Page 6 of Warrior’s Lady

A serene peace reflected on the abbess' face. "As of this moment, you are now a nursemaid to a young girl who desperately needs you." The abbess came forward. "It will not be an easy task. It is rough territory and there will be many dangers. But I sense in you a deep strength."

"What kind of dangers?" Rhiannon asked cautiously.

"There are others — besides her family — who are looking for young Lady Violet. And not everyone would care for her well-being. I must caution you, Rhiannon, never to let Bishop Berwick anywhere near this child. Her life could be in danger if you do."

Before Rhiannon could react to the strange words, the abbess reached into the folds of her habit and produced a small bundle of linen, then handed it to Rhiannon. "Take this. Protect it with your life until you deliver it safely to Violet's uncle, Camden Lockhart. He'll know what to do with it."

The Abbess gripped Rhiannon's hands firmly in her own. "A few last words of advice I must impart to you. Whatever happens to you from this moment forward, you must fill your heart with forgiveness."

Rhiannon frowned. What did that mean? Before she could ask the abbess for an explanation, the older woman turned away to open the door to the room. Framed in the doorway stood a girl of no more than six, her gaze cast to the floor, her shoulders slumped forward. Golden hair fell in knotted clumps down to her waist. Her simple dress was shredded and dirty, as though she'd lived through some horrific trauma.

"Oh, my," was all Rhiannon could think to say. But those words brought the girl's gaze to her own. And Rhiannon forgot to breathe. Pain, loneliness, and uncertainty echoed in the depths of the child's soft blue eyes — emotions she herself had been familiar with from the time she was a child.

"You will leave with Lady Violet immediately," Mother Agnes announced. "Gather your belongings and meet us at the horse cart."

As much as Rhiannon wanted to protest, she knew she could not. She had seen too much of herself in the young girl's eyes. She wanted to ask where she was headed, or why the abbess had chosen her, but in that moment, her own worries seemed so small and insignificant.

That girl needed someone as much as Rhiannon herself did.

After half a day's ride, Orrin and the other warriors found the gates of Lockhart Castle open wide. A sense of unease came over Orrin as they entered the grounds unchallenged.

As they rode through the bailey, men and women dressed all in black stopped their activities to watch the warriors' progression. The blacksmith halted his mallet mid-blow. The women milking the cows ceased their undulating rhythms. The women at the quern stone stopped grinding the wheat into flour as the warriors approached the keep.

The residents were all dressed in black – the color of mourning. A chill crept up Orrin's spine. How could they possibly know about Lord Lockhart's death? The news could not have traveled that quickly in these Highland hills. Unless it was not the lord's death they grieved.

Orrin dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy who raced out to greet them. "Where might I find Lady Lockhart?" Orrin asked.

The young boy's gaze shifted to the ground, but not before Orrin noted how the color drained from his cheeks. "My good sir—"

"Who are you?" a voice beckoned from behind him.

Orrin twisted toward the entrance of the keep.

The Bishop Berwick glided down the stairs. His eyes narrowed and his features sharpened with hostility as he drew closer. "You wish to see the Lady Lockhart? Why?"

"Your Grace." Orrin offered the holy man a bow. "I am Orrin MacAllister, friend and loyal servant of Camden Lockhart. He sent me here to check on his sister-in-law and niece. Do you know where I might find them?"

A hint of suspicion filled the bishop's gaze as he crossed his arms over his chest. The rich brocade of his gown with its gold trimmings seemed out of place in the dusty bailey. "I had rather hoped you could tell me where I might find the girl, Lady Violet."

"Lady Violet?"

"Aye, she's gone missing."

"And Lady Lockhart?" Cold dread rode through Orrin at the way the bishop's lips curled into a half-smile.

"She was hanged two days past for her crime of witchcraft."

"Witchcraft? That's absurd," Orrin spat out. "Who brought the charge against her?"

"I did." The bishop's grin held a hint of superiority. "'Twas my duty, as a servant of the Church, to expose her to the Church council for what she was. They found her guilty and sentenced her to death."

Orrin clenched his fists at his sides, desperate to control his growing anger. "She was the kindest of women, and certainly no witch."

The bishop shrugged. "Her judgment has been made by those mightier than you or me."

Orrin shut his eyes and drew a breath. He had to stay in control. Attacking the bishop would not help him find Violet, and certainly wouldn't help Camden. With his brother's death, Camden was now the clan leader. Good relations with the bishop would be critical with a weak Scottish king on the throne and the English king constantly stirring up the political climate and threatening their lives.

Like it or not, the bishop held the power, whether good or evil, over all their lives.