Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Agnes started to answer, then stopped, for she’d experienced another shock. In her daze of seeing his unclad form, his half-masked face, she’d failed to see his scars.

But now those three cruel scars seemed to be all she could see.

She thought she could almost feel the agony that caused those, one across his chest and shoulder, then another across his gut. Her stomach contracted as though a cruel, fiery blade had cut across it.

When she looked up again, the man’s jaw was set, and his eyes seemed even more forbidding.

Oh, how rude and foolish of me.

Agnes went to apologize, only she glanced at his right shoulder and let out a curse.

The man’s jaw dropped as she hurried forward, guilt tearing through her. How could she have failed to notice such an injury? There was a deep, wicked gash there, and his blood was flowing.

“Ye swore,” he said in a dazed voice.

“Ah, I did,” Agnes said and fought a blush. Sister Theresa, under all her smiles and kindness, had been raised by sailors and sometimes slipped up. “Apologies. But I should see to your injury.”

The man’s lips twisted, and he glanced down then shrugged. “It willnae kill me.”

He walked out of the water, past Agnes, not sparing her another glance—until she darted in front of him.

“You need to tend to that,” she said and put her hands on her hips. Then she gasped, looking between him and the water. “How utterly foolish. You should not have swum.”

The Highlander looked staggered, and Agnes pointed at a nearby rock. “Please sit.”

“Are ye tellin’ me what to do, Outlander?”

“Yes, it needs tending to,” Agnes said and tossed her head covering over her shoulder, then she began to hunt along the shore for herbs.

She found a bit of early yarrow, then snapped her fingers and plunged her hand into her pocket. Earlier, she had swiped a small vial of honey to go with her bread and cake.

When she turned, the man had not moved, and she frowned. “I told you to sit.”

The man looked at Fafnir, as though waiting for the horse to speak, and then back to Agnes. “Are ye mad?”

“I don’t think so,” Agnes said and tilted her head, considering the question. “No, not a bit. Why?”

The man did not seem able to come up with a response, and with no other option, he went and sat on the rock.

“Good thing I kept me trews on,” he muttered as Agnes drew closer.

“Trews?” Agnes asked as she rummaged in her pockets for a strip of clean cloth.

“Trousers, woman,” he said and gestured to his strong thighs. “I think such a sight would’ve…” He broke off as he looked her over. “Christ in Heaven, are ye a nun?”

“Not yet,” she said. “And you’re probably right, I have never seen a naked man before you.” He made a choking sound. “Why are you wearing trousers if you were swimming?”

“Just in case a wee nae-yet-a-nun wandered by,” he growled, and she glanced up at him. Even on the rock, he towered over her. “And in case bandits pass by. I’ve nay interest in fighting naked.”

He ducked his head and muttered something that sounded like, learned me lesson the first time.

Agnes gulped and felt herself get hotter, trying to focus on his injuries. “Bandits did this?” she asked, and he nodded. “Wait, are you still in danger? Should we get to safety?”

A wicked smirk curved his mouth. “Nay, darlin’, I dinnae think they’ll be troublin’ anyone ever again.”

Something twisted in Agnes’s chest, an odd dread mixed with a thrill. He meant… he’d killed them. Shouldn’t she be more shocked? Condemn him?

The man seemed to be waiting for her to do so.

“Oh,” she heard herself say and focused on his wound. Whatever else, he was hurt, and bandits had probably set upon him, rather than the other way around. “Do you have a blade then?”

The man started, pulling back and sweeping his gaze over her. Agnes felt as though he were seeing her in a way that no one ever had, his gaze open and curious, and full of appraisal. Her breath caught when she noticed his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

He opened his mouth to speak and stopped, then reached down, a blade spun through his fingers, and then the hilt was offered to her.

“What will ye do with it?” he asked in a low, husky voice that made her toes curl inside of her worn, flat shoes.

“Not me,” she said. “Can you cut this into strips?” She reached for her head covering, a nervous compunction twisting through her, and then she shook her head. This was for a good cause. “I need to see your wound.”

Again, the man stared at her, and she felt her brow crease in a prim frown, one she’d seen on Sister Theresa’s face many a time.

“If you can’t?—”

A half-snort, half-growl sounded above her.

The man set to cutting the strips while Agnes inspected the wound and then set to mixing the honey with the yarrow on a clean leaf. Meanwhile, Fafnir drifted behind them, munching on the grass. Agnes briefly felt as though she’d been transported into a Bard’s tale.

Not that she’d heard many Bard’s tales, save the one summer night three years ago when she and Joanna had gone to Douglas Castle to listen from behind the tree line.

“Here,” the man grunted and laid out good, even strips of cloth on his leg. “Will this do, wee nae-yet-a-nun?”

“It shall,” Agnes replied with a smile as she looked up at him. Then she faltered. “Are you all right?” He had such a peculiar expression. She noticed his hands were gripping his knees. “Are you in pain?”

“Aye, somethin’ like that,” he said in a low voice.

“You should not have swum,” she couldn’t help but scold, even though her tongue felt clumsy. She’d never been so aware of her limbs, how her dress whispered over her skin, and the heavy mass of her hair. And was the sun brighter? “I hope I’m not too late.”

“Och, aye, me too,” the man said in a voice that made her stomach flutter. “But I also cleaned the wounds with the strongest whisky in Scotland, lass. I’ll live,” he said. He reached up as though to touch his face and then stopped. “I had worse.” His entire body seemed to deflate. “Far worse.”

Agnes’s eyes flicked to the scars on his shoulder and his gut, the mottled and cruel nature of them. Then her eyes flicked to his neck, and she realized that he had another scar there, and the mask must have hidden a third on his face.

