A Highland Autumn

Book 1: Seasons of Scotland

by Sophia Nye

Synopsis

A murder, a mix-up, and a midnight missive make for one unforgettable Highland romance...

Ronan Calder, eldest son of Clan Calder's laird, is going to stay as far away from marriage as he can get. After losing his mother and beloved sister during childbirth, Ronan knows there is no way he could ever inflict such a fate upon any woman. Things get a little complicated when he meets the enchanting new scholar and mistakes her for his future bride.

Adelina Matheson has every intention of becoming the first female scholar at Oxford, and the quick wit to prove it. The only thing she's missing is permission to attend lectures. When the masters challenge Adelina to serve as advisor to a Highland laird in exchange for entry, she is left with little choice. She agrees to the challenge - surely she can manage such a simple task to prove herself.

Except that once Adelina arrives at Calder Keep, she realizes that nothing about her task is simple. She must battle her alarming attraction to the laird's handsome son while enduring the laird's beastly temper. The only other Englishwoman is also her competition for Ronan's affection, and the entire clan is under threat of attack at the upcoming Samhain celebration. Can Ronan and Adelina put aside their personal troubles and save Clan Calder, or will they doom the entire clan?

Release date: October 16, 2020

Print pages: 242

Sample

Prologue

October 17, 1136

Filtered moonlight illuminated the muddy forest path. ‘Twas a full moon, bright and silver behind the canopy above. Wind whistled through the shaking trees, and Ewan could feel the dampness of midnight settling in his bones. The rain would begin soon. He’d already been on the road for three days, riding fast and hard for as long as his horse could manage it. Every second counted – a man’s life depended upon him.

By tomorrow night, he would arrive at Calder Keep with an urgent letter for Laird Murdoch Calder. He’d been told the message verbally, aye, but he also carried a secret missive, hidden beneath the folds of his plaid. ‘Twas not in the sort of place you’d normally keep belongings, so that if anything were to happen there was still a chance that the laird would be warned in time.

Exhaustion crept slowly through his body, threatening to slow him down. He paused for just a moment, resting his head on the wiry mane of his horse. Leaves rustled. Not in the trees, but somewhere on the ground. Somewhere nearby. The horse’s ears twitched outward. He’d heard it, too.

‘Twas likely a rabbit, Ewan decided. His foggy mind was surely playing tricks on him. Not much longer, and he’d be able to rest. Until then, he needed to keep going.

A twig snapped. Something was in the brush a stone’s throw from him.

Chills ran down his back. His heart hammered in his chest, and Ewan drew his greatsword. Lord, let it be a rabbit.

The bushes in front of him shook and creaked. ‘Twas no rabbit. Instead, a woman wearing a long, hooded cloak stumbled onto the path.

Ewan sighed in relief, sheathing his sword and offering his arm to steady her. “Are ye lost, lass?” he asked, trying to make out a face beneath her deep hood.

“Oh, aye,” she answered. “Where does this road lead?”

“This is the road to Calder lands,” he replied. “Where are ye headed?”

“That’s where I’ll be going,” she said. “Are you going that way as well?”

Ewan could hear the hope in her voice. The poor lass must be wanting for company through the night. He could hardly blame her. Though the Calder laird kept his lands safer than most, brigands had a way of getting around guards. One could never be too careful.

“Aye,” Ewan said, “but I’ll be traveling in haste. You’re welcome to come along if ye can keep up.”

She hesitated, looking up and down the empty road. Wringing her hands nervously, she looked toward him, shrouded in the darkness of her cloak. “I’m not alone,” she admitted, “I’ve a wee lad waiting for me to tell him ‘tis safe. Could you spare a moment to help me retrieve him? I’ve no doubt we can keep up with you then.”

A sense of urgency told Ewan he shouldn’t linger. He should pick up his pace and leave the lass to make her own way. A sense of decency and compassion wouldn’t allow him to do so.

“Please,” the woman begged.

Ewan groaned in frustration. “We must be quick,” he said, “I’ve already rested far too long.”

The woman turned and headed back through the bush behind her. Ewan followed her moments later.

“Surely you could afford a short respite,” she commented as they walked through the underbrush, “No journey is so urgent you need to tire yourself.”

“I wish that were the truth, lass,” Ewan said, “but ‘tis not.”

“What requires such haste?” she asked, passing behind a large oak.

“I carry a message for Laird Calder,” he told her. He stopped speaking instantly, realizing he had already said too much. He’d been warned not to speak of his message to anyone. Likely that warning applied doubly to cloaked women wandering alone at midnight in the woods. Ewan decided this entire conversation had been a mistake. He needed to get away from the lass before he said anything else better kept secret.

“Have no fear,” she called, stopping to face him. “I won’t tell anyone of the assassin sent to kill the laird.”

Ewan’s stomach flipped over, a sick sense of foreboding returning tenfold. “I didn’t tell ye that,” he stated. “Who are ye?”

The woman took a step toward him, and Ewan wondered a moment too late if he should draw his sword. Her dagger slid between his ribs before he let out another breath.

She whispered into his ear as he slid to the forest floor. “I’m the assassin.”

 

 

Chapter One

September 23, 1136

“Why is Cicero doing this to me? Why!” Jocelin, her older brother, shouted before falling backward onto his pillow.

“Cicero’s been dead for centuries, Jo. You’re the one doing the wronging,” Adelina said as calmly as she could manage, “He’s probably rolling over in his grave.” She pressed her fingers to her temples, hoping that might afford her the patience to explain the sentence to her brother one more time.

“Alright, fine,” he said, sitting up and staring at her with wide, bloodshot eyes, “I understand that the words are out of order. I get it. But why? Why on earth confuse people like that? How does it improve his speech?”

