Free The Mark of Salvation by Carol Umberger Page A

should be very pleased to oversee your home.”
    Your home. Robert had been right—Dunstruan seemed to be in good hands. All that was needed was a laird to protect them. They looked at him with such hope and longing that he wanted to turn away and run. Who was he fooling, pretending to be a protector? But he sensed their innate goodness and he could not be impolite. He was here, and for the time being he would pretend that he could be their laird.
    But the tightness in his chest told him he would pay a price for this farce. If they knew me, they wouldn’t trust their lives to me. He shook off the thought and went to the gate to tell the men to bring the wagons in. The beasts, sensing the end of the journey, moved quickly into the bailey.
    Ceallach told the guards to see to the animals. Devyn and Suisan and their folk began to unload the supplies. They were efficient and courteous, and he relaxed further. This might turn out to be a pleasant interlude after all. He turned to help Lady Radbourne from the cart.
    â€œWelcome to your temporary home, my lady,” he said as he reached for her hand.
    But the lady stared at Dunstruan, her expression so filled with pain Ceallach actually took a step backward.
    â€œLady Radbourne, are you all right?”
    A tear trickled from her eye and she swiped it away. “I didn’t think this would be so hard,” she whispered. “To be here of all places . . .”

FIVE
    Brothers may not rise from the table unless they have a nosebleed.
    â€”from the Rule of the Templar Knights
    L ady Orelia has the most incredibly delicate hands. They seemed lost in mine as I helped her from the wagon, just as lost as she seemed on arriving at Dunstruan.
    She is a beautiful woman, despite her sorrow, and her presence in my life is a constant reminder of my vows as a Templar, as a warrior monk. For fifteen years I struggled, as would any mortal man, to keep those vows. Poverty wasn’t difficult—I am a man of simple needs. Obedience was easy—a military man learns discipline and the life and death reasons for it. But chastity. Perhaps St. Paul was mistaken in his belief that man is better off living chaste. Of course, he did also say better to marry than to burn. But my vow was to live chaste, and I burned.
    To ease myself, I often drank more than a prudent amount of wine and ale. Big as I am, I can down more than most men and still keep my wits about me. But on more than one occasion, I’m ashamed to say, I drank enough to loosen my wits, my tongue, and nearly my braes. And each time I drank I got closer to breaking my vow. It was only a matter of time and wine until I did so.
    It pains me when I break my word, yet I don’t understand why. Why do I cling to those promises, that sense of morality, when God has deserted me? He does not deserve such homage.
    ORELIA SAT IN THE BAILEY OF THE CASTLE that had been meant to be her home—hers and John’s. Now it would be her prison instead. Her heart felt as numb as the leg that had fallen asleep beneath her. She stood and her numbed leg folded. The warrior stepped forward and grabbed her, steadied her, and helped her down. She leaned on his strength, not because she wanted to be anywhere near him, but to steady herself until feeling returned to her feet.
    John. The grief stabbed again. She and her husband had journeyed north in trepidation and hope. Hope that when the Scots were finally defeated they could begin a life where John would not be called to serve in war again. But that hope had been smothered somewhere in the marshy bogs of Bannockburn.
    Lady Heathrow had spoken of her anxious desire to return home to her children. Again grief stabbed Orelia. She didn’t even have that solace to return to. No child with John’s laughing blue eyes or untamable mane of dark brown hair.
    Stop. She must stop this at once or her grief would consume her here on the spot, right in front of these uncivilized