Knight Errant: A Highland Passage Novel (12 page)

As if reading her thoughts, Robert pulled back the covers and set her gently upon the bed. As he tucked the bed linens about her, he said, “I’m afraid it’s not so nice a room as you’re used to in your time, but ’tis the nicest I could find.”

Violet lay with her eyes shut and sighed. “It’s not a swaying hammock on a ship’s gun deck, which makes it heaven.” She tried to smile but gave up.

The corner of Robert’s mouth turned up as he bent to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

S
UN SHONE
through leaded panes as Violet awoke with terrible thirst but without the nausea that had plagued her since boarding the ship. A night’s sleep on dry land had cured her. She rolled over to get up and find water, but an arm repositioned itself over her. Robert had fallen asleep by her side. He had been with her every night of their travels but never in her bed. On the ship, although he had rarely left her side, they each slept in a hammock. To feel him spooned against her felt good and right. She belonged in his arms.

“Are you all right?” His breath was warm on her neck.

Violet smiled. “I’m thirsty. I was going to get some water.”

He placed a soft kiss just behind her ear then got up, went to the pitcher and basin, and poured a cup of water. He sat on the bed beside her while she drank it. Violet finished and set the cup on a bedside table. Robert absently followed her hand with troubled eyes.

Before she could ask what was on his mind, Robert said, “Are you able to eat?”

“Yes, I’m much better.”

With a nod, he said, “Good. Then we’ll break our fast then go to the cave. We’ll try to go home—to my home, that is—if you’re up to it.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Robert, is something the matter?” Violet searched his dark eyes.

His face brightened as he shook off his mood. “Oh, aye. I’ve a fierce hunger.” He put his hand over hers. “I’ll go see about having some breakfast brought up.”

“No, I’ll go with you.” Robert started to rise, but Violet gripped his sleeve and pulled him back down. “Don’t go.”

She leaned closer and managed a kiss before he gently but surely put his hands on her shoulders and put distance between them. After all they had been through—and after confessing their love—they were in a room with a bed, and she wanted more than his words. She wanted him. But instead, he arose and got dressed.

Violet hugged her knees to her chest. “Robert?”

Without looking up, he pulled on his boots. “Aye?” When she did not answer, he looked at her.

She studied him for a moment. “What’s on your mind?”

His questioning look dissolved as a grin took its place. “Food!” He gave her a kiss on the forehead then went to the door, where he paused. “Take your time, lass. I’m away to make sure that a fine feast awaits you when you come downstairs.”

He was gone before she could respond.

For the rest of the day, Robert was attentive but distant. The odd mixture confused her, but he evaded any attempt at serious conversation. After her first few attempts—which he fielded with a skill she could not help but find impressive but also transparent—she gave up and accepted his light, playful mood. It was a new side of him she hadn’t seen. Since she had met him, they had always been under pressure, and often in danger, as they sought to deliver the scroll. With that accomplished, the burden was lifted. Perhaps that was all that this mood of Robert’s was: his desire not to worry—or even to think. Was he not entitled to that much?

So Violet and Robert enjoyed their day, slowly working toward the cave. Their plan was to arrive at the cave before dark and to spend the night there. Robert insisted that Violet stop to rest often. She needed to save strength for the climb, which went well.

Violet would have liked to think that her climbing skills had improved, but in fact, having Robert close behind her, coaching with his strong arms at the ready, had more to do with it. Although having him so close was its own distraction, she wasn’t complaining. As preoccupied as Robert had been throughout the day, she took what closeness she could get with a measure of gratitude, though she was still somewhat frustrated. Robert’s mood grew worse.

By the time their only light came from the fire Robert had lit at the mouth of the cave, Violet said, “I can’t take any more. You’ve got to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Violet took a deep breath and exhaled. “What I’ve done. You’ve been brooding all day. For the past hour, I’ve carried on a one-woman conversation, and—fascinating as I might be—I could use some input.”

“Some what?”

“Input. Oh, sorry. It’s a computer term.”

“Computer?”

“Never mind. My point is: are you angry with me?”

