The Thistle and the Rose(6)

He's bound to find out.

Celia replaced the heavy wooden bar on the door, then turned and leaned her back against it. She let out a sigh so loud that she startled herself. This was going to be so difficult.

Although the entire incident had occurred in just a few moments, Celia felt as if she had been through a night-long ordeal. The confused whirlwind of actions that had taken place suddenly took on a dreamlike quality in her mind. Standing alone in her dark room, she found herself wondering whether any of it had really happened. Aye, she could see the pieces of broken chair lying on the floor where Alec Macpherson had landed.

Of all the people in Scotland, she thought, it had to be a Macpherson.

An anxious look crossed her face as she surveyed the bedroom. If what she had experienced was real, then she had not just secured the only entry into the room. Her eyes lit on the panel beside the fireplace, and she walked quickly to it.

The moonlight still poured in the window, illuminating the room to some extent, but it was hardly light enough for her to see well. Running her fingers along the grooves in the woodwork revealed no latch or crevice that would allow her to pull the panel open. This was very clever workmanship, this secret passageway. She would need to examine this in the daylight. But for tonight, Celia would need a way to block this entrance. Celia knew that the two giants had entered from outside the castle. Others could possibly come in the same way.

As she peered into the darker recesses of the room, Celia suddenly shivered with the cold, pulling the heavy cloak more tightly about her. There were not a lot of choices for her.

The great wooden bed was like a mountainous island perched against the inner wall of the bedroom. From a foundation of wood, the high feather mattress beckoned to her with a promise of warmth and comfort. Like a great parapet, the heavy arras-draped canopy loomed over the bed, throwing its dark shadow over much of the rest of the room. Like a fortress against the troubles of her waking life, the bed offered at least the escape of sleep. But there would be no sleep for Celia until she could calm the fears that had been awakened by the intrusion of the two men.

Celia knew she could not change the past. The die was cast. There were very real and threatening things in this world, but she could only focus on the present. And for the present, this wooden panel must be blocked.

In the far corner of the room, beside the wall pegs, sat a huge oak chest, large enough for a grown woman to hide in. The chest, the only storage area in the room for clothing, contained only Celia's light armor. It's a good thing, Celia thought, as she began to drag the chest away from the wall. If this were any heavier, I wouldn't be able to move it alone.

Celia moved the awkward piece of furniture slowly, trying as best as she could to create no sound that might draw the attention of her hosts. The dried reeds that covered the floor helped muffle the scraping sound. Finally, Celia succeeded in pushing the chest squarely in front of the panel.

It was only a temporary solution, Celia knew, and not a very good one, at that. If someone tried to come in through that panel again, they would certainly be able to push the chest away, but at least Celia would have enough time to react.

The exercise of moving the great chest did little to alleviate the numbing cold that was creeping up her body from her frozen feet. She could not afford to catch a chill now that she had recovered from their journey from the Lowlands. She needed to be ready at all times; there was still so much left to do.

There were times in her recent past, though, when Celia wondered how she could go on. Right now, the huge bed across the room looked like a warm and protective cocoon awaiting her.

But she needed to check on Kit first.

Moving quickly across the floor, Celia lightly tapped the prearranged signal on the door into the baby's room. She heard Ellen quietly unbar the door, and Celia slipped inside.

“Lady Celia, what was all the noise?” Ellen whispered, her eyes wide with concern.

“Lord Hugh's son...Colin...Lord Colin. He arrived unexpectedly tonight, and thought to put his friend in my room. We were all rather surprised, I expect.”

“M'lady, I heard a god-awful scream, and furniture breaking, and voices. I—”

“It's all right now, Ellen,” Celia said, putting an arm around her companion's shoulders. “Everyone has retired, and you do the same. But first I want to look at the baby. Has he been sleeping well tonight?” Celia looked tenderly into the heavy cradle.

Reaching in and smoothing the heavy wrapping that surrounded the child, Celia wanted to touch the baby's soft skin. Pick him up. Hold him close. She was still amazed at the sense of possessiveness, of protectiveness that overwhelmed her when she was near him. Celia had always heard stories of maternal instinct, but she never dreamed it would happen to her—not like this.

