Saving Grace

  "They did."

  "Then why aren't the Maclaurins thankful now? Have they forgotten?"

  Gabriel shook his head. "Not all of the MacBains could fight. Auggie is one example. He's too old for battle now. I thought, given time, the Maclaurins and the MacBains would learn to adjust, but now I realize that isn't going to happen. My patience is at an end, wife. The men will either get along and work together or suffer my displeasure."

  He was growling just like Dumfries by the time he finished his explanation. She stroked the side of his neck. "What happens when you're displeased?"

  He shrugged. "I usually kill someone."

  She was certain he was jesting with her. She smiled. "I won't allow fights in my house, husband. You'll have to do your killing somewhere else."

  He was too stunned by what she'd just said to take exception to her command. Johanna had just called the keep her house. It was a first, for until this moment, she'd always referred to everything as his. Gabriel hadn't realized how much her separation, deliberate or not, had bothered him.

  "Is this your home?"

  "Yes," she answered. "Isn't it?"

  "Yes," he agreed. "Johanna, I want you to be happy here."

  He sounded puzzled by his own admission. She couldn't help but become a little disgruntled over that notice.

  "You sound surprised," she said. Lord, he had beautiful eyes. She thought she could be content to look at her husband all day long and not grow bored. He really was a handsome devil.

  "I am surprised," he admitted.

  He suddenly wanted to kiss her. Her mouth was so damned appealing to him. So were her eyes. They were the clearest color of blue he'd ever seen. Hell, he even liked the way she frowned at him. He had to shake his head over that foolish realization. Wives should never let their husbands see their displeasure… should they?

  "Some husbands want their wives to be happy," Johanna decided aloud. "My father certainly wanted Mama to be happy."

  "And what did your mother want?"

  "To love my father," she answered.

  "And what do you want?"

  She shook her head. She wasn't about to tell him she wanted to love him. Such a declaration would make her vulnerable… wouldn't it?

  "I know what you want," she blurted out in an attempt to take the attention away from her feelings. "You want me to sit by the fire and sew at night and rest my days away. That's what you want."

  She'd become almost rigid in his arms. She wasn't stroking his neck now either. She was pulling his hair. He reached up, took hold of her hand, and put it in her lap.

  "Oh, I forgot one last thing," she blurted out. "You'd like me to stay where you put me, isn't that right?"

  "Don't jest with me, wife. I'm not in the mood."

  She wasn't jesting with him, but she didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him so. She didn't want to goad his temper. She wanted him to stay in a good mood so he would let her have her way.

  "There's more than one way to skin a fish," she announced.

  He didn't know what the hell she was talking about. He didn't think she did either. For that reason he didn't ask her to explain.

  "I believed, given time, that we would get used to each other," he told her.

  "You make us sound like the Maclaurins and the MacBains," she countered. "Are you getting used to me?"

  "It's taking longer than I expected," he told her.

  He was deliberately getting her riled. Johanna was trying not to let him see how upset she was becoming. The proof was in her eyes, however. They were now the color of blue fire. Aye, she was irritated all right.

  "I haven't had much experience with marriage," he reminded her.

  "I have," she blurted out.

  He shook his head. "You weren't married. You were in bondage. There's a difference."

  She couldn't fault his reasoning. She had been in bondage. However, she didn't want to dwell on her past. "And just what does my first marriage have to do with the topic under discussion?"

  "What exactly is the topic?"

  "Alex," she stammered out. "I was explaining to you that there is always more than one way to skin a fish. Don't you understand?"

  "How in God's name would I understand? No one skins fish here."

  She thought he was being deliberately obtuse. He certainly didn't appreciate clever sayings. "I meant that there is always more than one way to attain a goal," she explained. "I won't have to use force to get the Maclaurins to behave. I'll use other methods."

  She could tell he was finally considering the matter. She pressed her advantage. "You told me I should trust you. 'Tis the truth you ordered me to," she reminded him. "Now I will give you the same command. Trust me to take care of Alex. Please bring him home."