Robert’s eyes widened. “Angry? With you?”

Violet met his shocked look with a frank look of her own. “It can happen—and has, more than once.”

“Not with me. Well, perhaps once—when you ran away to the bridge.” He stared off into the distance for a moment. “Then there was the fact that you wouldnae even try to learn how to ride. Oh, and—”

“Never mind!” Violet held up her hands to stop him. “Point taken. But let’s just talk about today. You’ve been in a very dark mood.”

“Aye, I suppose I have.”

“There’s no supposing about it. You have, and I want to know why.”

Robert moved closer to Violet and put his arms about her. He held her face and kissed her. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her again.

Putting her brain on hold, Violet let him kiss her. His ploy nearly worked, for her priorities practically shifted. It was he who inadvertently set her back on course. As they kissed and she sought to be closer to him, he backed away in what had become a recent pattern—a pattern she did not enjoy. That reminded her of her original question: his mood—his foul mood, truth be told—which he had repeatedly refused to explain.

“‘I’m sorry’ isn’t an answer,” she said.

“I’m afraid I’ve nothing better to offer. ’Tis my own problem, and I’ll work it out.”

“Can’t you talk about it?”

“Talking doesnae make everything better.”

Violet let out a frustrated sigh as she stared at the fire. “Fine.”

Robert squeezed her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you understand.”

Violet turned to unleash her annoyance upon him. “Oh, I never said that I understood. I’m just accepting defeat.”

He took her chin gently and leaned closer. “It’s not a battle.”

“Isn’t it?” Violet tried to be strong, but she couldn’t hide her worries. It didn’t help that he deliberately closed the distance between them until his mouth was inches from hers, especially when the memory of his last kiss was still on her lips.

He gazed into her eyes. “No, it has nothing to do with us.”

“Are you sure?” As soon as she said it, she regretted how needy she sounded. He had answered her question—not well, but it was the best she would pry out of him. She switched to a more logical approach and spoke gently. “Never mind. I was worried, but I get it. You don’t want to talk. We don’t have to. I understand.”

That went well, except for the part that she spoke with false words. She didn’t understand, and she wanted to talk. Violet was beginning to understand why she had bad luck with men. Luck had so little to do with it.

But to her surprise, Robert took her words at face value and went one better. “There’s a good lass.”

Violet winced. Oh, well, it wasn’t a great start, but his finish was strong. He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and kissed her with a candor his words clearly lacked. Apparently in lieu of actual words, kisses and touches were quantifiable benchmarks of love. Still, she had questions—and a hand that was now at the small of her back and still moving.
Oh, screw metrics.
She was on board with this new standard of measurement.

He abruptly got up and leaned on the cave wall, staring outside.

“Robert?”

Without turning around, he said, “I’ll not have a child of mine grow up a bastard.”

Violet didn’t know how to respond.

He turned toward her and paced a few times. “We dinnae ken where we will be in a week, let alone for the rest of our lives. Until we do, I’ll not risk putting a child through what I went through.” He sank down and sat against the wall.

All she could manage was a nod, for his sorrow made her heart ache.

12

THE FRIARY

T
he journey back to Robert’s sixteenth century time went as well as Violet’s fear of heights would allow. As she and Robert walked through the gateway into the Blackfriars Monastery, Violet felt at ease. “It’s a little like coming home. Of course, for you, it is home.”

“Aye.”

Given his gruff tone, his answer was mercifully short. Coming home had done nothing for his spirits. Violet did her best to ignore it, as she had all day.

Before long, his father approached them. Robert was not only aloof to Brother Thomas; he was barely polite. His manner didn’t escape Brother Thomas’s notice, but he deflected any awkwardness by inviting them to join the others at supper, which had just begun. As soon as his father looked away, Violet gave Robert a sharp look and was met with a clenched jaw as he turned away.

So that was what Robert had been agonizing over. She should have known better than to believe he had handled it well when he first learned the truth. He had said nothing about it to her or to young Brother Thomas. Why would he have? The young Brother Thomas didn’t know who Robert was, nor had he yet lied to him. Robert had no quarrel with him—not yet. Violet realized that Robert had been biding his time, saying nothing to anyone until he and his father were alone.