God bless Jocelin and his enduring practicality. Oh, he knew every word of Latin ever spoken to him. But the intricacies of rhetoric? He thought them nothing more than an oddly deliberate mistake. Adelina had been helping him with his studies for hours now in preparation for his exams in the morning. She was willing to give him one more try before she gave up and moved on to something more stimulating.

“He did it to get your attention, Jo. And it worked, didn’t it? Here you are talking about three stupid words that you would have otherwise read right over. You, and every Roman who listened to that speech.”

His eyes widened even more, if that were possible, and brightened up a bit. Finally, he understood enough to pass, she hoped. But that was more than enough of Cicero. Adelina stood from the chair she had been sitting in and stretched.

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Jocelin whined.

“Jo, you’ll do fine,” she soothed, “I need some air.” Adelina hurried toward the door to make her escape.

“I think they’ll let you in soon,” he said.

Adelina froze. She had applied for the third time to take courses with her brother at Oxford. All the masters knew she studied alongside him in the evenings, but until she was given formal permission, she couldn’t sit in on the lectures. Jo was likely just baiting her back in to help him, but her curiosity was piqued.

“Have you heard something?” she asked, spinning around in the doorway to face him.

He smiled, but said nothing.

“Jo,” Adelina whined, “What did they say?”

He continued smiling, whilst making a ridiculous face. Still no comment.

“Jo!” she shouted.

He burst into laughter, but finally gave in. “They told me to have you and father go to Master Gregory’s home tomorrow morning, before lectures begin.”

Adelina squeaked and bounded over to hug her brother. When they had rejected her the last two times, it was in writing. The masters had never once asked to meet with her. Hope welled within her, and Adelina had to force herself not to get too excited. Nothing would be worse than yet another rejection, and in person no less.

“Did you tell father yet?” she asked, unable to stop smiling.

“Aye, I knew he’d be abed before we finished our studies. He was just as happy as you are,” Jocelin answered.

“Well how did they seem when they spoke with you? Were they smiling or frowning? Who did you speak with?” Adelina couldn’t keep the questions from spilling out.

Jocelin put his hand on her face to physically stop her from speaking.

“Addi, you’ll be just fine. Don’t you start fretting already,” he said, taking his hand away. “If they meant to reject you again, why wouldn’t they simply deliver another letter?”

That had been her thinking as well, yet it seemed so dangerous to hope for anything other than rejection. She could hardly believe she might at last be able to attend lectures with her brother, instead of relying on his retellings of them.

Jocelin saw the direction her thoughts were going and came to her rescue.

“Go on,” he said, pushing her out the door. “Enough of schooling your dim-witted brother in rhetoric. Go find that friend of yours and take your mind off the matter.”

“Gemma,” Adelina said, at the same moment Jocelin closed the door behind her. “Her name is Gemma.”

A few weeks ago, the girls had become fast friends at the university’s library. Gemma was a skilled healer, but unable to read in Latin, making it difficult for her to study the classical medical works written by ancient authors like Dioscorides. Adelina knew nothing about herb lore and medicine, but could read Latin as well as any Oxford student. A quick deal later, Adelina was learning about the healing arts and Gemma was learning how to read Latin. Though she probably could have asked for payment in exchange for the lessons, Adelina found that information was almost always more useful than coin.

Not to mention that of all the things Adelina lacked, money wasn’t one of them. Her father, Henry Matheson, had amassed a fortune by building a trading business over the last thirty-odd years. Adelina and her brother had received the best education money could buy, and many of the opportunities that afforded. There was only one thing holding Adelina back: her lack of noble heritage.

Jocelin’s future was bright, even without a noble title or backing. With an Oxford education and nearly limitless funding, he could do just about anything. Adelina, as a woman, truly needed the extra status that nobility would give her to accomplish her dreams. Had she been a noble, the masters would have admitted her already. It seemed she was doomed to live a life in the shadows of girls born into a noble heritage. Always beside them, but never a peer.

She found Gemma in a small forest just outside of the town of Oxford. Adelina was not a large woman. In fact, she was on the smaller side of average in height. Next to Gemma’s petite frame, however, she felt like a giant. When she located Gemma in the woods, her friend had been nearly engulfed in a wild blackberry bush. Gemma’s arrow-straight black hair was all Adelina could see poking out from the bramble.

“What are we up to this evening?” Adelina asked, startling Gemma.

“Heavens, Addi,” she said, putting her hand dramatically to her chest, “I thought the Devil himself had snuck up on me.”

“Michaelmas isn’t for a few more weeks yet,” Adelina reminded her with a grin, “I think you’re alright in the blackberries tonight.”

Adelina tied up her long skirts to form a pocket, and stepped up to the bush to pick berries. A few more made it into her mouth than her skirts, but Gemma seemed none the wiser. Adelina looked at her friend, quiet and focused on her gathering, before she realized that Gemma wasn’t picking only berries. She was also grabbing handfuls of leaves.

“What are you doing?” Adelina asked.

Gemma looked at her, and then noticed her staring at the leaves in her hands. “The leaves have as many uses as the berries,” she offered in answer, “and they last much longer after picking.”

“What do you do with them?” Adelina took every opportunity to ply her friend for knowledge. Gemma was the best healer in the north of England. Once she made her way through some of those old medical tracts, Gemma might very well be the best healer in all of England.

“What are they called?” Gemma shot right back with a no-nonsense look and a sugary smile.

Adelina laughed. She should’ve known better.

“Rubus,” Adelina answered her. “Rubus is a blackberry bush.”

“You’re not going to like my answer,” Gemma said matter-of-factly.

“Well aren’t we presumptuous,” Adelina retorted. “I’ll just be happy to know anything about it.”