Up close, her initial impression seemed half-correct—they were burns, but not of the kind she had seen before. Not like when poor Mitzy the cook got a burn from a hot pan. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back, her mind flashing back to the flat line of the Highlander’s mouth when she’d first seen him emerge from the water.

I think my reaction to his scars bothered him.

Her eyes darted up to his face, and she noted that he’d raised an eyebrow at her. She offered him a nervous smile.

Oh no, he knows I’m looking at them again. Focus, Agnes.

“What are ye about now, nae-yet-a-nun?” he asked in a tone that made Agnes bristle, even though his stormy eyes seemed to twinkle.

She faltered.

Wait, this was the tone that Joanna took with her when she moaned for more cake. Was—was he teasing her? Had he teased her before?

“Applying the honey and yarrow,” she replied in a prim tone that would’ve made Sister Theresa proud. “Then I’ll bandage it.” And she set about doing just that.

When she finished, she stepped back and stared up at the sky. More time had passed than she’d realized. It was well past noon now.

“I must go,” she blurted out.

The man was testing the bandages by flexing his arm, and Agnes swallowed hard, but his head snapped up at her words. She waited for him to speak, but he merely nodded at her. Her eyes flickered to the wound on his stomach. It had started to bleed again.

“You should bandage that,” she said.

“Will ye nae?” He cocked his head when she shook hers. “Why nae?”

“I’ve tarried too long,” she said and offered him a smile. “Besides, you watched me close enough—I think you’ll do fine.”

Was it Agnes’s imagination, or did some color creep up this Highlander’s face?

“Take care,” she said.

She turned and saw Fafnir coming toward her. A hollow seemed to open in her heart as she paused to put her forehead to the horse’s nose.

“I will never forget you, fair Fafnir. I wish that I could ride a steed as mighty as you.” She teared up as she smiled at him, and he let out an impatient breath, as though daring her to do so.

“Goodbye.”

“Wait, lass, what about?—”

“Oh!” Agnes whirled around, almost crashing into the Highlander.

He steadied her, his warm and firm grip causing a shock of pleasure to echo in her bones.

Oh dear, what is happening to me?

She gazed up at him and focused on his lips, noting the beautiful curve of them.

These are those wicked and sinful thoughts the sisters speak of. The way that men can cause women to swoon. I must not tarry.

At the same time though, a mad thought came to her mind. Did he mean to… kiss her?

I’ve always wanted a kiss.

Their gazes met, and something seemed to flash in the Highlander’s eyes, as though he knew what was on her wicked mind. She licked her lips, and his eyes flicked down to them.

Should I ask?

“Ye must—” he began to say.

“Of course, of course, forgive me.” Agnes found the food in her pocket and shoved it at him. Be well, Sir.” Unable to help herself, though she felt a bit impish as she did so, she flashed him a wide smile. “I won’t forget you.”

His lips parted, and he suddenly looked young to her, as though a man her age stood in front of her, not one at least a decade older. It allowed her to slip away and race into the forest, only glancing back once to see him staring after her, the small bundle of food cradled to his chest.

Agnes laughed, even as something burned in her chest, a yearning she knew she would have to pray away, a yearning she would have to bury.

And never had she run so fast or hard, as though lightning had shot through her veins. Nervous excitement welled within her, and again she wondered if she was ill, or if this was another symptom of her immoral cravings.

She began to pray as she drew closer to Craeghil, trying not to think of the way the Highlander’s eyes flashed, the way he’d emerged from the water, the way he’d gazed at her, or the way he’d held her?—

Agnes tripped by the garden wall, tumbling to the warm grass. For a moment, she lay there, breathing hard, and then she flopped onto her back. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a hand to her thundering heart.

I wish ?—

Then she sat up with a gasp and looked east, her stomach twisting.

“I wish I knew your name,” she whispered.

“Whose name, Agnes?” asked a voice above her.

Agnes cowered as a tall, dark shadow fell over her.

Mother Superior’s thin lips curled into a snarl. “Where have you been, you foolish girl?” Then her pale blue eyes all but bugged out of her head. “And where is your wimple? Have you lost it?”

Agnes went to speak, to defend herself, but then stopped. It was no use. Blowing out a breath, she got to her feet and nodded, her body already braced for the hot flash of pain across her face. Still, Mother Superior’s slap had never felt so cruel, and Agnes stumbled into the wall, blinking back tears.

“She must be punished,” said another voice.

Agnes’s head snapped up. All five of Mother Superior’s favorite nuns stood there, glaring at her.

“No, please,” came a gasping voice. Sister Theresa hurried over to her, her gray eyes filled with tears. “Agnes does not mean?—”

“She does. We should have never taken in this wicked creature,” Mother Superior interrupted. “Do not presume to interrupt me again, Sister Theresa.”

With that, Mother Superior stalked off, the five nuns and Agnes trailing after her. Sister Theresa gave her an anguished look.

“It will be all right,” Agnes whispered.

“Oh, Agnes,” Sister Theresa said sadly.

It was worth it, Agnes told herself over and over again as she followed them through the gardens, across the gallery, and into the small room with one window and one chair.

Even when Mother Superior closed and locked the door, bidding Agnes to strip down and bare her back, even when the heavy wooden cane cracked against her flesh and she bit down on the leather in her mouth, Agnes told herself it was worth it.

And when the merciful darkness stole her away, she saw the Highlander riding hard to the south on beautiful Fafnir.

In that brief space, she admitted that she wished she could see her Highlander once more.