“Lily, these Scots you spoke of are not like Bertram Chisholm, are they?” Joan asked, looking even more worried.
“No, dear. They do not seem to be anything like him. In fact, the brother doesn’t even speak like a Scot.”
They spoke a little more, mostly about the chill in the air and how it was causing Joan’s husband, Martin’s bones to ache.
Lily gave her a small pouch of rue and told her to soak the herb in vinegar and water and have her husband drink it.
They talked for a little while longer and then Joan left and Lily finished preparing Richard’s herbal mixture.
She continued her work, refilling her jars and going back and forth from the shop to the shed. Colder weather was on its way and they wanted to prepare as much for remedies as they could before the first frost.
“Let me take that,” came his deep, melodious voice, and the heavy sack she was struggling to carry to the shed was lifted easily from her arms.
She turned to Elias MacPherson’s beautiful face and couldn’t help but smile. He could have easily been a vain, arrogant, silver-tongued devil, for the sight of him was mesmerizing. But he was quiet and polite with a bit of a boyishness to his smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “’Tis the sixth one I have carried out. My arms are weary.”
She looked to the left and saw Brother Simon watching them from the shop doorway.
Elias tossed the heavy sack over his shoulder and reached for her arm with his free hand. “There is nothin’ to ye, lass,” he said and gave her upper arm a tender squeeze. “I will do the rest.”
She liked how he touched her, with boldness and respect—and the way the setting sunlight danced across the chiseled angle of his jaw and made his lightning-splashed eyes dazzle her senseless.
“You are very kind,” she offered and smiled with him again when he accepted her compliment. “’Tis a noble characteristic to possess.”
“I agree,” he replied and turned his face toward the shop and the direct sun. “And I have found that not too many people possess it.”
“Uh-hum.” She blinked away from his masterfully carved profile “Do you know many people?”
“Aye, we traveled often with the king’s army in France and in England—”
“France?” She stepped away from him, remembering what Joan had told her. “You were in France? When?”
“A bit over twoyears ago? Aye.” He looked toward Brother Simon, just a few steps away now and his companion nodded, apparently listening to their conversation. “Why do ye suddenly look afraid of me?”
“There is word of a terrible sickness there. Many have died.” She paused and waited for Brother Simon to reach them when he pushed off the archway. “It has gone through Italy and parts of France.”
“What? We have heard nothing of this!” the brother exclaimed. “What parts of France? What do you know?”
“Not much,” she told him. “Richard went to see the reeve and find out more.”
“This is sad news,” the brother lamented softly and looked at Elias. “I wonder if our friends at Sénanque Abbey in Provence have been affected.”
“We should pray for them, Brother Simon,” Lily offered and led them toward the village church.
“’Tis verra kind of ye, Miss.”
“Lily,” she corrected with a smile. She could feel Elias’ gaze on her, warm, hooded, and curious. Her eyes found him before she could stop them. Her smile deepened before she looked away.
Inside the church, hundreds of candles burned and cast shadows on the stone walls and benches. Lily sat first, with Brother Simon scooting in next to sit beside her. Elias sat last, closest to the aisle. She and Elias remained silent while the brother prayed in a soft whisper for a little while. Then they all prayed silently.
Lily was surprised that the people the brother was so worried about were not the priests of the abbey, but the French soldiers who’d fought on the side of the Scots against England. Most of the men had been great warriors, but after the loss of a limb or more, there was no longer any place for them, so they lived at the abbey with the priests. They were their friends.
She prayed earnestly for them for some time before she heard someone else enter the sanctuary. She opened her eyes to see a priest walking toward their bench.
She stood up and smiled at the priest’s curious and cautious expression. “Father Benedict, good day.”
He nodded and looked to her for an explanation for what she was doing here with two strangers.