Gemma grimaced. “That’s the trick of it,” she said, “I know some things that it does, but I’m not certain why just yet.”

“What on earth does that even mean?” Adelina asked, turning to face her and halting her blackberry picking.

“Well,” Gemma began tentatively, “Salves made from leaves or berries help with dry or irritated skin. And the leaves and berries can be eaten or drunk in an infusion to help with maladies of the mouth, throat, and stomach. Particularly where there’s irritation or a rash or some such trouble.”

“That’s good to know,” Adelina replied encouragingly. “I don’t know why you thought that wouldn’t be helpful.”

“That’s not all,” Gemma continued. “There are a handful of plants that I call miracle plants. Every once in a while, I come across a sickness I can’t identify. If the patient appears ill from something internal, and I can’t tell what it is, I have them consume those plants. Blackberries are one of them. Something about them just helps. You’ll laugh,” she added as an afterthought, “but I even give them to patients with head injuries. If the centers of the eyes aren’t expanding and contracting when light hits them, blackberries always help. Don’t ask me why.”

Adelina frowned. “Ugh, Gemma, what am I to do with that? Throw blackberries at the unsuspecting public?”

“If you’re lucky, you won’t be anywhere near the unsuspecting public without me until you’ve had a good deal more practice,” Gemma said.

Adelina suddenly remembered the news that she had yet to share with her friend. Excitement struck her all over again, and she jumped up onto her toes, nearly spilling the blackberries from her skirts. Gemma raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She knew Adelina wouldn’t be quiet for long.

“Oh, Gemma! I almost forgot! You’ll never guess what Jo told me,” she squealed. She didn’t wait for Gemma to guess. How could she? It was too exciting. “I’m to meet with the masters tomorrow morning! They want to speak with me!”

“Do you think they’re going to admit you?” Gemma asked.

“They’ve never asked to meet with me before. What else could it be?” Adelina replied.

“Adelina, have you considered what this means? If they let you in, you’ll be the first woman to ever take classes as a student at Oxford.”

Adelina thought about that. She rather liked the sound of being the first woman into Oxford, and not even noble-born at that. Oh, yes, Adelina had a good feeling about it. Tomorrow, something amazing was going to happen, she just knew it.

 

 

Chapter Two

September 20, 1136

Their horse’s hoof beats thundered across a sea of fading grass. Sólas, his black destrier, reveled in the exercise as Ronan turned to look at his riding companion and man-at-arms, Fintan. His infectious grin of pure joy at the ride soon had Ronan smiling as well.

“It never ceases to amaze me that you take so much joy from a daily chore,” Ronan commented, scanning the approaching line of mountains for signs of raiders.

“Aye, and it never ceases to amaze me that you can be so grim all the time,” Fintan retorted, his grin widening at his jibe.

Ronan rolled his eyes, but returned them quickly to the places he knew made an ambush far too easy. The fall months were some of the most dangerous for the cattle droves. While they were moving the herds from the summer pasture down to winter shelters, raiders from neighboring clans need but find the right spot and they had an easy steal. Ronan rode the rough roads between Calder Keep and the summer pastures every few days to ensure the drovers didn’t run into too much trouble. They had enough on their hands keeping track of the beasts.

“I don’t see a thing,” Fintan said after he, too, scanned the horizon. “I doubt we’ll have any trouble from now ‘til sundown.”

Ronan nodded, slowing his horse so he could have a rest. “Aye,” he agreed, “but I still have an odd feeling. Something’s off today.”

Then he heard it. A rider. But not from the mountains. Nay, ‘twas approaching from behind them. Both warriors turned about-face, ready to draw swords at a moment’s notice.

Fintan recognized the messenger first. “Looks like you have your answer,” he said, “Something’s off back at home.”

Ronan grimaced. He knew, with painful certainty, what was coming. Watching the messenger approach, he said a silent prayer that he was wrong. It went unanswered.

“Your father wants to see you straightaway,” the messenger shouted when he was within earshot. Without awaiting a reply, he turned and headed straight back toward Calder Keep.

Ronan fought the pang of annoyance. ‘Twas not a convenient time to demand his presence, and his father knew it. What was more, Ronan knew exactly what his father wanted. Every time he summoned Ronan with all urgency, it meant he’d chosen a new potential bride to convince him to marry. Fintan would have to finish the cattle drive without him today. Urging his horse forward with a groan of despair, Ronan left to answer his father’s summons.

 

Ronan stormed into the cold, gray keep. A weaker man would have struggled to open the heavy oaken doors while battling the Highland winds. Ronan, in his great anger, threw them open wide enough to test the craftsmanship of the hinges. “What is it this time?” he bellowed, knowing his father would be just inside, waiting for him.

At just under six feet tall and with the look of a hardened warrior, most men would have cowered to be the object of his frustration. His father simply ignored his belligerence. One sentence escaped his lips, the very words Ronan feared most.

“Your bride will be arriving next month,” his father declared from the center of the great hall.

“My what?” Ronan could hardly get the words out fast enough.

“You heard me,” his father answered sharply.

“I have not agreed to marry anyone yet,” Ronan said. “I should not have a bride arriving, only a woman.”

 “You’re old enough to have had at least two bairns by now,” his father said.

“I’m not getting married,” Ronan growled. “And certainly not to some stranger of a woman you chose on a whim.”

“You’ll meet her when she visits. Next month. And then, provided she is as suitable as she seems, you will offer for her,” Laird Murdoch instructed calmly.

“I’m not getting married,” Ronan repeated vehemently. He grew weary of this constant battle.

A knock sounded on the door, and Brother Gilbert slipped quietly inside.

