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“Yes.”

He sighed. “’Tis most unusual.”

Most unusual and most interesting. She fascinated him. Beautiful, educated, clearly having her own will.

“But there’s one problem with yer story,” he said. “I ken James Douglas. I ken other Lowlanders. Ye sound nothing like any of them. Ye talk very differently than anyone I’ve ever met. And that story of yers, implying that some of my men would attack a woman for robbery, then take her to my cellar—for what? ’Tis just very amusing to me.”

She fell speechless.

“So I wilna let ye go until ye tell me the truth,” he pressed.

“Or what?” she said.

“Or ye’ll get back into that cellar and wilna leave it until ye give me an answer I’ll be satisfied with.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Then I’ll prove to you that no matter how strange I sound and no matter how strange it seems you found me in your cellar, I’m telling the truth. I’ll tell you things only Douglas would know.” She swallowed. “And you.”

He folded his arms over his chest, as well. “All right, lass. Try.”

She released a long breath. “James told me he’d heard from Robert the Bruce that he’d harbored in Eilean Donan to seek protection.”

How did she know that? He supposed people knew things or heard things four years after—rumors spread—but that was strangely specific.

“Oh, aye?”

“Aye. Yes.”

He watched her, stunned. Aye, she was probably telling the truth, but there was something about her that was strange in the most beautiful way.

“Father Nicholas offered me shelter and clothes until I can resume my way north,” she said.

He hemmed and, reluctantly, stepped back, showing her that she was free to go. But as she gave him a curt nod and walked past him and out of the church, he felt a pinch of regret that he wouldn’t be spending more time in her company.

Chapter 4

Angus knocked at the door to Father Nicholas’s chamber. When no one answered, he knocked again.

The image of the beautiful Lady Rogene was still bright in his mind, her scent still in his nostrils. By God’s bones, she was a delight. And if she was on her way north, she’d be gone soon.

The images of her half-naked chest, which he’d seen in the cellar, haunted him.

Aye, he’d seen breasts many times, but something about her allured him beyond words.

With his blood beginning to burn just from the thought of her, he shook his head to shake off the images and repeated the knock.

A low grunt came from behind the door.

Alarmed, he pushed the door open. Father Nicholas lay on his modest bed with his back to Angus. The room smelled of vomit. The tiny windows let a little light in, and under it stood his desk with a piece of vellum, a jar of ink, and a quill. Three small books lay on one of the chests along the wall.

“Father Nicholas?” Angus said.

Worry pinched Angus sharply in the gut.

“Are ye unwell, Father?” Angus insisted.

Father Nicholas turned his head to him. He was pale and had bloodshot eyes.

“Aye, son. I’m afraid some sort of pestilence is upon me.”