Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Marie's professor's voice from the university rang clearly in her head. The image on the projected screen was much smaller than what stood in front of her now. A tall, thin cross in gray stone with moss that grew around the base, some green, some gray.

Today the sun shone brightly from behind the cross. The relic seemed like it descended from the heavens through a sunbeam.

The professor's highland lilt lent to the historical moment as she examined the historical cross. "Kildalton High Cross remained Scotland's only surviving complete Celtic cross, and the only Celtic cross still in its original position. The cross sits next to the church in Kildalton, Islay. In eight hundred A.D., the carver made it in gray-green chlorite schist, a local hard rock. The cross remained very difficult to work because of the dense rock they made it from, but due to the rock's durability it's in an excellent state of preservation. Fine carvings covered much of the cross's surface, which became more impressive given the stone's hardness."

Marie sighed as her hand touched the old cross before her. Her fingers rippled over the grooves of the design. Being tied up and dragged across Scotland's islands wasn't how a history major wanted to visit Scotland's greatest religious landmarks. She and her girlfriends talked about a weekend trip to this island to see this cross, stay a night in an old inn, and tour the whisky distilleries.

A shadow passed over the stone. She glanced up, and Father Clarke glared at her.

She turned to Kildalton Chapel, which sat near the cross, and her gaze traveled through the beautiful woodland with old, mossy oaks and birch trees. A quaint cottage sat beyond, likely the resident priest's home. It would've been convenient if he popped up and she cried for help, but the priest serving the chapel wasn't there. As she looked around, she figured this would've made a nice romantic trip. She and John could wander through the woods and tour the distilleries. End the day together, drunk off whisky, life, and love.

The priest yanked on her ties, and her hands ached at the tug. Father Clarke yelled in her face again, but she refused to pay attention. She grew tired of this total arse. She liked to think of him that way. She kept herself amused at his expense and that became the only thing that made the days bearable.

He yelled at her again. "I've tried the chant, and it's not working. You need to get me the Stone of Iona. It is here, and you have to find it. God demands a stone." Marie rolled her eyes, and they landed on the delicate patterns on the cross that crisscrossed, like in his book. If I examined the text, then I'd know the next cross.

A plan formed quickly in Marie's mind. "Well, this cross has many depictions. It's hard to interpret them all without looking at yer notebook. Let me look at the book and compare it to the cross. Maybe something will line up."

Father Clarke shook his head. "No, you can't look at the book. Just tell me where the stone is."

Marie shrugged. "I can't help when I don't know what I am looking at or what I am even looking for. If ye claim the book ye hold has all the clues, then I need to study them both together." Father Clarke looked at the book, then at the cross. He flipped a couple of pages and glanced at Marie. He tilted his head and studied her for a moment.

She looked away, hating the glint in his eye.

He shoved the book under her nose. "Fine, see what you can make of it, but I am not uniting you."

Marie took the book in her hands and rose. It took a few attempts as she held the text and turned the pages with both hands tied, but she did it. She recognized some depictions on the cross but not all. If he were following the list, this would be the most decorated they visited. She might as well try something, especially if she gained an edge against the priest. She needed a plan to get back to the chapel, the portal, and back to John.

Since she stood on the west side, she started there. The cross depicted geometric designs comprising two roundels of "snake-and-boss" decoration, a prominent boss set in a ring of smaller bosses and paired snakes in the center of the west face, and four inward-facing lions, symbolizing Christ as the Lion of Judah. She flipped through the book—nothing to note.

She crossed to the other side. On the east face, rich spiral work wove around five open roundels on what appeared to be peacocks that feasted on grapes—a detail she found in some scrollwork border in the book but nothing notable related to stones. The cross depicted the Virgin and Child on the crosshead, typical of most all crosses of the time.

She continued her stroll as she turned the pages of the book. She pretended to note the arms of the cross and compare them to the book, but really, she read the book. Now that she held it, she studied the pages and translated the Latin. The Latin disclosed information about the Fae that was a jumbled mess compared to what she learned from John. On the bottom of the page was a quote in Latin, and as she studied the page, the sunlight hit the section,

The fear of man brings a snare: but who so put his trust in God shall be safe.