  He couldn't deny her. "Very well," he agreed with a sigh. "I'll get him tomorrow, but he'll only come here for a short visitation. If all goes well, then he'll stay. Otherwise…"

  "It will go well."

  "I won't have him put in jeopardy."

  "No, of course not."

  She tried to get off his lap. He stopped her by grabbing hold of her.

  "Johanna?"

  "Yes?"

  "Do you trust me?"

  She stared into his eyes for a long minute. He believed she was thinking the question over before she gave her answer. The possibility chafed. They'd been married for over three months now, and that was surely time enough for her to learn to trust him.

  "Your hesitation irritates me," he snapped.

  She didn't seem particularly bothered by that fact. She touched the side of his face with her hand. "I can tell it does," she whispered. "Yes, Gabriel, I trust you."

  She leaned forward and kissed him. The wonder in her voice, added to the show of affection, made him smile.

  "Do you trust me?"

  He almost laughed until he realized she was being serious. "A warrior doesn't trust anyone, Johanna, but his laird, of course."

  "Husbands should trust wives, shouldn't they?"

  He didn't know. "I don't believe it's necessary." He rubbed his jaw, then added, "Nay, it would be foolish."

  "Gabriel?"

  "Yes?"

  "You make me want to tear my hair out."

  "Begging your pardon, mistress," Hilda called out from the doorway. "May I have a moment of your time?"

  Johanna jumped off her husband's lap. She was blushing by the time she turned to the cook and bid her enter the hall.

  "Who's sitting with Clare?" she asked.

  "Father MacKechnie's with her now," Hilda answered. "She wanted to speak to him."

  Johanna nodded. Gabriel stood up. "Why didn't you tell me she was awake?"

  He didn't give her time to answer but started for the steps. Johanna hurried after him. "I promised her she could stay here," she blurted out.

  Her husband didn't answer her. She pushed Dumfries out of her way and chased her husband up the steps.

  "What are you thinking to do?" she demanded.

  "I'm just going to talk to her, Johanna. You needn't worry."

  "She isn't up to a long conversation, husband, and Father MacKechnie might be hearing her confession now. You shouldn't interrupt."

  The priest was just opening the door to come out when Gabriel reached the chamber. He nodded to Father MacKechnie as he passed him. Johanna was right behind her husband.

  "You will wait here while I talk to her," Gabriel commanded.

  "But she might be afraid of you, husband."

  "Then she'll have to be afraid."

  He shut the door in his wife's face. Johanna didn't have time to be outraged over his rudeness. She was too worried about Clare MacKay.

  She put her ear to the door and tried to listen. Father MacKechnie shook his head and pulled her away.

  "Let your husband have his privacy," he suggested.

  "You should know by now our laird would never hurt a woman."

  "Oh, I do know that," Johanna rushed out. "Still, Clare MacKay wouldn't k
now, would she?"

  The priest didn't have an answer for her. She turned the topic then. "Did you hear Clare's confession?"

  "I did."

  Johanna's shoulders slumped. Father MacKechnie thought that was an odd reaction. "Confession's a sacrament," he reminded his mistress. "She wanted absolution."

  "At what price?" Johanna asked in a whisper.

  "I'm not understanding your question, lass."

  "The penance," she blurted out. "It was severe, wasn't it?"

  "You know I cannot discuss the penance," he said.

  "Bishop Hallwick liked to boast about his penances," Johanna blurted out.

  The priest demanded several examples. The one that most repelled her she saved for last. "One leg for one egg," she said. "The bishop laughed after he suggested that punishment to my first husband to inflict upon a serving girl."

  Father MacKechnie plied her with questions, and when she'd given him her answers, he shook his head.

  "I'm ashamed to hear this," he admitted, "for I would like to believe all priests are good men doing God's important work here. Bishop Hallwick will have his day of reckoning when he stands before his Maker and tries to explain away his deliberate cruelty."

