Page 3 of His Runaway Bride
Ewan unbuckled his sword belt with movements that were deliberately slow and non-threatening, though every instinct screamed against disarming himself completely.He handed the belt over, along with the small blade from his boot.
The abbess accepted them without flinching, then paused."Allyer weapons, warrior."
"Bloody hell!"Ewan cursed, then apologized.He reached behind his back and pulled out the dagger strapped there, reluctantly handing it over.The abbess nodded.
"Yer men may shelter in the stables beyond the outer wall," she continued, gesturing toward a smaller building barely visible through the rain."They'll find hay for yer mounts and a warm, dry place to wait."
Grant caught Ewan's eye and nodded slightly, understanding the unspoken order.Patrick looked less comfortable with the arrangement, his hand resting on his sword hilt.
"Go," Ewan said quietly."See to the horses and wait for word."
The two men nodded and led the horses away into the storm.
"Now," Abbess Bethóc said, turning those keen eyes back to him, "ye wish to speak with Lileas MacDonald."
The use of his betrothed's name sent a jolt through him that was part anticipation, part dread.After months of uncertainty, he was finally going to meet her.
"Aye," he replied, his voice rougher than he intended."I would have words with my betrothed about this...misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding."The abbess's tone was carefully neutral."An interesting choice of words.Tell me, MacNeil, what precisely do ye believe has been misunderstood?"
"She fled our wedding," he said, the words coming out harsher than he intended."I assume she thought she had a choice."
"And ye believe ye can simply...address...whatever drove a young woman to abandon everything she knew and seek sanctuary among strangers?"The abbess's voice carried no judgment, but her words hit their mark with precision.
"I believe," Ewan said through gritted teeth, "that running away solves nothing.Whatever her objections to our marriage, she could have discussed them with me."
Abbess Bethóc studied him for a long moment, her gray eyes missing nothing.Finally, she gestured for him to follow her, leading him through the gates and into the abbey proper.
"Lileas is indeed under our protection," the abbess said as they walked."But I must be clear: sanctuary means exactly that.We cannot and will not force her to leave with ye, regardless of any betrothal contracts, and we may not look it, but we are not without the means to protect ourselves...even from ye."
The words hit him like a physical blow.His authority, his rights as her betrothed, none of it mattered here.
Ewan's temper flared."She is my betrothed!We have an agreement between our clans!"
His voice echoed off the walls, loud and harsh in the sacred quiet.Several sisters looked up from their work, and he immediately felt ashamed of his loss of control.
"An agreement between men," Abbess Bethóc replied smoothly."Lileas was not consulted, was she?"
The words hit their mark with devastating accuracy.It was true: the negotiations had been conducted entirely between himself and her father.The bride's wishes had never been considered relevant.
"Then what do ye propose?"Ewan asked."That she simply hide here forever while our clans forgo a beneficial alliance?"
The alliance between MacNeil and MacDonald lands was crucial to the security of both clans.Without the marriage to cement the bond between them, old rivalries might resurface, and the carefully maintained peace might shatter.
"I propose," the abbess said, stopping before a narrow window that overlooked the abbey grounds, "that ye speak with her yerself.She's quite capable of explaining her own position."
Through the rain-streaked glass, Ewan could make out a smaller stone building set apart from the main complex, smoke rising steadily from its chimney.
"She's there?"he asked, his voice softer now, touched with uncertainty.
"She spends most of her time there, yes," the abbess replied."It's our brewster cottage where we prepare our...various concoctions.Lady MacDonald has been quite helpful with our work."There was something like pride in her voice.
Ewan's frown deepened.Helpful with their work?What sort of work could a sheltered nobleman's daughter possibly do that would be of value to a community of experienced sisters?
"What sort of work?"he asked, his curiosity beginning to overcome his frustration.
"The sort that requires...a sharp mind."Abbess Bethóc's smile was enigmatic."Ye're welcome to visit her there, Laird MacNeil, though I warn ye: she will not be dragged away against her will.I have various means to ensure that does not happen."
