"And not before time," said my companion, wiping lank brown hair out of his eyes. He turned to me, and gave me the closest thing I had ever seen to a smile on his dour countenance.
And so at length, following the prostrate body of our charge, laid on a board between two stout monks, we passed through the looming gates of the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré.
* * *
38
The Abbey
The abbey was an enormous twelfth-century edifice, walled to resist both the smashing of sea storms and the onslaughts of land-based invaders. Now, in more peaceful times, its gates stood open to allow easy traffic with the nearby village, and the small stone cells of its guest wing had been softened by the addition of tapestries and comfortable furniture.
I rose from the padded chair in my own chamber, not sure exactly how one greeted an abbot; did one kneel and kiss his ring, or was that only for Popes? I settled for a respectful curtsy.
Jamie's slanted cat-eyes did come from the Fraser side. Likewise the solid jaw, though the one facing me was somewhat obscured by black beard.
Abbot Alexander had his nephew's wide mouth as well, though he looked as though he smiled somewhat less with it. The slanted blue eyes remained cool and speculative as he greeted me with a pleasant, warm smile. He was a good deal shorter than Jamie, about my height, and stocky. He wore the robe of a priest, but walked with a warrior's stride. I thought it likely he had been both in his time.
"You are welcome, ma nièce" he said, inclining his head. I was a little startled at the greeting, but bowed back.
"I'm grateful for your hospitality," I said, meaning it. "Have—have you seen Jamie?" The monks had taken Jamie away to be bathed, a process in which I thought I had better not assist.
The Abbot nodded. "Oh, aye," he said, a faint Scots accent showing through the cultured English. "I've seen him. I've set Brother Ambrose to tend his wounds." I must have looked dubious at this, for he said, a bit dryly, "Do not worry, madame; Brother Ambrose is most competent." He looked me over with an air of frank appraisal disturbingly like that of his nephew.
"Murtagh said that you are an accomplished physician yourself."
"I am," I said bluntly.
This provoked a real smile. "I see that you do not suffer from the sin of false modesty," he observed.
"I have others," I said, smiling back.
"So do we all," he said. "Brother Ambrose will be eager to converse with you, I'm sure."
"Has Murtagh told you… what happened?" I asked hesitantly.
The wide mouth tightened. "He has. So far as he knows what happened." He waited, as though expecting further contributions from me, but I stayed silent.
It was clear that he would have liked to ask questions, but he was kind enough not to press me. Instead, he raised his hand in a gesture of benediction and dismissal.
"You are welcome," he said once more. "I will send a serving brother to bring you some food." He looked me over once more. "And some facilities for washing." He made the sign of the Cross over me, in farewell or possibly as an exorcism of filth, and left in a swirl of brown skirts.
Suddenly realizing how tired I was, I sank down on the bed, wondering whether I could stay awake long enough to both eat and wash. I was still wondering when my head hit the pillow.
I was having a dreadful nightmare. Jamie was on the other side of a solid stone wall without a door. I could hear him screaming, over and over, but couldn't reach him. I pounded desperately on the wall, only to see my hands sink into the stone as if it were water.
"Ouch!" I sat up in the narrow cot, clutching the hand I had smashed against the unyielding wall next to my bed. I rocked back and forth, squeezing the throbbing hand between my thighs, then realized that the screaming was still going on.
It stopped abruptly as I ran into the hall. The door to Jamie's room was open, flickering lamplight flooding the corridor.
A monk I had not seen before was with Jamie, holding him tightly. A seepage of fresh blood stained the bandages on Jamie's back, and his shoulders shook as though with chill.
"A nightmare," the monk said in explanation, seeing me in the doorway. He relinquished Jamie into my arms, and went to the table for a cloth and the water jug.
Jamie was still trembling, and his face was glossy with sweat. His eyes were closed, and he breathed heavily, with a hoarse, gasping sound. The monk sat down beside me and began to swab his face with a gentle hand, smoothing the heavy, wet hair away from his temples.
"You would be his wife, of course," he said to me. "I think he'll be better presently."