“Apologies, my lords. I have need to speak with the laird,” he explained.

“Come in, Gilbert, you’re not interrupting anything,” Laird Murdoch said, gesturing him toward the warm fire.

“I wanted to be certain you sent that request in, laird. I won’t be here much longer and I’ll need time to train the new man,” Brother Gilbert said.

“Where are you going?” Ronan asked, taken aback. This was the first he had heard of Brother Gilbert leaving. The old monk had lived at Calder Keep for all of Ronan’s twenty-five years. He’d be sorely missed.

“I’ve been recalled to Dornoch Cell in the northeast,” Brother Gilbert explained sadly, “I found out a month ago, but I hadn’t the heart to tell you yet.”

Ronan couldn’t find the words to answer Brother Gilbert’s shocking statement.

“Aye, Gilbert, I sent the message. The lad who took the invitation to Lady Sybilla continued south to Oxford. We’ll have us a scholar in short order, I imagine,” Laird Murdoch replied.

“He went where?” Ronan asked. Why did it feel like he was the only reasonable person in this room?

“Well he went first to Derbyshire to deliver Lady Sybilla’s invitation to visit, and right about now he ought to be arriving at Oxford to request a scholar to replace our Brother Gilbert,” his father answered.

“You invited not one, but two English nobles to come into the Highlands and make permanent residence?” Ronan couldn’t contain his exasperation. “There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m marrying anyone, but most certainly not an Englishwoman.”

“Ronan, we’ve spoken of this many times. An alliance with the English nobility will help us move the cattle south. We need a more efficient route, and we need friends in high places to get it. Marriage is a good start, and having a scholar knowledgeable on such matters will only help our reputation and efforts,” Laird Murdoch said with annoyance.

“Father, we are at war with the English. Our king invaded England last winter, or have you forgotten?” Ronan retorted.

“He also married an Englishwoman himself,” Brother Gilbert added.

“Oh, not you, too,” Ronan turned around to glare properly at Gilbert.

“I counseled your father to do just as he’s done,” Brother Gilbert replied, “One can never have too many allies, particularly in times of war.”

“Allies who will stab you in the back at the first opportunity,” Ronan muttered, his mood blackening by the minute. “I’ve heard enough. I’ll take my leave.”

Ronan stalked back out of the keep, praying for the rain. At least then something would feel right – the weather would match his thoughts. He heard footsteps rushing behind him as he cut across the courtyard. Turning to look, he discovered that Brother Gilbert was nearly upon him.

“Ronan, I know I should’ve mentioned it sooner,” Brother Gilbert said, folding his hands beneath his robes as he walked.

Ronan ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair. “How much longer will we have you?” Ronan asked, frowning at his friend. The man who replaced him had better be good, or Ronan would be giving him hell.

“Only two or three months, I’m afraid,” Brother Gilbert answered, “I’ll be gone by Yule.”

“Did you really tell my father to marry me to an Englishwoman?” Ronan had to know Gilbert’s thoughts on the matter. He couldn’t believe anyone would think that a good idea.

Brother Gilbert smiled weakly. “You have to marry someone,” he said, “It might as well be someone who will benefit Clan Calder.”

Ronan stopped walking. “You cannot mean that,” he asserted.

Brother Gilbert stopped as well, and looked right into Ronan’s hazel eyes.

Sent as a young man to advise Laird Murdoch’s father, Brother Gilbert had always been a part of Ronan’s life. When Ronan was a boy, Brother Gilbert had been of middling age. Always fit and never sickly, Ronan had never thought of him as an old man. Looking at him now, he began to notice what he hadn’t before. Silver hair had overtaken all but the last strands of brown. He was still fit, but he was slowing down. There was a heaviness in his step where once he had climbed mountains and forded rivers with ease. Perhaps retiring to his brotherhood of monks wasn’t a bad thing. Ronan still didn’t have to be happy about it.

 At length, Brother Gilbert spoke again. The serious look in his eyes told Ronan it wouldn’t be something he wanted to hear.

“Don’t live your life in fear of the past or the future, Ronan,” he said. “Not every woman dies in childbirth. There is a good chance your wife will be fine.”

“There is just as good a chance she and the bairn would both be dead a year from now,” Ronan replied. “Clan Calder is cursed. I won’t risk the life of another woman simply to further my father’s ambition.”

“There’s no curse,” Brother Gilbert chided him. His tone hinted at just how many times he’d said such a thing over the years. “There is a plan that we cannot see, but there is no curse.”

Ronan waved a hand dismissively at the monk. He was forever finding ways to proselytize. Somehow it was both his greatest flaw and his greatest strength.

“Women die everywhere in childbirth,” Ronan said, “But more of them die here than in any of the other clans. Why? Why is that? Until we can fix it, I won’t be subjecting a woman to it.”

“Even an Englishwoman?” Brother Gilbert pressed.

“I won’t be taking an Englishwoman to bed, so it won’t matter,” Ronan retorted.

“Good luck telling your father that,” Brother Gilbert said, with a chuckle.

Brother Gilbert took his leave as Ronan approached the stables. Sólas stomped his hooves impatiently as Ronan began re-saddling him. The horse’s hot breath rose in wisps through the crisp September air. Ronan gave him a gentle rub to calm him down while he fastened the last straps into place. Sólas was ever restless this time of the year, as though he knew he’d be cooped up in the coming months.

As he rode, he considered how he might manage this new turn of events. He was not going to marry the Englishwoman, so he needed to decide now how he would be getting out of it. He could find a suitable Scotswoman, but then he would still be putting an innocent woman at risk of untimely death. He quickly discounted that option.