She memorized the line, and it echoed in her mind. Who so put his trust in God shall be safe. She interpreted the quote as a message from the Fae. Ye'll get through this. Just have faith. She smirked—faith—and a plan.

She turned to the cross page, and the next cross on the list showed the MacDougall Cross at Ardchattan Priory. If he followed the book, their next stop occurred near Dunstaffnage and the chapel portal. The chapel portal, the next cross. This is my plan!

She wanted to memorize the chant the priest used to open the portal so if she got close to the chapel door, she would use the chant and jump time. She turned back to the book as she searched for the chant. The priest's fingers gripped the book and yanked it from her hands.

She glanced up, and Father Clarke held it to his chest. "Enough. What have you figured out? Is the stone here? Can I have it now?"

Marie jerked her hands back purposefully, pulling on the fabric. The father stumbled and almost dropped his book. Her wrists hurt from his abuse, but as he fell, she dreamed she tied his hands and dragged him around Scotland. She dropped her gaze and hid her face as she smiled to herself.

Now to her plan. It had to work. She just needed to drop the right hints, so they traveled back to the chapel and the portal.

Her eyes rose and met his. "No, it's not this cross. The next one. The MacDougall Cross. It's new at this time and likely the place a monk would've hidden a stone of power."

She held her breath. Had he bought this half-lie? Would he take the bait so she got back to the portal? Father Clarke opened the book to the cross page.

He turned it this way and that. "Are you sure? I thought for certain it stood on Iona, the center of Christian power."

Marie shrugged. "We were already there. It's not there at this time or another."

Father Clarke grabbed her ties and pulled her as he strode away. "Fine, back to the mainland it is. We'll stay in Islay till the ship departs. I've already spent one ruby for our passage here. Considering the size of the gem, that captain should cart us back as well."

****

On this morning's tide, they sailed into Port Ellen, Islay, a nice fishing village on the island and the major port used for commerce, or what there was of business, in the fifteenth century. In the future, Islay would become the highest producer of Scottish whisky and a tourist trap for people who visited the distilleries.

None of that remained in this time. Grassland, peat bogs, livestock, and fishing made up the village which overlooked the ocean. It looked like a beautiful island filled with wooded meadows and rolling hills. This would've made a perfect romantic getaway in the twenty-first century. A cozy stay in a seaside inn, dinner before the fireplace, smooth whisky on the deck, as they gazed upon the sunset over the ocean, then she and John as they made love…

He pulled her hands again and interrupted her daydream. Clarke untied her when they entered the village, Port Ellen, but refused to let go of her wrist for anything. His grip rubbed the already chafed skin. After conferring with the ship's captain and negotiating that they'd travel on back to Loch Etive near Dunstaffnage tomorrow morning, Clarke secured them a room at Islay Inn.

He stopped and pried another ruby from the relic cross as payment for the room. "Damn stone doesn't want to come free."

Marie would give the entire cross, stones and all, for her freedom. He told the inn keeper his wife remained deaf and mute and glared at her while he fingered his dagger. Fine, she would wait for another chance to escape. She just needed to be patient.

Once inside their room, she looked around—one bed, a table with a chair, and a fireplace made up the room's entirety. She strode to the fireplace. She placed the leaves in a pile and flicked some flint together. She thanked a youth group for her camping skills as the flame took. After positioning twigs and a small log, she set her hand before it, her fingers numb from the rope and the cold. For the fifteenth century, this room seemed lavish.

Clarke ordered dinner delivered to the room. A luxury she hadn't expected and one he didn't comment on. Once she finished eating, maybe she would wash away the day's travel with the pitcher of water on the dresser. The screen in the corner for the privy could offer some privacy.

Clarke rummaged around in his bag when a knock rapped at the door. He looked at her and waved her away.

He whispered loud enough she was certain whoever stood on the other side of the door overheard. "Stand by the other wall, away from the door."

Clarke pulled his dagger, then hid it in his pants. "Move, and I'll cut you."

He opened the door, and a maid carried in a tray of fish, vegetables, and soup. The accompanying pitcher of ale gave off a heavy scent of hops and barley.

Marie's stomach growled. The maid glanced at her, then back at Clarke.

He shooed the maid out, locked the door, then quickly sat. "I am famished."