  "But, Father, the church stands behind the bishop. He takes his penances from the good book. Why, even the length of the stick is given."

  "What are you talking about? What stick?" the priest asked, thoroughly confused.

  She didn't understand why he didn't know what she was talking about. "The church dictates how a husband and wife should behave," she told him. "A submissive wife is a good and holy wife. The church approves beating women and, in fact, recommends such punishment because women will try to rule their husbands if they're not kept submissive."

  She paused to take a breath. Discussing the topic was upsetting to her, but she didn't want the priest to see her distress. He might ask her why she was distraught, and then she'd have to confess a dark and surely mortal sin.

  "The church frowns on murder, of course. A husband shouldn't beat his wife to death. A stick is preferred over a fist. It should be wooden, not metal, and no more than this long."

  She held her hands out to show him the measurement.

  "Where did you hear these rules?"

  "Bishop Hallwick."

  "Not everyone in the church believes…"

  "But they're supposed to believe," she interrupted, her agitation apparent now. She was wringing her hands together and trying not to let the priest see how close she was to losing her composure.

  "Why is that, lass?"

  Why didn't he understand? He was a priest, after all, and should be most familiar with the rules governing women.

  "Because women are last in God's love," she whispered.

  Father MacKechnie kept his expression contained. He took hold of Johanna's arm and led her down the hallway. He didn't want his laird to come outside and see his wife in such a distressed state.

  There was a bench against the wall adjacent to the steps. The priest sat down, then patted the spot next to him. She immediately sat down. Her head was bowed, and she pretended great interest in straightening the pleats of her plaid.

  Father MacKechnie waited another minute or two for his mistress to regain her composure before he asked her to explain her last remark.

  "How would you know women are last in God's love?"

  "The hierarchy," she answered. She repeated from memory what she'd been taught, her head bowed all the while. When she was finished, she still refused to look at the priest.

  He leaned back against the wall. "Well, now," he began. "You've given me quite a list to mull over in my mind. Tell me this, Johanna. Do you truly believe dim-witted oxen…"

  "It's dull-witted. Father." she interrupted.

  He nodded. "All right then," he agreed. "Do you believe dull-witted oxen will have a higher place in heaven than women?"

  Father MacKechnie was such a good man. She didn't want to disappoint him. She wasn't going to lie to the priest though, no matter what the consequences.

  "No," she whispered. She glanced up to see how her denial affected the priest. He didn't look horrified. She took a breath and then blurted out, "I don't believe any of it. I'm a heretic, Father, and will surely burn in hell."

  The priest shook his head. "I don't believe it either," he told her. "It's nonsense made up by frightened men."

  She leaned back now. She was clearly astonished by Father MacKechnie's attitude. "But the church's teachings…"

  "The teachings are interpreted by men, Johanna. Don't be forgetting that important fact."

  He took hold of her hand. "You aren't a heretic," he announced. "And now I want you to listen to what I have to say. There is but one God, Johanna, but two ways of looking at Him. There's the English way and the Highlander's way."

  "How are they different?"

  "Some of the English pray to a vengeful God," Father MacKechnie explained. "The children are raised to fear Him. They are taught not to sin because of the terrible retaliation in the next life, you see. The Highlanders are different, though certainly no less loved by God. Do you know what the word clan means?"

  "Children," she answered.

  The priest nodded. "We teach our children to love God, not fear Him. He is compared to a kind, good-hearted father."

  "And if a Highlander sins?"

  "If he is repentant, he will be forgiven."

  She thought about his explanation a long while before she spoke again. "Then I am not damned because I don't believe God loves women least of all?"

  The priest smiled. "No, you are not damned," he agreed.

  "You have as much value as any man. To tell you the truth, lass, I don't believe God keeps a list or hierarchy."