“He was a mite fretful for a short time, but he's been resting peaceful as can be most of the night. He's surely eating better than before,” Ellen said softly, looking affectionately at the baby.

Celia thought of Ellen, losing her baby at birth, so soon after her husband's death. Although her own feelings were baffling to her, Celia could easily understand how Ellen's loss could have turned into loving Kit as her own.

They had been very concerned about Kit's health over the past few days, but yesterday the feverishness seemed to improve, although the coughing fits still continued. She and Ellen had certainly not gotten much rest since they’d arrived at Kildalton Castle, and after tonight's unexpected activity, Celia wondered if she'd ever be able to close her eyes here.

Content that Kit was resting quietly, Celia scanned the room for possible secret entryways. This room, smaller than her own, had no panels beside the fireplace, and the plaster that covered the stone walls appeared smooth and solid. Not wanting to upset Ellen, Celia said nothing to her about the passageway.

Bidding her good night, Celia slipped back into her own room, listening while Ellen barred the door behind her.

Ellen had been eight months pregnant when she lost all those whom she cared for at Flodden—her husband, her father, and her only brother. They had all been wiped off the face of the earth in a single day. And then, only days later, when her own baby died at birth, her devastation had been complete. But Kit had brought Celia and Ellen together, and the grieving mother had found a purpose for going on, a reason for living.

What kind of a life had she found? Celia thought. A life of danger and uncertainty with consequences even more drastic than the ones she'd experienced before. Ellen, too, had made a decision, to give all that she had left—herself—and Celia knew that she owed her the best protection she could muster.

Retrieving her short sword from the wall by the clothes pegs, Celia climbed back into the bed and fastened the heavy curtains on both sides. Sinking into the depths of the feather bed, Celia doubted that the layers of heavy wool blankets that covered her could ever dispel the chill that permeated her body.

It seemed that she'd been cold since they left Caithness. Celia's thoughts wandered back to that wild night.



Escaping Lord Danvers and his men with just the clothes they were wearing, Celia and the others had ridden northward past Loch Lomond. The terrain had become rugged, and by the time dawn broke over a gray and drizzly morning, they were well into the Highlands.

Wet and cold, the weary travelers pushed past the looming peak of Ben Lomond, looking in vain for some shelter in which to rest. The high moors offered not even a windbreak for them to huddle against.

“Edmund, we've got to get Kit out of this cold,” Celia murmured as they rode.

“Aye, lass, and Father William looks like he could use a bit of warming, too,” her uncle responded in a loud enough voice for Dunbar to hear.

“Don't you be worrying about me, you scar-faced infidel,” Father William snapped back. “I'm doing just fine with this foul weather. And you might learn to appreciate it a bit more, yourself, considering where you'll be going when you're finished on this earth.”

“If you're suggesting, priest, that my everlasting reward is to include a somewhat warmer climate, then at least I'll know where I am when I see your face.”

“My face! I will not be going there, you booby. I'm a man of God.”

“Maybe so. But I recall seeing a painting once of St. Michael driving Satan into the fiery pit, and that devil had your face, I'll swear.”

“You're coming a mite close to blasphemy, you old scoundrel, and if you think I'll do anything to save your eternal soul—”

“Edmund! Father William! Must you two always fight with one another?” Celia rolled her eyes skyward.

She knew these two men respected and liked each other, though they were determined not to show it. Since the day they'd met, their banter had been a source of amusement for her—and for each other, she suspected.

Over the years, each had instilled a part of himself in Celia. She had acquired her physical training and prowess from Edmund, and her intellectual and spiritual discipline and insight from Father William's tutelage.

Though they were roughly the same age, they were very different types of men. Edmund, tall and stately, solid as an oak, was the very model of chivalry. He was directly descended from Robert the Bruce, and the quality of that lineage was embodied in the knight.

Over the years Edmund had taught her to value that lineage that was so much a part of her, as well. And Celia knew that it was the strength of that noble Scottish blood, passed on to her through her mother, that had helped her keep Kit safe.