He prayed and crossed himself. Marie stood there, the moment at odds. To her, he wasn't a priest anymore. Why Marie still called him father remained beyond her. In her mind, he was only Clarke. He shed his robes in the twenty-first century and didn't possess the honorable, quiet manner typical of a priest, even in the modern time they were from. His zealous greed and thirst for power were not traits of a devout follower of God.

Her gaze traveled over him as he sat and stuffed food in his soiled face. His clothes remained nothing more than a dirty white shirt and black pants. He stole a coat some time back. To her, he now seemed more like a greedy, selfish peasant than an honorable member of the clergy. From now on, she wouldn't think of him as father anything.

She sat, took a moment of prayer, and eyed him from under her lashes. He observed her keenly since their arrival in Islay. She sensed a change in his demeanor that put her instincts on edge.

Between bites, she spoke, "I don't understand something."

He peered at her over his cup. "There's a lot you don't understand, Scottish trash."

She let the insult slide. "If ye don't like Scots, why are ye serving as a priest in Scotland?"

He barked a laugh. "Punishment. I insulted a Scottish nobleman in England and as a lesson, they sent me here to learn to love the great people of Scotland."

He huffed. "Great people. Bullshit, if they were so great, how come the English destroyed their entire way of life?"

He gulped the rest of his ale and poured another then belched and sat back in his chair.

Marie sipped her ale. The brew tasted very potent, more so than anything they consumed in modern times. He made tonight's plan so easy.

She sat forward and poured more ale into his cup as she spoke. "But certainly, serving in Iona was a good assignment for a priest. The start of Christianity in Scotland began on the island and the village ye served seemed small. I'm sure they were religious and smart people."

He gulped his ale then waved his cup. "No, dumb as dirt. Not a higher educated one in the bunch. Farmers, peasant's lowlife Scot scum."

Marie scrunched her nose. Maybe he confused the past with the present. She let that slide and kept him drinking, the plan for tonight already in motion. She poured the rest of the ale.

He smiled over the rim as he drank deeply.

She picked at her food and glanced away.

Clarke shook himself and sprang out of his chair. "I'm going to the bar. I'll lock you in. No funny stuff or I'll tie you up."

Marie stared open-mouthed but closed it.

He stood, took the utensils, and placed the dagger in his belt. Nodding at her, he wavered, then made his way to the door. He teetered a bit, a cup of ale still in his hand. He awkwardly made his way through the door almost falling as he held too long on the handle, then slammed it shut. The key clicked in the lock.

His heavy footfalls meandered down the stairway in groups of three. She imagined he veered from side to side, the wall keeping him upright. A final group of thuds told her he tripped at the end. Finally, alone.

Marie jumped up and rattled the door. Locked. She rushed to the window. They were on the second floor and the wall dropped directly to the ocean shore, rocky and forbidding, as enormous waves crashed against the rocks. If she jumped, she would at the very least suffer a broken leg.

She searched the room for anything to pry the lock. He took the dagger, left no utensils, but his bag sat on the floor. She smiled. The drunken fool got lazy.

She rushed to the bag and dug through it. Nothing of use, but she found the golden cross. He used two of the four rubies, one for the ship and one for the room and a meal. Two red rubies and the deep purple stone remained.

She held the cross and studied it closely as the gold warmed in her hands. Something familiar pulled at her memory, but she couldn't place what it was. She flipped the relic one way, examined the markings, and then the other. Nothing noteworthy, but the cross grew warm, and the purple stone glinted in the remaining light from the window as dusk settled on the port village.

As she studied the purple stone, she swore she viewed a man inside of it, a man in priest's robes. The dream! Her heart slammed against her chest, and she flung the cross back into the bag.

The dirt and grime from travel scratched. She stood and crossed to the pitcher of water. Stripping only her shirt, Marie grabbed the cloth and washed as much as she could. She hoped the key's rattle in the lock warned her and gave her time to cover herself before Clarke entered the room. The cold of the cloth and the scent of the soap rejuvenated her. Finally clean, she felt like a new woman.

She finished her meager bath and shifted the soup bowl close to the fire to keep it warm. She sat cross-legged before the fire and stared into the flames. Marie sensed a warmth in her chest, and her hand went there. Her Iona stone hung from its necklace.

