Free Taming a Wild Scot: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel by Rowan Keats Page B

hereby absolve you of your sins so that you might stand pure of heart before the tribunal of Our Lord, and so that you might have eternal life. In the name of the Father . . .” She saw the dim shadow of his blessing on the granite floor. “And of the Son . . .” A second blessing. “And of the Holy Spirit . . .” And a third. “Amen.”
    “Amen.”
    “You may now do penance—recite two dozen Lord’s Prayers.”
    He stepped away, leaving her on her knees before the linen-draped altar and its jeweled golden rood. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head. There she remained, praying to the Lord God, until her knees ached with more ferocity than her guilt. An hour. Perhaps longer.
    Then she rose to her feet with a wince.
    “Be aware, Goodhealer . . .”
    Ana turned to face the friar, who now sat at a small pine table with a quill in hand, inscribing records on a thick sheaf of parchment.
    “. . . that absolution is only granted for sins that are confessed.”
    “Of course, Brother Colban.” What else was she to say?
    He laid the quill on his desk and stood. The heavy white silk of his vestments rippled in the candlelight. “I sense great turmoil within you, Goodhealer. I am not convinced that said turmoil has been stirred by evil, but it does concern me. Dark thoughts are an invitation to the devil.”
    Ana suddenly found it difficult to draw air. Her throat was tight and dry. “I—”
    “Daily prayer is a necessity.”
    “I pray each and every morn, Brother Colban,” she assured him hoarsely.
    His hard blue eyes bored into her. “You think the devil is so easily dissuaded? Nay. Once he has claimed a corner of your soul, he’ll move heaven and earth to claim it all. You must pray here in the kirk, where I can direct your words to God. And you must bend the knee for Vespers as well as Lauds. Sext, too, if necessary. Banish the dark taint before it consumes you.”
    Pray
three
times a day? “My time is not my own, I fear. The baron has asked me to tend his wife at every meal.”
    “If you will not pray, then the end is already written.” He raised the wooden crucifix dangling from his belt to his lips. “May God have mercy on your soul.”
    “I will most assuredly pray,” Ana said quietly. The blackfriar could either be her downfall or her most powerful ally. It was up to her to determine which he would be. “But forgive me, Brother Colban, I cannot always supplicate when the kirk bell tolls.”
    “Your everlasting life is at risk, Goodhealer. Prove your worthiness.”
    There was no leniency in the man’s expression. None at all. Did he not understand the demands on her time? “People fall ill when they do, and bairns meet the world at the hours of the Lord’s choosing, not my own.”
    Her response earned her a narrowed stare. “God will forgive the delay.”
    But a dying villager or a breech babe would not. “I’ll do what I can.”
    “That is insufficient,” he said sharply. “Pray or be damned.”
    Ana felt the promise of his blessing slipping away. Yet, to have a hope of making Duthes her home—of growing the garden she’d vowed to plant—she needed it. “Then I will pray.”
    He smiled coldly. “Excellent. May God go with you, Goodhealer.”
    “And with you, Brother Colban.”
    Ana genuflected, then scurried from the kirk. What was she to do now? How could she live up to her promise to pray three times a day? If she missed even one prayer, Brother Colban would pounce upon her failing with self-righteous glee. He would accuse her of heathen leanings, of opening her heart and soul to Satan, and from there it was a short leap to allegations of witchcraft.
    Although leaving Duthes was the last thing she wanted, it might be wise to prepare.
    •   •   •
    The hearth in the bothy was stone cold when Niall returned from the forest. He peered into the iron cauldron and wrinkled his nose at the congealed contents. Refusing the bawd bree had been an error.