Angel of Skye Read Online Free PDF Page B

task—you are forever telling me that God resides in the most mundane of our labors—that, well, the scent of nature’s glories must have been upon those linens. Aye, m’lady, I could have sworn I smelled jasmine. What, m’lady prioress, Lord Macpherson in the laundry? Aye, m’lady, I was the only one to see him, but I assure you his horse did not soil so much as a single handkerchief. Just the jugs, m’lady. Aye, smashed, m’lady.”
    Fiona chuckled at the thought of such a conversation...on such an improbable topic. Lord Macpherson barreling through the laundry while she was hanging the wash. But then Fiona’s expression clouded for a moment. She had to talk seriously to the prioress about assigning Sister Beatrice’s tasks to others for the time being, until she got better. The older nun would never utter even a word of complaint, and would certainly never shirk her responsibilities. Fiona knew that the prioress would have to intervene and order her to rest.
    The prioress had always pushed Fiona to take on more responsibilities in the administration of the Priory. And she had always supported the young woman in the decisions she made. Always, Fiona thought. It was not that the tasks that some of the other nuns performed were beneath her. No, it was just that the prioress felt it more appropriate to give her jobs that, as the older woman put it, better suited Fiona’s talents. But Fiona had a lingering suspicion that the prioress saw her as good with numbers and terrible with everything else. Hmmph! she thought.
    Special gift from God, that is what the prioress had often said of her, a smile on her wrinkled face. And it was true: sometimes Fiona had taken to her tasks like a fish to water. What had taken the prioress hours to do, particularly with numbers and the books, Fiona could accomplish in a fraction of the time. More recently, though, Fiona’s restlessness and mildly insubordinate acts had caused the prioress to take to calling Fiona “an endurance test from God.” Oh, well, the young woman sighed.
    Entering a clearing, Fiona blinked at the brilliant morning sunlight that had quickly burned through the predawn mists. The sun was dazzling as it reflected off the small pond in the center of the small meadow. She was still a half hour’s walk away from Priory lands. As Fiona picked up her pace, she wondered what her old friend David would say about her adventure this morning. Naturally, she would tell him the truth. All of it. He was the only one she would dare speak the truth to. He was the only one who never panicked and scolded her for the smallest of risks.
    Certainly there were times when they had their disagreements, but they inevitably worked them through. This was the way it had always been between them. David never tried to rule her or intimidate her. He told her about the real world, about places outside of Skye. About the beauty of the Scottish mainland. He’d been there. He taught her the survival tricks, as he called them. And he taught her how to apply what she knew to the needs of real people. These lessons were such a refreshing change from all the French and English and Latin lessons the prioress had her sit through.
    And the lesson he had stressed most—from the time she first arrived—had been to stay far away from Torquil MacLeod.
    David, the Priory’s jack-of-all-trades, was also the prioress’ half-brother. He was a younger son, illegitimate, but nonetheless an uncle to Torquil. So he knew him well. His stories of the laird’s brutality rang true to the imagination of a little girl whose mind had securely locked away all memory of what rough men could do. But from the time Fiona had been a young child, David had taken her under his wing, and his gentleness had won her trust. He’d made her feel safe while always pushing her to test herself. He had always encouraged her independence. He’d once considered himself to be like a father to the orphan lass, but he’d ended being