She lifted the necklace from her bodice. Her grandmother claimed she picked the rock off a beach on Iona as a child.

The year before her passing, she gave the stone to Marie. "Marie, my dear, ye will need it one day. I feel it in me bones."

She stared into the fireplace. Orange, yellow, and red flames danced like the sunsets on Loch Etive. Marie sighed and wrapped her hand around the stone. Her mind drifted away in a welcome, numbed trance as a memory wafted into her mind.

****

The masons finished setting stones for the windows. Bree already ran off for lunch and left Marie as she contemplated—late lunch in the kitchen with Mrs. A. or hang out with the wharf lads? She never consumed lunch alone. She turned to the chapel doorway, and John stood there as he leaned against it, the same way he did the first day she examined the chapel. The first time they kissed.

He smiled. "Hello, ye."

She strolled closer. "Hello."

His hand rose to her cheek and brushed some dust off with his thumb. His gaze traveled over her face as if he took inventory of her features.

She took a moment and studied John's eyes. They looked greener today. As they flicked between her features, flecks of gold shimmered in them.

His hand held her cheek, and he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. He savored each kiss as if he suckled a delicate piece of candy. This close, his aftershave filled her nose. His scent, a light musk always made her heart flutter.

He breathed against her lips, "I have a surprise for ye."

He kissed her lightly as she kept her eyes closed. "Ye do?"

He kissed her again. "Aye." They slowly parted and opened their eyes, and then they smiled together.

He led her away from the Chapel. "Ye must promise to close yer eyes, or ye'll ruin my surprise."

She kept her eyes closed but recognized they traveled toward the loch. "John, if this is some silly prank and ye dump me in the loch, I'll get ye back."

John laughed from in front of her as he held her hands. "No peeking, and yes we are going closer to the loch but no, I won't take ye for a dip." He finally stopped and turned her facing away from him as he gathered her in his arms.

He leaned down whispering in her ear, "Open yer eyes, Marie." Opening them, she looked out over the loch, then out to the ocean. He stopped them on the hilltop between the dock and the castle. The pier remained in her line of sight, but beyond stayed the complete panorama of the loch and mountain landscape. Different boats slowly sailed from the loch's ford to the ocean.

He whispered in her ear again, his breath against her ear sending tingles to her toes. "Ye have to look down."

She did, and there sat a picnic setup. The MacArthur plaid, green and blue with a small yellow stripe, sat under a full spread of various foods. Wine chilled in a bucket with ice and extra plaids laid out to ward off the wind's chill. The scene seemed right out of a movie.

Marie turned in his arms. "This is for us?"

John nodded. "Aye, I convinced Bree to give ye the afternoon off. She and Colin picnicked here the other day. I figured ye might enjoy it. Kind of like the priory picnic."

She squealed in delight, launched herself into his arms, and kissed him.

He kissed her and set her on her feet slowly as he ended the kiss. "While I could kiss ye all day, I'm starved." He waved his hand, and she sat. He joined her as he picked up the wine bottle and poured them each a glass.

As they lounged together, they dined on bits of roast beef, cheese, and bread. Plus, a fruit bowl and assorted desserts completed the feast. Mrs. A. cut each item to a finger size, which made it easy as they ate with their hands.

Marie picked up a piece of cake and offered it to John, who bit into the sweet and nipped at her fingers. She squeaked and jolted, but John held her firm in his arms. He picked up a bit of chocolate and fed it to her, but as the treat neared her open mouth, he leaned in and kissed her.

They shared a bite here and there as they nipped at each other's fingers, kissing between bites, and laughing as they played.

John traced his hand up and down her arm as he held her in his embrace. "So, ye almost finished with the priory proposal?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, reminding her of her promise to kiss him after each plan, then more when she finished.

Marie smiled. "Aye, I am, and I recall my kissing promise. The priory is just the beginning of my aspirations." She glanced at him. "What about ye? What are yer grand plans?"

John frowned into his wineglass. "I had grand plans, but my da disappeared while I was in college."

Marie turned in his arms. "So, he up and vanished one day, not a trace?"

John gazed out over the loch. "Aye, I was young. Not yet ready to take on the position of the Captain of the Castle, but I had little choice." He huffed. "It took me away from my studies. I wanted to finish my physics degree, but I didn't have time after being thrust into the captain's position."

