Page 75 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

Then Ellen’s mind flooded with memories—of thistles on her wedding day and being whisked away on a horse by her knight in shining armor, of his forehead against hers and the yearning in his eyes, of his body curled around her keeping her safe and warm.

Men are stubborn, Len agreed. How many times have we heard our mother say it?

We. Not I, not you, but we, because Ellen was Len. Len was a part of her even still.

Why did you want to go to the convent? she prodded.

“I wanted to be safe,” Ellen whispered, remembering again how safe she had felt in Si’s arms.

Len shook her head in exasperation, but the old laird just nodded.

“In a convent I wouldn’t have to worry about men or the world outside those walls.”

Those predictable, orderly walls. Alluring, I’ll grant you. Len sighed. Admit it. You wanted to join the convent years before the Gordons arrived in Inverness. You promised yourself to God when you were seven years old.

“A convent was the only way for me to be useful.”

“Pish-tosh,” the laird scoffed.

Seven-year-olds with bloody noses and fainting spells aren’t very useful, are they?

“I didn’t have the stamina for housework or a steady hand for stitching. I didn’t have the voice of a songbird or the attention for cooking.”

“It’s all right, lass.”

Len frowned sympathetically. Because they told us we didn’t.

“No.” Ellen shook her head.

Och, Wee Ellen, don’t exert yourself with that sweeping. Your nose will bleed, and I’ll have to scrub the floors all over. Len’s imitation of her mother was spot on. Burned the bannocks again, have ye? Don’t let this one near the fire, dear oh dear.

Ellen swallowed but refused to cry.

Stop that infernal racket! Len chided, mimicking Ellen’s father now. It’s a good thing she’s pretty. This one won’t be winning any suitors off her cookery or her singing. Och, poor Wee Ellen. Len even patted her cheek the way her father used to do when he said it.

But then she took Ellen’s face in both hands. They were wrong. You proved them all wrong.

A tear streaked down Ellen’s cheek and was lost in the corner of her mouth.

“There now, don’t cry, lassie. I heard ye singing in the chapel. So lovely, it reminded me of my dear Iona.”

Do you still want to be a nun?

Ellen shook her head and said, “No,” at the same time her imaginary Len did, and she wasn’t sure which voice was actually her own.

She looked at her father-in-law. “I don’t want to be a nun.”

Then you know what you have to do.

Ellen leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling, swallowing down the nausea and anxiety caused by the jostling carriage.

“Stop,” she called out, but the same word was yelled from outside the carriage, along with other shouting, some of the voices familiar, as the vehicle rattled faster and harder, just like the disquietude raging within her, and then suddenly she was thrown against the opposite wall, and then the ceiling, as they tumbled and tumbled, and her face grew wet with more than tears, and she was engulfed by darkness.

Chapter Twenty-One

Si stared at his father’s empty bed, while Alys stared at him.

“Was it wise?” she finally asked. “Sending him away with her?”