Fifteen years earlier…
Lexie Donaldson had not been a willing recruit into the Sisters of Mary. Her father and mother were wool merchants who had fallen on hard times and could no longer afford to feed their five children. Accordingly, Lexie, at the age of seventeen, was sent to the convent, where she would be fed, sheltered, and educated. It was not the life she had imagined for herself, but she would do anything to save her family from poverty.
“I am sorry, lass,” her father had said regretfully. “There is nothing else I can do. Ye are better off being a nun than a thief or a beggar.”
“Or a prostitute,” Lexie said bitterly. “It is fine, Father. I understand, and I thank ye for saving me from starvation, but things will not always be this way, I am sure.”
Her father had nodded, his eyes glistening with tears. Her mother was sobbing, too distraught to speak. Catherine Donaldson clung to her daughter’s neck and had to be dragged away from her. Lexie never forgot the look on her face as she said goodbye for the last time to the woman who had given birth to her.
As a girl who had always had as much freedom as she liked, Lexie found the regimented life of the convent unbearable. Rising at midnight and dawn, hearing Mass every day, praying incessantly—all of these were crushing her spirit and making her life unbearable.
The day she took her vows was the saddest day of her young life, and though she knew she was making a huge mistake, she took them anyway, knowing that it was her only way to survive. However, she was not alone.
One day, as she was sitting and resting after planting some seeds in the vegetable garden, her friend, Sister Emmanuel, joined her to give her a cup of ale. They sat in silence for a moment, then the other young woman asked, “Would ye no’ like tae escape?”
Lexie looked at her in surprise. “We are not in prison,” she pointed out.
Sister Emmanuel raised her dark brows. “Are we not?” she asked. “We are closed in at night, there are high walls an’ a locked gate around the convent, an’ our only way out is in a wooden box!” Her voice was bitter, and her eyes were dark with anger.
“We are allowed tae see our families,” Lexie pointed out.
“Aye, once a month!” the young woman said sourly.
“Ye didn’t want tae be here either then?” Lexie asked, sighing.
There were so many of them who merely went through the motions, performing the rituals while their minds and hearts were elsewhere. For many, like her, it was because of poverty, but there were others who had simply been dumped there because for some reason or other their families did not want them. A few were simpletons who could not survive in the real world.
“No,” Sister Emmanuella, whose real name was Bridget, said, gazing at the sky above her. “I wish I had wings,” she mused.
“So do I sometimes.” Lexie drank the rest of her ale in one draft, then stood up to resume her task. She stopped in her tracks, transfixed by the sight of a tall young man in a monk’s habit walking toward her. He had dark red hair and deep brown eyes, a square jaw, and a cleft chin. He was almost impossibly handsome.
Lexie blinked to make sure she was not dreaming, but when she opened her eyes, he was still there, now standing and walking toward her.
Lexie had never been attracted to any man before. She had heard of people seeing each other for the first time and falling in love instantly but had always dismissed the notion as fanciful. Now, as the tall, strapping young monk strode toward her and Bridget, smiling, Lexie felt as though she wanted to run into his arms, but that would have been utterly idiotic! So she restrained herself and smiled at him inquiringly, her heart beating so fast and hard in her chest that she was sure he could hear it.
“Sisters,” he addressed them, bowing his head respectfully, “I am Brother Martin, and I come bearing gifts of honey for the nuns. I am looking for Mother Superior.” His dark eyes fixed on Lexie and widened slightly before they looked away.
He was holding a crate that bore a dozen stoppered jars that looked heavy but which he was carrying with little effort.
“Of course.” Lexie smiled back at him. “This is Sister Emmanuel, and I am Sister Gabriella. Follow me, please.”
As they walked through the cloisters to reach Mother Superior’s office, Brother Martin asked, “How long have you been here, Sister?”
Lexie felt like saying “too long,” but she pinned a smile on her face and replied, “A year. I took my vows nine months ago. And when did ye become a monk?”
“I am still a novice,” he admitted. “I have been at the monastery for seven months, and to be truthful, I am still doubtful about staying.” Then he paused and shook his head, frowning. “I am sorry, Sister. I should not be telling you all this. After all, we have just met, but I sensed a similarity between us. Forgive me.”
“Not at all,” Lexie said, sighing. “I am glad someone feels the same way I do. Were ye compelled tae go tae the monastery?”
He shook his head. “I had a vocation…or thought I did. And you?”
She shrugged. “My parents fell on hard times. They are wool merchants, but a sheep pestilence drove the price of wool down. We sold our house, and they are living in a small place in Inverclyde. This was the only thing we could do. At least I have shelter and food, and I can do a little good work.”
He stopped for a moment and stared at her. “But if you are as unhappy as I am, then leave.”
She gave a sad little laugh. “Ye make it sound so easy, Brother Martin. Where will I live? How will I feed myself?”
“I know we have only just met, Sister,” he said, frowning a little in puzzlement, “but I feel that we have a kinship.”