Marie sipped her wine and sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been hard not knowing what happened to him."

John glanced at her with a small smile. "I had Granny. She kept me going. She understood an awful lot about the captain's position. It seemed strange. She said she always knew she would be needed one day, and she was. I couldn't have done any of my duty without her."

John set his glass aside and took Marie's glass as well.

He cupped her face as he kissed her softly. She smiled into the kiss, then returned his kiss fully. John rotated her beneath him and deepened the kiss. Her arms slid around his neck, and she ran her fingers through his hair. She returned his kisses, measure by measure.

His hands roamed her body, and his knee slid between her legs as he parted them slightly.

He cupped a breast, and she moaned lightly. "John, we are out in the open. Ye naughty devil."

John laughed. "God, Marie, ye tempt me so. I want to feel yer body." Marie giggled, ran her hands down his back, cupped both butt cheeks, and gripped them.

John moaned deeply and rubbed against her leg while he rubbed her breast. He squeezed it a little, and she arched into his hand. They continued to kiss each other as their hands roamed over each of their bodies. She put each curve and crevice into memory.

John slid his knee farther up and slipped his hand down and cupped her over her pants. She moaned, and he rubbed her in a rhythm that sent her into a panting frenzy. He kissed her deeply and rubbed a few more times until her legs closed and gripped his hand. He kissed her softly until her legs relaxed.

John gathered her in his arms, and they lay together as the sun set over the loch in rich orange and yellow streaks across the sky, which melted into the purple mountain range.

****

The key rattled in the lock, shocking her out of her trance. Clarke! She jumped up and backed to the far wall.

Clarke stumbled into the room and practically fell on his face. If he hadn't caught himself on the bed frame, he would've fallen on the floor.

Marie sucked in her breath and smelled him from across the room. Whisky, strong and potent, wafted off him in aromatic waves. The stench became so intense she covered her nose.

He tried to level his gaze upon her but wavered as if he couldn't pick which one of her he tried to focus on. He slammed the door, locked it, and pocketed the key.

He took a deep breath and nodded once. "I'm tired of watching you." He grabbed her. "I'm tired of smelling you."

She sidestepped and easily avoided him.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest. His whisky fumes made her dizzy.

His speech came slurred. "I'm tir'd of be'ng a pri'st. A man of God."

He grabbed her around her chest and trapped her arms in his. He backed her into the wall. She hit it hard and whimpered. He rubbed himself against her, and his stiff shaft bumped her stomach. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed as she kept it down.

He smiled at her like a starved man eyed at a juicy steak. "I'm tired of being chaste."

Marie gasped and struggled. "Ye gave me yer word. If I helped ye, ye wouldn't do anything. Ye promised ye wouldn't hurt me."

He barked a laugh. "A promise from a fallen priest. You are a fool."

He leaned forward and tried to kiss her. She struggled with him as she turned her head from side to side. "I thought ye hated Scottish women!" Her voice rose. "Ye said ye found us disgusting!"

She fought in earnest, tried to kick him, but his grip was too strong. He dragged her to the bed and grabbed the ties he used before. The fact he held them in his state spoke to his determination. He tied her hands to the top post. She pulled, and they only tightened, cutting off her circulation, but she didn't care.

He picked up her legs and swung them on the bed. She tried to pull away as he unbuttoned his shirt. He swayed again and almost fell on top of her. He blinked slowly and rocked again, then fell over on Marie.

She shrieked but stopped. Clarke lay unmoving. His heavy weight almost suffocated her. She twisted her body once, twice, and he flopped to the floor with a loud thud. She peeked at him and spied his legs. She sat back and closed her eyes.

Tears escaped and trailed down her cheeks. No man had ever tried anything like that. Her mind immediately went to Bree as she remembered her stories about her ex. She blinked, and more tears fell. She closed her eyes and thanked God Clarke couldn't handle his drink.

As she tried the ties again, she found the knots were out of her reach. Here she sat trapped, tied to the bed, and a drunk man passed out on the floor. The quote from the book echoed.

The fear of man brings a snare: but who so put his trust in God shall be safe.

She prayed. "Thank ye, God. I am safe."