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“Aye. And toss some flakes of soap in fer good measure.”
Fiona giggled at the thought. “I confess, I never understood why some folks fear they will catch their death if they bathe too often.”
“’Tis a sad yet true problem.”
“For the rest of us.”
The two women let loose with a peal of laughter. But Fiona’s unexpected amusement vanished as quickly as it had come when Father Niall entered the solar, a purposeful expression on his face.
Hoping for some good news, Fiona bid Aileen a hasty good-bye and hurried toward the priest. He seemed genuinely shocked to see her engaged in such a companionable situation with Aileen. But his mind was on other matters and Fiona was relieved when he came quickly to the point of his visit.
“The arrangements are finally set,” he said in a low voice. “You leave tomorrow at dawn.”
Fiona had to concentrate on standing very still so as not to give any hint of her emotions. Father Niall’s words were a blessing, a comfort, precisely what she had been waiting to hear. However, Fiona was very surprised to discover that mingled with the great sense of relief was an unexpected twinge of regret.
Chapter 16
Darkness, thick and silent, shrouded the great hall. Sounds of gentle, as well as loud, snoring could be heard as the others slumbered peacefully on their pallets. Holding her breath, Fiona tiptoed across the large chamber. She opened the heavy door slowly and slipped out, offering a silent prayer of thanks that no one had witnessed her departure.
The cool predawn air was bracing against her skin and she shivered. The full moon provided far more light than she expected, altering her to be even more cautious. Lifting the skirt of her gown, she hurried, carefully keeping herself close to the structures, to avoid being seen by the guards.
She paused to get her bearings when she reached the stable, but the distinct crunch of a footstep startled the wits out of her. Barely containing a shriek, Fiona flattened her back against the outer wall and waited.
The footsteps grew progressively louder and Fiona’s heart started beating so rapidly she swore the sound must be echoing throughout the courtyard. She restlessly shifted her feet and squinted into the moonlit darkness, trying to decide which way to run should someone appear.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sound of footsteps disappeared. Cautiously, Fiona peered around the corner. Nothing. The bailey was deserted, with no sign of any guards or any other shadowy figures.
Run!This was her chance and she needed to seize it. Yet instead Fiona went absolutely still. Oh, no. She had come too far to panic and lose her nerve now. Taking a deep breath, she counted slowly to ten, then nimbly dashed across the empty bailey to the chapel.
She was prepared to hear a shout of alarm, an order to halt, the sound of heavy footsteps in pursuit. Yet none came. Head and heart pounding, Fiona slipped through the church door, wishing there was a bolt so she could lock it behind her. She was flooded with relief, though she knew this was only the start of her journey—she still needed to get past the men guarding the gatehouse.
In anticipation of her arrival, Father Niall had lit two candles. The flickering light illuminated just enough of the darkness to enable Fiona to move about the room without knocking into things, yet was minimal enough to avoid attracting attention.
Fiona stepped gingerly forward. Nerves still unsteady, she felt the perspiration forming on her forehead and upper lip, while a few droplets trickled down her spine. As they had agreed, the priest was waiting for her, dozing peacefully on a wooden bench. She stood over him for a brief moment, marveling at his ability to sleep so contentedly on such a hard, uncomfortable surface.
“Father Niall!”
Her sharp whisper startled the priest. He bolted upright, almost knocking his head on her chin. “Lady Fiona, you are here.”
“Yes, at the appointed hour,” she replied unnecessarily.
The priest shifted on the bench and looked up, yet Fiona knew all too well his sleepy countenance belied the sharp perception of his stare. As recent as last night, he had tried, unsuccessfully, to dissuade her from taking this action, agreeing to offer her aid only after he realized she would not be deterred.
“I have your belongings,” he said, pointing beneath the bench.
She picked up the meager bundle of clothes she had packed and given to the priest to hide and slung it over her shoulder. She was taking only what she had brought with her, leaving behind the blue silk gown she had made from the luxurious fabric Gavin had bought for her at the fair, along with the glass vial of perfume. She had no use for these fine things where she was going and the memory of that happy day was a cruel reminder of what might have been, if the circumstances were different.
“I mustn’t tarry. Will you please summon Spencer?” Fiona asked.
Father Niall frowned. “Are you certain? The squires sleep in the great hall. I will endeavor to be careful, but I could be seen, and that puts you at a much greater risk of discovery.”
She nodded her head decisively. “I know, but I cannot ride through the gates until I’ve said good-bye and held my son one final time.”
The priest nodded reluctantly. Unable to sit, Fiona paced nervously, waiting with growing anxiety for Father Niall to return. She knew the priest was right. Itwasa calculated risk speaking with Spencer, but Fiona knew she would not be able to leave without saying farewell to him.
Spencer’s loyalty to the earl, indeed to all his newfound Scottish friends, was deep. She did not have the earl’s permission to leave his castle, yet even knowing this might put Spencer in a moral dilemma did not sway her resolve.
After what felt like an eternity, a yawning Spencer trooped sluggishly into the church, Father Niall’s guiding hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. He blinked groggily at her through the dim candlelight, surprise on his face. “Mother?”