He could completely ignore the woman, but then he ran the risk of insulting her and heightening tensions even further with the English. No, that wouldn’t do either. A particularly icy blast swept over the hills, giving Ronan a feeling of foreboding. He wasn’t certain what to do about the impending Englishwoman, but he knew he must do something. The winter was fast approaching, Brother Gilbert was leaving, and his father had invited two English visitors to Calder Keep. Change was in the air, and judging by the chill it wouldn’t be for the better.

 

 

Chapter Three

September 24, 1136

Adelina’s hands trembled as she approached Master Gregory’s cottage. It was a tidy, well-appointed home made of thatch and timbers, two stories tall and just as wide. A sweet-smelling rose bush, decorated by dozens of small, deep pink blooms, greeted visitors at the front door.

“Now don’t forget, love, I’m here if you need me,” her father said quietly.

Adelina smiled at him. “I know, papa,” she assured him. They had always been of a mind, Adelina and her father. She knew his thoughts without him ever needing to voice them. And she knew with certainty that he would always be there if she needed him.

She took a long, shuddering breath before knocking on the door. Her father gave her shoulder a supportive squeeze while they awaited an answer. He had worn his finest clothes and, given the amount of coin he spent on fabric, that was saying quite a lot. He was a full head taller than her, and he grew rounder in the middle with each passing winter. His blue eyes were a match for her brother’s, a shade darker than Adelina’s own.

A tall, lithe woman of middling age opened the door. Her gray-brown hair was loosely braided over her shoulder.

“Come in, come in,” she urged, gesturing them into the house. “They’re waiting for you in the hall.”

Around a corner and down three steps, the woman opened a smaller door, revealing three men seated at a trestle table in the middle of a long, narrow hall. They had been deep in conversation until Adelina and her father entered the room. A telling silence greeted them. Adelina’s heart raced. Would they let her in?

The man on her left stood. What little bit of hair remained to him was fading quickly from brown to silver. He smiled warmly at her, easing her nerves just enough to bring her further into the room.

“Master Henry, Mistress Adelina,” he said, acknowledging them, “Thank you for coming. I am Master Gregory, and this is Master Thomas and Master Adam. Please, be seated.

“Mistress Adelina,” he continued, looking directly at her with piercing green eyes, “You have applied not once, not twice, but three times to attend lectures with your brother at Oxford. Such efforts show great strength of spirit, conviction, and tenacity. We know you also to be a commendable intellectual, if your brother’s praises are to be taken into consideration. Armed with this knowledge of your character and talents, we have a proposition for you.

“You wish to be a student of Oxford, and we require aid with a delicate matter. Perhaps, we might be able to assist one another.”

Master Gregory paused, as though searching for the best phrasing of his request. Adelina was not inclined to wait patiently. Instead, she made her own assessment.

“So, in exchange for my help with your ‘delicate matter’ you will allow me to attend lectures at Oxford?”

“Mistress Adelina, we would never be permitted to accept a woman, especially a common-born woman, no matter her family’s wealth, at Oxford. We could, however, allow you to sit in on an assortment of lectures for a smaller fee than that of a student,” Master Adam, a younger man with a scruffy brown beard explained.

“That alone is a privilege we have yet to bestow upon any of the fairer sex. That we are now considering it is no small accomplishment on your part,” Master Thomas added with a supportive smile.

“Surely other educated women have made similar requests in the past,” Adelina remarked. She knew that no other women had been admitted, but she refused to believe it was simply that no women had tried.

“None with your aptitude for the subjects covered by our lectures,” Master Gregory said finally. “Which is why we believe you might be the solution to our problem. Laird Murdoch Calder has requested that we send him a scholar to replace a clergyman he is losing.”

Adelina’s mind raced, gathering all the implications of that statement. She was glad to be sitting down already, else she may have embarrassed herself with unsteadiness. Surely Master Gregory would clarify just exactly what he meant by that. Before long Adelina realized that she would be left wondering.

“Master Gregory,” she began as calmly as she could, “Forgive me if I misunderstand. Are you implying that you would like to send me to Laird Calder?”

“As we are at war with Scotland, we did not think it prudent for us to send one of England’s most promising scholars from our most prestigious school to advise the enemy,” Master Adam said, as though that was an acceptable answer.

Adelina stood at his insult. She knew better. “So am I to understand that you believe me too stupid to give the laird good advice? Why even consider admitting me for lectures, then?”

“Mistress Adelina, please forgive Master Adam’s poor choice of words,” Master Gregory soothed, “What he was trying to say is that we would like to level it as a test, a challenge if you will.”

“And how do you propose to measure my success or failure at such a test?” Adelina could feel the heat in her cheeks. She had expected an interesting meeting. She had even been prepared to withstand a few minor insults if it meant they’d tolerate her presence in the lectures. But sending her to Scotland, during a war, for a position they believed beyond her was something else altogether. At the very least, she knew some sort of trick was afoot. What exactly that might be, she had yet to determine.

“We will correspond with Laird Calder in six months to inquire as to your usefulness to him. Should you prove an asset to his clan, we will ask him to allow you to leave periodically and take one of our courses to further your education,” Master Thomas replied.

Adelina paced, considering the offer. The men waited in silence, watching her. If she accepted, it sounded as though she’d be living in the Highlands for the foreseeable future. Away from her family, away from her friends, in the heart of enemy territory. Probably there was some other factor she hadn’t considered yet as well, but truth be told she was still reeling from the ridiculousness of their proposition. And, most importantly, she certainly wouldn’t be attending lectures in the way she had envisioned.

On the other hand, that they made her an offer of attendance at all, even so meager as this one, was nothing short of a miracle. A woman like Adelina, of common birth, ought to be grateful for the opportunity. She could prove her own worth and begin a formal education like no woman had done before her. Many of the men who attended Oxford did so in the hopes of landing a position such as the one offered to her now.