  She was so relieved to hear she wasn't alone in her opinions and that she wasn't a heretic because she refused to believe Bishop Hallwick's dictates, she wanted to weep. "I don't believe God wants women beaten into submission," she whispered. "Still, I don't understand why the church has so many cruel rules against women."

  Father MacKechnie let out a sigh. "Frightened men came up with these rules."

  "What would they be afraid of, Father?"

  "Women, of course. Now don't go repeating this to anyone, Johanna, but there are actually some men of God who believe women are superior. They don't want them to get the upper hand. They believe, too, that women use their bodies to get what they want."

  "Some women probably do," Johanna agreed. "But only some."

  "Yes," the priest said. "Women are certainly stronger. No one can dispute that fact."

  "We aren't stronger," Johanna protested, smiling now for she was certain the priest was jesting with her.

  "Yes, you are," Father MacKechnie countered. Her smile proved contagious, and he couldn't help but grin. "Think many men would have more than one child if they were the ones suffering through childbirth?"

  Johanna laughed. The priest had painted an outrageous picture.

  "Women have been given a harsh lot in this life," Father MacKechnie continued. "Yet they survive and, in fact, find ways to flourish in such a restrictive setting. They certainly have to be more clever than men, lass, to get their voices heard."

  The door opened to Clare MacKay's chamber, and Gabriel came out. He turned to pull the door closed behind him.

  Both Johanna and Father MacKechnie stood up. "Thank you, Father," she whispered. "You've helped me sort out a difficult problem."

  "From the look on your husband's face, I would wager he could use a little help sorting out his problem." He'd whispered his remark, then raised his voice when he turned to his laird. "Did your conference go well, Laird MacBain?"

  The scowl on Gabriel's face should have been proof enough to the priest that the conference hadn't gone well. Johanna decided Father MacKechnie was just trying to be diplomatic.

  Gabriel shook his head. "She refuses to name the man responsible," he said.

  "Perhaps she didn't know his name," Johan
na suggested, instinctively coming to Clare MacKay's defense.

  "She told me she spent a full night with the soldier, Johanna. Do you honestly believe she didn't bother getting his name?"

  "Gabriel, you needn't raise your voice to me."

  After giving her husband a good frown, she tried to walk around him so she could go to Clare's room. Her husband grabbed hold of her arm.

  "Let her rest," he commanded. "She fell asleep during my questions." He turned his attention to the priest and added, "If her face wasn't distorted from the beating, I would have each one of my men come up here and look at her. Perhaps seeing her would nudge their memory."

  "Then you believe a MacBain…"

  "No, I don't believe one of my own is responsible," Gabriel said. "My men are honorable."

  "Did Clare say it was a MacBain?" Johanna asked.

  He shook his head. "She wouldn't answer that question either," he said.

  "MacBain, Keith's back from the MacKay holding!"

  Calum shouted the announcement from the entryway. Gabriel nodded to the priest, let go of his wife's arm, and went downstairs. He fairly ripped the doors off their hinges and went outside. Calum hurried to keep up with his laird. The doors slammed shut behind the two warriors.

  Johanna spent the next hour wrestling with Dumfries while she removed his stitches. He carried on like a baby; and when she was finally finished poking at him, she spent a long while soothing him. She was sitting on the floor.

  Dumfries obviously didn't realize how big he was, for he tried to climb onto her lap.

  She was certain she smelled as horrid as the dog and decided it was high time Dumfries had a proper bath. Megan fetched her a rope. Johanna looped one end around the dog's neck, collected her container of rose-scented soap, and dragged the hound out the back door and down the hill.

  She ran into Glynis at the water well. Johanna was already a bit out of sorts. The constant worry about Clare MacKay preyed on her mind, and Dumfries's shameful behavior was draining her strength. Her arms ached from dragging him along. Johanna believed she would have been able to control her anger if she'd been in a better frame of mind.

  Glynis was polite enough to call out a proper greeting to her mistress before asking about Clare MacKay. "You aren't thinking of letting that whore sleep under the same roof with our laird, are you?"