Violet was grateful to Brother Thomas and the monks at their table for the supper conversation, since Robert’s monosyllabic responses made it clear he did not wish to talk.

When supper was over, they began to head back to their cells, but Robert stopped Brother Thomas. “May I have a word?”

Brother Thomas may not have noticed, but Violet heard the edge in his voice.

Brother Thomas pleasantly nodded. “Yes, but I'm sure you're exhausted. We can talk in the morning.”

“We can talk now.” There was no mistaking the edge in Robert’s voice.

His father eyed him warily. “All right. Let’s go to my workshop.”

“Good. I’ll escort Violet to her room, and I’ll meet you there.” Robert started to lead her by the elbow.

“No.” She looked from one surprised face to the other. “You’re not going to shuffle me off so you can have man talk.”

In a quiet voice, Robert said, “This isnae the time for this.”

Violet lifted her chin and met Robert’s eyes. She said softly, “It is, and I’m going with you.”

It was no victory when he surrendered. He was choosing his battles and timing. Violet knew well that her battle was still coming. They walked along the cloister to the workshop.

Once inside with the door closed, Robert wasted no time. “I should have kent what a liar you were when I saw you making false relics for donors.”

Brother Thomas’s eyes closed for a moment, then he looked straight at Robert.

When he offered no argument, Robert went on. “I grew up thinking my father was dead.”

Brother Thomas nodded. “I regret that.”

Eyes blazing, Robert said, “Do you? Do you regret it?”

“I do.”

“Well, that makes everything right, does it not?” Robert paced then turned to his father. “Do you ken how I found out?” He shouted, “I met you—in France—when you were younger. You knew it would happen, and you let me go there and meet you face-to-face.”

“I did not know what would happen, but yes, I suspected you might.”

Robert turned away, shaking his head.

His father stepped around Robert until he was facing him. “If I had told you the truth, would you have gone?”

Robert’s eyes flashed to his father’s, but he offered no answer, only the bitter sting of emotion that could not be masked.

Brother Thomas said, “I had to make sure that you went.”

Robert lifted his chin as he shut his eyes and exhaled. Violet wanted to reach out to him, but she could only watch. He looked as if he had internal bleeding that no one would know of unless they loved him. And she did. But Brother Thomas’s eyes held back pain. She was torn, for she knew Robert’s anguish, but she saw Brother Thomas’s too.

Robert went to the window and stared into the night sky. “Everything was a lie—who I was, who we were to each other. But one thing was true. I was always alone.”

“We would have lost our home.” His father put his hand on Robert’s shoulder, but Robert pulled free with a jerk of his shoulder.

“Oh, aye. Not to mention the shame it would have brought upon you.”

“And on you.”

“I was already a bastard. Just in case I forgot, one of the other boys would always remind me. But at least I had my pride and my honor. I knew what was right, and I did it—which is more than I can say for you. For you not only lied to me, but you lied in God’s name—robbing graves and passing the bones off as relics with no qualms. Oh, yes, now I have a father. And I am ashamed.”

Robert grasped Violet’s wrist and pulled her along as he stormed out of the room.

H
E LED
her all the way to her cell and, making sure no one saw them, went inside and closed the door. Violet had never seen anger like this. His eyes had the same focused energy as when he’d fought off attackers. He moved with the same singular purpose that shut out everything except what he needed to survive. She touched his arm, and he turned, looking almost startled.

“Talk to me,” she said.

His eyes bore through her with an anger that made her uneasy. “No. No more talk. No more doing the right thing so people will see that I’m more than a bastard. No more.”

Words wouldn’t help him, yet she felt compelled to say something. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and turned toward the door. He stopped there, leaned his arm on the door, and buried his face in his elbow. Nearly silent, he stayed there as minutes went by.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “If I could, I would take the pain for you.”

He turned to her with red eyes. “I believe that you would.”