Master Gregory cleared his throat. Adelina turned to regard him as her mind continued to weigh her options.

“Do you not wish to consult your father on this matter?” Master Gregory asked, as though he were delivering some great bit of advice.

She did want to know her father’s opinion, but they had decided beforehand that in order to show her strength and independence, she would conduct all business unless absolutely necessary. Honestly, given what Adelina knew of her father, it was nothing short of miraculous that he hadn’t said anything yet. He surely had thoughts on sending his only daughter on what would be at least a month’s ride into Scotland, by her estimation.

“My daughter will make her own decision on the matter,” her father answered brusquely. “However, I have several questions for my own edification.”

“Of course, Master Henry, ask as you please,” Master Gregory responded, gesturing widely with his hands.

“How far into the Highlands is this Laird Calder’s holding?” her father asked. Adelina had wondered the same thing herself.

“‘Tis twenty days’ walk, ten days by cart with two horses,” Master Thomas said.

“And who will be accompanying Adelina on this adventure?” her father continued his interrogation.

“There is a caravan of merchants leaving for the north in a few days’ time. They have agreed to escort our scholar safely to Inverness for a fee. From there, it is a few hours’ walk or ride due east into Calder lands,” Master Gregory answered.

“So ‘twill be twenty days, then,” Adelina said, her mind calculating. “Fifty men, some with their wives, and all with their wares will be traveling slowly. Horses and carts won’t make a difference if they’re laden with goods and passengers.”

“With rest stops and a large group, aye, twenty days seems likely,” Master Thomas agreed.

Adelina looked to her father. She didn’t want his approval; she knew she didn’t need it. The decision was hers. He looked her in the eyes and gave her a soft half-smile. Sadness crept into his gaze. Adelina understood, then, that before she herself realized it, he knew what her answer would be. She smiled back at him. Few fathers would be so supportive.

“What say you, Mistress Adelina? Will you do us this service in exchange for your schooling?” Master Gregory’s voice carefully masked impatience, or attempted to do so. Everyone else had been happy to let her spend a few moments contemplating a decision that would affect the rest of her life and that of her family.

Turning to face Master Gregory, Adelina pulled her shoulders back and stood straight. She stared him down for several seconds, undaunted by the decision before her.

She took a deep breath, then asked, “When do I leave?”

 

 

Chapter Four

October 17, 1136

Raindrops struck Adelina’s dripping skin as she halted her mare in the courtyard at Calder Keep. The rain fell so forcefully in the wind that it looked like sheets being aired after a wash. Everything Adelina owned was drenched. She could hardly see her surroundings amidst the downpour, let alone find the stables. Dismounting into a puddle of muddy water, she wandered off to the left side of the towering gray keep she had managed to spot across from her.

“Can I help you?” A man’s voice shouted at her over the cacophony of rain. Between the noise of the weather and his heavy brogue, Adelina hardly understood what he had said.

“The stables?” She shouted her question.

The man pointed in the direction she had been headed, gesturing that it was back a ways further. Adelina sighed, leading her mare toward the first building she saw.

A wooden structure with a sharp peak, covered in thatch, the stables felt like heaven compared with the rain whipping outside. Adelina patted her horse. She had affectionately named the creature Phaeton after one of the immortal horses who pulled the chariot of the goddess of the dawn, according to ancient Greek beliefs. It mattered not that ‘twas a man’s name. Adelina thought it beautiful, and wished her fine steed nothing but a long life of sunny mornings.

Toward the back of the stables, Adelina found Phaeton an empty stall. A figure in the adjoining stall startled her as she walked past. She gasped in surprise at the unexpected company.

“Hello, milady. Sorry to give you a fright,” said a man as he stepped toward her out of the stall. He had been brushing his horse, and Adelina could now see that he wore a long black robe. He was an older man, old enough to be her grandfather, and had a kindly look to his dark brown eyes. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

“Thank you, Brother –” Adelina paused, giving the man an opportunity to supply his name. She knew him to be a Benedictine monk from his robes.

“Gilbert,” he finished for her. “I am Brother Gilbert.”

“I am Adelina, daughter of Henry Matheson, of Oxford,” she said, bowing politely as she introduced herself.

Brother Gilbert blanched. “Oxford, you say?” he asked, wringing his hands. “That can’t be right.”

“I beg your pardon?” Adelina wasn’t certain she’d heard him correctly. “Is there something wrong?”

Brother Gilbert looked around the stables, then helped Adelina get Phaeton settled in her stall while he continued the conversation.

“What brings you to Calder all the way from Oxford?” he queried, apparently ignoring her question.

“I was asked to come here,” she replied, pulling herself up a little straighter. “Master Gregory met with me in person, wanting me to come to Calder and replace the scholar who is leaving.”

Brother Gilbert’s jaw dropped at that statement. It took him several moments to collect both his thoughts and his decorum. Adelina didn’t give him time to respond. His reaction said it all.

“Brother Gilbert,” she began sternly, “I did not travel overland for twenty-one days through mountains and rain only to be turned away. I will be staying here and acting as scholar, as was requested by Laird Calder.”

He started to speak, but Adelina held up her hand to silence him.

“I can tell from your reaction that some sort of misunderstanding has occurred, but I have the paperwork to prove my claim, assuming it survived that horrendous downpour. Now, if you don’t mind, could you point me in the direction of the current scholar serving Laird Calder?”

A belly-deep, hand-on-your-knee laugh was his only answer for several minutes. Adelina was growing impatient, and she became more and more concerned that she was the center of some sort of jest. When she put her hands to her hips, Brother Gilbert finally got a hold of himself.

