake’s sense of mischief and recalled to his mind several incidents of such foolery that had enlivened his boyhood days at St. Andrews.

They reached the tower room without incident, and when they entered to find it ablaze in moonlight, he knew from her reaction that he had chosen well.

“Oh, it is beautiful here,” she said, moving to the window. “May I open it?”

“Aye, sure, if you won’t freeze.”

“My cloak is warm,” she said, unlatching the window and pushing it open.

He had seen enough as he’d held the cloak for her to know that she wore nothing under her loose shift. The renewed image of thin cambric over soft breasts increased his yearning for her. But it was no time to indulge such yearnings. What lay ahead was bound to be difficult. But it was necessary.

“I am glad to have seen this view,” she said, turning back to him. “We should not be here, though. It is wrong.”

“I promise you, lass, I have no mischief in mind other than what I’ve already wrought. Wardlaw persuaded me to speak to you.”

“Bishop Wardlaw? Nay, then, how can I believe that? He’d never send you to my bedchamber, sir. You should be—”

“—ashamed of myself? Aye, so I should be, but I’m not. Wardlaw did tell me to talk to you. He did say that I should do so in the morning. But with such a conversation awaiting us, I knew I’d never sleep. Moreover, I could not imagine how we could have such a conversation without others either overhearing every word or at least knowing that we’d closeted together to talk privily. Coming here at once seemed better to me. I did not expect it to be so easy to approach you, though. That woman must wake her neighbors at home.”

“She does snore, but I fell asleep despite her and had—Faith, I remember now, I dreamed of Albany talking to his grace. Wednesday night I dreamed of him with Mungo, mayhap talking secrets.”

“I expect that they
have
met by now,” he said, aware that he was dithering and should not be. “Do you think it was the Sight, lass? What did they say?”

“I could not hear them. Both were likely just dreams, though. Incidents of the Sight are more disturbingly memorable. Even if one begins as a dream, I awaken shaking—often with tears streaming down my cheeks, as I did when I saw Davy’s death and those of my brothers.”