“Adelina, you and I have many things to discuss. Why don’t you join me in the library so that we can speak privately for a time? I believe it’s important that we do so before you meet the laird,” he explained.

“Will you be telling me what was so amusing to you?” Adelina asked tartly as she headed for the door.

“I thought you knew I was Laird Calder’s resident scholar during our entire conversation. That you didn’t took me by surprise,” he replied.

“Oh!” Adelina exclaimed, “Well, why didn’t you just say so! What a miracle that I happened upon you.”

“More than I think you know, lass,” Brother Gilbert said more soberly.

“How do you mean?” Adelina wondered aloud.

Brother Gilbert gave her a sympathetic look, but didn’t answer her question. Instead, he led her further away from the courtyard, behind the stables, past the smithy and the chapel, to the small library. To have a library at all was something of a feat, and for such a small holding to possess one so great was remarkable.

The building was square, and like all the others it was made of wooden timbers with a thatched roof. Inside, Adelina was met with the familiar smell of parchment and vellum. To her left, on the same wall as the doorway, a long table with two chairs rested beneath the only window in sight. Three tall shelves ran parallel to the table across the entire length of the building. They were filled with books, scrolls, and loose sheets of parchment waiting for binding. The opposite corner of the building, and the walls across from her, were hidden behind the massive shelves.

“I will certainly miss it,” Brother Gilbert said sadly.

“Surely your monastery has a library to rival even this one,” Adelina observed encouragingly.

Brother Gilbert smiled. “The monastery does, yes. But the priory has a much smaller collection, and with a far smaller scope of subject matter. This is truly a fine collection of manuscripts,” he sighed. “No matter, we must attend to the business at hand.”

Adelina wandered over to the nearest shelf to peruse its contents while she listened to Brother Gilbert. She looked at him periodically and smiled to ensure he knew he still held her attention. Or at least most of it.

“Did Master Gregory say why they chose you to fill Laird Calder’s request for a scholar?” he asked, linking his hands behind his back.

Adelina thought for a moment before answering. She could hardly say that they thought her so dumb she couldn’t be a threat, even as a counselor to the enemy. Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to give anyone reason to doubt her ability to do the job.

“He never gave what I would call a satisfactory explanation,” she said finally, “They were reluctant to let any of their current students leave in the middle of their studies.”

“I see,” he replied. Adelina felt that he did, in fact, see. Perhaps he even saw too much. “Now I ask you, as someone qualified for the position of scholar, why would the great men at Oxford choose you, of all the people available, to come here with us?”

Brother Gilbert leveled the question without judgment. Adelina could tell from his tone that he was attempting to instruct her. Seeing as it was a good opportunity to prove her merit, Adelina played along.

“Advising a Highland laird, particularly while England is at war with Scotland, is not an exceptionally glamorous post,” Adelina answered. “Many of the students wouldn’t have accepted it, either for its dangers or for its lack of prestige. No offense, Brother,” she added quickly.

Brother Gilbert smiled. “I, too, was assigned to this post. I certainly didn’t choose it,” he conceded. “So we have now some understanding of why the other students wouldn’t be chosen. But that doesn’t explain why they chose you.”

“They knew I would do it,” Adelina admitted defeatedly. “They knew I would do anything to be able to attend their lectures.”

“Surely, you’re not the only would-be student desperate to prove their worth,” he said kindly. “So then we must ask, how are you different from every other student at Oxford?”

Adelina thought for a moment. She wasn’t any worse of a student, or poorer than everyone. She wasn’t the only applicant of common birth, though that was rarer. And then it struck her. She felt the realization like a punch to her gut.

“I’m a woman,” she said in shock, “They sent me because I’m a woman.”

Brother Gilbert nodded, and pulled out a chair at the long table. Adelina sat, still reeling from her new understanding of the situation. They hadn’t sent her to test her abilities. They had sent her as an insult to the laird. How could she not have seen this? Perhaps she wasn’t ready to be a scholar after all.

“I see the thoughts flickering across your face, lass, and you listen well,” Brother Gilbert said sternly. “Do not beat yourself down. Everyone else is going to do that for you. You are here to prove to them that, woman or no, you are the scholar of Calder Keep.”

 

 

Chapter Five

Ronan drank in the soft, earthy smell that followed the rain. He carefully sidestepped the mud puddles that had filled in ruts around the courtyard. Typically, Ronan relished the rains as they came through the Highlands. He enjoyed the cool, misty calm they left in their wake. This afternoon, though, he was riled again. Which made it difficult to enjoy the beautiful weather.

His father had sent him to get Brother Gilbert so that they might have a meeting. About what, the tight-lipped laird wouldn’t say, which perturbed Ronan to no end. He would be laird himself one day, and he needed to be privy to the decisions made while overseeing clan affairs. He, of course, reminded his father of this, to no avail. The laird’s silence meant that the matter had to do with Ronan himself, which was even more concerning. Probably something about the unlucky lass his father had invited, from England, to come and stay.

Ronan reached the door to the library, where one could almost always find Brother Gilbert face-first in some dusty tome. On top of all of it – the potential betrothal, the secret meeting his father was arranging – Ronan was quite possibly the most upset at being sent to fetch Brother Gilbert like a simple errand boy. He had also been certain to remind his father that there were actual errand boys to do just such a task, once more to no avail.

He angrily threw open the door to the library, eliciting a jump and a gasp from the beautiful young woman standing just inside. Her fiery red hair caught the light that flooded in from the doorway. She nearly dropped the parchment in her hands.

“You’re not Brother Gilbert,” he said.

“I should think not,” she replied, giving his intrusion her full attention. “He’ll be just a minute, I believe. If you’re desperate I could always attempt to fill in.”

“Unfortunately, I believe only Brother Gilbert will do in this instance,” Ronan replied. He couldn’t help but smile in amusement at her jest.

She walked over to Brother Gilbert’s study table and sat in his chair, facing Ronan. She folded her hands demurely on the table and stared him down as she said, “I insist.”

“Very well,” he conceded, sitting down opposite her to match. “Laird Calder has asked Brother Gilbert to join him in the hall.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, feigning seriousness, “I do believe you’ll need Brother Gilbert for that.”

Ronan guessed that she must be the noble bride his father had invited. She spoke and dressed like a well-to-do Englishwoman, though it was curious that she had somehow ended up in the library instead of the keep. He had been determined not to like her at all, in order to make his rejection of her easier, but her playfulness was charming away his foul mood. He still wouldn’t be marrying her, but he supposed he could at least attempt a conversation.

“It just so happens I have another query for the good man. Mayhap you could help me with that one?” Ronan had no idea where that had come from. He didn’t have anything else to ask Brother Gilbert, and he hadn’t the faintest idea what he could ask the entrancing young lady across the table from him. All he knew was that he desperately wanted to continue this conversation.

“Very well, try me,” she challenged.

Ronan’s eyes strayed once more to the deep red color of her hair, fashioned into a long braid that began at her forehead and ran down to the small of her back. “I have heard rumors that women who have red hair also possess magical powers,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as foolish as he felt, “Do you think it true?”

She laughed at him, yet it somehow made him feel better instead of worse.

“My father always said red hair gives you protection from the Devil himself,” she replied, “So I suppose in a way, that’s sort of like magic.”

“Is your father a wise man?” Ronan asked.

“I like to think so,” she answered without hesitation. A smile formed on her rose-colored lips, and Ronan found his eyes wandering to places they ought not. For an Englishwoman, she certainly was a pretty lass. And witty, too, as he judged thus far.

“Why are you smiling, lass?” he queried.

“You were going to ask Brother Gilbert about the magical qualities of red hair?” she had to press her lips together to contain a giggle. Ronan rather wished she hadn’t. He would like to hear her laugh. Indeed, he couldn’t help but smile at his own foolishness.

“Aye, lass, you’ve caught me,” he conceded. “Mayhap I was in no hurry to part company with a beautiful lady.” What on earth was he saying? The words rolled right out with a will of their own, ‘twould seem.

A blush the color of wild raspberries flooded her cheeks, but instead of looking away like most lasses, she met his gaze dead-on. Her blue eyes were the color of a clear summer sky, not a cloud in sight. Lord help him, he hoped Brother Gilbert never returned.

“Right,” he began, grateful that she chose to ignore his embarrassing statement, “Let’s try something of substance. What were you studying so carefully when I opened the door?”

“Opened?” she countered, raising a delicate eyebrow, the same hue as her vermilion hair.

Ronan cleared his throat. “Shoved?” he offered. Maybe he had been a bit rough with the door.

“Hurled,” she stated, “You hurled that door open.”

“So you admit that I opened it,” he said with a grin.

She waved a hand dismissively, “‘Tis semantics,” she replied.

“Only because you lost,” he retorted, folding his arms and relaxing back into his chair. “Now what were you reading when I so brutishly interrupted you?”

“St. Augustine,” she said, lifting the parchment off the table to peruse it once more.

“And what does he have to say?”

“‘In doing what we ought, we deserve no praise, for it is our duty,’” she read aloud.

“Yes, I’ve never much cared for Augustine,” Ronan said, “I don’t think he and I are of a mind.”

She managed to look down her nose at him, while seated and shorter of stature. She did not, however look surprised by his outrageous statement about one of the greatest theologians ever born. Probably not a good sign, that.

“He also says, ‘Love is the beauty of the soul,’” she offered, as though that helped.

Ronan shook his head, “Wrong again, Saint Augustine,” he said vehemently.

“You cannot possibly disagree with that!” she exclaimed, “It’s the simplest, truest statement he makes.”

“You chose that line because you thought I would agree with it?” Ronan asked. Lord help him, he was much more interested in the thoughts of this enchanting lady than of St. Augustine. Brother Gilbert had drilled every line of every theological work ever written into him while he was yet a lad. He knew well the words of which she spoke. He also knew he should leave and find Brother Gilbert. Already he was dallying too long with a lass he had no business courting. Hadn’t he made up his mind to avoid the woman his father was forcing upon him?

“I thought a man so given to flattery may be familiar with the topic of love,” she answered, sounding entirely too certain of herself.

“I’ll have you know, lass, that I have never before given a lady such a compliment as I gave to you,” Ronan responded with as much sincerity as he could. He wanted her to know the truth of it, not think him some sort of runaround. Though really, he shouldn’t care either way.

She blushed once more, and he had to clasp his hands to stop from touching her cheek to feel its heat.

“Ronan!” Brother Gilbert’s surprised voice sounded from the doorway. “I didn’t expect to find you here. I see you’ve met Adelina.”

Adelina. The name was as beautiful as the maiden. Ronan knew he wouldn’t soon forget it.

“She was just instructing me on Augustine,” Ronan explained to Brother Gilbert, smiling wryly at Adelina.

“Good, it needs doing,” Brother Gilbert retorted, “You’re sure to have forgotten my lessons by now, whether in word or in deed I dare not guess. What business brings you?”

“Father wants to see you,” Ronan said, rising to leave with Brother Gilbert, “He’ll be unhappy at having waited so long already. Lady Adelina,” he turned to face her, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips, “It has been my pleasure.”

As much as Ronan wanted to be furious at his father for thrusting a marriage upon him, he had to admit that there was a possibility he could enjoy the company of Lady Adelina.